IN the second month of the fifteenth year of Tenshō (A.D. 1587), Toyotomi Hideyoshi, who had brought the greater part of Japan under his sway, crossed over to the Island of Kyūshiū with a large army, in order to subjugate Shimazu Yoshihisa, an independent daimio governing eight of the nine provinces that form the island. The following month Gamō Ujisato, a renowned general in Hideyoshi’s army, advanced to the Castle of Ganshaku in the province of Buzen, and attacked it fiercely for three successive days. The garrison, however, offered such a stubborn resistance that little impression was made; and it seemed unlikely that the fortress would fall into the hands of the besiegers for some time. Ujisato, being a man of impetuous and fiery disposition, lost all patience, and rated his men soundly.
“Cowards!” he shouted. “How is it you are so long in taking such an insignificant place? Have you all turned women? I will take the castle single-handed!”
He dashed to the front, spurring his steed recklessly forward in the very teeth of a volley of arrows and bullets that was directed at him. But as he neared the ramparts a shot struck his horse in the abdomen causing it, with a scream of agony, to rear itself up on its hind legs and throw its rider backwards off the saddle. At the instant, the gate of the castle was flung open, and a number of men rushed out. The fallen warrior encompassed by the foe thought his end had come, when a giant clad in black armour and mounted on a great chestnut horse dashed to the rescue. With mighty strokes he cut and hewed right and left, scattering the enemy like leaves before the wind of autumn. Some fell dead beneath the hoofs of his horse, others took to their heels and regained the shelter of the walls. Nishimura Gonshirō did not trouble himself to follow the fugitives, but leaping from his charger hastened to raise his chief. Ujisato was but slightly wounded, and with Gonshirō’s help was able to mount the latter’s horse.
“A thousand thanks, my gallant fellow,” he said, gathering up the reins. “But for you I should by this time have been a dead man. I shall never forget you have saved my life this day, and it will be my great pleasure after the war to express my gratitude in some tangible form.”
The example of Gonshirō’s heroic deed seemed to put new spirit into Ujisato’s men, and with greater determination and bravery they stormed the castle. As a result in the course of a few hours the garrison was obliged to surrender, and before many days had elapsed all Kyūshiū had submitted to Hideyoshi’s rule.
When quiet was restored Hideyoshi bestowed rewards on all the daimios who had fought for him, and Ujisato was promoted to the Governorship of Matsuzaka Castle in the province of Isé with an annual income of 300,000 koku of rice.
All in their turns, and according to their degrees, Ujisato rewarded those of his vassals who had distinguished themselves under his leadership. Some were given handsome gifts; others had their stipends raised. Gonshirō who considered he had done a greater deed than any of the others, seeing that he had saved his master’s life at the risk of his own, naturally expected to receive some special favour. But greatly to his surprise and chagrin no acknowledgment was made. What could be the reason?
At first he felt no little resentment and brooded over this neglect. But after a time, being a man who cared little for gain, he let the affair fade from his mind though he still felt sore when he happened to think of it.
Meanwhile the summer had come and gone, and now the 15th of September was here. The night of all the year on which the atmosphere in Japan is most translucent and the moon shines with the greatest brilliancy. The night when men of a poetic turn sit up into the small hours composing verses on the beauty of the scene, the while they sip saké from delicate porcelain cups to aid the fickle muse. On this night therefore Ujisato gave a “moon-viewing party,” inviting a large number of his retainers to a banquet in the main hall of his castle.
The witching light of the full moon wrapt the stern old pile; the tiny ripples on the moat glistened like liquid gold; the crickets shrilled musically among the tall grasses. The sliding screens had been removed and the calm beauty without softened and impressed the hearts of the sturdy warriors inured to scenes so different of bloodshed and the din of battle. Now it was that charmed by the loveliness around them many began to compose verses in adoration of the scene, and Ujisato’s were among the best. But after a time the saké of which they partook, not sparingly, went to their heads, and it is not surprising that some of the would-be poets became a little elevated. The talk turned to tales of war and one and another recounted deeds of prowess performed by himself in the face of danger and difficulty. Nor was the host, Lord Ujisato himself, above a little boasting in his cups and it was thus he spoke:—
“Listen, my friends,” he began. “Do you remember the fierce assault of the Castle of Ganshaku at the beginning of this year? The mere mention of it makes my blood boil! We attacked the castle three days without a break yet could make no headway. You men lost heart. To rouse you to a final effort I rode up to the gate alone—alone, in the face of the enemy amid a perfect hailstorm of missiles. A bullet struck my horse and he fell—I under him. Seizing the opportunity the enemy poured out and surrounded me nine or ten deep—I determined to sell my life dear” ... here the narrator paused to wipe his face from which the perspiration was streaming from the energy with which he spoke. Gonshirō’s heart leapt, he bent forward his face eager—now, at last his lord was about to reward his patient waiting and acknowledge his service before all men.
“To sell my life dear,” repeated Ujisato with gleaming eyes. “So I fought as I had never done before with the courage of despair. Some I cut down, others I put to flight, finally I succeeded in remounting my horse and rode into the castle before the enemy could close the gates against me. Seeing my intrepid action you were inspired by my spirit, and following closely on my heels, you all did your best and the fortress was taken.”
Thus did Ujisato omit all mention of Gonshirō and overlook his gallant deed. This base ingratitude was more than the faithful retainer could bear!
“Gonshirō begs permission to speak a word, your lordship,” he said brusquely.
“By all means,” assented Ujisato. “What is it?”
“Forgive me, your lordship, but what you said just now is hardly correct.”
“What! You imply I spoke an untruth!”
“Yes, your lordship. You talk as if you had ridden into the castle unaided. That is not true. When you fell from your horse and were surrounded by the enemy’s men I hastened to your rescue and it was my horse on which I assisted you to mount. By my timely help you were enabled to ride into the castle. It is but bare justice that you should amend your statement and acknowledge that you were saved from certain death by Gonshirō, your lordship.”
This bold speech caused no little stir amongst the guests. Many of those present could bear witness to the truth of the rough soldier’s words. They waited with bated breath for what would follow.
Ujisato was moved to make a frank avowal. It had long been in his mind to requite Gonshirō’s great service by a suitable reward, and it was his intention to appoint him governor of the castle of Tagé which was a small fortress attached to the large castle of Matsuzaka where he himself resided. But Tagé Castle occupied a naturally strong site and stood in relation to the greater castle in such a situation that if a rebellion broke out in it, or if it were taken by an enemy, the safety of Matsuzaka would be immediately threatened. It was of the first importance, therefore, that it should be placed in the hands of an absolutely trustworthy man, and the cautious Ujisato wished to be quite sure of the loyalty of Gonshirō and to test him to the utmost before putting him in a position of so much importance and responsibility.
“Silence, Gonshirō!” thundered the daimio, keeping up the part he had decided to play a little longer. “How dare you say such a thing of your lord! Liar! I have no recollection of being saved by you or by any one else.”
“Strange, my lord! Your words at the time were, ‘A thousand thanks, Gonshirō! But for you I should have been dead by now. I shall never forget what you have done and after the war I will give you a reward.’ I want no reward—I am a plain soldier with neither wife nor child—but it is unbearable that you should thus ignore my service. It is an undoubted fact, my lord, that I did save your life and thus opened the way for our troops to take the castle of Ganshaku.”
“It is a lie! You did not save my life.”
“It is the truth! I did save you!”
“You are drunk; you do not know what you are saying. I repeat, you did not save my life!”
Gonshirō’s blood was up. He threw discretion to the winds.
“Ingrate and liar! I did save your life!”
“A lie!”
Ujisato frowned darkly and seemed about to have the daring offender punished as he deserved, but apparently changing his mind, he laughed good-humouredly and:—
“Look here, Gonshirō,” he said, “you insist that you saved me; I deny it. At this rate there can be no end of the matter for each holds to his own opinion. But to settle the question once for all let us have a wrestling bout, you and I. If I am beaten I will admit that you saved me as you aver, and prostrating myself before you with both hands on the ground I will humbly beg your pardon for what I have said. That will be as great an humiliation as removing one’s helmet on the field of battle and surrendering to the foe. On the other hand, should you be thrown you will be branded as a liar and ordered to commit seppuku. Will you wrestle with me on those conditions?”
The guests were amazed. One whispered to another.
“What a proposal!”
“Monstrously unfair!”
“One contestant risks his life, the other a mere apology!”
“What are the chances?”
“Gonshirō is the better man.”
“There I disagree with you—our lord has the greater skill. I wager his lordship will win.”
“Gonshirō will never accept such conditions—they are too unequal!”
While these whispers were going round Gonshirō with head bent took an instant’s thought. Then he looked up, stern defiance in his eye.
“My lord,” he said, “I take up your challenge! I accept your conditions unfair though they be. I am a samurai and as such shrink from no danger. Strong in the truth of my cause I will wrestle with you.”
“Good! At once. Prepare!”
“Your lordship, I am ready.”
A space was cleared in the centre of the hall whilst the two champions divested themselves of all unnecessary clothing. Then the struggle began, and being well-nigh equally matched for some time neither gained any advantage over his opponent. At last, however, with a loud shout Gonshirō managed to twist his body, and by a dexterous movement raised his adversary on his shoulders, to throw him by a supreme effort down on to the mats at a distance of eight or nine feet. Ujisato swooned, and great was the consternation with which all rushed to his assistance. Restoratives were administered and to the relief of the company consciousness soon returned. The defeated combatant was able, leaning on the arm of an attendant, to retire to his own private apartments. The banquet, of course, was abandoned, most of the guests returning home. Gonshirō left the castle in great dejection and exasperation.
Gonshirō threw him by a supreme effort down on to the mats
“What a fool my lord has shown himself,” were his thoughts. “I could never have conceived it of him. I will remain in his service no longer. It is not on this place alone that the sun shines. A man of my prowess can find a billet anywhere. Heigh ho! I will go and seek service with some other daimio—some one I can respect more than I can my Lord Ujisato.”
Having made up his mind it did not take Gonshirō long to get ready. At midnight he stole secretly away intending never to return.
The next morning all the samurai made their appearance at the castle to enquire after the health of their lord—all that is, but Gonshirō. The daimio who had quite recovered himself noticed his absence and calling Gamō Gonzaemon, one of his karō, or chief councillors, he asked what had become of him.
“I beg to inform, your lordship,” replied the karō, “I have just heard a report that he has not been seen this morning and it is surmised that he has run away in consequence of the unfortunate occurrence of last evening.”
“If that is true,” exclaimed Ujisato, “I am indeed sorry. I did but dissimulate in order to test his fidelity, and if my words have lost me a good retainer I shall be much grieved. Order a search to be made and when he is found bring him instantly before me. Tell him I did but jest and that he shall have a liberal reward for the service he did me. Go at once, Gonzaemon; he cannot have gone far.”
So the missing samurai was sought for in every likely and unlikely place, but without success. Nothing was seen or heard of him for many a long day.
An emaciated, shabbily dressed rōnin5 carrying two swords with worn and ragged hilt-strings and rusty scabbards, and having on his dusty feet well-worn straw sandals, walked up, with the swagger peculiar to his caste, to the front door of Gonzaemon’s residence.
“Insolent fellow!” cried the attendant whose business it was to answer the door. “This is not the place for you. If you would ask alms go to the back.”
“I am no beggar to crave for alms,” replied the stranger proudly. “I am one Nishimura Gonshirō, till three years ago in the service of Lord Ujisato. I have come to speak a word with your master. Kindly inform his honour of my visit.”
Gonzaemon was delighted to hear of the return of the long vainly sought absentee. To the disgust of the usher who looked with disdain on the dirty and travel-worn appearance of the guest, he was admitted into the inner guest chamber. After a cordial greeting Gonzaemon asked:—
“And how have you been getting along since you left us so suddenly, Gonshirō?”
“But badly, your honour. They say ‘a faithful servant never serves two masters,’ but my case has been different. You see, I forsook my lord and of my own will became a rōnin. Hoping to enter the service of a more honourable chief I travelled from one province to another. But I was always unfortunate. Those whom I would have chosen to serve would have none of me—a deserter from another clan; those who would have accepted me were not good enough to suit my taste. After long and bitter experiences I have come to the conclusion that there is no daimio so worthy of allegiance as my former master, Lord Gamō. So I have come back to see if he will overlook my bad conduct in the past and let me re-enter his ranks. Of course, I do not expect to receive my former pay. I shall be grateful and more than satisfied if he will let me wait upon him as a humble attendant. Will you be so kind as to intercede for me?”
“You have done right to come back,” answered the karō, kindly. “Sooth to say, our lord has greatly regretted his foolish jest and has caused strict search to be made to discover your whereabouts and if possible get you to return. He will rejoice to hear my news. Wait here and refresh yourself while I go and tell him.”
Gonzaemon did not keep his visitor waiting long. He told Gonshirō that his lordship was pleased that he had come back and desired to see him at once.
“Excuse my mentioning such a thing,” continued, the karō, “but your garments are worn and travel-stained. May I not accommodate you with a change of apparel before you present yourself before his lordship?”
“On no account,” returned the samurai. “You are very kind, but allow me to go as I am. My shabby condition will give my lord some idea of the hardships I have undergone as a rōnin.”
“As you please, my independent fellow!”
The two men so different in aspect went up to the castle and waited in an ante-room till summoned to Lord Gamō’s presence.
“Ah, Gonshirō!” he called out genially. “I am mightily glad to see you again. You were too hasty in running away. I was but teasing you and you took my words in bitter earnest. I hope you will take your old place and serve me as faithfully as before.”
“Your kind words overwhelm me, your lordship,” said Gonshirō humbly. “I have no words in which to express my sense of your clemency. I will henceforth serve you to the uttermost of my ability.”
The good-natured Gonzaemon was delighted to witness this reconciliation between chief and vassal. The daimio ordered a feast to be prepared in honour of the occasion, and presently, over the good cheer, they all became very merry. It was not long before Ujisato began, as on a former occasion, to talk rather boastfully of his exploits and his prowess on the field.
“Gonshirō, when I wrestled with you that time, we all remember, I was beaten because I was half intoxicated,” he said. “Since then my health has much improved and I am much heavier and stronger than before. On the other hand, your many hardships have greatly reduced you and you are a mere shadow of your former self. Should we try a bout now, you would have no chance at all.”
It might have been thought that learning wisdom from bitter experience Gonshirō would have had the sense to agree with his lord’s words, and to have said “That is very true, your lordship. It was but by a fluke that I won before; I should have not the slightest chance now.” But foolish fellow that he was, he forgot everything but the supposed aspersion on his strength and skill which he could not allow to pass unchallenged.
“I am very thin as your lordship truly observes,” he said bluntly, “but my strength is unabated. It is fitting that a samurai should be stronger than his chief. My muscles were hardened in many a field of battle and in friendly contests—they are like wires. Excuse me, but I could not be thrown though five—nay ten—men of your weight should set upon me at the same time.”
“What, braggart! You still boast of your strength! Well, if you are so sure of yourself you shall wrestle with me again.”
“With pleasure, your lordship!” said the undaunted samurai.
“Get ready!”
“I am ready, your lordship.”
With these words the two men rose and prepared for the struggle. Gonzaemon wondered at their infatuation. For years Ujisato had regretted the act that had cost him a faithful retainer. For years Gonshirō had wandered a rōnin, homeless, and often without food. Chief and vassal had become reconciled and all was going well, when, for the sake of a little paltry pride, this happy state of things was again endangered and a permanent estrangement might be the result. He strove to remonstrate but neither would listen. All he could do was to advise Gonshirō, by dumb signs, to allow himself to be beaten; and Gonshirō coming too late to a better understanding of his rash conduct answered in the same manner, “I will.”
Satisfied that he had averted a catastrophe, the karō offered to act as umpire, standing up with an open fan in his hand. After the preliminary moves the combatants grappled, and a hard tussle it was. Gonshirō honestly intended to let his master have the satisfaction of winning. “But,” thought he, “if I let myself be thrown too easily my lord will suspect something; besides I cannot let him think me quite such a weakling as he would make out.” Warming to the fight he again thought, “If I allow myself to be beaten, having strength to win, I should be a contemptible creature selling himself for the sake of his place and pay. Nothing disgraces a samurai so much as to be a flatterer. ‘A man lives for but one generation, but a good name lives forever.’ A good name is above all material rewards. I cannot pretend defeat. I must do my best at all costs and come what may, throw my lord again.”
Hereupon he braced his feet and bent his body, and with a loud shout shouldered his opponent, and threw him down three mats off just as he had done before.
The umpire never doubting that Gonshirō had followed his counsel and that it was he who was thrown, ran forward, exclaiming:—
“Well done, my lord! I never saw a better throw!”
He had no time to say more before he found out his mistake. What was his dismay to find that Gonshirō was again the victor and that it was his lord who had thus a second time suffered a humiliating defeat. It was too exasperating! The same story over again.
Now that his excitement had cooled down somewhat, Gonshirō was covered with shame and mortification at what he had done.
Ujisato rose without assistance and stamping his foot as though in rage stalked off to an inner apartment.
“Fool that I am, I have done it again!” cried Gonshirō in despair. “In spite of your advice, in spite of my own determination, my vanity got the upper hand and forgetting all else I committed this unpardonable offence a second time. I will disembowel myself and I beg you to do me the honour to witness the act!”
So saying the unhappy man took up the short sword he had laid aside and was on the point of plunging it into his body, when the sliding door was hastily pushed open and Ujisato ran forward just in time to arrest his arm.
“Hold, hold! Gonshirō,” he cried. “You are always too impetuous. I do not blame you for this—it is the true samurai spirit—the same spirit that in spite of want, of hunger and rags, disdains to flatter for the sake of gain. My brave fellow, I honour you for this! It might have been that the hardships of the last three years had changed your character—that you might now have been willing to sell your honour for my favour and worldly prosperity—so I feigned drunkenness and a boastful spirit that once more I might challenge you to fight and thus test you to the full. You have stood the test nobly. You disdained to flatter even at such a cost. You are indeed the pattern of all that a samurai should be! In recognition of your signal service to me at the storming of the Castle of Ganshaku I appoint you Governor of the Castle of Tagé with a stipend of 10,000 koku. As a reward for throwing me to-day in the face of every temptation to do otherwise I give you a further stipend of 1,000 koku; and in acknowledgment of the defeat I sustained at your hands three years ago you shall have yet another 1,000. Here is your writ of appointment.”
At this unexpected magnanimity on the part of his lord even Gonshirō, hardened warrior though he was, could not restrain his tears.
In the years following, Gonshirō served his chief, Lord Gamō, faithfully and with devotion. When Ujisato was poisoned through the wiles of an adversary his loyal vassal killed himself in order to accompany his dearly loved master to Hades.