then they must land in strength to erect a new base. Worse for them, they must use land forces to maintain it.”
“They humbled China. Their war machine is invincible.”
“This isn’t China and we are not mealymouthed, cowardly Chinese to be bled to death or frightened to death by these carrion. They say they just want to trade. Good, you want to trade too, for guns, cannon and ships.” Katsumata smiled and added delicately, “I suggest if we burn and destroyYokohama—of course, we pretend the attack is at the Bakufu’s request, the Shōgun’s request—when the gai-jin return,
whoever controls the Shōgunate then
would reluctantly agree to pay a modest indemnity and, in return, the gai-jin will happily agree to tear up their shameful Treaties and trade on any terms we decide to impose.”
“They would attack us at Kagoshima,” Sanjiro said. “We could not repel them.”
“Our bay is hazardous for shipping, not open like Yedo; we have secret shore batteries, secret Dutch cannon; we grow stronger every month. Such an act of war by gai-jin would unite all daimyo, all samurai, and the whole land into an irresistible force under your banner. Gai-jin armies cannot win on land. This is the Land of the Gods, the gods will come to our aid too,” Katsumata said fervently, not believing it at all, manipulating Sanjiro as he had done for years. “A divine wind, a kamikaze wind, destroyed the armadas of the Mongol Kublai Khan six hundred years ago, why not again?”
“True,” Sanjiro said. “The gods saved us then. But gai-jin are gai-jin and vile and who knows what mischief they can invent? Foolish to invite a sea attack until we’ve warships—though, yes, the gods are on our side and will protect us.”
Katsumata laughed to himself. There are no gods, any gods, or heaven, or life after death. Stupid to believe otherwise, stupid gai-jin and their stupid dogma. I believe what the great Dictator General Nakamura said in his death poem,
From nothing into nothing, Osaka Castle and all that I have ever done is but a dream within a dream
. “The gai-jin Settlement is within your grasp like never before. Those two youths awaiting judgment pointed a way. I beg you take it.” He hesitated and dropped his voice even more. “Rumor has it, Sire, secretly they are
shishi.”
Sanjiro’s eyes narrowed even more.
Shishi—men of spirit, so called because of their bravery and deeds—were young revolutionaries who were spearheading an unheard-of revolt against the Shōgunate. They were a recent phenomenon, thought to number only about a hundred and fifty throughout the land.
To the Shōgunate and most daimyos they were terrorists and madmen to be stamped out.
To most samurai, particularly rank-and-file warriors, they were loyalists waging an all-consuming battle for good, wanting to force the Toranagas to relinquish the Shōgunate and restore all power to the Emperor, from whom, they fervently believed, it had been usurped by the warlord Toranaga, two and a half centuries ago.
To many commoners and peasants and merchants, and particularly to the Floating World of geishas and Pleasure Houses, shishi were the stuff of legends, sung about, wept over, and adored.
All were samurai, young idealists, the majority coming from the fiefsof Satsuma, Choshu and Tosa, a few were fanatic xenophobes, most were ronin—wave men, because they were as free as the waves—masterless samurai, or samurai who had been outcast by their lord for disobedience, or a crime, and had fled their province to escape punishment, or those who had fled by choice, believing in a new, outrageous heresy: that there could be a higher duty than that due their lord, or their family,
a duty to the ruling Emperor alone
.
A few years ago the growing shishi movement had formed themselves into small, secret cells, committing themselves to rediscover
bushido—
ancient samurai practices of self-discipline, duty, honor, death, swordsmanship and other warlike
“They humbled China. Their war machine is invincible.”
“This isn’t China and we are not mealymouthed, cowardly Chinese to be bled to death or frightened to death by these carrion. They say they just want to trade. Good, you want to trade too, for guns, cannon and ships.” Katsumata smiled and added delicately, “I suggest if we burn and destroyYokohama—of course, we pretend the attack is at the Bakufu’s request, the Shōgun’s request—when the gai-jin return,
whoever controls the Shōgunate then
would reluctantly agree to pay a modest indemnity and, in return, the gai-jin will happily agree to tear up their shameful Treaties and trade on any terms we decide to impose.”
“They would attack us at Kagoshima,” Sanjiro said. “We could not repel them.”
“Our bay is hazardous for shipping, not open like Yedo; we have secret shore batteries, secret Dutch cannon; we grow stronger every month. Such an act of war by gai-jin would unite all daimyo, all samurai, and the whole land into an irresistible force under your banner. Gai-jin armies cannot win on land. This is the Land of the Gods, the gods will come to our aid too,” Katsumata said fervently, not believing it at all, manipulating Sanjiro as he had done for years. “A divine wind, a kamikaze wind, destroyed the armadas of the Mongol Kublai Khan six hundred years ago, why not again?”
“True,” Sanjiro said. “The gods saved us then. But gai-jin are gai-jin and vile and who knows what mischief they can invent? Foolish to invite a sea attack until we’ve warships—though, yes, the gods are on our side and will protect us.”
Katsumata laughed to himself. There are no gods, any gods, or heaven, or life after death. Stupid to believe otherwise, stupid gai-jin and their stupid dogma. I believe what the great Dictator General Nakamura said in his death poem,
From nothing into nothing, Osaka Castle and all that I have ever done is but a dream within a dream
. “The gai-jin Settlement is within your grasp like never before. Those two youths awaiting judgment pointed a way. I beg you take it.” He hesitated and dropped his voice even more. “Rumor has it, Sire, secretly they are
shishi.”
Sanjiro’s eyes narrowed even more.
Shishi—men of spirit, so called because of their bravery and deeds—were young revolutionaries who were spearheading an unheard-of revolt against the Shōgunate. They were a recent phenomenon, thought to number only about a hundred and fifty throughout the land.
To the Shōgunate and most daimyos they were terrorists and madmen to be stamped out.
To most samurai, particularly rank-and-file warriors, they were loyalists waging an all-consuming battle for good, wanting to force the Toranagas to relinquish the Shōgunate and restore all power to the Emperor, from whom, they fervently believed, it had been usurped by the warlord Toranaga, two and a half centuries ago.
To many commoners and peasants and merchants, and particularly to the Floating World of geishas and Pleasure Houses, shishi were the stuff of legends, sung about, wept over, and adored.
All were samurai, young idealists, the majority coming from the fiefsof Satsuma, Choshu and Tosa, a few were fanatic xenophobes, most were ronin—wave men, because they were as free as the waves—masterless samurai, or samurai who had been outcast by their lord for disobedience, or a crime, and had fled their province to escape punishment, or those who had fled by choice, believing in a new, outrageous heresy: that there could be a higher duty than that due their lord, or their family,
a duty to the ruling Emperor alone
.
A few years ago the growing shishi movement had formed themselves into small, secret cells, committing themselves to rediscover
bushido—
ancient samurai practices of self-discipline, duty, honor, death, swordsmanship and other warlike
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