The 47 Ronin Story (24 page)

The snow was beginning to fall again in the early morning as they began the long march across the city to Sengaku-ji. On this part of the mission they stayed to the back streets and alleys as much as possible, determined that nothing should interfere with the final act of their plan.

When they reached the little graveyard at Sengaku-ji, the men assembled bareheaded in the falling snow while Kira's head was washed and offered before Lord Asano's tomb. Incense was burned and Oishi placed his dirk before the grave, pointed toward the head and asked his lord to satisfy himself. Then he kneeled and bowed his head to the ground. As the others joined him in bowing deeply to the grave and repeating their own vows of loyalty, Oishi was conscious of a strange calm within himself. He took it to mean that Lord Asano's spirit was satisfied at last and could leave off wandering the earth. Now that justice had been done, his spirit could go to join his ancestors.

They now bowed in final farewell and withdrew into the temple itself. The abbot awakened in fright to find himself surrounded by armed men and when

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Oishi informed him what they had done, he sent two of the temple priests to put Kira's head in a box and return it to his house. Oishi made it plain that they were asking no favors in the way of sanctuary; they were only waiting there until the Shogun's government should act on the matter. He wrote a report of the whole affair including all their names and designated Yoshida to carry it to the censorate. There was now just one more thing to do before they were arrested. He wrote a note to Lord Asano's widow informing her of their success and asked Yoshida to drop it off on his way to the palace. Now all of his accounts were settled and he was content to be judged.

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When Lord Sengoku, the inspector general, was notified by Yoshida that vengeance had been taken for Lord Asano, he dressed for a quick inspection of Kira's mansion and then hurried, white faced, to the Shogun s palace. Yoshida was allowed to return to Sengaku-ji, where he reported to Oishi that an emergency session of the Shogun's councilors had been called. He also reported that although Lord Sengoku had naturally been shocked by Kira's

violent death, he had been courteous at all times and even seemed a little in awe of Yoshida himself, as a man who had participated in such a daring undertaking.

It was late in the day when Yoshida returned but they were to wait even longer for official action to be taken. It was dark before a messenger arrived with the word that they were to be taken to Lord Sengoku's mansion until final disposition could be made of their case. A short time later the stern-faced Lord Sengoku himself arrived with a company of seven hundred armed warriors, and Oishi and his men were asked to assemble.

No force was used against them and they were not treated as prisoners in any way as they lined up to march again. They walked proudly out of Sengaku-ji, two by two, with Oishi and Chikara in the lead. The six wounded men were placed in palanquins which were carried by their fellow warriors. In spite of the hour, spectators assembled from nowhere and lined the way in silent respect.

At Lord Sengoku's mansion the band was received with open admiration and treated to a lavish supper. It was long after sundown and this was the first food they had eaten all day. After they were assigned to comfortable sleeping quarters, Oishi expressed his gratitude to their "host" for such excellent care and was told warmly by the ramrod-stiff inspector general that it was only what they deserved.

At the castle of Uesugi, the situation was by no means so tranquil. Summoned before the trembling old Lord, Chisaka was on his knees explaining for the tenth time why he had not sent troops to Kira's

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aid, each time becoming more flustered and less sure he had done right.

"The servant reported at least one hundred enemy troops—that most of the guards had been killed. I was only thinking of protecting your good name

The old Lord of Uesugi grasped his hands together to keep them from shaking so much.

"But why didn't you call me? In a matter of such importance, why did you take so much on to yourself?"

"It was only to save you the nuisance, Your Lordship," Chisaka replied lamely.

Lord Uesugi continued to look down at him with shifty eyes. He knew now, too late, that he had given too much authority to this ambitious little man. He cursed himself for his own indolence, but it was too late to change things now. The damage had been done.

Chisaka hastened to add a few more words in his own behalf.

"I reasoned, Your Lordship, that if I sent troops they would find Kira already dead and if the servant's story was to be even half believed, many more of our brave warriors would be sacrificed as well."

Lord Uesugi made no sound but a sigh so Chisaka continued.

"I think you will also find, my Lord, that there will not be many to mourn the late Lord Kira. He made many enemies during his time in office ..."

Chisaka would have gone on but he was interrupted by the arrival of a servant with a message for Lord Uesugi. Chisaka was disturbed to see that his pale-faced master turned even whiter when he read the note. Then he asked the servant to show the visitor in.

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"A messenger from the Shogun's council," he muttered nervously.

Chisaka rose to his feet as the messenger entered and unrolled an official scroll. A premonition of disaster swept over the little chief councilor, but he shook his head and leaned tensely forward so as not to miss a word.

"In the matter of the assassination of the Shogun's late Master of Ceremonies," the messenger read tonelessly, "the following official decrees have been made in accordance with the laws of the Shogunate."

"First, Lord Kira's grandson, Sahyoe, having failed to fight to the death in defense of his kinsman, is ordered to disembowel himself as soon as he is physically able.

"Second, any of Lord Kira's retainers who are known to have fled without fighting are to be beheaded if they are of samurai rank, and to be cast adrift as lordless men if they are of lesser rank."

"Third, the Lord of Uesugi," and here the messenger paused to swallow hard, "the Lord of Uesugi, because he did not intercede on behalf of his relation by adoption on the occasion in question, is to have all his domains confiscated forevermore."

The messenger went on to read the official validations to his document, but no one heard him. Lord Uesugi had collapsed in a dead faint and Chisaka, fallen once more to the floor, had such a ringing in his ears that he knew for sure the end of the world had come.

The next morning the men of Ako were divided into four groups and sent to stay in the local mansions of the lords of Hosokawa, Hisamatsu, Mori, and

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Mizxino. Here they would stay until such time as their punishment would be fixed and carried out. Although he would much have preferred to keep his friends with him, Oishi felt obliged to designate Hara, Kataoka, and Horibe as the leaders of the other three groups. He was sure of their abihty to deal with any situation and knew he could count on them to set examples for the other men. He shook each one by the hand as they left, knowing the chances were great that he would never see them again. Hara and Kataoka were last and a lump came into Oishi's throat as he bade them farewell. Hara was solemn but Kataoka forced a grin. "We'll meet again," he said, "in the next world if not in this." Then they were gone and the long waiting began. The days passed slowly with alternating rumors of leniency and harshness of sentence, but Oishi had little interest in keeping up with the latest reports. He was content that he had carried out his mission to the best of his abihty and was ready to die at any time.

There was one unexpected visitor. Late one winter afternoon Oishi was visited by the tall, distinguished-looking Araki, who had carried the original petition for restoration of the castle to the Shogun's councilors. Araki was anxious to report that from all appearances the government officials concerned did not think Oishi and his men were entirely in the wrong. From Araki, Oishi also learned for the first time of the fate of Sahyoe, Lord Uesugi, and Chisaka.

He thanked Acaki for the news, although he did not really think such decisions would have any effect in his own case. The Shogun was merely displaying complete impartiality in the matter of enforcing the feudal code. Oishi and his men had broken other provisions of the same code by taking revenge into

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their own hands, and he expected they would sufiTer similar consequences.

Araki further informed him that there was tremendous public sympathy on the side of the men from Ako and that this was undoubtedly causing the delay in their sentencing. The Shogun had even taken the unprecedented step of asking for ballots among the daimyo and consulting other learned men to be sure of doing the right thing. As grievous lawbreakers, guilty of flagrantly disobeying the edict against taking revenge, they were clearly liable for the death penalty, but circumstances seemed to dictate that they not be executed as common criminals. Since they had surrendered the castle at Ako peaceably, it was also accepted that they had shown no personal malice toward the Shogun.

"So how do matters stand now?" Oishi asked with more show of interest than he felt. "Does it look like we will be executed or exiled or imprisoned with torture? I can't see how the sentence could be any less severe."

"There is one hope," said Araki gravely. "The Shogun is conferring with the Abbot of Ueno, the highest authority of Buddhism in Edo. It appears that Tsunayoshi wants him to intercede."

Oishi let out his breath in a long sigh. "I had no idea we'd become so important."

"The whole country is talking about you," said Araki, surprised that Oishi seemed so oblivious of his own fame. "They're even performing plays about you and your men in the theaters of Osaka and Kyoto."

"Kabuki plays?" said Oishi, aroused now to think that their deeds should be imitated by the common players he had seen in the theater.

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"What's the matter with that?" asked Araki. "Where else can our noble traditions be so effectively held up as an example for all?"

"Even the peasants, ..." muttered Oishi.

"Even the peasants," agreed Araki. "You and I know they are not capable of maintaining the eternal self-discipline of a samurai. But does it do any harm to let them see the examples of their betters and to try to emulate them in their own lives?"

"No, I guess not," admitted Oishi, and then he smiled. He knew someone who would be surprised and pleased to hear him make that statement.

Tsunayoshi's interview with the Abbot of Ueno was short and produced little in the way of results. The Shogun, a stickler for etiquette, the protector of dogs, and the unregenerate admirer of young boys, was troubled that he would have to execute such brave men for living up to the feudal code as they saw it, but the venerable old abbot could not help him.

"There is a well-known law against the taking of revenge," the gray-haired priest gently reminded him. "And think of the possible consequences if we allow those who flagrantly break it to go free."

"I didn't necessarily mean to set them free," Tsunayoshi put in nervously. "But as the spiritual leader of the country, if you could recommend leniency ..."

"But I cannot, ' the Abbot said. "I am as bound by the law as you are. There is nothing anyone can do."

Tsunayoshi stood silently for a moment, then bowed and left. At this stage there was truly nothing anyone could do. Except for making one slight

alteration in the sentence. This was within his authority and would better serve his own sense of justice.

Early in February the four daimyo who were keeping Oishi and his men in custody were notified that sentence had finally been passed by the Shogun's Council and that representatives of the censor's office would be sent to carry it out. Lord Sengoku immediately notified Oishi that even the Abbot of Ueno had felt powerless to do other than to let the law take its course, and they were accordingly sentenced to death.

Oishi nodded. This was what he had expected all along. But he was due for a surprise when Lord Sengoku told him the manner in which they were to die. Although lordless men and hence not legally entitled to such treatment, they were to be allowed to disembowel themselves in the noble ceremony of seppuku. Oishi could hardly believe his ears and fell forward in a deep bow of gratitude to Lord Sengoku. Then he hastened to tell his men the good news.

On the appointed day, the censors arrived and the men were summoned one by one to platforms outside their respective reception halls. Oishi was to go first, followed by Chikara, and then the rest of the men in order of rank. Oishi bade them farewell and shook their hands with a proud smile. He spoke to Chikara last, but in exactly the same crisp soldierly manner as he had to the others. Then he stepped outside.

It was a clear cold winter's day, much like the one on which Lord Asano had died. Oishi thought of this as he walked slowly and with dignity to his place on the platform before which the ceremonial dirk

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was laying. He thought, too, of his wife's tears and of Okaru's laughter and of his son's bravery and of the limitless loyalty of such men as Hara, Kataoka, Mimura, Yoshida, Onodera, and the rest. Then his mind came back to himself. There was only one thing left now and he would have done all that was expected of him. As he poised the dirk for the last swift thrust he thanked the gods of heaven and earth for the chance he had had to prove himself as a samurai. In the end this was all that mattered, for a man will only be as long as his life but his name will be for all time.

The men from Ako had defiantly disregarded the Shogun's law, but by dying for their lord they showed their devotion to what they considered the higher morality. A samurai was not taught to revere the Shogun as part of a deliberate policy to prevent loyalty to a lord from developing into a larger loyalty to country and national ruler. It was felt that in this way the Shogun would be better able to maintain his status against the Imperial Court at Kyoto. The wisdom of this policy was proved during the controversy over the restoration of the Emperor in 1868. When the need for a single strong ruler to deal effectively with the Western powers was recognized, many samurai worked against the weakening Shogun-ate and helped bring about its final disintegration.