From the recording of Shibusawa’s birth in the Keidzu, the daimyo’s great book, until he had passed sixteen (the average age of discretion in Japan), there was but little in his life that is of interest so far as this story is concerned. Maido was always solicitous about the child’s care, and took every precaution to have him taught only such ideas as were in accord with his ancestors’ and the preconceived notions of the shogun’s government.

The son inherited from his father much of his stalwartness and determination, and from his mother something of those finer qualities, tenderness and forbearance, which combined at an early age to quicken in him a deeper sense and insure a broader scope of life. He evinced at an early age an untiring devotion to his studies and to a research for truth; and all the many castle buildings were soon even more familiar to him than to Maido, and he knew well the history, the uses, and the purposes of each. The castle ramparts were his playgrounds, and each swordsman and every archer was a slave indeed.

Either in company or alone he had traversed all the macadam roads, leading from village to village and province to province; and in palace or house, from city to country, he knew the people and they knew him, and as he grew older they learned to love and respect him as they did Maido himself. Nor was he content with what he saw and heard at home, but as he grew he began to thirst for a knowledge of the outer world; though in this he had been discreet as regards his father, for however ambitious his desires he had not once expressed a wish. Maido knew too well that there were more peace and contentment and less crime and misery at home than elsewhere, and very wisely wished his son to be kept from too close a discernment until he had arrived at maturer years.

Shibusawa’s desire to go, however, finally grew into a determination. Whereupon, as was usual in such matters, he took Okyo into his confidence, at least to the extent of consulting him how best to frustrate his father without disobeying him. Now Okyo reasoned that as Shibusawa had not asked the privilege of going he had never been admonished to stay; so, after consulting Fudo, god of enlightenment, thus easing his conscience, he advised that it was best to make ready and go, without endangering their chances by asking permission of anybody.

Shibusawa, though doubtful of its propriety, readily conceded the wisdom of Okyo’s reasoning, for above all other things he would not disobey: strategy, while not characteristic of him, he deemed the proper thing, as it was no more an inborn trait than a national virtue. Early that autumn, accordingly, he began to curtail his expenses as much as he could without arousing suspicion, and to save from his allowance a fund with which to defray the cost of their contemplated trip. The time of starting was a difficult thing to determine, as under ordinary circumstances Shibusawa was almost certain to be recognised while passing the gates, and unless a very good reason was apparent to the guards such a circumstance would have been immediately reported to the castle. Here Okyo again displayed his judgment by advising the day after Nobori-iche, boys’ festival (May 5th), it being the day upon which Maido would start upon his regular visit into the country. This trip generally lasted from two to four weeks, and ever since Shibusawa’s birth the starting had been put off until this particular date,—as often, when the boy had grown older, he was taken along; yet his going was never compulsory or even urged against his pleasure.

When the allotted time came Shibusawa again started off with his father and suite, but before they had gone far he suddenly changed his mind and pleaded to be allowed to return. Maido, though disappointed in the loss of his son’s company and not the least suspicious of a serious motive, readily granted permission, and Shibusawa lost no time in joining Okyo at a certain agreed place, where the former quickly changed his silken kimono and lacquered shoes for the regular dress of a pilgrim, while the latter with less trouble donned the same kind of garb. Thus disguised they passed through the city and escaped into the country, in a direction opposite to that taken by his father, and travelled along unmolested until they had gone entirely out of Maido’s domain and into the territory of a hostile neighbour.

Having thus placed himself beyond pursuit, Shibusawa despatched a message to his father explaining fully his intentions and assuring him of his safety. Maido was, thereupon, overwhelmed with anxiety, yet he made no attempt to follow. He realised that his only hope of seeing him again lay in the boy’s own discretion and voluntary return; pursuit would have been the means of disclosing his identity to a bitter and jealous rival, and thenceforth he must be in danger of death and possible torture.

The getting off without discovery had so occupied and stimulated Shibusawa that he had as yet given but little thought to the dangers and hardships which confronted him. True, he was acquainted with laws and customs at home, and was not altogether unfamiliar with those in force elsewhere, yet he quickly discovered that the spirit and regulations in a country continually at war are necessarily very different from those of one where quiet and industry prevail. However, he had set out for a definite purpose and he did not mean to lose courage, nor let any obstacle stand in the way of accomplishing what he had undertaken. He had chosen the one disguise that would make excuse and enable him to pass through the country, provided he travelled from temple to temple and shrine to shrine, the proper business of a pilgrim. And as Okyo had had at home some experience of this kind he at first relied upon him to lead the way and avoid any serious conflict with the numerous police, guards, and spies who infested the region which they were about to explore. He trusted to his father’s good judgment to make no attempt to follow; yet to be entirely safe he chose, for the moment, to avoid Kyoto, and the more noted shrines of that locality, and to keep to the westward and overland toward Shimonoseki and Nagasaki, in the extreme west and south.

Wandering about almost at will and without undue interference they visited all of the principal shrines and places, including, on the return trip, Kyoto, Nara, and Kamakura in the far east. It was now almost Kawabisaki, the Day of the Opening of the River (July twenty-fifth)—at Tokyo, the residence seat of the shogun—and as Shibusawa had never witnessed a celebration of the local autumn holiday he very much desired to join in the coming festivities. Hence by special effort and by hastily passing some of the minor places of interest they reached the capital city late on the second day preceding the gala ceremonies.

They were surprised upon their arrival, however, to find that they were none too soon, and that the rush of pilgrims and traders already made it difficult of obtaining quarters close to the main entrance at the palace grounds, the much coveted place of rendezvous. As their expenses had hitherto been even lighter than expected, Shibusawa was still provided with ready funds, and he now proposed to get as near the main approach as he could without seeming impertinent, and as a matter of convenience, as well as respect, to secure the best accommodations consistent with their apparent stations. Thus they finally established themselves at the Look-See tea house, a favourite hostelry for the better class of pilgrims, and were assigned quarters on the top floor plainly in view of the gates and directly on the line of march.

This noted caravansary did not differ much from the rest of the two-storied open-sided thatch-roofed houses resembling hay-stacks on stilts that lined both sides of the narrow streets which emerged closely from the outer entrance at the palace enclosure. Within the house, in the broad and airy tea rooms below, or on the soft matted floors above, these jolly transient and sometimes happy wits would sit or lounge discussing, over a cup of tea or a bowl of sake, the topics of the day or the gossip of their particular neighbourhood. Without, the brilliant lights, the gaily dressed, the sound of the koto,[6] the song of the geishas,[7] the clatter of shoes, the parley of tradesmen, the chatter of voices, the endless round of life from early morning till late at night, might well have turned the heads and emptied the pockets of the thirsty throngs who ever crowded the happy-go-lucky place. Much of all this could be distinctly seen and heard from Shibusawa’s apartments in the second story, fronting the plaza, nor did he lose an opportunity, for he was there to see and learn as well as to rest and enjoy himself.

Thus he remained quiet and observant, without venturing upon the street, until the evening of the second day after their arrival. In the meantime Okyo had been sent out to reconnoitre the principal places and the liveliest dancing girls, in which he was materially assisted by an Osaka merchant who occupied an adjoining room. Thereupon, after a sup at the restaurant and a quiet smoke on the floor, they all sauntered off in quest of such pleasures and excitement as the night might afford.

As this was the last night before the grand parade the streets were unusually crowded and the buying was brisk. Now more than at any other time the servants and retainers and their families were permitted to come outside the walled enclosure and into the streets in quest of trinkets and gewgaws with which to ornament and bedeck themselves on the following day; the chance to elbow these favoured ones, probably more than a desire to buy, brought there many of the city’s curiously inclined; the opportunity afforded the guests, emptied the numerous inns; and all together, when mingled under myriads of bright lanterns, amid the tinsel and the noise, it was a sight most glaring and intensely interesting.

Shibusawa and Okyo had edged their way along for some time and until they had passed through the main shopping districts and into the nokodos’ (marriage brokers’) quarters, with its barren little stalls, narrow doors, and large gaudy sign-poles projecting like charred remnants of a burned brush patch. Here there were girls in silks and girls in rags, all being dragged alike, one after another, in long rows, by mothers in need of ready cash, before the several nokodos, who were each and all haggling and quarrelling over the price of this or the qualities of that one; always closing the bargain if closed at all with some ejaculation expressing great sorrow at having paid too much or received too little for the “honourable unhandsome one.” Shibusawa looked on for a while not so much at the formality, for that was a common thing, but at the attitude of the parties, which impressed him deeply. He could understand the brokers’ motive, as there are always those who are designed to thrive on the weakness or misfortune of others—especially when the law makes such a business legitimate or possible. The mothers he divined to be mostly the victims of too generous self-indulgence; who were now hardened by necessity and excused by custom. But the daughters—why their complacency? Was it a decree of law or of love that caused these young maidens, some of them beautiful, attractive, or intelligent, to exercise the most stoical indifference while the mother was bargaining them off at the best price obtainable? As Shibusawa passed them by, or stood and looked, his heart throbbed and he almost said aloud:

“Can this be God’s will?”

Moving on with some difficulty they soon came to a place a trifle more pretentious than others, where they unconsciously entered and pushed their way close to the nokodo who sat on the floor at the opposite side of the room. After several offerings had been scanned and pinched and jostled, then bought or passed, a middle-aged woman of more than ordinary presence first hesitated, then advanced and bowed to the bejewelled broker, whose keen, sharp eyes squinted under a narrow, wrinkled brow. A rosy-cheeked, innocent young daughter of fourteen stood nestled at her mother’s side, blushing, though erect. Shibusawa stood contemplating not the persons but the act, and when the mother had made her best plea and was about to accept the price offered his strong frame shook, his face whitened, and he resolutely said in a clear voice:

“No; I will give you three hundred yens (dollars) besides an additional one hundred to bear the charge.”

The nokodo was more than pleased to get the lawful commission without assuming any risk, and in consequence drew up the proper bill of sale from Torimas, mother of Shiyoganai, to Shibusawa, a pilgrim.

It had been specified and provided that Shibusawa should be the lawful owner of Shiyoganai for a period of three years from that date, and that in consideration of the extra one hundred yens the child should remain the charge of her mother. When properly signed, sealed, and delivered Shibusawa paid over the money and carefully folded the document inside his girdle, while he and Okyo then went their way and the mother and daughter returned to their home.