PON his arrival in Yedo, Keiki made use of every precaution his ingenuity could devise, that the Imperialists might not discover his presence in the capital of the Shogun’s government. His approach to the city had been attended only by Toro and Jiro, but during the last stage of the journey the three had separated, entering the city from opposite directions to meet in an isolated quarter near the water-front. Here the Imperialist party found it advantageous to maintain a small establishment whose squalid exterior gave no promise of the comparative comfort to be enjoyed beyond the threshold by those in possession of the pass-word.

From this house the movements and plans, the thoughts even, of the shogunate government in its own Yedo capital were observed and reported to those seeking the return of rightful sovereignty to the Mikado in his Kioto capital. Here at all hours of the night came men in mean dress, whose bearing, though consciously abased to that of merchants or laborers, was unmistakably that of the noble; here came strange, imperious young men who might pose as water-carriers, but whose hands sought an imaginary sword-belt at the least obstacle, and slight youths whose loose garments too poorly hid the curves of feminine figures. Of late the activity and the going to and fro of these persons had increased, but apparently without exciting the attention of the municipal authorities.

Although the young Prince of Mori had employed all artifice in gaining the Yedo headquarters of his party, yet he was surprised to note that his person attracted scarcely any attention. His position of peril, and his naturally observant mind, on guard to catch the slightest suspicious augury, would have led him to exaggerate any apparently hostile glance. Everywhere, the sole topic was of the foreigners, their strange behavior, their stated purposes, their mysterious ways, and their utter indifference to all Japanese usage.

When Keiki had been greeted by his fellow-Imperialists, and he had described to them the state of his southern resources, they in turn gave him such information as they had concerning the foreigners, whose arrival had obscured the future of their operations against the shogunate. The Prince of Echizen, temporarily in charge of the headquarters, reported in detail to his military superior the events which he had not yet described in his regular despatches to the head of the Mori family.

“I was unable, my lord, to send you further news,” he said, “beyond the mere verbal report communicated by the Lord of Nagato before your departure.”

The foreigners, he went on to say, had been on the coast some days now. They had first appeared in the bay of Yedo.

“Why were they not sent to Nagasaki?” demanded Keiki. “They should have been told that all foreign affairs are administered from that port.”

“Ah,” returned Echizen, “they are dealing with the bakufu, not the Emperor.”

“Proceed, I beg you.”

“When first they came upon the coast they announced to the Governor of Niaga that they bore letters and presents from the President of the United States of America; that they must deliver them to the Emperor in person, or to a high official appointed for that purpose. They were told by the shogunate, which took upon itself the right of dealing with matters intended for our Emperor, to go to Nagasaki. They replied by moving nearer up the bay to Yedo, which they took to be the Emperor’s capital.

“They have sent out parties in boats to take soundings in the bay, despite the Governor’s protests, and each hour brings them nearer to Yedo. This frightened the shogunate, which finally set a day for landing. To-morrow, near the fishing village of Yokohama, they are to land and present their letters to commissioners appointed by the Shogun to receive them. They will await a reply.”

“What is their nature and strength?” demanded Keiki.

“They are four ships-of-war. They are Americans, and in command of a high Lord Perry.”

“But why do they deal with the Shogun?”

The Prince of Echizen replied:

“They are ignorant of our true internal condition. They do not know that we have one true Emperor, a shadow of power, and a war lord, a Shogun, who rules for himself. These Americans are of the opinion that they are treating with the Mikado, with the Emperor of Japan. Their letters and credentials are inscribed to the Emperor of Japan.”

Keiki reflected upon what Echizen had told him. The national situation was rapidly becoming strained. If the foreigners should be driven from the country, well and good; but it was now no time to attack the shogunate, which must be as embarrassed as its opponent over the advent of the Americans. In all events, the only present policy was delay. The shogunate might be destroyed by the foreigners, yet—

A sudden determination came to Keiki. He must know the attitude of the Shogun, even at risk to himself. He turned to the future premier.

“Your highness,” he asked, “can you procure for me a uniform of the household of Iyesada?”

“What! the Shogun?”

“Yes.”

“Certainly. In fact, one of our clan, who is secretly in sympathy with us, is a member of the Shogun’s household and stands close to his august person. You may pass for the Lord Sakura.”

Keiki, wrapped in a long cloak, stood near the entrance of the house awaiting some favorable moment, when the street should be clear of passers-by, to slip out into the night. As he was about to make a sudden spring to gain the street a hand clutched the hem of his cloak. The boy Jiro was restraining him.

“Go not out alone, my lord,” he entreated.

Keiki frowned impatiently.

“One would think I were about to encounter danger. I go but to observe. There is no danger,” he said, sharply.

The trembling hand of the boy Jiro tore wide the cloak.

“This uniform, my lord. It is of the Sho—”

Keiki, feeling a pang of sorrow at hurting the boy, but determined upon his mission, did not defer action long. At any moment, the street comparatively quiet, might be filled with wayfarers. He pushed Jiro gently but insistently from him and went out into the city.

At first he kept to the side streets, traversing much useless distance, but directing his general course towards the palace of the Shogun. Once or twice he thought himself followed, but, retracing his steps, came upon no pursuer. Finally he came to the avenues, where further concealment were fruitless and would only invite suspicion. In these thoroughfares, therefore, he flung back his cloak, permitting liberal glimpses of his bakufu uniform.

He found still the utmost indifference pervading the city concerning the movements of mere individuals, be they of the court of the Shogun or the court of thieves. In the storytellers’ halls and the theatres, on the street corner and in all public places, groups speculated upon the presence of the foreigners in Japan. There was abroad a subtle, indefinable fear that in some way the coming of the foreigners was to change the destiny of the empire. The more ignorant could not see clearly in what way this was to come about, but there was present in their consciousness fear of an impending evil.

Nobles of both parties were unsettled. The foreign visitation might mean annihilation to either party. Ruin it did mean to one, but which? The shogunate seemed in the ascendant, since it had been recognized, blindly, but still recognized, by the foreigners. Thus among all classes there was manifest a great unrest, none the less threatening and fearful because its import was hidden. Plainly the shadow of events to come had darkened the nation’s mind.

The tradesman in his shop, showing his wares to a purchaser, stated their price uncertainly.

“Just now, honorable sir, the price is three yen, but the gods alone know what it will be to-morrow, whether more, less, priceless beyond measure, or smaller than nothing at all. The barbarians—”

“Ah yes, these barbarians.” His purchaser would nod understandingly.

At a street corner a woman approached a strolling samurai in the Shogun’s uniform.

“Honorable samurai,” she said, “what of the foreigners who have come?”

The samurai shrugged his shoulders.

“I’ll tell you all I know of them,” he murmured, without enthusiasm.

A group formed about him.

“What do you know of them?” pressed one.

“Tell us all,” said another.

The samurai shifted one of the swords.

“Of a certainty I’ll tell you all.”

“Yes?”

“Of a truth they have come,” he answered, as with a movement of disclaimer he passed up the street.

In the story-tellers’ halls the reciter was besieged with requests for stories and information concerning the Americans. In some cases he frankly avowed his ignorance, and in others regaled his hearers with the weirdest tales of a resourceful imagination.

Witnessing incidents of this kind upon every side, Keiki continued on his way to the palace. Of one thing he was now fully assured. Whatever policy for the future might be decided on by him and his associates could not be put into immediate effect. The popular impulse, the popular mind was dazed, and was not ready for action. Meanwhile he would learn all he could of the intentions of both foreigners and Shogun.

Keiki was now quite near the palace of the Shogun. His cloak he threw carelessly about him in such wise that while his uniform was exposed his features were muffled. The gate before which stood the samurai on guard at the outer post was open. Without a word Keiki strode haughtily past the guards. They gave no challenge.

Within the grounds enclosed by the stone walls there was no reflection of the disquiet manifest throughout the city. From the broad, elevated balconies of the palace, shining in the soft light diffused through the fusuma, there floated down to the strained ears of Keiki the sound of women’s laughter and the harsher tone of men’s voices. Music mingled with other sounds that indicated the quiet enjoyment of the night. The very guards at the doors were careless in the performance of their duties, looking with the eye of artistic appreciation upon the night’s gentle festivities.

Still undisturbed, Keiki passed through the palace entrances. An officer of the guard stared curiously for a moment after him once, then turned in forgetfulness to answer a woman’s jest. Keiki ascended a stairway. In an upper ante-room he met an undermenial.

“The chamber of the Shogun,” he said, coldly.

“Honorable lord,” began the menial.

Prince Mori thrust a parchment before his eyes.

“The chamber of the Shogun at once,” he said, sternly; “these despatches admit of no delay.”

“His august excellency is very ill and has retired,” said the servant.

Keiki turned upon him shortly.

“I know. Go!”

The attendant preceded him.

“One minute,” said Keiki; “understand, my mission is secret. But pronounce the name Sakura to his augustness.”

The man bent low. Then he entered a chamber. He reappeared shortly, and having signed to Keiki to enter, disappeared down a stairway. Keiki waited until his footsteps had passed away. Then he crossed the threshold, hesitating in the fashion of one who enters a strange apartment for the first time, conscious that its occupant has an advantage of prior acquaintance.