ITH the fecundity peculiar to the storm and stress period of a nation’s history, the germ almost forcibly implanted into Japanese soil by Commodore Perry waxed strong, came to blossom, fell into seed, and ended by multiplying itself into international form. No sooner had two seaports been opened through signature of the treaty passed by Perry than the English sought and obtained the same privileges. Other nations followed the leaders in timeliness, differing as to their national equation. Then came the establishment of foreign legations and the general introduction into Japan of the hated foreigners. The hermit nation was no more permitted the luxury of the solitude which had made it internally strong.

But now the foreigners were coming to understand the dual state of Japanese government. The treaties which the shogunate had at first attempted to make without Imperial sanction were nominally submitted to the Mikado. In a measure, the brave daring of the boy Jiro was responsible for this latter development.

During all this time Mori had remained in Yedo watching the course of events, and the gradual rise in prestige of the already powerful shogunate.

The policy advocated by Mori was the same outlined by him in his act of instruction to Jiro when he had bade the boy explain to the foreigners the true conditions of government. The shogunate must be embroiled with the foreign powers in such a way that retaliation of the world-powers would fall upon the shogunate alone, destroying it, while at a leap the Imperial party would return to power upon an anti-Shogun basis. This policy he was foremost in pressing upon other leaders of his party, but without avail. The drift of events was too uncertain to permit civil war at this time, his compatriots asserted.

Toro and Jiro did not share the Yedo vigil of Mori. When, upon the evening of the Treaty House assemblage, Genji had brought them to Keiki’s headquarters, the Prince had received them as from the grasp of death. The task he had set them, he knew, meant a risk of death, but even a samurai of lesser rank would have welcomed a death decreed by the cause. He had given them up as memories of the past when the great Genji brought them before him.

“My prince,” Genji had said, “I have ever been at heart one of your party. As an earnest of my desire to return to your allegiance, I bring you two prisoners, committed to my hands by the Lord of Catzu.”

The sight of the samurai Genji had called back into the life and soul of Mori things he had put aside as unfitting his consecration to the cause. Nevertheless, he received him gladly, and made no objection to the proposal of the samurai that he should be permitted to go with Toro and Jiro to the Mori fortress, since longer residence in Yedo was unsafe for the two who had exhibited themselves before the choice gathering of the Shogun’s followers at the Treaty House. So it was that for a time Mori remained alone in Yedo.

The continued presence in the Shogun’s city of one known throughout the length and breadth of the land as the Imperialist leader could not in the nature of events remain unknown to the authorities. On several occasions he was pressed so hard that he found an occasional sojourn outside of Yedo imperative. It was upon his return from one of these flittings that the Prince Mori found strange news awaiting him.

The Shogun Iyesada was dead. The choice of a successor devolving upon the Regent Ii, a man said to be of low birth, the wishes of a considerable number of the shogunate following had been ignored. Kii, a boy of twelve, had been selected by the Regent.

To make a show of boasted power before the foreigners, now always pressing for treaty privileges, the Regent Ii had ratified with them a treaty then pending, afterwards reporting it tardily to the Emperor at Kioto.

Instantly the city rang with protest, and, following it, the country.

“This Ii would remain alone with a boy Shogun!” cried the nobles of both parties.

Mori despatched instantly to his fortress couriers who conveyed orders to Toro that a considerable body of Mori’s troops should proceed at once to Yedo. Before their arrival, however, a crisis had been reached.

Ronins in great numbers had visited the Imperialist headquarters, urging instant action. These roving samurai, having renounced all allegiance to their own lords, had become free agents (ronins), and had sworn never to return to their homes until the shogunate was overthrown.

One Hasuda headed a party that sought out the Prince Mori.

“Let every foreign legation be burned this night,” urged Hasuda. “Let us drive into the seas those dogs who already have delayed our action too long. Let it be done to-night.”

“No,” said Mori, firmly. “Do not let your acts, which hitherto, in spite of their lawlessness, have been tinged with patriotism, be tainted by such action as you now propose. The function of a patriot is not that of assassination, but of honest warfare. Be counselled by me. Do nothing yet awhile. Wait! My men are on the march. They cannot arrive for some days. When they have come, and when our Mikado has given us the signal, let us then attack and expel these foreign barbarians.”

“No, no,” insisted Hasuda, whose sword itched for action; “the Mikado is influenced by those about him who are hostile to us. He dare not.”

“Only by his order will I attack the foreigners,” Mori insisted.

“He will not speak,” said Hasuda.

“He will,” said Mori. “I have assurances to that effect.”

Hasuda altered his plea.

“But, your highness,” he urged, “what I now advocate is your own policy. The shogunate is responsible to the foreigners for the peace. Destroy their legations and their wrath will descend upon the shogunate.”

“Listen; I will not stoop to massacre, but I promise you that upon the order of the Emperor I will fire at once upon their fleets and make warfare against them.”

The ronin Hasuda smiled slyly, as with a gesture of resignation he threw his arms aside.

“Your highness,” he said, “be it so. I consent, upon one condition. Go thou to Kioto. Obtain at once audience with the Son of Heaven. Secure his consent. Thou hast means within the palace to reach him safely. Do so, then. I will await your return.”

“Agreed,” answered Mori.

Within a few moments his norimon was carrying him out of Yedo.

Two ronins joined Hasuda near the headquarters half an hour later.

“Your news?” he demanded.

“The Prince of Mori is on the highway to Kioto.”

“Good! Then let the bands separate.”

The several hundred ronins, divided into parties of some six or seven, set out in various directions. Two hours later they were in the shadow of the Sakurada gate of the Shogun’s palace.

A spy from the interior made his report to Hasuda. It was accompanied by many gestures directed towards the wide path which led through the garden to the palace within.

A stately procession was passing down the garden path and had taken the road. It was the cortÈge of the Baron Ii Kamon-no-Kami, the hated Regent of Japan. Only his ordinary train of attendants and samurai accompanied him. Absorbed in their own personal reflections, they were apparently without suspicion of a planned assault.

Hasuda, in the shadow of the gate and the farther shadow of the cedars which bent their branches over the walls, raised his sword.

“Now,” he whispered, in a soft, penetrating voice, insistent as the hiss of a serpent. From the shadows of the walls against which they had stood ronins leaped upon the samurai and attendants about the norimon of Ii. These gave way instantly, some were killed outright, others wounded, while still others were left engaged in deadly strife with ronin adversaries.

“Quick! Forward!” urged Hasuda.

A chosen body sprang out from the ronin ranks, and surrounding the norimon of the Regent, drew him with rough hands out into the road. They dragged him before Hasuda. Within the palace a cry of alarm rang through the night, followed by the hurried mustering of troops.

Outside the Sakurada gate, however, the numerous ronins, showing no sign of fear, proceeded leisurely. Ii had fallen upon his knees. His mute lips moved in prayers for mercy, though no sound escaped them. His lips were livid, his eyes glazed.

At what seemed this manifestation of cowardice the ronins, outlawed samurai as they were, laughed scornfully. They would have died unflinchingly. Ii was not of samurai blood.

“Death to the traitor!” roared a ronin chorus.

“Ay,” replied Hasuda—“death!” Then to the Regent: “Ii, thou art a traitor. Rise and receive sentence.”

Ii seemed paralyzed with fear.

“Let him die,” said Hasuda.

“Let him die,” growled the ronins.

Hasuda sent a keen glance over his ranks. He said, quickly:

“Let a samurai volunteer as executioner, but let him remember that he, too, must die, that no Shogun follower may punish him.”

A grim, middle-aged ronin pushed forward.

“I was of Satsuma,” he said; “that is all you need know of me.”

“Do thy office,” commanded Hasuda.

The samurai thereupon forced the Regent to his knees, where he cringed trembling and shivering. The sword of the samurai hissed, curved, shone, shot through the air. The head of Ii lay upon the ground.

Hasuda then spoke:

“That no malice may be imputed to us, use thy second sword.”

Without a word the Satsuma samurai drew his second sword from his belt. The hilt he rested upon the ground. In an instant he fell upon its point.

The ronins left the vicinity of the palace, carrying the head of Ii with them. This they nailed to a post in a public place of the city.

In a short time, from the newly established foreign quarter of Yedo, flames leaped forth in destruction of the legations. Many foreigners found Japanese graves that night.

Yet, strange inconsistency! the ronins, still under the direction of Hasuda, went about everywhere, crying: “Down with the foreigners! Long live the Shogun!”

Those foreigners who escaped believed that the Shogun had ordered the night’s horrors.

At the hour of dawn Hasuda wiped his sword on a foreign fabric. As the morning breezes from the bay cooled his tired brow he laughed grimly.

“Ah,” he exclaimed, “what the noble Prince of Mori could not countenance himself has been accomplished; and, being accomplished, I shall find in him no open friend, it is true, but no sworn enemy.”

The roar of guns came faintly to his ears.

“To-morrow—to-morrow!” he mused, with a chuckle. “Nay, to-day, the wrath of the foreigners will descend upon the shogunate—the innocent shogunate. Decidedly, it is droll.”