OR two days the fleet carrying the flags of four foreign nations had bombarded Mori’s intrenchments on the heights of Shimonoseki. Towards the evening of the second day, Mori cast up the results.

Guns dismounted by the foreign fire lay in heaps of dÉbris, the dead and the wounded impeded the steps of the living, and fully half of the guns were out of action. Yet steadily and fiercely the foreign vessels, sweeping across the fort’s line of fire in a wide circle, one by one emptied their guns into the fortress. Only a third of the garrison now remained to Mori.

Again the Prince drew from his breast Jiro’s brief letter, sent to him by Oguri, in charge of the Choshui fortress, whither it had gone from Kioto.

“My lord,” wrote Jiro, “your honorable family, together with the two cadet families of Nagate and Suwo, has been stripped of all its titles. An order has been issued for every loyal clan to march against you in your southern stronghold. They are sending a vast army against you. Be warned. It has already departed for your province. Yet a little cheer—a small light appears to me. The Shogun’s troops, my lord, are garbed in Japanese fighting attire. They are, moreover, far from being a united or happy body of men. There is sore dissatisfaction and unrest among them. Many dislike the prospect of the long journey to your province, many are secretly opposed to the chastisement, many Kioto men are entirely unfit for service. If you will permit your insignificant vassal to suggest, I would remark that it will be well for your highness now to avail yourself of your many years of labor in the perfection of the training of your troops in the arts of Western warfare. When the shogunate troops finally reach the south, take advantage of their weakness.”

It was the month following Mori’s disastrous expedition to Kioto, and the letter was now many days old. As Mori bent his head in restoring the letter to its place, a dull impact shook the fortress. A shell from a heavy foreign gun, striking the long cannon erected by the youth Jiro at the previous bombardment, bursting, rolled the bronze tube from the carriage and swept it into a little knot of pioneers, crushing and killing the majority of them outright.

A bitter smile, torn from the heart of the commander, curled his lips.

“Having defied the ‘civilized’ world, I little fear the shogunate,” he said; “and yet I cannot spend more time here. Our guns are dismantled. That is an omen for retreat. It was Jiro’s gun, and here is Jiro’s letter.”

Summoning his officers, the Prince gave the order to evacuate the works. Horses were attached to such of the guns as were worth saving. Then, with these in the rear, the remnant of the Shimonoseki garrison began the march to the Choshui fortress.

Upon rejoining his chief in the latter’s private apartment, Oguri had news to impart.

“It is a strange army, truly,” he said, “that the Shogun has sent against us. They are encamped near the highway, a good day’s journey north of us.”

“A strange army, you say?” inquired Mori, mindful of Jiro’s letter.

“Ay. Though all the clans were ordered to march against us, but few have done so, and they are sick, silly fellows, growling at having to leave the court and its pleasures.”

“How are they armed? With rifles?”

“Some.”

“Artillery?”

“The pieces taken from us in Kioto.”

Mori was lost in reflection for some moments. Then:

“Let all retire to rest at once.”

It was the middle of the afternoon.

Mori added, without pausing to explain to his puzzled chief lieutenant the reason of his strange order: “At dusk report to me.”

However large an army the Shogun might have sent against the men of Choshui, the fortress defenders with its attendant army went to their unaccustomed rest without the slightest fear. The fortress might now well be considered impregnable. In addition to its regular defensive works, constructed immediately upon the return of Mori from his melancholy wedding-day, there were now a deep moat of great width constructed about the whole region of the fortress, gun-factories, and the works built by the Prince of Satsuma.

All that afternoon the army of Mori slept. The first hour of darkness saw a departure from the fortress. First rode six companies of horsemen, from whose body scouts were thrown out. Next marched two thousand infantry, all with rifles. They wore no heavy armor, and as their company commanders gave their orders, their tactics were seen to be modelled upon European forms. Finally, in the rear lumbered sixty field-pieces. Oguri rode with the cavalry, directing the route of the army. Close behind him was Toro, who, since the affair of Kioto, was on intimate terms of good-fellowship with the chief lieutenant.

Mori, attended at a distance by his staff, rode in the centre of the infantry division. The entire direction of the current routine he left to his subordinates, riding moodily apart from all. The men marched with firm and light step. On their own soil they were more assured and hopeful of the issue.

“Oguri,” asked Toro, as in perfect quiet they advanced with their cavalry—“Oguri, how may I atone for Kioto?”

“By following my orders closely,” answered the serious Oguri. “You, with the cavalry, are upon no account to charge before cannonading begins.”

“I swear by the god of war I will not,” promised Toro.

“You must move to the west at least four miles, throwing out your scouts regularly.”

“I will. Only give me the chance. Was not I responsible for the failure at Kioto?” said Toro, his face quivering in spite of himself.

“Yes and no,” said Oguri; “but, at all events, his highness has not held it against you. He told me that after-events justified you, since the enemy had artillery at your gate.”

“But he allowed me no chance to explain that I ordered the pioneers back when I heard their artillery being brought up. I wanted to check them at once.”

“The Prince has nothing but affection for you,” said Oguri.

“Ah!” cried Toro, in delight.

The other smiled, half paternally, half reprovingly, at the enthusiasm of youth.

“But you must restrain yourself during the first half of your manoeuvre,” said the chief lieutenant; “during the latter part you may give free rein to your impetuosity.”

As the first sharp light of the September day began to make visible objects along the highway, Oguri held out his hand to Toro.

“Now go,” he said, “and remember all I have said to you. Now is your opportunity.”

Toro dashed a sleeve to his face. Then, turning to his cavalry, he raised his sword in command.

“Forward!”

Sharply turning, the six companies wheeled due east, to disappear in the distance. The main body advanced for two hours. Then Oguri saw that Toro had reached the spot settled upon in their plan of battle.

Mori, leaving the centre, came briskly up with his staff, to assume the ordering of the formation. The infantry were set out in two close ranks. Back of them, in the centre, the sixty field-pieces were assembled, their horses tethered close by.

“Scouts!” called Mori to Oguri.

Scouts and skirmishers were thrown out. All rested upon their arms.

The place was a broad and level plateau, through whose middle the highway ran. Back of Mori’s artillery rose a steady height which the army had crossed. Facing the force, resting upon its arms, the plateau stretched out for a mile until a sharp descent came into view. Up this the army of the bakufu must climb, since the great highway was also there.

It was a time of idleness for Mori’s troops, until towards noon, when the outposts reported to the main body:

“The enemy is approaching.”

Mori issued a number of orders, the effect of which was instantly seen. The artillery horses were attached to the guns, the infantry closed ranks. All stood at arms.

Oguri approached the Prince.

“Shall I send the guns to sweep them down before they can gain the plateau?” he asked, in excitement, as the natural advantages of the place seized upon him.

“No, let them reach the plain and form in their best order. I wish to crush them completely.”

Even when the first ranks of the enemy appeared, Mori remained inactive. They formed quickly and advanced. Still Mori remained impassive.

When the bakufu troops had advanced half of the mile separating the two armies, Mori, turning upon the little eminence, whispered in the ear of his youngest lieutenant. The young man rode off at full speed to the artillery.

A moment more and the lines of infantry split apart to allow the passage of forty guns. At full gallop they rushed towards the enemy, sending up great clouds of dust from the dry plain as they sped on. Their carriages swayed from side to side without disturbing the pose of the impassive men seated there. The postilions lashed their horses.

Mori faced his staff. He smiled with a quiet smile.

“Now we shall see, my lords, how the line holds.”

The officers addressed, thinking he referred to the cannonading, looked for an unexpected fire from the batteries. None came. Straight and true towards the heart of the enemy’s lines, the artillery, drawn by foaming horses, rushed. The enemy’s lines held. But a hundred yards separated them. It held at eighty; it wavered; at sixty—it broke.

As if in answer to his unheard command, his flying batteries whirled in irregular curves, stopped, unlimbered, fired, then with the speed of wings were off again, this time in retreat.

Again Mori’s infantry lines parted. Out went the twenty remaining guns, straight for the enemy.

Mori’s lips poured out a stream of orders. His staff flew over the ground. The whole army advanced to support the artillery attack, while the boomerang batteries were recovered.

“To the left wing,” cried Mori to Oguri.

Oguri placed himself to the left of the centre, while Mori took the right. Still in one compactly joined front, the infantry advanced.

“Now, now,” moaned Oguri. “Toro—where is Toro?”

As the line advanced, the artillery, having reloaded, bore down again upon the enemy’s centre, pounding it.

The infantry neared the bakufu. Mori despatched an officer to silence the batteries.

Now was the crucial moment. Broken and scattered like a herd of untrained cattle was the bakufu’s centre.

A cheer sounded in the enemy’s rear. Just at the proper moment Toro’s cavalry charged the rear, dashing through the centre.

Now a movement of division took place in the forces of Mori. Oguri’s left divided on the centre and swung to the west, while Mori’s right swung eastward. The artillery became two corps, one for each of the divisions; the cavalry, divided, also followed the direction of the two leaders.

Mori’s forces had sundered the centre of the bakufu and were rolling up on either side, driving in two opposite directions the immense army of the shogunate.

As panic and fear spread through the poor-spirited forces of the bakufu, the cavalry withdrew to pursue fugitives. Mori’s infantry in its two divisions was now sufficient for the isolating and destroying of the two segments of the enemy.

At last it was done. The forces of the shogunate were routed or destroyed at the first battle.

With every mark of his favor, Mori received Toro into his circle of officers. Toro’s face, black and grimy from the smoke of cannon and the dust of action and the road, nevertheless was shining.

“My lords,” said Mori, “we are now at the crucial time in our career. We must advance instantly upon the capital. This time no small force will be sufficient. The entire army must accompany us to Kioto. Oguri, you take the cavalry. You know the country well. Ride forward to Kioto at full speed. Then throw out a long skirmish line and capture every fugitive from the bakufu, that the news of our advance may not reach Kioto. We shall give the depleted army of the shogunate now in Kioto a noble surprise.”

Mori drew Toro to him.

“Return thou, Toro, to the fortress. Take every available man, leave only the company of the governor of the fortress, and march speedily to join me on the highway.”