“THE ABE FAMILY”
BY MORI GAI

ON THE THIRTEENTH OF SEPTEMBER 1912, the day of Emperor Meiji’s funeral, General Nogi Maresuke killed himself by disembowelment, taking his wife, Shizuko, with him. He said in his testimonial: “In committing suicide to follow His Majesty in death, I am aware, with regret, that my crime in doing so is by no means negligible. However, since I lost my flag during the civil war of the tenth year of Meiji [1877], I have been looking for an appropriate opportunity to die, to no avail. Instead, to this day I have continued to be showered with imperial special favors and treated with exceptional compassion. While I have grown infirm, with few days left to be useful, this grave event has filled me with such remorse that I hereby have made this decision.”

The loss of a flag in a single battle was not the only cause of Nogi’s remorse – and his sense of indebtedness that he went unpunished. He had created vast casualties in his assaults on Port Arthur during the Russo-Japanese War, and he most likely knew that he was not relieved of his post, as recommended by the chief of the army general staff, because of Meiji’s intervention.

Nogi’s action, which some of the younger generation dismissed as “anachronistic,” affected a number of people. In the United States, for example, Harriet Monroe (1860-1936) wrote a poem entitled “Nogi” and published it in the second issue of the magazine she had just founded, Poetry:

Great soldier of the fighting clan,

Across Port Arthur’s frowning face of stone

You drew the battle sword of old Japan,

And struck the White Tsar from his Asian throne.

Once more the samurai sword

Struck to the carved hilt in your loyal hand,

That not alone your heaven-descended lord

Should meanly wander in the spirit land.

Your own proud way, O eastern star,

Grandly at last you followed. Out it leads

To that high heaven where all the heroes are,

Lovers of death for causes and for creeds.

Among the Japanese writers deeply shaken was Mori gai (1862-1922).¹ An army officer who studied military hygiene in Germany and quickly rose through the ranks to become surgeon general at age forty-five, gai was at the same time an influential man of letters actively engaged in introducing Western literary and philosophical ideas to Japan. His friend Nogi’s suicide gave him pause. The depth of his feeling was obvious: On September 18, a mere six days after Nogi’s death and on the very day he attended his funeral, he submitted to his publisher the first of his stories drawing on Japan’s recent past. Entitled “Okitsu Yagoemon’s Testimonial,” it began: “I die by disembowelment this month, today. This will strike some as abrupt, and they might say that I, Yagoemon, had become senile or that I had become deranged. But that is not at all the case.” Yagoemon goes on to recount what had happened thirty years earlier.

gai published “The Abe Family,” translated below, the following January. It was his second “historical story.” In this recounting, Hosokawa Tadatoshi (1586-1641) is a son of Tadaoki (Sansai, 1564-1645), a warlord famous for his accomplishments in court protocol, traditional verse, and the art of drinking tea. Indeed, Okitsu Yagoemon’s killing of his colleague, for which he atoned through disembowelment, occurred while the two men were on assignment to buy tea utensils for Tadaoki.

In the spring of the eighteenth year of Kan’ei [1641], Hosokawa Tadatoshi, Junior Fourth Rank, Lower Grade, Minor Captain of the Inner Palace Guards, Left Division, and Governor of Etch, was preparing to put himself at the center of a long procession splendid enough for a daimyo of 540,000 koku and to leave the cherry blossoms of his fiefdom, Higo Province, which bloom earlier than elsewhere, so that he might travel along with the spring, from south to north, on his biannual pilgrimage to the shogunate, in Edo,² when unexpectedly he fell ill. The medicine prescribed by his doctor did not show any effect and his illness became graver each day. An express messenger was dispatched to Edo with the news of the delay of his arrival. The third Tokugawa shogun, Iemitsu, known as a distinguished ruler, expressed concern for Tadatoshi, who had done some important work in destroying Amakusa Shir Tokisada, leader of the Shimabara rebels.³ On the twentieth of the third month, he had Matsudaira, Governor of Izu, Abe, Governor of Bungo, and Abe, Governor of Tsushima, compose an official letter of inquiry bearing their names and also had a Kyoto acupuncturist by the name of Isaku start for Higo. On the twenty-second he had a samurai by the name of Soga Matazaemon dispatched as a shogunate messenger with the letter signed by the three administrators.

Such measures from shogun to daimyo were unusual. But ever since the Shimabara rebels had been pacified three years earlier, in the spring of the fifteenth year of Kan’ei, the shogun had gone out of his way to extend courtesies to Tadatoshi on every possible occasion – giving him extra acreage for his Edo mansion, presenting him with cranes for his falconry, and so forth. At the news of Tadatoshi’s serious illness, the shogun naturally tried to convey as much concern as precedent allowed.

Yet, even before the shogun began making these arrangements, Tadatoshi’s illness, in his Flower Field Mansion in Kumamoto, had quickened its pace, and on the seventeenth of the third month, about four in the afternoon, he died, at the age of fifty-six. His wife was a daughter of Ogasawara Hidemasa, Fifth Rank in the Ministry of Military Affairs, whom the shogun had adopted and married to Tadatoshi. Forty-five that year, she was commonly called Lady Osen. Tadatoshi’s first son, Rokumaru, had performed his manhood rites six years before, when he was endowed by the shogun with part of his name, mitsu, and changed his name to Mitsusada; at the same time he was appointed Junior Fourth Rank, Lower Grade, Chamberlain, and Governor of Higo. He was now seventeen. At the time of Tadatoshi’s death he was in Hamamatsu, Ttmi Province, on his way back from his biannual pilgrimage, but at the news of his father’s death, he returned to Edo at once. Later he changed his name to Mitsuhisa.

Tadatoshi’s second son, Tsuruchiyo, had been placed in the Taish temple, on Mt. Tatta, since childhood. He had become a disciple of Priest Taien from Kyoto’s Myshin temple, and was now called Sgen. Tadatoshi’s third son, Matsunosuke, was being brought up by the Nagaoka, a family related to the Hosokawa from the old days. Tadatoshi’s fourth son, Katsuchiyo, had been adopted by his retainer, Nanj Daizen.

Tadatoshi had two daughters. The elder one, Princess Fuji, was the wife of Matsudaira Tadahiro, Governor of Su. Princess Take, the younger one, was later to be married to Ariyoshi Tanomo Hidenaga.

Tadatoshi himself was Hosokawa Sansai’s third son, and had three younger brothers: the fourth son, Tatsutaka, Fifth Rank in the Ministry of Central Affairs; the fifth son, Okitaka, of the Ministry of Justice; and the sixth son, Nagaoka Yoriyuki, of the Ministry of Ceremonial. His younger sisters were Princess Tara, married to Inaba Kazumichi, and Princess Man, married to Middle Counselor Ka-rasumaru Mitsutaka. Princess Man’s daughter, Princess Nene, would later become the wife of Mitsuhisa, Tadatoshi’s first son. Of his older siblings, the two elder brothers had assumed the name of Nagaoka, and one of his two older sisters was married to Maeno, the other to Nagaoka. His retired father, Sansai Sry, was still alive, at seventy-nine. Of these people, some, like Mitsusada, were in Edo, and some in Kyoto and other distant provinces when Tadatoshi died. They grieved at the news that reached them belatedly, but their grief was not as immediate and acute as that of the people who were in his mansion in Kumamoto at his death. Two men, Musushima Shkichi and Tsuda Rokuzaemon, departed for Edo as formal messengers.

On the twenty-fourth of the third month the Rite of the Seventh Day was performed. On the twenty-eighth of the fourth month the floor boards of the living room of Tadatoshi’s mansion were removed and his coffin was dug out of the ground below, where it had been laid, and, following directions from Edo, the corpse was cremated at Sh’un-in, in Kasuga Village, Akita County, before being buried on the hill outside Krai Gate. In the winter of the following year, below this mausoleum, a temple called Gokokuzan Myge was built, and Priest Keishitsu, who had studied with Priest Takuan, came from Tkai Temple, in Shinagawa, Edo, to become the resident chief priest. Later, when Keishitsu retired to the Rinry Hut within the temple compounds, Tadatoshi’s second son, Sgen, would inherit the temple, calling himself Priest Tengan. Tadatoshi’s posthumous Buddhist name was Myge-in-den Taiun Sgo the Great Layman.

Tadatoshi’s cremation at Sh’un-in was faithful to his will. Once when he was out moor-hen hunting, he had stopped at Sh’un-in to have some tea. There he noticed that the beard had grown under his chin, and asked the chief priest if he had a razor. The priest had a basin of water brought and offered it to him with a razor. While having a page shave his beard, Tadatoshi, in a good mood, asked the priest, “I guess you have shaved lots of dead men’s heads with this razor, haven’t you?” The priest didn’t know how to respond, utterly lost as he was. After this Tadatoshi became good friends with him and decided that the temple would be the place of his cremation.

It happened in the middle of the cremation. Some of the retainers guarding the coffin shouted, “Look, our lord’s hawks!” In the dull-blue patch of the sky blurred by the tall cedar trees in the temple compound, and above the cherry leaves hanging like an umbrella over the round frame of the well, two hawks were flying in circles. While people looked on in puzzlement, the hawks, so close to each other that one’s beak almost touched the other’s tail, swooped down and plunged into the well beneath the cherry tree. Two men broke out of the group of several people arguing something at the temple gate, ran to the well, and, hands on the stone well-curb, looked in. By then the hawks had sunk deep to the bottom, and the surface of the water fringed with fern was glistening like a mirror as before. The two men were Tadatoshi’s falconers. The two hawks that had plunged into the well and died were Ariake and Akashi, hawks Tadatoshi had particularly loved. When this became known, people were heard to say, “So, even our lord’s hawks have followed him in death!”

Such a response was to be expected: Between the day of Tadatoshi’s passage into the other world and two days before his cremation, more than ten retainers had killed themselves to follow him in death. Indeed, two days before the cremation, as many as eight men had disemboweled themselves at once, and the day before yet another had done the same. As a result, there were no retainers who were not thinking of death. How the falconers had been so careless as to let the hawks loose and why the hawks had plunged into the well as if chasing an invisible prey wasn’t known, but no one even bothered to speculate. That they were the hawks Tadatoshi had loved, and that they died on the very day of his cremation, in the well of Sh’un-in where the cremation was being performed, was enough for the people to conclude that the hawks deliberately followed their lord in death. There was no room in their minds to doubt this judgment and try to find out some other cause.

The Rite of the Forty-ninth Day was performed on the fifth of the fifth month. The priests who had performed the various rites up to that time included Sgen and those from Kisei-d, Konry-d, Tenju-an, Chsh-in, and Fuji-an. Now the sixth of the fifth month came around, but still deaths by disembowelment occurred. Not to mention those who intended to follow Tadatoshi in death, their parents, siblings, wives, children, and even those unrelated to them thought only of death, while absent-mindedly welcoming the acupuncturist from Kyoto and formal messengers from Edo. They did not collect iris stalks to adorn their eaves for the annual celebration of Boys’ Day. Even those who had newborn sons raised no streamers and kept quiet, as if trying to forget that sons had been born to them.

When and how it came about is not known, but an unstated rule governed a retainer’s following his lord in death by disembowelment. The retainer’s profound respect and love of his lord did not automatically entitle him to perform the act. Just as permission was needed for accompanying the lord on the biannual pilgrimage to Edo in peacetime, or to the battlefield in wartime, so was it absolutely necessary to accompany him across the River of Death. A death without permission was “a dog’s death.” And a samurai would not die a dog’s death because good reputation was of the utmost value to him. To plunge into the enemy turf and get killed in battle would be praiseworthy, but it would not win a man any honor if he ignored the order, sneaked out to accomplish some exploits, and was killed. That would be a dog’s death; in the same way, killing oneself by disembowelment without permission would serve no purpose.

At times, a retainer disemboweling himself to follow his lord in death without permission might not be thought to have died a dog’s death. Such a case was possible where a tacit agreement had formed between the lord and the retainer he had especially favored – where the absence of permission did not mean anything. The teachings of the Great Vehicle were expounded after the Buddha entered nirvana even though the Buddha had not given permission to do so. But this was permissible, it is said, because the Buddha, omniscient of the past, the present, and the future, had allowed that such teachings would ensue. Some people could die for their lords without permission in the same way that the teachings of the Great Vehicle could be preached as if from the Buddha’s own mouth.

How, then, was permission obtained? Among those who had already died for Tadatoshi, Nait Chjr Mototsugu provides a good example. Chjr had worked for Tadatoshi in his study and won his special favor. After Tadatoshi fell ill, he never left his side. When Tadatoshi realized he would never recover, he told Chjr that if his death became imminent, he, Chjr, should hang in the alcove near his pillow the scroll with two large characters, Fu-Ji, “Incomparable.”⁴ On the seventeenth of the third month, when his condition gradually deteriorated, Tadatoshi said the time had come to hang the scroll. Chjr did as he was told. Tadatoshi took one look at the scroll and closed his eyes for a while in meditation. Then he said his legs felt dull. Chjr carefully pulled open the skirts of Tadatoshi’s bedclothes and, as he massaged his legs, looked Tadatoshi directly in the eye. Tadatoshi returned the look.

“Sir, may I make a request?”

“What is it?”

“Your condition seems serious indeed, and I pray that you recover as soon as possible with the protection of the gods and the Buddha, as well as with the remarkable effect of good medicine. However, one must prepare for the worst. If the worst should happen, would you please kindly command me to accompany you?”

Chjr gently held up Tadatoshi’s foot and put his forehead on it. His eyes were full of tears.

“No, I will not do any such thing,” said Tadatoshi and, though looking at Chjr in the eye till then, he twisted his body to turn away.

“Please, do not say that, sir.” Chjr held up his lord’s foot again.

“No, no.” Tadatoshi kept his back turned to him. One of the retainers sitting in attendance in the same room said, “You’re too young to be that impudent. Restrain yourself.” Chjr was just seventeen years old that year.

“Please.” Chjr said as if choking, and kept his forehead on his lord’s foot, which he held up for the third time and would not let go.

“You are stubborn,” said Tadatoshi as if angered. But as he said this, he nodded twice.

“Sir!” Chjr said and, with Tadatoshi’s foot held in his hands, bowed down low near the bed and remained still. At that moment he felt himself fill with a sense of relaxation and calm as if he had passed some very difficult spot and reached the place he had to get to; other than that, nothing came to his consciousness, and he was even unaware of the tears he shed on the mat made in Bingo Province.

Chjr was still quite young and had done nothing remarkable, but Tadatoshi had given him constant attention and kept him close. The young man liked drinking, and once committed a blunder for which another might have received a reprimand. But Tadatoshi said, “Not Chjr but the sake did it,” and dismissed it with a smile. Because of this Chjr came to believe that he had to return this generosity and make up for his mistake. After Tadatoshi’s illness became serious, this belief became the firm conviction that the only way to convey his apologies and compensate for the error was to follow his lord in death.

If you stepped into this young man’s mind to look closely at it, though, you’d find that side by side with the thought that he would, by his own will, follow his lord in death, another thought existed with equal force: that he was obliged to die because other people expected him to do so – a sense of dependency on others for moving in the direction of death. In other words, he was worried that if he did not die, he would be subjected to horrible humiliation. This was his weakness, but he was not in the least afraid of death. And so nothing had interfered with his wish to ask his lord for permission to die, with that determination dominating his entire mind.

After a while Chjr felt Tadatoshi tense his foot that he held with both hands and stretch it a little. He thought his lord felt it had become numb again, and began slowly to massage it as he had done at the outset. Then his old mother and his wife came to his mind. He reminded himself that the relatives of those who commit suicide to follow their lord receive preferential treatment from the lord’s house. He thought that he now had placed his family in a safe position, that he could die peacefully. With the thought, his face brightened.

On the morning of the seventeenth of the fourth month, Chjr put on his formal attire, came to his mother, told her of his decision to follow his lord, and said some words of farewell. His mother showed no surprise. Though she had not said it to him, she had long known that this was the day for her son to disembowel himself. If he had told her that he would not do so, she would have been alarmed.

His mother called in his newlywed bride from the kitchen and asked if the preparations were made. The wife rose to her feet at once, and returned with a tray of sake, which she’d had ready since earlier that morning. Like the mother she, too, had long known that this was the day for her husband to disembowel himself. She had set her hair neatly and wore one of her better house kimonos. Both mother and wife appeared the same, looking formal and solemn, but the corners of the wife’s eyes were red, revealing that she had wept in the kitchen. When the tray was set before him, Chjr called in his brother, Saheiji.

The four drank from one cup by turns, silently. When the cup had made a round, the mother said, “Chjr, I know you like drinking. Why don’t you drink a little more than usual today?”

“Right, mother,” Chjr said, and he drank one cup after another with a smile on his face, obviously feeling good.

After a while, he said to his mother, “I have enjoyed the sake, and feel a little drunk. The sake has worked better than usual, perhaps because I’ve been worried about various matters for the last several days. May I excuse myself and rest a while?”

With that Chjr rose to his feet and entered the living room, where he lay down in the middle of the room and soon began to snore. When his wife, who had followed him quietly, put a pillow under his head, he moaned and turned, but kept snoring. His wife gazed at his face for some time; then abruptly she rose and left the room. She knew she should not cry in his presence.

The entire household was quiet. Just as mother and wife had known the master’s decision before being told, so had his retainers and handmaid. Nothing like laughter was heard either from the stable or the kitchen.

The mother stayed in her room, the wife in hers, and the brother in his, each in deep thought. The master snored away in the living room. In the window of the living room, which was left wide open, a bundle of shinobu fern, with a wind chime attached to it, hung under the eaves. The wind chime faintly tinkled from time to time, as if to remind itself of its job. Beneath it was a washbasin, a tall piece of rock with a hole dug in the top and filled with water. Perched on the wooden dipper placed across the basin face down, was a blue darner, wings drooping mountain-shape, motionless.

Two hours went by, and another two hours. Now it was past noon. The wife had told the handmaid to get lunch ready, but she was not sure her mother-in-law wanted it. She hesitated to go to her to ask because she was afraid that if she asked her about a meal, her mother-in-law might suspect that she was the only one who thought of eating at such a time.

At that juncture Seki Koheiji came, a man Chjr had asked to be his second. The mother called the wife. The wife bowed to her and, her hands on the floor, remained silent to see what her wishes might be.

“Chjr said he’d rest awhile,” said the mother, “but it’s some time since he excused himself. Here is Mr. Seki. I would think it’s time to wake him.”

“Yes, you’re right. It mustn’t be done too late,” said the wife. She rose to her feet at once and left to wake her husband.

In the living room, the wife looked at her husband’s face again, just as she had when she brought in the pillow. The thought that she was going to wake him to death made it difficult for her to speak for a while.

Though in profound sleep, he must have felt the bright light coming in the window; his back was turned toward the window, his face toward her.

“Come, my dear,” the wife called out.

Chjr did not wake.

The wife edged up to him on her knees and touched his shoulder that rose high. Chjr yawned, stretched his elbows, opened his eyes, and sat up.

“You have rested very well,” said his wife. “I woke you because Mother said it was getting late. Mr. Seki has come too.”

“I see. It must be noon now. I thought I might take a little rest, but I was both drunk and tired and wasn’t aware how time was passing. I think it’s time to take rice with tea and go to Tk-in. Tell Mother I’m ready.”

On a life-or-death occasion a samurai did not eat his fill. But he would not set out to do something important with an empty stomach, either. Chjr had indeed intended to take a nap, but ended up having a much longer, though pleasant, sleep than he had expected, and found out it was already noon. That’s why he offered to have a meal. So, though it was more a matter of formality, the four members of the family sat at table as they did at ordinary times, and had lunch. Then Chjr prepared himself calmly and went with Seki to his family temple, Tk-in, to disembowel himself.

Around the time Chjr held Tadatoshi’s foot in his hand to ask for his permission, some others among Tadatoshi’s retainers who had enjoyed his special favors asked, each in his own fashion, permission to follow him in death, and those who did so, including Chjr, numbered eighteen. All of them were samurai Tadatoshi trusted deeply. Therefore, Tadatoshi wished sincerely to leave these men behind him for the protection of his son, Mitsuhisa. Also, he was fully aware that it was cruel to have them die with him. But he gave each of them the word, “Granted,” while feeling great pain in doing so, because the circumstances did not allow him to do otherwise.

Tadatoshi believed that the men he kept in such close employment would be glad to offer their lives for him. He also knew that killing themselves would not be a painful thing for them. If, however, he did not give them permission to follow him in death but made them survive him, what would happen? The other retainers would show no restraint in saying that these men had not died when they should have, that they had no sense of obligation, that they were cowards. If that were all, they might put up with it and wait for the chance to offer their lives to Mitsuhisa. But suppose someone went on to say that he, now the deceased lord, had kept such men in his employment without realizing that they had no sense of obligation and were in fact cowards, that would be more than they could bear – there would be no end to their regrets. When he thought this far, Tadatoshi could not but give his permission. That was why, even while feeling worse about it than about his own illness, he said, “Granted.”

When the number of the retainers to whom he gave permission reached eighteen, Tadatoshi, who had lived through times of peace and disturbances for more than fifty years and was acquainted thoroughly with every shade of human affairs, thought in his illness and pain about his own death and the deaths of the eighteen samurai. No living thing can avoid death. Right next to an old tree that withers and dies, young trees sprout green leaves and flourish. From the viewpoint of the young men surrounding his first son, Mitsuhisa, the old men whom he, Tadatoshi, had around him were no longer needed. They could even be obstacles. He wished they would survive him and provide Mitsuhisa with the kind of service they had provided him, but there were now enough new people who could do the same for his son, and they might be waiting for their turn impatiently. Some of his own appointees had probably garnered hatred–or at least, had become targets of jealousy–in carrying out their duties for such a long time. Seen this way, telling them to live longer might not be an entirely sagacious idea. Granting them permission to die may have been an act of mercy. So thinking, Tadatoshi felt some consolation.

The eighteen men who asked for and were granted permission to follow Tadatoshi in death were Teramoto Hachizaemon Naotsugu, tsuka Kih Tanetsugu, Nait Chjr Mototsugu, ta Kojr Masanobu, Harada Jjir Yukinao, Munakata Kah Kagesada, Munakata Kichiday Kageyoshi, Hashitani Ichiz Shigetsugu, Ihara Jzabur Yoshimasa, Tanaka Itoku, Honj Kisuke Shigemasa, It Tazaemon Masataka, Migita Inaba Muneyasu, Noda Kih Shigetsuna, Tsuzaki Gosuke Nagasue, Kobayashi Riemon Yukihide, Hayashi Yozaemon Masasada, and Miyanaga Katsuzaemon Munesuke.

Teramoto’s direct ancestor was a man by the name of Teramoto Tar, a resident of Teramoto, in the Province of Owari. Tar’s son, Naizen’nosh, served the Imagawa family. Naizen’nosh’s son was Sah, Sah’s son was Uemon’nosuke, and Uemon’nosuke’s son was Yozaemon. In the Korean conquest⁵ Yozaemon served Kat Yoshiaki’s army and did some distinguished work. Yozaemon’s son was Hachizaemon and during the siege of Osaka Castle once worked under Got Mototsugu.⁶ After the Hosokawa family retained Hachizaemon, he was given 1,000 koku and was made head of a fifty-gun regiment. He disemboweled himself at the An’y temple on the twenty-ninth of the fourth month. He was fifty-three years old. Fujimoto Izaemon seconded him. tsuka was a superintendent of police who received 150 koku. He disemboweled himself on the twenty-sixth of the fourth month. Ikeda Yazaemon seconded him.

I have already talked about Nait.

Ota’s grandfather, Denzaemon, served Kat Kiyomasa. When Tadahiro⁷ was stripped of his fief, Denzaemon and his son, Genzaemon, became masterless drifters. Kojur was the second son of Genzaemon and had been retained as a page by Tadatoshi. He received 150 koku. The first man to follow Tadatoshi in death, he disemboweled himself on the seventeenth of the third month, at the Kasuga temple. He was eighteen. Moji Genb seconded him. Harada, a recipient of 150 koku, served Tadatoshi at his side. He disemboweled himself on the twenty-sixth of the fourth month. Kamada Genday seconded him.

The Munakata brothers, Kah and Kichiday were the descendants of Middle Counselor Munakata Ujisada and their service with the Hosokawa began with their father, Seib Kagenobu. Both brothers received 200 koku. On the second of the fifth month the older brother disemboweled himself at Ryuch-in, and the younger brother at the Rensh temple. The older brother’s second was Takata Jbe, the younger brother’s Murakami Ichiemon. Hashitani was from the Province of Izumo and was a distant offspring of the Amako clan. Retained by Tadatoshi when fourteen, he, a recipient of 100 koku, waited on Tadatoshi as a poison taster. When his illness became serious, Tadatoshi at times laid his head on Hashitani’s lap and slept. On the twenty-sixth of the fourth month he disemboweled himself at the Seigan temple. As he was about to slash his abdomen, there was a faint sound of the hour drum at the castle. He told one of his retainers accompanying him to go out and ascertain the time. Upon his return, the man said, “I heard the last four, but I’m not sure what the total number of drumbeats was.” This made Hashitani and others smile. Hashitani said, “Thanks for making me laugh in my last moments,” gave the retainer the formal outer garment he wore, and disemboweled himself. Yoshimura Jintay seconded him.

Ihara received ten koku and an allowance for three retainers. At the time of his disembowelment Hayashi Sah, a retainer of Abe Yaichiemon’s,⁸ seconded him. Tanaka was a grandson of Okiku, who has left us Okiku’s Story,⁹ and was a boyhood friend of Tadatoshi’s since both went to study on Mt. Atago. Once during that period of study he quietly dissuaded the young Tadatoshi from entering the priesthood. Later a recipient of 200 koku, he served Tadatoshi as his personal attendant. He was quite good at mathematics, and was useful with that skill. As an old man he was allowed to sit cross-legged with his hood on in Tadatoshi’s presence. He asked Mitsuhisa to permit him to follow Tadatoshi in death, but the permission was not granted. On the nineteenth of the sixth month, he stabbed his abdomen with a short sword, then sent a petition to Mitsuhisa, who finally gave him permission. Kat Yasuday seconded him.

Honj was from Tango Province. While a masterless drifter, he was retained as a servant by Honj Kyemon, a room attendant for Lord Sansai. After he arrested a burglar at Nakatsu, he was given fifteen koku and an allowance for five retainers. It was then that he assumed the name of Honj. He disemboweled himself on the twenty-sixth of the fourth month.

It served as a senior accountant who received his stipend in rice. He disemboweled himself on the twenty-sixth of the fourth month. His second was Kawakita Hachisuke. Migita became master-less while with the tomo family. Tadatoshi retained him with land worth 100 koku. On the twenty-seventh of the fourth month he disemboweled himself in his own house. He was sixty-four. Tahara Kanb, a retainer of Matsuno Uky’s, seconded him. Noda was a son of Noda Mino, the chief administrator of the Amakusa family, and was retained with a stipend in rice. On the twenty-sixth of the fourth month he disemboweled himself at the Genkaku temple. His second was Era Han’emon. About Tsuzaki Gosuke I will write later.

Kobayashi received ten koku and an allowance for two retainers. At his disembowelment Takano Kanb seconded him. Hayashi was originally a peasant in Shimota Village, in Nang. Tadatoshi picked him up; he gave him a stipend of fifteen koku and an allowance of ten retainers and appointed him gardener of his Flower Field Mansion. On the twenty-sixth of the fourth month he disemboweled himself at the Butsugan temple. His second was Nakamitsu Hansuke. Miyanaga, a kitchen officer who received ten koku with an allowance for two retainers, was the first man who asked Tadatoshi for permission to follow him in death. On the twenty-sixth of the fourth month he disemboweled himself at the Jsh temple. His second was Yoshimura Yoshiemon. Some of these people were buried at their family temples, some close to Tadatoshi’s mausoleum on the hill outside Krai Gate.

A surprisingly large proportion of these men were those who received their stipends directly in rice. Among them, Tsuzaki Gosuke has a particularly interesting story worth separate telling.

Gosuke, a recipient of six koku with an allowance for two retainers, was the keeper of Tadatoshi’s dogs. He always accompanied Tadatoshi in falconing and was his favorite man during those field excursions. He begged, like a spoiled kid, for permission to follow his master in death, and got it, but the clan administrators all said to him, “The other retainers were granted high stipends and enjoyed some glory, but you were a mere dog keeper to our deceased lord. We understand very well that your sentiments are admirable, and it’s a supreme honor that our lord should have given you permission. We think that should be enough. Will you please give up the thought of dying and serve our new lord?”

Gosuke would not listen. On the seventh of the fifth month he went to the Krin temple near the exercise ground with the dog he took whenever he accompanied Tadatoshi. His wife saw him off at the front gate and said, “You’re a man, too. Try not to be lesser in glory than those in senior positions.”

The Tsuzaki family’s temple was Oj-in, but because it had some connections to Tadatoshi and so was inappropriate for someone like himself, Gosuke decided on the Krin temple as a place to die. As he entered the graveyard he saw Matsuno Nuinosuke, whom he had asked to second him, already waiting. He took down a light-green bag from his shoulder and pulled a lunch box out of it. He opened its lid and found two rice balls. He put them before the dog. The dog would not begin on them, but looked up at Gosuke, wagging his tail.

“You are a beast and may not realize it,” Gosuke said to the dog as if he were speaking to a human being. “But your lord who caressed you on the head many times has already passed away. Many people who enjoyed his favors have already disemboweled themselves to accompany him. I’m a lowly retainer, but I’m no different from those of higher rank in having received a stipend to live from day to day. We’re the same, too, in having enjoyed our lord’s favors. That’s why I’m going to die by cutting my stomach. Once I’m dead, you’ll be a stray dog. I feel terribly sorry for you because of that. Our lord’s hawks dived into the well of Sh’un-in and died. What d’you say? Don’t you want to die with me? If you want to live even if you may become an abandoned dog, eat these rice balls. If you want to die, don’t eat them.”

Gosuke looked the dog in the eye; the dog kept looking Gosuke in the eye and would not eat the rice balls.

“So you’ll die with me?” said Gosuke and gave the dog a sharp look. The dog barked once and shook his tail.

“All right, then. I pity you, but die for me.” Gosuke held the dog close, unsheathed his sword, and stabbed him.

He put the dog’s corpse to one side. Then he pulled out of his chest a piece of paper with something written on it, spread it on the ground before him, and put a stone on it as a weight. The paper was folded once–a formality he had picked up at someone’s poetry meeting–and had this written like a regular tanka:

Kar-shu wa tomare tomare to ouse aredo

tomete tomaranu kono Gosuke kana

The administrators and all tell me to stop, stop it,

but however they try to stop me, Gosuke can’t be stopped

The paper was not signed. He simply thought that because the poem already had his name, he didn’t have to duplicate it by writing it again. In this he was faithful to the tradition without knowing it.

Having decided that he hadn’t left anything undone, Gosuke said, “Mr. Matsuno, now I must ask your help.” He sat cross-legged on the ground and bared his chest and belly. He held the sword stained with the dog’s blood upside down, and said aloud, “I wonder what the falconers have done. His dog keeper now follows him.” He then laughed joyfully and slashed his abdomen crosswise. From behind him, Matsuno beheaded him.

Gosuke’s status was low, but his widow was granted the same benefits accorded the other surviving families of those who followed Tadatoshi in death. This was because his only son had entered the priesthood as a child. His widow received a rice allowance for five retainers and was given a new house. She lived until the thirty-third anniversary of Tadatoshi’s death. The son of Gosuke’s nephew inherited his name, and after that, the Tsuzaki family served in the criers’ unit for generations.

Other than these eighteen men who obtained permission from Tadatoshi and followed him in death, there was a man called Abe Yaichiemon Michinobu. He was originally from the Akashi clan, and his boyhood name was Inosuke. He began serving Tadatoshi very early and had now risen to the status of receiving more than 1,500 koku. During the Shimabara Conquest, three of his five sons rendered distinguished services and each received new land worth 200 koku. All his family expected Yaichiemon to follow Tadatoshi in death, while he himself made clear his wish to die every time his turn at night attendance came around. But no matter. Tadatoshi would not give consent.

“I’m pleased with your sentiments,” Tadatoshi repeated. “But I’d rather you lived on and continued service with Mitsuhisa.”

Tadatoshi had long had a habit of contradicting Yaichiemon. That went back to very early days; even when Yaichiemon was still a page, if he came to ask if he was ready for a meal, Tadatoshi would invariably say, “I’m not hungry yet.” If another boy came to ask, Tadatoshi would say, “All right. Have the meal brought.” There was something about Yaichiemon that tempted Tadatoshi to contradict him. Does this mean he was scolded often? No, that wasn’t the case, either. No one else worked as hard, he noticed everything, and everything he did was faultless. Even if he, Tadatoshi, had a mind to scold him, he wouldn’t have found a chance.

Yaichiemon would do on his own the kind of things other men would do only after being told to. He would do, without telling Tadatoshi, what other men would do only after telling their lord. And whatever he did was to the point and impeccable. It did not take long before Yaichiemon’s attitudes as a servant stiffened.

At first Tadatoshi contradicted the man unthinkingly, but later when he knew that his mind had stiffened, he resented him. While resenting him, Tadatoshi was clear-headed enough to know how Yaichiemon had come to be what he was and realize that he himself was the cause. He wanted to change his habit of contradicting the man, and continued to want to do so, but as months and days passed and as he grew older, changing the habit became harder.

Everyone has someone he likes–and someone he wants to avoid–far above anyone else. When one looks closely for the reasons, one often can’t find anything that can be pinpointed. Tadatoshi’s dislike of Yaichiemon was such a case. Still, there must have been something about Yaichiemon that made it difficult for people to feel friendly to him. For one thing, this was clear from the fact that he had few close friends. Everyone respected him as an outstanding samurai. But no one would approach him in a relaxed manner. At times, an oddball would try to become close to him, but his perseverance would fail in a while and he would begin to stay away. When Yaichiemon was still called Inosuke and wore bangs, one of his seniors who had often talked to him and helped him in various ways finally gave up by saying, “You can’t get a crack at him.” When you think about such things, it is no mystery that Tadatoshi could not change his habit though he wanted to.

In any event, while Yaichiemon was unable to get his permission despite his repeated requests, Tadatoshi died. A little before Tadatoshi’s death, Yaichiemon looked his master in the eye and said, “Sir, never have I asked you a favor. This is the first and only favor I ask in my whole life.” Tadatoshi returned Yaichiemon’s steady gaze and declared, “No, will you please continue service with Mitsuhisa?”

Yaichiemon thought hard about the situation and made up his mind. A hundred men out of a hundred would think it impossible for someone with my status not to follow his lord in death but to survive him and continue to face the retainers of the clan. In the event, the only thing left for such a man would be either to disembowel himself, knowing that would be a dog’s death, or to leave Kumamoto master-less. But I am what I am. Let them think what they like. A samurai is no concubine. That I wasn’t liked by my master doesn’t mean the loss of my reason for being. That was what he thought, and he kept going to work every day as he had.

The seventh of the fifth month came and went. By then all of the eighteen men had followed Tadatoshi in death. Throughout Kumamoto people talked only about these men. There was no other talk than who said what at the moment of death, how so-and-so’s manner of death was superior to everybody else’s, and so on. Even before all this, Yaichiemon had had few who would talk to him except about work, but after the seventh of the fifth month he found himself far more isolated in his office at the castle. He knew his colleagues tried not to look him in the eye. He knew they looked at him only when he was looking away or when his back was turned. This was extremely unpleasant. But, he thought, I’m alive not because I hold my life dear. Even someone who thinks the worst of me couldn’t possibly think I hold my life dear. If it was all right to die, I’d be glad to die right on this spot. So he continued to go to his office carrying his head high and leaving his office carrying his head high.

A few days later an outrageous rumor reached his ear. Who began it was unknown, but it went like this: “Abe stays alive, it appears, glad that he didn’t get his permission. Even without it one could disembowel oneself if one wanted to. Abe’s belly skin seems different from an ordinary man’s. He should perhaps oil a gourd and cut his belly with it.” To Yaichiemon this was unexpected. Anyone who wants to speak ill of me may say whatever he pleases, he thought. But how can anyone look at me, be it from straight ahead or from the side, and say I’m a man who holds his life dear? Someone who’s determined to say something bad certainly can. All right. I’ll oil a gourd and cut my belly with it to show them.

That day, as soon as he left his office, Yaichiemon sent urgent messengers to summon to his mansion in Yamazaki two of his younger sons who now lived independently. He had the furniture between the living and guest rooms taken away, and waited formally with three of his sons sitting beside him: the first son, Gonb; the second son, Yagob; and Shichinoj, the fifth son, who still wore bangs. Gonb, whose boyhood name was Gonjur, rendered distinguished services during the Shimabara Conquest and received new land worth 200 koku. He was as remarkable a man as his father. About the recent situation, he had asked his father only once, “So you did not get your permission,” to which the father had said, “No, I didn’t.” There was no further exchange on the subject between the two. They understood each other so completely that nothing more needed to be said.

Soon two lanterns came through the gate. The third son, Ichi-day, and the fourth son, Goday, almost simultaneously arrived at the entrance, took off their raincoats, and came into the room. Humid rain had started the day after the forty-ninth day after Tadatoshi’s death, and the heavy, dark sky of the fifth month hadn’t had a chance to clear up. The sliding doors were all left open, but it was muggy and windless. Yet the candle flames on candlesticks were wavering. A single firefly passed by through the trees in the garden.

The master of the house looked around at those who had gathered, and opened his mouth.

“Gentlemen, I thank you for coming even though I sent for you in the dark. I heard the rumor is already known to all the retainers of this clan, so I think all of you have heard it, too. They say my belly is such that I can cut it only with an oiled gourd. So I’ll cut it with an oiled gourd. Kindly witness how I do it.”

Both Ichiday and Goday had set up separate households after each was granted new land worth 200 koku for his military exploits at Shimabara, but of the two Ichiday, who had been assigned to the heir apparent early on, was among those who came to be envied as the rulers changed. He edged forward on his knees a little toward his father:

“I understand you perfectly, sir. Some of my colleagues said, ‘We hear your father continues his service according to our deceased master’s will. We’d like to express our congratulations that both fathers and sons can work together for our lord.’ The way they said it made me gnash my teeth.”

Yaichiemon, the father, laughed. “I know how you felt. Don’t get involved with those nearsighted bastards. I’m not supposed to die but I will; they will then insult you after my death as the sons of the man who couldn’t get his permission. It was part of your fate that you should have been born my sons. When you have to suffer shame, suffer it together. Avoid fighting among yourselves. Now, look how I cut my belly with an oiled gourd.”

Having said this, Yaichiemon disemboweled himself right in front of his sons, then stabbed himself in the neck from left to right, and died. His five sons, who had been unable to fathom their father’s mind, felt sorrow; but at the same time they felt they had stepped out of a precarious place and put down one of the burdens they had carried.

“Big brother,” said the second son, Yagob, to the first son. “Father told us not to fight among ourselves. No one would object to that. In Shimabara I wasn’t in the right place and wasn’t granted any land, so I’ll have to depend upon you from now on. But whatever may happen, you have a reliable spear in your hand. You may count on that.”

“We all know that. I don’t know what’s going to happen, but the land I get is your land,” Gonb said curtly, and folded his arms with a frown.

Abe Yaichiemon and his Sons

“Exactly,” Goday, the fourth son, said. “We can’t be sure what will happen. There will be some who say disembowelment without permission isn’t the same as following one’s lord with his consent.”

“That’s too obvious. But whatever may happen,” said Ichiday, the third son, looking straight at Gonb, “whatever may happen, let’s not separately deal with our opponents but stay together all the time.”

“We will,” said Gonb, but he didn’t seem relaxed about it. He always thought of the good of his brothers, but he was one of those who are unable to express themselves with ease. Further, he tended to think and do things by himself. He seldom consulted others. That’s why Yagob and Ichiday pinned him down this way.

“If they knew you, my big brothers, stood together, they wouldn’t dare talk ill of our father,” said Shichinoj, the son who still had bangs. His voice, thin as a girl’s though it was, was weighted with such strong conviction that to everyone sitting there it was like a streak of light illuminating the darkness ahead.

“Now,” Gonb stood up, “I must go tell mother to ask the womenfolk to take leave of our father.”

The succession ceremonies of Mitsuhisa, Junior Fourth Rank, Lower Grade, Chamberlain, and Governor of Higo, were completed. New lands or increased stipends were granted and assignments reshuffled for the retainers. All heirs of the eighteen samurai who followed Tadatoshi in death succeeded to their fathers’ positions. As long as there was an heir, there was no exception. These men’s widows and old parents were given allowances; houses and mansions were given to some, and even repairs were taken care of by the government. The eighteen were the men favored enough by the previous master to be allowed to accompany him on his way to death, so some in the fiefdom may have felt envious, but none jealous.

The treatment of the succession of Abe Yaichiemon’s surviving family, however, was somewhat different. The heir, Gonb, was not allowed to succeed to his father’s position as it was. Yaichiemon’s land, worth 1,500 koku, was splintered among the five brothers. The total of the family members’ land holdings remained the same, but the status of Gonb, who succeeded to the main house, was downgraded. Needless to say, Gonb felt he’d shrunk in stature. His brothers didn’t feel good, either. Each man’s holdings increased, to be sure, but till then their main house with holdings of more than 1,000 koku had made them feel that they stood under a giant tree, whereas now they felt like acorns trying to see which is taller than the others, as the saying goes. As a result, they knew they ought to be grateful, but in fact felt put upon.

Government prompts no one to seek a scapegoat as long as things stay on a normal course. An inspector-general¹⁰ at the time, who happened to enjoy the present ruler’s favor and served very near him, was a man by the name of Hayashi Geki. Clever in small matters, he was suited to the role of companion that he had held when Mitsuhisa was the heir apparent; but he was somewhat lacking in the ability to see an overall picture and tended to get bogged down in details. He decided a line had to be drawn between Abe Yaichiemon, who chose death without the late lord’s permission, and the other eighteen men who died true to form. Accordingly, he recommended that the Abe family’s holdings be divided. Mitsuhisa, later a thoughtful daimyo, had little experience as yet. He gave little consideration to Yaichiemon and his heir Gonb, whom he did not know. He adopted Geki’s recommendation simply because he noted a point in it that indicated an increase in the holdings of Ichiday, with whom he was familiar as he kept him in close employment.

When the eighteen men killed themselves to follow their lord, many of the retainers of the Hosokawa clan despised Yaichiemon because he had not done the same even though he had served near Tadatoshi. Now, only a few days later, Yaichiemon disemboweled himself with dignity. But, regardless of the right or wrong of the matter, contempt, once expressed, is hard to fade away: There was no one who would praise Yaichiemon now. In allowing the Abe to bury Yaichiemon alongside Tadatoshi’s mausoleum, the government should have gone a step further and, instead of forcing a line to be drawn in succession matters, treated the family in the same way as those of the other eighteen men. Had it done so, the Abe family would have felt honored and competed among themselves in loyalty. As it was, however, by placing the family a step below the others, the government put an official stamp on the contempt the retainers felt for the Abe family. Yaichiemon’s sons were gradually alienated from their colleagues, and they lived from day to day in great discontent.

The seventeenth of the third month of the nineteenth year of Kan’ei came around. It was the first anniversary of the death of the previous lord. The Myge temple next to the mausoleum had yet to be built, but there was a hall called Ky-in built, where Tadatoshi’s memorial tablet bearing his Buddhist name, Myge-in-den, was kept and where a monk by the name of Kyshuza resided as chief priest. Days before the anniversary, Priest Ten’y arrived from the Daitoku temple, of Murasakino, Kyoto. Apparently the anniversary ceremonies were going to be a splendid affair; for about a month, the castle city of Kumamoto busied itself in preparations.

The day came. The weather was fine and warm, and the cherries alongside the mausoleum were in full bloom. A curtain was set up around the Ky-in and foot soldiers guarded it. Mitsuhisa came in person and first offered incense before his late father’s tablet, then before the tablet of each of the nineteen men. Next, the men’s relatives were allowed to do the same. They were also presented with ceremonial wear bearing the Hosokawa crest, as well as seasonal suits: naga-kamishimo for those of the rank of mounted escort and above and han-gamishimo for those of the rank of foot soldier. Those of lower rank received monetary gifts for services for the deceased.

The ritual proceeded free of trouble, except for one strange thing that happened. When Abe Gonb, as a member of the surviving families of the deceased, went, in his turn, before Tadatoshi’s memorial tablet, he unsheathed his dagger as soon as he finished offering incense, cut his topknot, and laid it in front of the tablet. Taken aback by this unexpected behavior, the samurai overseeing the services looked on a while in confusion. It was only when Gonb walked back several steps with calm dignity as if nothing had happened that one samurai came to himself and ran up to Gonb, shouting, “Mr. Abe, wait, sir!” and stopped him. A couple of others joined him, and they took Gonb to another room.

When questioned by the overseers, Gonb explained: You might think I’ve gone mad, but not at all. My father Yaichiemon served impeccably all his life. That’s why he was ranked among the other honorable men even though he disemboweled himself without our deceased lord’s permission. His service also enabled me, a mere surviving relative, to offer incense before our late lord’s tablet in advance of some other people. And yet, the authorities seem to feel that I am incompetent and cannot serve as well as my father did; they divided up my father’s land holdings and parceled them among my brothers. My being has become inexcusable to our deceased lord, our present lord, my late father, my relatives, and my colleagues. I’ve had this thought for quite a while. Today, when my turn came to offer incense before our late lord’s tablet, I was suddenly overwhelmed and decided to abandon the samurai status. I’m more than willing to receive any punishment for lack of proper consideration for the occasion, but I haven’t gone mad.

When he learned Gonb’s explanation, Mitsuhisa was displeased. First, he was displeased with what Gonb had done, which was deliberately provocative. Second, he was displeased that he had accepted Geki’s advice and had done what he shouldn’t have in the first place. Mitsuhisa was still a youthful, impetuous ruler of twenty-four¹¹ who lacked the ability to control his emotions and restrain his desires. He had little sense of magnanimity of conferring favors in response to resentment. He had Gonb jailed on the spot. At the news Yagob and the other members of the Abe family closed their gates–to await further instructions from the lord, they said. At night, however, they gathered and conferred secretly about their future.

In the end the family decided to turn to Priest Ten’y who had come down for the Buddhist ceremonies for the first anniversary of the previous lord and was still staying there. Ichiday went to see him at his inn, told him the entire story, and asked him to plead with Mitsuhisa to reduce whatever penalty he might have in mind for Gonb. The priest listened carefully and said: “What has happened to your family deserves a great deal of pity. But I am in no position to say meddlesome things about whatever measures Lord Mitsuhisa may devise. If, however, Gonb were to be sentenced to death, I would certainly plead with the lord to save Gonb’s life. Especially now that Gonb cut off his topknot, he’s the same as a priest. I’ll do everything I can when it comes to saving his life.”

Feeling encouraged, Ichiday went home. Upon hearing his message, the rest of the family thought they had now found an escape route.

Days passed, and the time for Priest Ten’y to return to Kyoto drew near. Whenever he had a chance to talk to Mitsuhisa, Ten’y tried to bring up the matter of leniency toward Abe Gonb, but he was unable to find one. There was a good reason for this. Mitsuhisa knew the priest would plead for mercy if he condemned Gonb to death during his stay. As a priest from a great temple, Ten’y’s words could not have been ignored. Mitsuhisa simply waited for him to leave before disposing of the matter. Finally the priest left Kumamoto without accomplishing anything.

As soon as Ten’y left, Mitsuhisa had Abe Gonb taken out to Idenokuchi and hanged. The official reason given for the punishment was that Gonb had behaved irreverently toward the previous lord’s memorial tablet, that the behavior showed no fear of authorities.

Yagob and the other members of the Abe family gathered and conferred. Granted Gonb’s act was disrespectful, their late father Yaichiemon was at least counted among those who followed Tadatoshi in death. Because Gonb was the heir to such a man, they would have accepted a death sentence if it had come to that. They would not be complaining if he had been ordered to disembowel himself as a true samurai. But, instead, Gonb had been hanged in broad daylight like a common thief. From that they could only conclude, argued the Abe, that they would not be left in peace. Even if Mitsuhisa made no further move against them, how could a family whose member was hanged continue in service, side by side with their colleagues, without embarrassment? There was no room for discussing the right or wrong of the matter now. Yaichiemon must have anticipated a time like this when he advised the brothers not to be separated from one another no matter what happened. There was no choice left but for the entire family to fight against the punitive force the government would send, and die together. There was not a single dissenting voice.

The Abe family gathered together their wives and children and shut themselves up in Gonb’s Yamazaki mansion.

News of this unpeaceful move of the Abe family reached the authorities. Secret police agents came to inspect. The Yamazaki mansion was quiet, the gates bolted. Ichiday and Goday’s houses were empty.

Men were assigned for a punitive force. Takenouchi Kazuma Nagamasa, the head personal attendant, commanded the group in charge of the front gate; the squad leaders under him were Soejima Kuh and Nomura Shob. Kazuma, who received 1,150 koku, headed a thirty-gun squad. Chief of retainers Shima Tokuemon, a hereditary retainer, accompanied him. Both Soejima and Nomura drew 100 koku at the time. The commander of the group in charge of the rear gate was another head personal attendant, Takami Gon’emon Shigemasa, who had land worth 500 koku. He, too, headed a thirty-gun squad. His squad leaders were Hata Jday, an inspector, and Chiba Sakub, Kazuma’s own squad leader who drew 100 koku at the time.

It was decided that the men would move against the Abe family on the twenty-first of the fourth month. On the preceding night, watchmen were deployed around the Yamazaki mansion. Late that night a masked samurai came over the fence, but Maruyama Sannoj, a foot soldier of the patrol group headed by Saburi Kazaemon, killed him. After this there was nothing of note until daybreak.

Sometime before, two official notices had been issued to the neighborhood. One was that even men on duty must stay home and be on the alert for fires. The other was that those not on the punitive force were strictly forbidden entrance to the Abe mansion, but that they should be free to kill any fugitives escaping the house.

The Abe family learned about the assault date the day before. First they cleaned the entire mansion and burned everything unsightly. Then all of them, young and old, had a banquet and drank. Then the old and the women killed themselves, and the children were stabbed to death. Then they dug a large hole in the garden and buried the corpses in it. What remained were only the young and tough men. Under the supervision of Yagob, Ichiday, Goday, and Shichinoj, all the sliding doors and sliding screens were removed, and in that large space the retainers were made to gather and offer prayers loudly, striking gongs and drums, while they waited for the day to break. They explained this was done for the dead souls of the old, the wives and children, but in fact it was to prevent the servants from becoming frightened.

The mansion in which the Abe family shut themselves was where Sait Kansuke was later to live. Across from it was Yamanaka Matazaemon’s house. On its left and right lived Tsukamoto Matashichir and Hirayama Sabur.

The Tsukamotos were one of the three families that made Amakusa County their domain, the other two being the Amakusa and the Shiki. While Konishi Yukinaga¹² ruled one half of Higo Province, Amakusa and Shiki committed crimes and were punished with death. Only Tsukamoto remained and served the Hosokawa family.

Matashichir was on good terms with Abe Yaichiemon and his family. Not only the heads of the houses but also their wives and children often visited each other. Among them, Yaichiemon’s second son, Yagob, who believed he was a good spearman, and Matashichir, who was also skilled with the same weapon, liked to boast good-naturedly to each other, saying such things as, “You may be a good spearman, but you’d never beat me” and “No, how could I get beaten by you?”

For this reason, ever since he had heard Yaichiemon failed to obtain permission to follow the previous lord in death, Matashichir guessed how he must have felt, and was sorry for him. As the Abe family declined through the series of misfortunes that followed–Yaichiemon’s disembowelment without permission, his heir Gonb’s behavior at Ky-in, his execution as a result, and the remaining family’s shutting themselves up–the pain he felt for them was no less than what a relative might have felt.

Late one night, Matashichir sent his wife to the Abe family to inquire after them. Because the Abe were acting like a besieged army in rebellion against the government, Matashichir was unable to communicate openly with the male members of the family. But someone who knew, as he did, what had happened from the beginning would not be able to condemn the Abe men as evil. Further-more, he, Matashichir, had been on close terms with the family. A woman visiting them secretly to make inquiries, he thought, would be excused even if it was found out later. His wife was pleased to hear her husband’s words and, taking with her whatever she thought the Abe might need, went to see them late at night. She too was a woman of spirit and was determined that should her visit ever be revealed, she would take the entire responsibility and not get her husband into trouble.

The Abe family were overjoyed to see her. When the world was full of flowers blooming and birds singing, they were forsaken by the gods and buddhas and by the people and had had to shut themselves up like this. Yet there was still one man considerate enough to send his wife to see them, and there she was, a wife willing to follow his words. The gratitude the Abe family felt was profound. The women, in tears, asked her to remember to offer prayers for them, now that they were condemned to such a death that no one else would care to do that. The children who had been forbidden to go outside clung to the gentle woman they loved, from right and left, and would hardly let her go.

The night before the punitive units were to head for the Abe mansion came. Tsukamoto Matashichir gave deep thought to the situation. I’m on friendly terms with the Abe family. So, at the risk of possible future punishment I sent my wife to inquire after them. Still, next morning the government’s punitive force will come to the Abe family. Sending out a punitive force is the same as starting a battle to subjugate rebels. The official notices urge care with fires and against interference, but it would be impossible for a samurai to stand by and watch. Compassion is compassion, justice justice; there’s something I can do, too, Matashichir thought. Late that night he went out of the rear entrance quietly into the semi-dark yard and cut all the ropes that tied together the bamboo fence separating the two houses. Then he went back into his house, changed his clothes, took down his short spear from the decorative crossbeam near the ceiling, drew it from a scabbard with a hawk feather crest, and waited for the day to break.

Takenouchi Kazuma, the leader of the punitive unit assigned to head for the front gate, was born to a family renowned for its military men. His ancestor was Shimamura Danj Takanori, who won a reputation as a powerful archer under Hosokawa Takakuni. In the fourth year of Kyroku [1531], when Takakuni was defeated at Amagasaki, in the Province of Settsu, Danj plunged into the sea with two enemy soldiers held under his arms, and died. His son, Ichib, served the Yasumi family of Kchi and called himself Yasumi for a while. But when he had Takenouchi-goe as his domain, he changed his name to Takenouchi. Takenouchi Ichib’s son, Kichib, served Konishi Yukinaga, and for his exploit at the flood attack on Ota Castle in the Province of Kii, he was awarded by Toyotomi Hideyoshi a camp coat decorated with a scarlet sun drawn on white glossed silk. During the Korean Conquest he was confined in the Rhee Palace for three years as Konishi’s hostage. After the Konishi family was destroyed, he was summoned by Kat Kiyomasa¹³ to serve him for 1,000 koku; but he quarreled openly with his new lord and left the castle town of Kumamoto in broad daylight. As he did so, he had his retainers carry guns with their matchlocks ignited in case Kat sent a punitive force after him. Hosokawa Sansai, in Buzen, picked him up for 1,000 koku. At the time Kichib had five sons. The first son, also called Kichib, later had a Buddhist tonsure and called himself Yasumi Kenzan. The second son was called Shichiremon, the third Jirodayu, the fourth Yachib, and the fifth Kazuma.

Kazuma served Tadatoshi as a page and was by his side during the Shimabara Conquest. On the twenty-fifth of the second month, in the fifteenth year of Kan’ei, when the Hosokawa soldiers mounted an assault to take over the enemy castle, Kazuma asked Tadatoshi to let him join the first attack force. Tadatoshi would not listen. But when the page repeated the request like a spoiled kid, he became angry and shouted, “You buster, just get out of my sight!” Kazuma was sixteen then. As the young man jumped out, however, Tadatoshi called out, “Don’t get hurt!” Chief Shima Tokuemon, a sandal-bearer, and a spear-bearer followed him. With the master and his retainers added, there were four of them. The volleys of guns from the castle were such that Shima grabbed Kazuma’s scarlet camp coat and tried to pull him back. Kazuma yanked himself away and climbed up the castle’s stone wall. All Shima could do was to follow him up. Eventually they made an entry into the castle and fought but Kazuma was wounded. Tachibana Muneshige, of Yanagawa, who was governor of Hida, who had broken into the castle at the same spot, was a veteran warrior aged seventy-two. He witnessed the action and later said that three men–Watanabe Shin’ya, Nakamitsu Naizen, and Kazuma–distinguished themselves and he sent them testimonials signed by himself and others. After the castle fell, Tadatoshi gave Kazuma a sword made by Seki Kanemitsu and increased his stipend to 1,150 koku. The sword was one foot ten inches long, “directly tempered” and unsigned, with horizontal file markings, its fastener capped with three silver nine-star crests, while its scabbard was bronze-rimmed, lacquered gold. One of its two fastening holes was filled with lead. Tadatoshi treasured this sword and, even after he gave it to Kazuma, often borrowed it for visits to the castle.

Ordered by Mitsuhisa to lead a punitive force against the Abe, Kazuma returned to his office. There one of his colleagues whispered into his ear: “That bastard seems to have some merit, too. Mr. Hayashi has done well to put you in charge of the front gate.”

Kazuma pricked up his ears. “Do you mean Geki recommended me for this assigment?”

“Exactly. Geki said to our lord, ‘Our previous lord singled out Kazuma for promotion. Why not give him the job so he can requite that favor?’ Isn’t this a good opportunity?”

“Damn.” Kazuma knitted his brow. “All right. I’ll die in the fight,” he declared and left the office abruptly.

When he heard about Kazuma’s reaction, Mitsuhisa sent a man to Takenouchi’s house with a message, “Try not to get wounded. Complete the mission successfully.” Kazuma said, “Please inform our lord that I have received his kind words with gratitude.”

Upon hearing from a colleague that he had been given this assignment because of Geki’s recommendation, Kazuma decided to die. The decision was firm and unshakable. Geki had referred to requital of a favor, he was told. He didn’t mean to hear it, and he didn’t need to: Geki would have recommended Kazuma only by referring to that. The thought agitated Kazuma no end. Certainly, I had the honor of being promoted by our previous lord. But since my manhood ceremony I’d received no special favors among the personal attendants, of whom there were many. Receive favors everyone did, more or less. Why, then, should I be singled out for the requital of favors? The answer was obvious: I should have followed my lord in death, but I didn’t; so I’m being sent to a place where I could risk my life. I’d be glad to give up my life any time, but I wouldn’t want to die because I had failed to follow my previous lord in death. How could anyone suppose that someone like me, who wouldn’t value his life now, would have valued it as long as the end of the Rite of the First Forty-ninth Day? There was no ground for that supposition. After all, there was no clear line between those who received enough of lordly favors to oblige them to die and those who did not. I’ve continued to live because there was no suggestion to die made to any of the young samurai who, like me, served near our previous lord. If it had been all right for me to follow him in death, I would have been the first to do so. I had assumed that that was obvious to everyone. But now I’ve been stamped as one who should have died long ago, and this is excruciating. The disgrace I’ve been sullied with is of the kind that can never be washed off. Only Geki could think of putting a man to such shame. Geki is such a man. But why did our lord accept such advice? One can endure being hurt by Geki, but one cannot endure abandonment by one’s lord. When I tried to climb into the castle in Shimabara, the previous lord tried to stop me, because he wanted to prevent a mounted escort from being conspicuously among the first attack force. The present lord sent him word not to get wounded, but what was meant was different: This time, the message was that I take care of my life which I valued so. How can I be grateful for that? It’s like having an old wound whipped anew. I must die as soon as possible. Death will not wash away the disgrace, but I must die. It will be a dog’s death, but I must die.

So thinking, Kazuma could not rest. He curtly told his wife that he was ordered to lead a punitive force against the Abe, and began his preparations alone. Those who followed their lord in death faced death with calm relief, but Kazuma hastened to death to escape pain. Except for Chief Shima Tokuemon, who understood the situation and made the same decision as his master, none of the members of his house fathomed what was in Kazuma’s mind. His wife, who had married Kazuma–twenty-one this year–in the previous year, was still like a young girl and did not know what to do but wander around the house with their baby daughter in her arms.

On the night of the twentieth of the fourth month–the day before they were to break in–Kazuma washed himself with cold water, shaved the pate of his head, and perfumed his hair with a renowned incense, Hatsune, which Tadatoshi had given him. He put on a pure white garment, its sleeves tucked in with a white cord, and wore a white headband. He then had a jagged piece of paper attached to his shoulder for identification. The main sword he wore was a thirty-inch Masamori, which had been sent home as the keepsake of his ancestor after his death in battle at Amagasaki. He coupled it with the Kanemitsu granted him on his first participation in battle. At the gate his horse was neighing.

When he stepped down to the yard, holding a short spear, he tied the strings of his straw sandals masculine-style and cut off the extra ends with his dagger.

Takami Gon’emon, who was in charge of the rear gate of the Abe mansion, had originally the family name of Wada and was a descendant of Wada, Governor of Tajima, who lived in Wada, in the Province of mi. At first, the Wada family followed Gam Katahide, but in the generation of Wada Shgor they began serving the Hosokawa family. Shgor rendered distinguished service during the battles of Gifu and Sekigahara.¹⁴ He worked under Tadatoshi’s older brother, Yoichir Tadataka. When Tadataka incurred his father’s anger–because the Maeda, from which his wife had come, had left the battlefield in Osaka too soon, in the fifth year of Keich–and decided to wander around as Priest Kymu, Shgor accompanied him as far as Mt. Kya and Kyoto. In the end Sansai summoned him to Kokura and, giving him the family name of Takami, made him head guard. The land he received was worth 500 koku. Gon’emon was his son. Gon’emon did some good work during the battles in Shimabara, but because he went against a military command, he was temporarily stripped of his position. Redeemed after a while, he was made a head personal attendant. On the day of the break-in, he wore a black silk garment bearing the family crest and took out and wore the Bizen Osafune sword he had long prized. He then stepped out carrying a three-pronged spear.

Just as Takenouchi Kazuma had Shima Tokuemon under him, Takami Gon’emon had a page with him. One summer day a few years before the Abe incident occurred, the page, who was off duty, was taking a nap in his room, when a colleague of his returned from some errand with his master. The latter stripped himself naked and picked up a bucket to go to the well, but when he saw this page sleeping in the room, he said, “Do I have to return from work with my master and find you sleeping around instead of getting me water?” and kicked the page’s pillow away. The page leapt to his feet. “I’d surely have gotten you water if I’d been awake, but you didn’t have to kick my pillow away. You can’t get away with that,” he said, drew his sword, and slashed him from the head down.

Then the page calmly stood astride the man, gave him the coup de grace, went to the chief’s hut, and gave him the details. “I would have killed myself on the spot, but I thought you’d have found the whole thing inexplicable,” he said, and prepared to disembowel himself. The chief stopped him and went to Gon’emon to report to him what had happened. Gon’emon, just back from his office, had not changed his clothes yet. So he went straight to Tadatoshi’s mansion and reported the incident. Tadatoshi said, “Your page’s action is understandable. No need for disembowelment.” The page had since pledged his life to Gon’emon.

The page had a quiver on his back and a short bow in his hand as he stepped out beside his master.

The twenty-first day of the fourth month, in the nineteenth year of Kan’ei, was slightly cloudy, as often happens during wheat harvest time.

At daybreak, Takenouchi Kazuma and his men gathered before the front gate of the Yamazaki mansion where the Abe family had secluded themselves. Although the people inside had been making a good deal of noise with gongs and drums all throughout the night, now there was not a sound, as though the place were empty. The doors of the gate were closed. From the bottom leaves of the sweet oleander growing a few feet above the wood-board fence hung a cobweb adorned with dewdrops sparkling like pearls. A swallow appeared from somewhere and swooped inside the fence.

Kazuma dismounted and stood a while, sizing up the situation. Then he ordered, “Open the gate!” Two foot soldiers climbed over the fence. There was no enemy around the gate, so they destroyed the lock and took off the wooden bolt.

The next-door neighbor, Tsukamoto Matashichir, hearing Kazuma’s men open the gate, ran in over the bamboo fence whose ropes he had cut the night before. An almost daily visitor to the house, he knew its layout to the last detail. With his short spear poised, he sneaked in through the kitchen door. Of all the Abe men who had shut themselves in the main room with the doors closed so they could kill those who broke in one by one, Yagob was the first to sense someone at the rear entrance. He came out to the kitchen, holding his short spear.

When the two men confronted one another, they were so close their spear blades almost touched. “You’re Matashichir!” Yagob called out.

“It’s me. You liked to boast. I thought to check out how you fight with a spear.”

“You said it right. Come!”

They stepped back and fought for a while, but in handling the spear Matashichir was much the better. He stabbed Yagob deep in the chest. Yagob threw his spear away and started back toward the main room.

“Coward! Don’t run,” Matashichir shouted.

“No, I won’t. I’ll cut my stomach,” Yagob said and withdrew inside the main room.

That instant, there was a shout, “Uncle, fight me!” The young Shichinoj flew out like lightning and stabbed Matashichir on the thigh. Having just delivered a serious wound to his close friend, Matashichir had lost his alertness and became a victim of a boy. He threw his spear away and fell down.

Inside the gate, Kazuma deployed his men to every part of the compound. Then he went straight to the entrance. There he saw the front doors ajar. When he touched the doors to open them, Shima Tokuemon intervened and whispered agitated words into his ear: “Wait, sir. Today you’re commander in chief. Let me go first.” But no sooner did Tokuemon throw the doors open and jump in than Ichiday, waiting for just that, stabbed him in the right eye with his spear. Tokuemon staggered back against Kazuma.

“Get out of my way!” Kazuma pushed him aside and stepped in. Instantly, Ichiday and Goday stabbed him through from both flanks.

Soejima Kuh and Nomura Shob dashed in next. So did Tokuemon, despite his painful wound.

The same moment, Takami Gon’emon, who had broken in the rear gate and fought his way through the Abe retainers with his three-pronged spear, reached the main room. Chiba Sakub stepped in right after him.

The two groups dashing in from front and rear attacked with shouts and cries. Although all the sliding doors and screens had been removed, the main room was merely a thirty-mat space. Just as the horrors of a street fight are much greater than those of a battlefield, so the men fighting there, like a hundred worms piled up on a plate devouring each other, were a horrible sight indeed.

While fighting with spears anybody who came in their way, Ichiday and Goday received countless wounds all over their bodies. But they wouldn’t give up, but now, instead of spears, they were slashing with swords. Shichinoj had already fallen.

One of Takami’s men saw Tsukamoto Matashichir lying in the kitchen, his thigh stabbed, and said before going inside, “You were wounded. You’ve done excellent work. You should retreat as soon as you can.”

“If I were able to walk to retreat, I’d go in and fight,” said Matashichir bitterly and gnashed his teeth. At that moment one of his own men who had come out of anxiety for his master ran in and carried him out on his shoulder.

Another of his men, a family retainer by the name of Amakusa Heikur, guarded his master’s exit by shooting at every enemy in sight with a short bow, but was killed.

Among Takenouchi Kazuma’s men, first, Shima Tokuemon was killed, and then squad leader Soejima Kuh.

While Takami Gon’emon fought, wielding his three-pronged spear, his page with his short bow stayed close to his unguarded side, shooting at the enemy. Later, he slashed with his sword. At one point he noticed a man aiming his gun at Gon’emon. “I’ll get the bullet,” he said and stepped before Gon’emon. The bullet hit him, and he died instantly. Chiba Sakub, a squad leader who was taken from Takenouchi’s group to join Takami, was badly wounded. He managed to go to the kitchen and gulp water from the water jug there, but could not move any more.

Among the Abe family, first Yagob disemboweled himself, and then Ichiday, Goday, and Shichinoj expired from many deep wounds. Most of their retainers were killed in the fight.

Takami Gon’emon gathered the surviving men, both from the front and rear units, and had them break down the shack at the back of the Abe mansion and set fire to it. The smoke went straight up in the windless, cloudy sky and was visible from afar. Then they stamped out the fire, sprinkled water over it, and left. Chiba Sakub, who was in the kitchen, and the other badly wounded men, followed, leaning on the shoulders of their retainers or comrades. It was just about two in the afternoon.

Mitsuhisa often went to visit his chief retainers in their houses. On the twenty-first of the fourth month, when he sent out a punitive force against the Abe family, he went to Matsuno Saky’s mansion at daybreak.

Yamazaki was right across the Flower Garden where Mitsuhisa’s mansion was located. When Mitsuhisa set out from his mansion, he heard a din in that direction. “They must have broken in now,” he said as he settled in his palanquin.

When the palanquin had proceeded about a hundred yards a messenger came. It was then that Mitsuhisa learned Takenouchi Kazuma had been killed in battle.

When Takami Gon’emon led his men of the punitive force to the Matsuno mansion where Mitsuhisa was, he sent in a message that they had killed all the Abe family. Mitsuhisa offered to meet him right away and had him come round to the garden in front of the drawing room.

Gon’emon came in, pushing open the wicket attached to the fence overhung with deutzia flowers blooming pure white, and sat on the lawn, bowing low. Mitsuhisa saw him and said, “You seem to have been wounded. I appreciate your hard work.” Gon’emon’s black silk garment was smeared with blood, mottled, besides, with ashs and char that scattered when he and his men had stamped the fire out before leaving.

“No, sir, it’s just a scratch.” Gon’emon had received a hard spear thrust on the pit of his stomach, but the blade hit the mirror he had there and was deflected. The wound was no more serious than to stain a tissue paper.

Gon’emon reported each man’s work in detail. He credited the Abe’s neighbor Tsukamoto Matashichir, who single-handedly had given Yagob a fatal wound, with the most significant exploit.

“How did Kazuma do?”

“He ran in from the front gate a minute before me, and I did not have time to see him work.”

“I see. Tell the others to come into the garden.”

Gon’emon did. All, except those who were badly wounded and had already been taken home, came in and prostrated themselves on the lawn. Those who had worked really hard were sullied with blood, and those who had done nothing but help burn the shack were covered with ash. Among the latter was Hata Jday.

“Jday, how did you work?” Mitsuhisa asked him.

“Sir!” Jday responded but did not dare raise his face. He was a big man, but very much a coward. He’d lingered outside the Abe mansion during the fight and came in reluctantly only after they had set fire to the shack before leaving the place. When he was assigned to the punitive force, the swordsman Shinmen Musashi,¹⁵ seeing the man leave Mitsuhisa’s chambers, slappped him on the back and said, “You’re a lucky man! I expect you to do some good work.” Jday turned pale at this and tried to fasten his loose belt, but his hands trembling, he couldn’t do the fastening–or so they say.

Mitsuhisa stood up from his seat. “I appreciate that you all worked so hard. Go home and rest.”

The Takenouchi family was allowed to adopt a son so that the infant daughter could inherit the household,¹⁶ but the family later died out. Takami Gon’emon received a stipend increase of 300 koku, and Chiba Sakub and Nomura Shob, an increase of fifty koku each. Komeda Kenmotsu received an order and sent the group leader Tani Kuranosuke as a messenger to Tsukamoto Matashichir with his compliments. When his relatives and friends came to congratulate him, Matashichir laughed and said, “During the eras of Genki and Tensh, attacking castles and fighting an army in the field were as routine as breakfast and supper. Destroying the Abe family was as easy as having a simple, damned simple breakfast tea.” Two years later, in the first summer of Shh, when his wound was healed, Matashichir was received in audience by Mitsuhisa. After putting him in charge of ten guns, Mitsuhisa said, “If you wish to go to a hot spring to heal your wound completely, you may. I’ll also give you land for a villa outside the city; name a place you want.” Thus, Matashichir received a lot for building a house in Koike Village, in Mashiki. Behind the lot was a bamboo hill. When Mitsuhisa sent word that he could also have the hill if he wanted it, he declined the offer. Bamboos are not only useful during peace. Once a war breaks out, bundles of them are needed. So I’d feel uncomfortable owning the hill as my private property, he said. As a result, the hill was permanently entrusted to his family’s care.

Hata Jday was banished. Takenouchi Hachib, Kazuma’s older brother, had joined the punitive force on his own, but because he was not with Kazuma when the latter was killed, he was ordered to confine himself in his house for a period of time. A mounted escort’s son and Mitsuhisa’s personal attendant, who lived close to the Abe mansion, had been taken off duty, with the instruction to be on the alert for fires; so he and his father climbed on the roof of their house and put out the sparks. Later he realized that his action was contrary to Mitsuhisa’s intentions in putting him off duty, and asked to be discharged from service. Mitsuhisa said, “No, that doesn’t mean you are a coward. Be more careful in the future,” and kept him in service. When Mitsuhisa passed away, this attendant followed him in death.

The corpses of the Abe men were taken to Idenokuchi for inspection. When each man’s wounds were washed in the Shira River, the one Yagob had received when Tsukamoto Matashichir’s spear pierced his chest turned out to be superior to anybody else’s, and that added to Matashichir’s reputation.