Pathway to Japanese Literature

The Abe Clan

Junior Fourth Rank, Lesser General of the Left Gate Guards and Governor of Etchū, Hosokawa Toshitada—in the spring of Kanei 18 (1641 CE), the Year of the Metal Snake—abandoned the early-blooming flowers of his domain in Higo Province, had himself surrounded by the grand procession befitting a daimyo of 540,000 koku, and set out on his sankin-kotai journey toward Edo as spring advanced from south to north. But he unexpectedly fell ill; even the court physician’s remedies proved ineffective, and as his condition grew graver by the day, a messenger was dispatched to Edo to postpone his departure date.

The Tokugawa shogun was Iemitsu, the third-generation ruler renowned as a wise sovereign. Concerned for Toshitada—who had distinguished himself by slaying the rebel leader Amakusa Shirō Tokisada during the Shimabara Rebellion—he had Matsudaira, Lord of Izu; Abe, Lord of Bungo; and Abe, Lord of Tsushima draft a joint official order on the 20th day of the third month, then dispatched an acupuncturist named Isaku from Kyoto.

Then, on the 22nd day, he had Soga Matazaemon, a samurai, serve as envoy, again carrying an official order signed by the three magistrates.

The shogunate’s treatment of daimyo was marked by the utmost courtesy.

Since the Shimabara Rebellion had been quelled three years prior in Kanei 15 (1638), and given that the shogunate—which had granted additional land to his Edo residence, bestowed cranes for his falconry pursuits, and habitually shown him utmost courtesy—now heard of this grave illness, it was only natural they sent condolences within the bounds of precedent.

Before the shogunate could complete these procedures, at the Kumamoto Hanabatake residence, Toshitada’s illness took a critical turn, and he finally passed away at fifty-six years of age on the seventeenth day of the third month during the Hour of the Monkey.
The wife was a daughter of Ogasawara Hyōbu-daisuke Hidemasa whom the shogun had adopted as his own and wedded to him, and she is forty-five years old this year.
Her name was Lady Ochi.
The heir Rokumaru had undergone his genpuku coming-of-age ceremony six years prior, received the character ‘Mitsuhisa’ from the shogunate, adopted the name Mitsusada, and been appointed to Junior Fourth Rank, Lower Grade, and Chamberlain, concurrently serving as Governor of Higo.
He is seventeen years old this year.
He had returned as far as Hamamatsu in Tōtōmi Province during his sankin-kotai duty in Edo, but upon hearing the funeral tidings, he turned back.
Mitsusada later changed his name to Mitsutaka.
The second son, Tsuruchiyo, had been sent to Taishō-ji Temple on Mount Tatesan from a young age.
He became a disciple of Priest Ōbuchi of Myōshin-ji Temple in Kyoto and took the name Sōgen.
The third son, Matsunosuke, had been adopted by the Nagao family, who had longstanding ties to the Hosokawa clan.
The fourth son, Katsuchiyo, had been adopted by the retainer Nanjō Daizen.
There were two daughters.
The eldest daughter Fujihime had become the wife of Matsudaira Tadahiro, Lord of Suō.
The second daughter, Takehime, was a person who would later become the wife of Ariyoshi Yorimo Hidenaga.
As for younger brothers—since Toshitada had been born as Sansai’s third son—there were three: the fourth son Nakatsukasa-no-taifu Tatsutaka, the fifth son Gyōbu Okitaka, and the sixth son Nagaoka Shikibu Yoriyuki.
As for younger sisters, there was Tarahime, who was wedded to Inaba Kazumichi, and Mihime, who was wedded to Karasumaru Chūnagon Mitsukata.
This Nenehime, born to Mihime, would become the wife of Toshitada’s heir Mitsutaka.
Above him were two elder brothers who bore the Nagao name, and two elder sisters who had married into the Maeno and Nagao families.
Retired Sansai Munitate was still alive and had reached seventy-nine years of age.
Among them were those like the heir Mitsusada who had been in Edo, or others residing in Kyoto and distant provinces; yet unlike these individuals who later received the news and grieved, the sorrow of those confined to Kumamoto’s residence was all the more acute.

For the official report to Edo, Rokushima Shōkichi and Tsuda Rokusaemon were dispatched.

On the 24th day of the third month, the first seventh-day memorial service was held.
On the 28th day of the fourth month, they removed the floorboards of the residence’s living quarters where the coffin had been placed underground, lifted up the coffin, and—following instructions from Edo—cremated the remains at Shūun-in Temple in Kasuga Village, Aso District, then buried them in the mountain outside Kōraimon Gate.
Beneath this mausoleum, in the winter of the following year, Gokokuzan Myōkai-ji Temple was erected. From Edo’s Shinagawa Tōkai-ji Temple came Priest Keishitsu—a fellow disciple of Priest Takuan—to assume the position of head priest. After he retired to Rinyū-an Hermitage within the temple grounds, Sōgen—Toshitada’s second son, who had taken monastic vows—succeeded him under the priestly name Tengan.
Toshitada’s posthumous Buddhist name was conferred as Myōkai-inden Daiun Shūgo Daikoji.

The cremation at Shūun-in Temple was carried out in accordance with Toshitada’s final wishes.

At some time in the past, Toshitada had gone out on a falconry expedition and rested at this Shūun-in Temple to drink tea.
At that moment, Toshitada suddenly noticed that his beard had grown out and asked the head priest if he had a razor.
The head priest took water into a basin and presented it with a razor.
Toshitada, in good spirits, had his beard shaved by a young page while speaking to the head priest.
“Well now.”
“With this razor, you must have shaved many a corpse’s head,” he said.
The head priest, at a loss for how to respond, was deeply troubled.
From this time onward, Toshitada had grown close with the head priest of Shūun-in Temple, and thus he designated this temple as the cremation site.
The cremation was just in progress.
From the crowd of retainers who had accompanied the coffin came a voice: "Look—the hawks! The hawks!"
Beneath a dull blue sky framed by the temple grounds’ cedar grove, two hawks circled above a leafing cherry tree whose branches draped like a canopy over the circular stone well curb.
While the people watched in wonder, the two hawks—one after the other, so close that their tails and beaks nearly touched—swooped down and plunged into the well beneath the cherry tree.
From among five or six people who had been arguing about something at the temple gate for a while, two men ran out, came to the edge of the well, placed their hands on the stone well curb, and peered inside.
By then, the hawks had sunk deep to the bottom, and the water’s surface—which had been shining like a mirror amidst the fern thicket—had already returned to its original stillness.
The two men were falconers.
The ones that had plunged into the well’s depths and died were two hawks beloved by Hosokawa Toshitada: Ariake and Akashi.
When that became clear, whispered voices could be heard among the people: “Then… have the hawks also committed *junshi*?”
For from the day the lord had passed away until two days prior, over ten retainers had committed *junshi*—among them, eight men performing seppuku together just two days earlier, and another man following suit yesterday—so that not a single person in the household could avoid thinking of ritual suicide.
No one knew through what oversight the two hawks had slipped from the falconers’ hands, nor why they had plunged into the well as though chasing invisible prey—and not a single soul sought to investigate it.
The hawks were beloved by His Lordship, and merely seeing the fact that they had entered the well at Shūun-in Temple—the cremation site—on the very day of his cremation and died was sufficient to judge that they had committed *junshi*.

There was no room to doubt that and seek another cause.

The forty-nine days of mourning concluded on the fifth day of the fifth month.
Up until now, monks—starting with Sōgen and including those from Kiseidō, Kinryōdō, Tenju-an, Chōshō-in, and Fuji-an—had conducted the memorial services.
Now it was the sixth day of the fifth month, yet people continued committing *junshi* sporadically.
They—not only those undertaking *junshi* and their parents, siblings, wives, and children, but even those with no direct ties—prepared receptions for physicians arriving from Kyoto and envoys descending from Edo with distracted minds, preoccupied solely by thoughts of ritual suicide.
No irises were gathered to adorn eaves for the Boys’ Festival as in previous years; households that should have celebrated children’s first festival banners lay silent as though they had forgotten those children had ever been born.

No one knew when or how it had been decided, but a code for *junshi* had naturally formed.
No matter how dearly one might hold the lord in their heart, not just anyone could perform *junshi* as they pleased.
Just as one must accompany their lord during the peaceful era’s sankin-kotai duty in Edo or join him on the battlefield when war breaks out, so too must one absolutely obtain the lord’s permission to accompany him beyond death’s mountain and across the Sanzu River.
To die without that permission would be a futile death.
A warrior values his reputation; he does not meet a futile death.
While charging into enemy lines and dying in battle is commendable, dying after defying military orders to charge ahead yields no merit.
That is a futile death; in the same way, to commit *junshi* without permission is also a futile death.
Occasionally, such people do not meet a futile death because between lord and retainer who have found mutual recognition, there exists a tacit understanding—even without explicit permission, it is no different from having received it.
The Mahayana teachings that arose after the Buddha’s nirvana lacked his explicit permission; yet the Buddha—who knows all across past, present, and future—is said to have known such teachings would emerge and tacitly permitted them.
To be able to commit *junshi* without permission would be akin to expounding Mahayana teachings—as though they were preached by the Buddha’s golden mouth himself.

Now then—to explain how one obtains permission—the methods requested by Naitō Naotsugu Mototsugu among those who committed *junshi* this time serve as a prime example.
Naotsugu had ordinarily attended to Toshitada’s desk-related duties and received his special favor, and he had nursed him without leaving his sickbed.
When Toshitada realized that recovery was no longer possible, he instructed Naotsugu: “When my final hour draws near, hang that large scroll inscribed with ‘Fuji’ by my pillow.”
On the seventeenth day of the third month, as his condition gradually worsened, Toshitada said,“Hang that scroll.”
Naotsuguhung it.
Toshitadacast a glance at it and closed his eyes for a while.
Then Toshitadasaid,“My legs feel heavy.”
Naotsuguaquietly rolled up the hem of the sleeping robe and，while massaging Toshitada’s legs，stared intently at his face—whereupon Toshitadastared back just as intently.

“Naotsugu humbly begs a favor.”

“What is it?”

“Though I perceive your illness appears most grave indeed, through divine protection and medicine’s efficacy, I pray daily for your swift recovery.”
“Yet I must speak of contingencies.”
“Should the unthinkable occur… I implore you to command this Naotsugu to accompany you.”

As he spoke these words, Naotsugu gently lifted Toshitada’s leg and pressed it against his forehead.
Tears pooled in his eyes.

“That will not do.”
Having said this, Toshitada—who until now had been exchanging glances with Naotsugu—turned aside as if half-rolling over.

“Please do not say that.”
Naotsugu once again took Toshitada’s leg.

“No, no!”
he said, his face still turned away.

From among those seated came a voice: “Given your junior status, this intrusion is presumptuous. You should withdraw.”
Naotsugu was seventeen years old that year.

“Please,” he said in a voice choked as if clogged in his throat, and Naotsugu kept the leg he had received for the third time pressed to his forehead without ever letting go.

“What a man of unyielding devotion.”
The voice carried the tone of angry rebuke, yet Toshitada nodded twice in response.

Naotsugu uttered “Hah!” and—still clutching Toshitada’s legs with both hands—prostrated himself behind the bed, remaining utterly still.
At that moment, within Naotsugu’s heart swelled a slackening of vigor and calmness of spirit, as though he had passed through treacherous terrain to reach his destined place; no other thoughts rose to consciousness, nor did he notice tears spilling upon the Bingo tatami.

Naotsugu was still a junior retainer without a single distinguished achievement to his name, yet Toshitada had always kept a watchful eye on him and employed him close at hand. He was fond of sake and had committed blunders that would have incurred charges of impropriety had they been committed by another, yet Toshitada had laughed and said, “That was not Naotsugu’s doing—the sake did it.” Having convinced himself he must repay this kindness and atone for these blunders, Naotsugu had come—after Toshitada’s illness took a grave turn—to believe with ironclad certainty that *junshi* alone could serve as repayment and recompense. Yet were one to probe this man’s heart, alongside the conviction that he must commit *junshi* of his own volition lay an equally potent sense—that others surely deemed him destined for *junshi*, thus compelling him toward death through their expectations—as though he clung to their judgments while advancing toward his end. Conversely, he lived in terror that failing to commit *junshi* would bring terrible humiliation upon him. Though burdened by such vulnerabilities, Naotsugu harbored not a shred of fear toward death itself. Thus did the desire to obtain His Lordship’s permission for *junshi* hold absolute sway over this man’s will, encountering not the slightest obstruction.

After a while, Naotsugu felt strength enter the leg of His Lordship he was holding with both hands, as though it were being slightly stretched out. Thinking that His Lordship’s legs had become heavy again, he once more began to rub them quietly as he had done at first. At this moment, thoughts of his elderly mother and wife rose to Naotsugu’s mind. And considering that the bereaved families of those who had performed junshi would receive preferential treatment from the lord’s household, he thought that by securing his family in a stable position, he could die in peace. At the same time, Naotsugu’s face took on a brightened expression.

On the morning of the seventeenth day of the fourth month, Naotsugu changed into formal attire, appeared before his mother, and for the first time revealed his intent to commit *junshi* as he bid farewell. Mother did not show the slightest surprise. Though they never voiced it to each other, Mother had long known that today was the day her son would commit seppuku. If he were to say he would not commit seppuku, Mother would surely be surprised.

Mother called the newly wed daughter-in-law, who had been in the kitchen, to the gathering and asked if the preparations were ready. The daughter-in-law immediately stood up and brought out the cups and trays that had been prepared in advance from the kitchen herself. The daughter-in-law, like Mother, had long known that her husband would commit seppuku today. She had neatly smoothed her hair and changed into her best everyday clothes. Both Mother and daughter-in-law wore equally solemn expressions; however, the redness around the daughter-in-law’s eyes revealed she had wept while in the kitchen. When the cups and trays were brought out, Naotsugu called his younger brother Saheiji.

The four silently exchanged cups.
When the cups had completed their round, Mother spoke.

“Naotsugu.
This is your favorite sake.
Why not drink a bit more?”

“Truly it is,” said Naotsugu with a faint smile, stacking his cup contentedly.

After some time had passed, Naotsugu addressed his mother:
“I find myself pleasantly intoxicated.
Perhaps due to all my recent preoccupations,
the sake seems to have taken stronger effect than usual.
With your permission—I shall rest awhile.”

Having said this, Naotsugu rose and entered the living room, but immediately rolled to the center of the floor and began snoring.
When his wife stealthily entered afterward and placed a pillow beneath his head, Naotsugu merely groaned, turned over, and continued snoring.
The wife stared fixedly at her husband’s face, then suddenly stood up in a fluster and went into the inner room.
She thought she must not cry.

The house lay hushed.
Just as the mother and wife had known their master’s resolve without being told, so too did the retainers and maids know; thus no laughter could be heard from either kitchen or stable.

Mother was in her room, the daughter-in-law in hers, and the younger brother in his, each sitting deep in thought.
The master was sleeping in the living room, snoring.
In the open window of the living room hung a hanging flower basket with a wind chime beneath it.
The wind chime now and then faintly rang, as if remembering.
Beneath it stood a hand-water basin, its top hollowed out from a tall stone.
On top of it, a scroll-patterned ladle lay overturned, upon which a single dragonfly had alighted, its wings forming a peaked shape as it remained motionless.

One hour passed.
Two hours passed.
Noon had already passed.
The meal preparations had been left to the maids, but the daughter-in-law hesitated to go and inquire, uncertain whether the mother-in-law would call for them to eat.
She hesitated, fearing that if she alone were to act on thoughts of the meal, it might be taken amiss.

At that moment, Seki Koheiji, who had been entrusted with serving as kaishaku, arrived.
The mother-in-law called the daughter-in-law.
As the daughter-in-law knelt silently with hands pressed together awaiting her mother-in-law’s disposition, the mother-in-law spoke.

“Naotsugu said he would take a short rest, but such a long time has passed.”
“Lord Seki has now arrived.”
“Perhaps we should wake him.”

“That is indeed so.”
“It would be better not to let it grow too late.”
Having said this, the wife immediately rose and went to wake her husband.

The wife who had come to her husband’s living room was staring fixedly at his face once again, just as she had done when placing the pillow earlier. Because she thought she was waking him to let him die, for a time she found herself unable to speak. Even in deep sleep, the midday light streaming from the garden must have been too dazzling, for he lay with his back to the window, his face turned this way.

“Oh, you there,” called the wife.

Naotsugu did not wake.

The wife sidled up and placed her hand on his prominent shoulder, whereupon Naotsugu said “Ah—ah,” stretched his arms, opened both eyes, and sat bolt upright.

“You rested very soundly. Mother said she feared it might grow too late, so I woke you. And Lord Seki has come.”

“I see.”
“It appears noon has come.”
“I thought it would only be a short while, but between the drink and my fatigue, I lost track of time.”
“Instead, my condition has greatly improved.”
“I’ll have some rice with tea and then must be off to Tōkōin.”
“Please inform Mother as well.”

Samurai do not indulge in overeating when the crucial moment arrives.
However, they also do not undertake important matters on an empty stomach.
Naotsugu had actually intended to sleep for just a short while, but he unintentionally slept soundly through until noon. Upon hearing the time had come, he announced he would take a meal.
Though it was merely a formality from this point onward, the four family members gathered around their meal trays as usual and ate their noon meal.

Naotsugu calmly made his preparations, took Seki with him, and went to commit seppuku at Tōkōin Temple, the clan's mortuary site.

Just as Naotsugu had prostrated himself at Toshitada's feet to plead, among the retainers who had customarily received his favor during peacetime, those who—around this period—individually requested junshi and were granted permission numbered eighteen when including Naotsugu.
All were samurai whom Toshitada had deeply trusted.
Thus in Toshitada's heart, nothing weighed more heavily than his desire to keep these men alive to protect his heir Mitsutaka.
He also felt keenly that compelling them to die alongside him constituted true cruelty.
Yet granting each the single word "permission"—though it felt like rending his own flesh—had been unavoidable given the circumstances.

Toshitada believed that those he had personally employed did not cling to life.
He therefore knew they felt no pain in committing junshi.
But suppose he had refused permission for their deaths and let them live on—what then?
The entire household would condemn them as men who failed to die when duty demanded, denounce them as ingrates, and scorn them as cowards.
Were that the sole consequence, they might perhaps endure and await the day to devote their lives to Mitsutaka.
Yet should anyone declare that their former lord had unwittingly harbored such ungrateful cowards in his service—this they could never bear.
How bitterly would they chafe under such disgrace.
Thinking thus, Toshitada found himself compelled to utter, “I permit it.”
And so it was that through anguish surpassing even his bodily suffering, Toshitada spoke those words of permission.

When the number of retainers permitted to commit junshi reached eighteen, Toshitada—who had steered himself through over fifty years of alternating peace and turmoil while attaining profound understanding of human affairs—even amid his physical anguish, pondered deeply about his own death and those of the eighteen samurai.
All that lives must perish.
Beside an ancient tree rotting away, young saplings grow lush and vigorous.
To the vigorous youths surrounding his heir Mitsutaka, the aged retainers he had appointed were now unnecessary.
They would only prove obstructive.
I wish to let them survive and serve Mitsutaka as they served me, but there may already be numerous others prepared to serve my heir, waiting with their bowstrings taut.
Those I appointed must have incurred resentment through years of devoted service.
At minimum, they had undoubtedly become targets of envy.
Considering this, compelling their continued existence might not have been judicious.
Permitting their junshi may have been merciful.
Thinking thus, Toshitada gained some semblance of solace.

The eighteen people granted permission to commit junshi were Teramoto Hachizaemon Naotsugu, Ōtsuka Kiheie Tanezugu, Naitō Naotsugu Mototsugu, Ōta Kojūrō Masanobu, Harada Jūjirō Yukinao, Munakata Kahyōe Kagesada, Munakata Yoshidayū Kageyoshi, Hashiya Ichizō Shigetsugu, Ihara Jūsaburō Yoshimasa, Tanaka Okitoku, Honjō Kisuke Shigemasa, Itō Taizaemon Katataka, Migita Inaba Muneasu, Noda Kiheie Shigetsuna, Tsuzaki Gosuke Nagatoshi, Kobayashi Riémon Yukihide, Hayashi Yozaemon Masasada, and Miyanaga Katsuzaemon Sōsuke.

Teramoto’s ancestor was a man named Tarō Teramoto who had lived in Teramoto, Owari Province. Tarō’s son Naizen-no-kami served the Imagawa family. The son of Naizen-no-kami was Saemon; Saemon’s son was Uemon-no-suke; Uemon-no-suke’s son was Yozaemon. Yozaemon served under Katō Yoshiaki during the Korean campaign and distinguished himself. Yozaemon’s son was Hachizaemon, and he once served under Gotō Mototsugu during the Siege of Osaka. After being employed by the Hosokawa family, he received a thousand-koku stipend and became the head of fifty firearms. On April 29th, he committed seppuku at An’yōji. He was fifty-three years old. Fujimoto Inozaemon acted as second. Ōtsuka was an inspector with a 150-koku stipend. Ōtsuka committed seppuku on April 26th. The second was Ikeda Hachizaemon. Naitō’s circumstances had been mentioned earlier. Ōta’s grandfather Denzaemon had served Katō Kiyomasa. When Tadahiro was deprived of his domain, Denzaemon and his son Genzaemon became wanderers. Kojūrō was the second son of Genzaemon and had been summoned to serve as a page. He received a stipend of 150 koku. The first to commit junshi was this man; he performed seppuku at Kasuga Temple on the 17th day of the third month. He was eighteen years old. Monse Genbee acted as second. Harada received a stipend of 150 koku and served in close attendance.

On April 26th, he committed seppuku.
Kamada Gendayū acted as second.
The brothers Munakata Kahyōe and Dō Yoshidayū were descendants of Munakata Nakatsukasa Ujisada and had been summoned into service during their ancestor Chikashigehyōe Kagenobu’s time.
Both brothers received stipends of two hundred koku.
On May 2nd, the elder brother committed seppuku at Ryuchoin Temple while the younger did so at Renshoji Temple.
The elder brother’s second was Takada Jūbei; the younger brother’s was Murakami Ichiemon.
Hashiya hailed from Izumo Province as a scion of the Amago clan.
At fourteen, he had been summoned by Toshitada to serve as a side attendant with a hundred-koku stipend, tasked with tasting meals for poison.
After Toshitada’s illness worsened, there were occasions when he slept using Hashiya’s knee as a pillow.
On April 26th, Hashiya committed seppuku at Saiganji Temple.
Just as he prepared to cut his belly, the castle’s drum sounded faintly in the distance.
Hashiya ordered the accompanying retainer to go outside and ascertain the time.
The retainer returned saying, “I caught only the final four strikes but couldn’t tally the full count.”
Hashiya and all present smiled faintly.
“You’ve given me a fine laugh at the end,” Hashiya said, having the retainer remove his haori before performing seppuku.
Yoshimura Jindayū acted as second.
Ihara received three buchi and ten koku in rice stipend.
When he committed seppuku, Abe Motonori’s retainer Hayashi Sahee served as second.
Tanaka was grandson to Okiku—she who left *The Tale of Okiku* to posterity—and had been Toshitada’s childhood companion during his studies at Mount Atago.
There had been an occasion when he secretly counseled against Toshitada’s attempt to take monastic vows in those days.

Later, he served as a side attendant with a stipend of two hundred koku and became skilled in arithmetic, proving useful. In his old age, he was permitted to sit at ease wearing a hood in the lord’s presence. Since requesting junshi would not be permitted in the current era, on June 19th he first stabbed himself in the belly with a short sword and then submitted a petition, finally gaining approval. Katō Yasudayū acted as second. Honjō was from Tango Province; having been a wanderer, he was taken into service by Honjō Hisauemon, an attendant to Lord Sansai’s quarters. In Nakatsu, he subdued troublemakers and was made a stipendiary with five buchi and fifteen koku. It was from that time that he came to be called Honjō. He committed seppuku on April 26th. Itō was a stipendiary who served as the inner storehouse officer. Itō committed seppuku on April 26th. Kawashita Hasuke acted as second. Migita was a ronin of the Ōtomo family and was employed by Toshitada with a stipend of one hundred koku. On April 27th, he committed seppuku at home. He was sixty-four years old. Matsuno Ukyō’s retainer Tahara Kanbee acted as second. Noda was the son of Amakusa’s chief retainer Noda Minō and was summoned as a stipendiary. On April 26th, he committed seppuku at Genkaku-ji Temple. Era Hanemon acted as second. Tsuzaki’s account will be written of separately. Kobayashi was a stipendiary who received two buchi and ten koku.

At the time of his seppuku, Takano Kan'emon acted as second.
Hayashi had been a peasant in Shimoda Village of Nangō when Toshitada summoned him with a stipend of ten buchi and fifteen koku and made him groundskeeper of Hanabatake Mansion.
On April 26th, he committed seppuku at Butsugan-ji Temple.
Nakamitsu Hansuke acted as second.
Miyanaga was a kitchen official with a stipend of two buchi and ten koku, and had been the first man to request junshi for the previous lord.
On April 26th, he committed seppuku at Jōshō-ji Temple.
Yoshimura Kaemon acted as second.
Among these individuals, some were buried at their respective family temples, while others were laid to rest near the spirit hall in the mountainous area outside Kōraimon Gate.

There were a relatively large number of stipendiary retainers who died in junshi, but among them, Tsuzaki Gosuke’s deeds stood out as particularly remarkable; thus his account shall be recorded separately.

Gosuke was a stipendiary receiving two buchi and six koku who served as Lord Toshitada’s dog handler.
He always accompanied his lord on hawking expeditions and had earned Toshitada’s favor through his service in the fields.
Though he had pleaded with his lord and obtained permission for junshi, all the senior retainers admonished him:
“Others were granted high stipends and lived in splendor, yet you are but His Lordship’s dog handler.”
“Your resolve is commendable, and receiving our Lord’s permission marks the greatest honor.”
“That alone should suffice.”
“We implore you—abandon this death wish and devote yourself instead to serving our new lord.”

Gosuke would not listen and, on May 7th, took the dog he always led as an attendant and set out for Kōrin Temple in Oimawari Tahata.
The wife came out to the doorway to see him off and said, “You’re a man too—don’t let yourself be outdone by the noble lords.”

The Tsuzaki family had long used Ōjō-in as their ancestral temple, but out of deference to Ōjō-in’s august lineage, they designated Kōrin Temple as the site for their deaths.
When Gosuke entered the cemetery, Matsuno Nuidonosuke, whom he had previously asked to act as his second, had arrived first and was waiting.
Gosuke lowered the pale blue bag from his shoulder and took out a lunch box from within it.
When he lifted the lid, two rice balls lay inside.
He placed them before the dog.
The dog did not immediately try to eat but wagged its tail and looked at Gosuke’s face.
Gosuke spoke to the dog as one would speak to a human.

“You’re a beast, so you might not know this—but the Lord who used to pat your head has already passed away.”
“That’s why all the noble lords who received his favor are cutting their bellies today to follow him.”
“Though I am a lowly servant, the life I’ve sustained through my stipend is no different from theirs.”
“The grace of being cherished by our Lord was the same.”
“That’s why I’ll cut my belly open now and die.”
“If I die here, you’ll become a stray dog this very moment.”
“I can’t bear that thought.”
“The hawks that served our Lord threw themselves into Shūun-in Temple’s well and died.”
“What do you say?”
“Won’t you choose to die with me?”
“If you’d rather live as a stray, eat this rice ball.”
“If you wish to die, leave it untouched.”

Having said this, he gazed at the dog’s face, but the dog only stared back at Gosuke’s face, making no move to eat the rice balls.

“Then you too will die?” he said, and Gosuke stared fixedly at the dog.

The dog let out a single bark and wagged its tail.

“Good.”
“Then it’ll be a bother, but die for me.”
Having said this, Gosuke drew the dog close, drew his short sword, and stabbed it in a single thrust.

Gosuke placed the dog’s corpse beside him.
Then he took out a written document from his pocket, spread it out before him, and placed a pebble on it as a weight.
He folded the paper sideways into two, just as he had seen done at some noble’s poetry gathering, and wrote in his usual style of verse drafts: “Though the senior retainers bid me stay and stay, unstoppable am I—this Gosuke!”
He had not signed it.
Since his name “Gosuke” was already in the poem, his straightforward reasoning that there was no need to write it again unwittingly aligned with established custom.

Having thought that nothing now remained undone, Gosuke said, “Lord Matsuno, I entrust this to you,” settled comfortably into a seated position, and loosened his robe. Then gripping the bloodstained wakizashi in a reverse hold, he declared in a booming voice, “How fare you noble falconers? This dog handler now takes his leave!” With a single hearty laugh, he sliced his belly in a cross shape. Matsuno struck the neck from behind.

Though Gosuke was of low status, the widow left behind received support equivalent to that granted to the bereaved families of later junshi victims. This was because one son had entered the priesthood while still young. The widow received a five-buchi stipend and new residence, remaining alive until the thirty-third anniversary of Toshitada’s death. Gosuke’s grandnephew became the second Gosuke, and from then on they served for generations in the Furegumi heraldry unit.

In addition to the eighteen individuals who received Toshitada’s permission and died in *junshi*, there was one called Abe Motonori Tsunenori.
Initially of the Akashi clan, his childhood name was Inosuke.
He had served closely by Toshitada’s side from an early age and attained a stipend of over 1,100 *koku*.
During the Shimabara Rebellion, three out of his five children each received new stipends of 200 *koku* for their military merits.
This Motonori was thought by the household to be someone who would commit *junshi*, and he himself, each time his turn came to attend Toshitada’s nightly vigil, would plead his desire to die in *junshi*.
However,Toshitada absolutely refused permission.
“I am satisfied with your resolve,but rather than that,live on and serve Mitsutaka.” No matter how many times he pleaded,the lord would repeat those same words.

By nature, Toshitada had developed a habit of not heeding Motonori’s words.
This was a habit of considerable antiquity; even when Inosuke was still serving as a page under that name, if Inosuke inquired, “Shall I serve your meal?” he would say, “I am not yet hungry.”
When other pages offered to serve his meal, he would say, “Very well, have it served.”
When Toshitada saw this man’s face, he felt compelled to oppose.
If one asked whether he would be scolded, that was not the case.
There was no one as diligent as this man; he was attentive to all matters and left nothing undone, so even if one tried to scold him, there was no way to do so.

Motonori did things without being ordered that others were ordered to do.
He performed tasks without being requested that others would request to perform.
Yet everything he did always struck at the vital point, leaving no room for criticism.
Motonori had come to serve out of sheer stubbornness.
At first, Toshitada thought nothing of it—but whenever he saw this man’s face, he felt compelled to oppose him. Later, upon learning that this man served out of sheer obstinacy, he came to feel hatred.
While feeling hatred, the wise Toshitada, upon reflecting on why Motonori had become that way, realized that it was he himself who had caused it.
And while he thought to reform his habit of opposition, as months piled upon months and years upon years, it gradually became harder to change.

All people have those they favor and disfavor, even among their superiors. When scrutinizing why one likes or dislikes another, one often finds no tangible basis to seize upon. This was precisely why Toshitada disliked Motonori. Yet the man called Motonori must have possessed something inherently unapproachable about him. This was evident from his scarcity of close friends. While all respected him as an exemplary samurai, none dared approach him casually. Even those who ventured near out of curiosity soon exhausted their patience and withdrew. There had been an older man who, when Motonori still went by Inosuke and wore his forelocks, would frequently initiate conversations or assist him with tasks. Yet even this man eventually conceded, saying, “There’s truly no chink in Abe’s armor.” Considering all this, it was little wonder Toshitada had wished to reform his habit yet found himself unable.

In any case, even as Motonori repeatedly sought permission for *junshi* without success, Toshitada died.
Shortly before his death, Motonori said, “I have never made a single request before—this is the sole plea of my lifetime,” staring fixedly at Toshitada’s face. Toshitada stared back and declared, “No—serve Mitsutaka instead.”

Motonori pondered deeply and resolved.
Given my status—to survive this juncture without committing *junshi* and face my household—this would be deemed impossible by a hundred out of a hundred men.
Knowing it would be a futile death: either commit seppuku or become a ronin and leave Kumamoto—there could be no other path.
But I am who I am.
Fine.
A samurai is no concubine.
That my lord disfavors me does not mean my position must vanish.
Thinking thus, he performed his duties day after day as always.

Before long, May 6th arrived, and all eighteen men committed junshi.
All of Kumamoto was abuzz with nothing but talk of it.
There was no conversation beyond who had uttered what final words and whose death had been more splendid than any other’s.
Motonori had always been rarely drawn into conversations beyond practical matters, but since May 7th, even when he appeared at the castle’s duty chamber, the solitude deepened further.
Moreover, he became aware that his fellow retainers were stealing glances at his face while pretending not to look.
He sensed them peering sideways or staring from behind.
It was unbearably oppressive.
Even so—I am not clinging to life out of cowardice! Let them think what they will—none could call me a man who fears death! Were I permitted to die this instant, I would prove it!—Thus resolved, he entered the duty chamber with head held high, and departed with head held high.

After two or three days had passed, Motonori began to hear outrageous rumors.
It was unclear who had started it, but they spread: “Abe seems alive only because he lacks permission. Even without approval, he should have cut his belly to follow our lord—his gut must differ from others’. Let him slice it after oiling it like a gourd.”
Motonori found this beyond expectation.
If they want to slander me, let them say what they will.
But look at me—front or side—how could anyone see a man clinging to life?
If that’s truly what’s said, so be it.
Then I’ll oil this belly like a gourd and slice it open for all to witness.

After withdrawing from the duty station that day, Motonori sent an urgent messenger to summon his two brothers, who had established separate households, to the Yamazaki residence.
He had the partitions between the sitting room and guest room removed, made his eldest son Gonbee, second son Yagobei, and fifth son Shichinosuke—who still wore his forelocks—sit beside him, and waited with solemn dignity.
Gonbee, whose childhood name was Gonshirō, performed distinguished service in the Shimabara Conquest and received a new stipend of two hundred koku.
He was a young man who was no less than his father.
Regarding this matter, he had asked his father only once: “Was permission not granted?”
Father said, “Nah, it ain’t comin’.”
Beyond that, no further words passed between them.
Parent and child knew each other to the depths of their hearts, so there was no need for words.

Before long, two lanterns passed through the gate.
The third son, Ichidayū, and the fourth son, Godayū, arrived at the entrance almost simultaneously, removed rain gear, and were ushered into the sitting room.

Since the day after the mourning period, a damp rain had set in, and the sky of early summer darkness remained unbroken.

Even with the shoji left open, the air hung heavy and windless.
Yet the candle flame flickered.
A single firefly darted through the grove of trees in the garden.

The master surveyed the assembled group and began to speak.
“Though I summoned you under cover of night, you all came.”
“Since this rumor spreads through the entire household, you must have heard it.”
“They say this Motonori’s belly requires slicing like an oiled gourd.”
“Therefore I shall now slice my belly like an oiled gourd.”
“I ask you all to bear witness.”

Both Ichidayū and Godayū had received new stipends of two hundred koku for their military service in Shimabara and established separate households, but among them, Ichidayū had long been in service to the young lord, making him one envied by others after the succession.
Ichidayū leaned forward.

“I see.”
“I understand perfectly.”
“In truth, the fellow retainers say that Lord Motonori is to continue serving by the late lord’s will.”
“They call it an auspicious occasion—parent and children remaining gathered in service as always.”
“Those words seemed heavy with hidden meaning, and I found it most frustrating.”

Father Motonori laughed.
“That must be so.
Do not engage with those shortsighted fools who see no further than their noses.
If I—who was never meant to die—end up dead, there will be those who mock you as children of a man who lacked permission.
To be born as my children is fate.
There’s nothing to be done.
When disgrace comes, bear it together.
Do not quarrel among yourselves, brothers.
Now watch closely as I slice this belly like an oiled gourd.”

Having said this, Motonori committed seppuku before the children’s eyes, then stabbed himself through the neck from left to right and died.
The five children, who had been unable to fathom their father’s heart, felt sorrow in this moment—yet at the same time sensed they had stepped away from the uneasy boundary they had occupied and set down one burden.

“Brother,” said the second son, Yagobei, to the heir.
“Father told us not to quarrel among ourselves.”
“No one would object to that.”
“Since I’ve been stuck in a poor post at Shimabara without receiving a stipend, I’ll likely burden you from now on.”
“But no matter what happens, you’ll have a reliable spear in hand.”
“Just keep believing that.”

“It’s obvious.”
“Though what will happen remains uncertain, the stipend I receive is no different from yours.”
Having said this, Gonbee crossed his arms and grimaced.

“Exactly.”
“Who knows what will happen?”
“There’ll be those who say a following suicide differs from junshi done with permission.”
It was the fourth son, Godayū, who said this.

“That is clear as day.”
“No matter what trials we face,”
After saying this, the third son Ichidayū looked at Gonbee’s face.
“No matter what trials we face, let us not become scattered adversaries but stand united as brothers.”

“Yeah,” said Gonbee, though his tone held no warmth.
Gonbee held concern for his brothers in his heart, but he was not a man who could speak kindly.
Moreover, he considered everything on his own and insisted on acting alone.
He rarely engaged in consultation.
It was for this reason that Yagobei and Ichidayū pressed their point.

“Since all my elder brothers are gathered here, Father’s slander won’t be uttered carelessly.”
This was uttered by Shichinosuke, the one with the forelock.
Though his voice sounded feminine, it was filled with such strong conviction that it illuminated the hearts of those present like a light piercing their dark future.

“Alright.”
“Let’s have Mother tell the women to take their leave.”
Having said this, Gonbee rose from his seat.

The succession of Hosokawa Mitsutaka, Junior Fourth Rank, Lower Grade, Chamberlain and Governor of Higo, was completed.
The retainers each received new stipends, stipend increases, reassignments, and such.
Among them, the households of the eighteen retainers who had committed junshi were permitted to have their eldest sons directly succeed their fathers' positions.
As long as there was an eldest son, no matter how young, they were not excluded from that number.
Stipends were granted to widows and elderly parents.
They were granted residences, and even construction matters were directed from above.
Since the late lord had shown exceptional favor to these families, who had even accompanied him on his journey to the realm of death, the members of the household might envy them but would not resent them.

However, those who received an unusual succession disposition were the bereaved family of Abe Motonori.
The heir Gonbee was unable to directly inherit his father’s position, and Motonori’s 1,500-koku stipend was finely divided and distributed among his younger brothers.
When combined, the clan’s total stipends remained unchanged from before, but Gonbee—who had succeeded the main house—had been reduced to a minor retainer.
That Gonbee’s stature had diminished went without saying.
While each younger brother saw his individual stipend increase, they who had once felt themselves standing in the shadow of a great tree—the main house with its over 1,000 koku—now found themselves in a contest of acorns, feeling both gratitude and vexation.

As long as governance remained steady, there was no one to question where blame might lie.
Once an unusual measure was taken, inquiries arose about whose decision it had been.
Among the senior inspectors who served diligently by their lord’s side due to his favor was one called Hayashi Gaiki.
His minor cleverness had suited him for his role as an attendant during the young lord’s upbringing, but lacking the capacity to grasp broader principles, he tended toward harsh scrutiny.
Since Abe Motonori had died without obtaining the late lord’s permission, Gaiki believed it necessary to draw a clear boundary between true junshi retainers and Motonori.
He therefore proposed a plan to divide the Abe clan’s stipend.
Though Mitsutaka was a thoughtful daimyo, his inexperience at the time—combined with no personal rapport with Motonori or his heir Gonbee—left him devoid of compassion. Noticing that Ichidayū, a retainer familiar from his own service, would benefit from the stipend increase, he adopted Gaiki’s proposal.

When the eighteen retainers committed junshi, Motonori was serving by his lord’s side—yet because he did not join them in death, the household members scorned him. A mere two or three days later, Motonori committed seppuku honorably. But setting aside whether his act was justified, the insult once received proved indelible, and none praised Motonori. Since the authorities had permitted Motonori’s remains to be buried beside the mausoleum, they ought to have refrained from drawing distinctions in succession matters and treated him equally with all junshi retainers. Had they done so, the Abe clan would have regained their honor and served loyally as one. Yet because the authorities demoted their status, the household’s contempt for the Abe clan became publicly sanctioned. The Gonbee brothers grew increasingly shunned by their peers and passed their days in bitter resentment.

The Kanei 19th year, 3rd month, 17th day arrived.
It was the first anniversary memorial service for the previous lord.

Beside the mausoleum, Myōkaiji Temple had not yet been built, but a hall called Kōyō-in stood there, where the mortuary tablet of Myōkai-indono was enshrined, and a priest named Kyōshuza served as abbot.
Prior to the memorial day, Monk Ten’yū of Murasakino Daitoku-ji traveled down from Kyoto.
The memorial services appeared likely to be splendid, and for about a month prior, Kumamoto’s castle town had been busy with preparations.

At last, the day arrived.
It was a balmy day, and the area around the mausoleum was awash with cherry blossoms in full bloom.
Curtains were hung around Kōyō-in, with foot soldiers stationed on guard.
The lord personally attended the ceremony, first offering incense before the mortuary tablet of his predecessor, then offering incense before the mortuary tablets of the nineteen junshi-retainers.
Then the bereaved families of the junshi-retainers were permitted to offer incense, and at the same time received crested formal attire and matching garments.
Mounted guards and above received full-length formal attire, while foot soldiers received half-length formal attire.
Those of lower rank received incense money.

The ceremony concluded without incident, but during it occurred a single extraordinary event. It was when Abe Gonbee, as one of the bereaved families of the junshi retainers, advanced before the mortuary tablet of Myōkai-in-dono according to seating order—offered incense—and as he withdrew drew out the blade of his short sword, pressed it against his topknot to sever it, then laid it before the tablet. The samurai stationed at the scene stood astonished by this sudden act and stared blankly, but when Gonbee retreated five or six paces with unperturbed composure as though nothing had happened, one samurai finally regained his senses and called out “Lord Abe, wait!” while rushing forward to restrain him. Then two or three others hurried over and led Gonbee away to a separate room.

When questioned by the assembled retainers, Gonbee answered as follows.
“Your Lordships may think me a madman, but that is not at all the case.
It was precisely because my father Motonori served with flawless loyalty throughout his life that, even though he committed seppuku without the late lord’s permission, he was included among the ranks of the junshi retainers, and even I, as his bereaved family member, was permitted to offer incense before the mortuary tablet ahead of others.
However, recognizing that I, being unworthy, am incapable of serving as my father did, the authorities saw fit to divide the stipend and distribute it among my younger brothers.
I have brought shame upon myself before the late lord, the current lord, my deceased father, my clan members, and my peers.
While I had been harboring these thoughts, the occasion arrived today to reverently offer incense before the mortuary tablet. In that sudden moment, emotions overwhelmed my chest, and I resolved to abandon being a samurai altogether.
I will willingly accept punishment for failing to consider the propriety of this place.”
He declared that he was not acting out of madness.

Upon hearing Gonbee's answer, Mitsutaka felt displeased.
First came displeasure at Gonbee's provocative actions aimed at him.
Next came displeasure that he himself had adopted Gaiki's plan and done what needn't have been done.
He was a twenty-four-year-old lord of ardent temperament, insufficient in restraining emotions or controlling desires.
He lacked a magnanimous heart that repays resentment with kindness.
Immediately he ordered Gonbee confined.
Hearing this, Yagobei and the clan closed their gates to await their lord's judgment; under night's cover they gathered in secret, intently deliberating their clan's future.

After deliberations, the Abe clan decided to rely on Monk Ten’yū, who had traveled down for the first anniversary memorial service of the previous lord and was still staying there.
Ichidayū went to the monk’s inn and related the entire sequence of events, requesting that disciplinary measures against Gonbee be mitigated.
The monk listened intently and said:
“I have heard of your family’s circumstances—most pitiable indeed.”
“However, I cannot make any comments regarding the lord’s governance.”
“Should Lord Gonbee be sentenced to death, I will most certainly plead for his pardon.”
“Moreover, since Lord Gonbee has already had his topknot severed, he stands equal to a monastic.”
“As for seeking clemency,” he added, “I shall endeavor to plead by all means.”
Ichidayū returned feeling reassured.
The clan members, upon hearing Ichidayū’s report, felt as though they had gained a thread of hope.

As days passed, the time for Monk Ten'yū's return to the capital gradually drew near.
Every time Monk Ten'yū met and conversed with Lord Mitsutaka, he intended to petition for Abe Gonbee's pardon should an opportunity arise—but no such opportunity ever presented itself.
This was only natural.
This was what Mitsutaka had thought:
"If I were to address Gonbee's case during Monk Ten'yū's stay, he would undoubtedly plead for clemency."
"When considering Daitoku-ji monk's entreaty, one could hardly dismiss it carelessly."
He had resolved to wait until Monk Ten'yū departed before taking action.
At last, the monk departed Kumamoto in vain.

As soon as Monk Ten’yū departed Kumamoto, Mitsutaka immediately had Abe Gonbee taken out to Ideguchi and hanged.
He had dared commit an act of disrespect toward the previous lord’s mortuary tablet; thus it was dealt with as defiance of authority.

Yagobei and the entire clan gathered and held a council meeting. Gonbee’s actions were undoubtedly unpardonable. However, the late Motonori was after all counted among the junshi retainers. As for Gonbee, his heir, there was no alternative but to receive death. Had he been ordered to commit seppuku in a manner befitting a samurai, they would have raised no objection. Yet what was this? He had been hanged in broad daylight like some common criminal. Judging by this turn of events, the clan members too would not be left in peace. Even were there no separate edict, what honor could the kin of a hanged man have to stand among their peers and serve? At this point, there remained no alternative. It was then that Lord Motonori had declared: “No matter what may come, do not let brothers be parted.” Without a single dissenting voice, the clan resolved they had no choice but to face their attackers and die together.

The Abe clan gathered their wives and children, and Gonbee barricaded himself in the Yamazaki residence.

The unsettled state of the clan reached the authorities' ears.
Inspectors came out to conduct reconnaissance.
At the Yamazaki residence, the gates had been securely locked and fallen utterly silent.
The homes of Ichidayū and Godayū had become empty houses.

The punitive force's deployment was finalized.
The main gate was commanded by Chief Attendant Takeuchi Kazuma Nagamasa, with Subordinate Officers Soejima Kubei and Nomura Shōbei following his lead.
Kazuma Nagamasa held a stipend of 1,150 koku and commanded a thirty-gun firearms unit.
Hereditary retainer Shima Tokuemon served as his attendant.
Soejima and Nomura were at that time men of one hundred koku.
The rear gate was commanded by Chief Attendant Takami Gonbee Shigemasa—a retainer with a five hundred koku stipend who also commanded a thirty-gun firearms unit.
Accompanying them were Inspector Hata Jūdayū and Chiba Sakubei—then a subordinate officer under Takeuchi Kazuma with a one hundred koku stipend.

The punitive force was set to be dispatched on April 21.
On the previous evening, night patrols were stationed around the Yamazaki residence.
When night deepened, a samurai-class individual—wearing a mask—climbed over the wall from within, but Saburi Kazaemon, the patrol officer, had his foot soldier Maruyama Sannojo cut him down.
After that, nothing happened until dawn.

There had already been orders issued to those in the vicinity.
Even those on duty must ensure they remain in residence and do not neglect fire precautions—this was the first order.
The second order was that while it was strictly forbidden for anyone not part of the attacking force to enter the Abe residence and take action, fugitives could be killed at will.

The Abe clan learned of the punitive force’s arrival the day before and first thoroughly cleaned the residence, burning all unsightly things.
Then old and young alike gathered and held a banquet.
Then the elderly and women committed suicide, while the young children were each stabbed to death.
Then they dug a large hole in the garden and buried the corpses.
Those who remained were all able-bodied young men.
Yagobei, Ichidayū, Godayū, and Shichinoshō—the four of them—directed their retainers to gather in the spacious room from which they had removed the sliding doors and partitions, had them beat gongs and drums and chant Buddhist sutras in loud voices as they awaited dawn.
They claimed this was to mourn the elderly, wives, and children, but in truth it was a precaution to prevent their retainers from growing cowardly.

The Yamazaki residence where the Abe clan had barricaded themselves was later the dwelling of Saitō Kansuke. Across from it lived Yamanaka Matazaemon, while Eimoto Matashichirō and Hirayama Saburō resided to the left and right.

Among these, the Eimoto house was one of the three families—Eimoto, Amakusa, and Shiki—that had formerly divided Amakusa District into three parts and ruled.
When Konishi Yukinaga governed half of Higo Province, the Amakusa and Shiki clans committed crimes and were executed, leaving only Eimoto, who then served the Hosokawa family.

Matashichirō had always been on familiar terms with Abe Motonori’s family; not only did the masters interact freely, but even their wives and daughters visited one another.
Among them, Motonori’s second son Yagobei excelled at spearmanship, and since Matashichirō also practiced the same art, the two would exchange bold words in their camaraderie: “However skilled you may be, you cannot best me,” “No—how could I ever lose to you?” and the like.

From the moment he heard that Motonori had requested permission to commit junshi during the previous lord’s illness but was denied, Eimoto had sympathized with Motonori’s inner turmoil.
Then came Motonori’s act of following his lord in death posthumously, the conduct of heir Gonbee at Kōyō-in, the execution that stemmed from it, and the barricading of Yagobei and the entire clan—through this sequence of events, the Abe family gradually descended into misfortune, and Eimoto felt anguish no less acute than if they had been his own kin.

One day, Eimoto instructed his wife and sent her late at night to visit the Abe residence.
The Abe clan had rebelled against the authorities and were engaged in what resembled a siege; thus, communication between men had become impossible.
Yet knowing how matters had unfolded from the beginning, one could not despise the clan members as villains.
All the more so given their years of close association.
As a woman, he reasoned that paying a secret visit would not be inexcusable even if discovered later—this was why he hastened to send her with condolences.
The wife, upon hearing her husband’s words, gladly gathered thoughtful items and visited the neighboring residence late at night.
She too was a woman of considerable resolve; should this be discovered later, she resolved to shoulder the blame herself and spare her husband any trouble.

The Abe clan’s joy was extraordinary.
Though the world was a spring of blooming flowers and singing birds, we unfortunate ones had been forsaken by both gods and men and now lived in seclusion.
That a husband would think to send his wife to console us—and that she would obey his command and come—we felt truly grateful for their considerate hearts.
The women shed tears and pleaded: since we would meet our end dying like this, there would likely be not a single person left in the world to perform Buddhist memorial services for us—if you ever remember us, we ask that you offer at least one prayer for our souls.
The children were not allowed to set a single foot outside the gate, so when they saw Eimoto’s wife, who had always been kind to them, they clung to her from both sides and would not easily let her go.

The eve of the punitive force's advance on the Abe residence arrived.
Eimoto Matashichirō pondered deeply.
The Abe clan was closely connected to me.
Though I feared there might be repercussions in the days to come, I had even sent my wife to offer condolences.
But at last, tomorrow morning, the lord’s punitive force would come to the Abe family.
This was no different for the lord’s army that subdued rebels.
The official orders said to be cautious of fire and not to interfere, but a samurai cannot stand idly by in such a situation.
Mercy is mercy; duty is duty.
I considered that there was something I could do.
Then when night deepened further, he stole out on tiptoe through the rear entrance into the dim garden and severed every binding rope on the bamboo fence bordering the Abe residence.
Then he returned, prepared himself, took down the short spear from its decorative beam mount, unsheathed it from its hawk-feather-crested scabbard, and waited for dawn.

Takeuchi Kazuma, who had been assigned to lead the attack on the front gate of the Abe residence as part of the punitive force, was born into a family renowned in martial arts.
His ancestor was Shimamura Danjō Takanori, who served under Hosokawa Takakuni and earned renown for his powerful bow.
When Takakuni was defeated at Amagasaki in Settsu Province in the fourth year of Kyōroku (1531), Danjō leapt into the sea with two enemies clamped under his arms and died.
Danjō’s son Ichibei served the Yasumi family of Kawachi and temporarily took their surname Yasumi, but upon being granted Takeuchi-go, he changed his surname to Takeuchi.
Takeuchi Ichibei’s son Kichibei served Konishi Yukinaga and received from Toyotomi Taikō—for his merit during the water siege of Ōta Castle in Kii Province—a white twill battle surcoat bearing a red sun disc.
During the Korean Campaigns, he was held as a hostage by the Konishi family and confined within the Yi Royal Palace for three years.
After the Konishi clan’s downfall, he had been summoned by Katō Kiyomasa with a stipend of one thousand koku but withdrew from Kumamoto Castle town in broad daylight following a dispute with his lord.
In preparation for an attack by Katō forces, he had matchlocks loaded with bullets and match cords lit before retreating.
Sansai later took him into service in Buzen with a thousand-koku stipend.
This Kichibei had five sons.
The eldest son was also named Kichibei but later shaved his head and adopted the monastic name Yasumimiyama.
The second son was Shichirōemon, the third Jirōdayū, the fourth Hachibei, and the fifth none other than Kazuma.

Kazuma served as a page to Toshitada and was by his lord’s side during the Shimabara Rebellion. On the 25th day of the second month of Kanei 15, when Hosokawa’s forces attempted to seize the castle, Kazuma pleaded with Toshitada, “Please allow me to lead the vanguard!” Toshitada did not listen. When Kazuma pressed on with insistent pleas, Toshitada snapped in anger and shouted, “Brat, go away and do as you please!” Kazuma was sixteen years old at the time. Watching him dash off with an “Ah!”, Lord Toshitada called out, “Don’t get hurt.” Otonajima Tokuemon, one sandal bearer, and one spear bearer followed after them, making a party of four: master and retainers. Because the gunfire from the castle was intense, Shima grabbed the hem of Kazuma’s crimson battle surcoat and pulled him back. Kazuma shook free and scaled the castle’s stone wall. Shima, having no choice, followed and climbed up. Finally entering the castle and fighting, Kazuma sustained injuries. Tachibana Hida-no-kami Muneshige of Yanagawa—a seventy-two-year-old veteran warrior who had stormed in from the same position—witnessed their valor. Declaring that Watanabe Shinya, Nakamitsu Naizen, and Kazuma had performed splendidly, he presented the three with a jointly signed letter of commendation. After the castle fell, Toshitada gave Kazuma a wakizashi forged by Kanemitsu and increased his stipend to 1,150 koku. The wakizashi measured 1 shaku 8 sun, featuring a straight-tempered unsigned blade with horizontal file marks on the tang, silver menuki arranged in three rows of nine-star motifs, a shakudō collar, and gold fittings. The menuki had two holes, one filled with lead. Toshitada had treasured this wakizashi; even after giving it to Kazuma, there were many times when he would say upon going to the castle, “Kazuma, lend me that wakizashi,” borrow it, and wear it.

When Kazuma, having been ordered by Mitsutaka to lead the punitive force against the Abe clan, rejoiced and withdrew to the guardroom, one of his peers whispered.

“Even a traitor has his uses.”
“To entrust you with command of the front gate—that was rather well done for Inspector Hayashi.”

Kazuma pricked up his ears.
“What—was it Inspector Hayashi who recommended me for this duty?”

“That’s right.”
“Inspector Hayashi said to our lord.”
“Kazuma is one whom the late lord granted exceptional favor.”
“He said you should go and do that to repay the favor.”
“Isn’t this a stroke of rare fortune?”

Kazuma snorted “Hmph,” deep wrinkles carving themselves between his brows.
“Fine.”
“I’ll just die in battle then.”
Having declared this, Kazuma briskly rose and withdrew from the hall.

When Mitsutaka heard of Kazuma’s demeanor at this time, he sent a messenger to the Takeuchi residence with the command, “Do not get injured—accomplish your task and return successfully.”
Kazuma said, “Please convey that I have duly received His Lordship’s gracious words.”

The moment Kazuma heard from his peers that Inspector Hayashi had recommended him for this duty, he resolved to die in battle.
It was a resolution so firm it could not be moved no matter what.
It was said that Inspector Hayashi had declared he would make him repay the favor.
He had unintentionally heard these words—though in truth, there had been no need to hear them—for when Hayashi recommended someone, he was bound to do so in those very terms.
When he thought this, Kazuma felt as if he could neither stand nor sit still.
I have indeed received the late lord’s favor.
However, after my coming of age, I was merely one among many attendants and did not receive any exceptional treatment.
Everyone has received the lord’s favor.
What does it mean that I alone must be made to repay the lord’s favor?
Needless to say, I was supposed to commit junshi, but because I did not, they are sending me to a place where I must stake my life.
I would gladly throw away my life at any time, but I have no intention of dying now as a substitute for the junshi I failed to perform earlier.
I, who do not cling to life now—why would I have clung to it on the final day of the late lord’s mourning period?
It is baseless.
After all, there exists no clear boundary determining how many of those who were close should commit junshi.
Among the young attendants who had served just as I had, there was no order for junshi, so I too had remained alive.
If junshi were permissible, I would be the first to do it.
I had thought that much was apparent to anyone’s eyes.
Moreover, to be branded as one who failed to commit the junshi I was supposed to—it is all the more galling.
I have incurred a stain that cannot be washed away.
To inflict such humiliation upon a person—none but that Inspector Hayashi could have done it.

It was only to be expected of Inspector Hayashi. But why had His Lordship accepted it? The wounds Hayashi inflicted I could endure. Being cast aside by His Lordship I could not. When we had tried to enter Shimabara Castle, the late lord stopped us—he had prevented the horse guards from joining the vanguard deliberately. This time was different: His Lordship told me not to get injured. He told me to spare my precious life. What gratitude was there in that? It was like being whipped anew over an old wound. I wanted only to die as soon as possible. This stain would not wash away with death, yet still I wanted to die. Even a dog’s death would suffice—I wanted to die.

When Kazuma thought this, he could bear it no longer.
Thereupon, he briskly instructed his wife and children only that he had been ordered to attack the Abe clan and devoted himself solely to preparations.
Those who had committed junshi had all met their deaths in a state of peace, whereas Kazuma now rushed toward his death to escape his anguish.
Save for Otomajima Tokuemon, who perceived the circumstances and resolved to follow his master’s decision, there was no one within the household who grasped Kazuma’s true heart.

At the residence of Kazuma, who was now twenty-one years old, his wife—who had only come to him the previous year and still seemed more girl than woman—could do nothing but wander about clutching their one-year-old daughter.

On the night of the 20th day of the Fourth Month—the eve of the assault—Kazuma purified himself with ablutions, shaved the crown of his head, and burned into his hair the prized incense Hatsune bestowed by Toshitada.
He donned a white shiromuku robe with white tasuki cords and a white headband, fastening to his shoulder a triangular paper bearing the clan’s seal.
At his waist hung the Masamori blade—two shaku four sun five bu in length—a memento sent to his homeland when his ancestor Shimamura Danjo perished in battle at Amagasaki.
To this he added the Kagemitsu sword received during his first campaign.
At the gate, a horse whinnied.

When Kazuma took his short spear and stepped down into the garden, he tied his straw sandal cords in a masculine knot and sliced off the excess with a dagger, letting the remnants fall.

Takami Gonnoemon, assigned to assault the Abe residence's rear gate, descended from Wada Tango-no-kami who had dwelled in Wada of Ōmi Province. The Wada clan first served Kamō Yoshihide before entering Hosokawa service under Wada Shōgorō. This Shōgorō proved his valor at Gifu and Sekigahara. Having attended Toshitada's brother Yuichiro Toshitaka, he accompanied the disgraced lord when Toshitaka - forced into monastic exile as Kyūmu after his Maeda wife fled Osaka in Keichō 5 - wandered to Kōyasan and Kyoto. Sansai later summoned him to Kokura, bestowed the Takami name, and installed him as steward with five hundred koku. Shōgorō sired Gonnoemon, who earned distinction in Shimabara only to be stripped of rank for disobeying orders. After years in disgrace, he regained favor as chief attendant. For the assault, Gonnoemon clad himself in crested black habutae silk and girded his long-hoarded Bizen Osafune blade. He marched forth bearing a cruciform spear.

Just as Takeuchi Kazuma had Shimamura Tokuemon in his command, Takami Gonnoemon was accompanied by a single page.
On a summer day two or three years after the Abe clan incident, this page was off-duty and napping in his room.
At that moment, one of his fellow retainers returned from an errand, stripped completely naked, and was about to fetch water from the well with a bucket in hand when he suddenly noticed the page sleeping there. “Here I’ve returned from an errand, and you’re lying here asleep without even drawing water for me?” he said, kicking the pillow as he spoke.
The page sprang up.

“I see. If I’d been awake, I would’ve drawn water for you. But to kick a pillow with your foot—how could you do such a thing? This will not be the end of it!” With these words, he suddenly cut down his fellow retainer in a dramatic fashion.

The page calmly mounted his fellow retainer’s chest and delivered the final blow before going to Otomajima’s hut to report the details. “I was supposed to die immediately,” he said while stripping to the waist to prepare for seppuku, “but thought there might be suspicions if I did so without explanation.”

Otomajima halted him with a “Wait first,” then informed Gonnoemon.

Gonnoemon—still in his official robes having not yet returned home—went directly to report to Toshitada at the mansion.

“That stands to reason,” declared Toshitada. “No need for seppuku.”

From that moment onward, the page devoted himself wholly to Gonnoemon’s service.

The page shouldered a quiver, took up a half-bow, and drew close to the master.

The twenty-first day of the fourth month of Kanei 19 was a day of pale overcast skies typical of the barley harvest season.

To storm the Yamazaki residence where the Abe clan had barricaded themselves, Takeuchi Kazuma's forces arrived before the main gate at dawn.
The house that had resounded with gongs and drums throughout the night now lay so silent it might have been mistaken for an abandoned dwelling.
The gate doors were locked.
At the tips of oleander branches stretching two or three shaku above the wooden fence, spiderwebs hung with night dew glistening like pearls.
A swallow flew in from somewhere and darted inside the fence.

Kazuma dismounted and alighted, observed the situation for a while, then said, “Open the gate.”
Two ashigaru climbed over the fence and entered inside.
With no enemies around the gate, they smashed the lock and removed the crossbar.

Eimoto Matashichirō from the neighboring house, hearing the sound of Kazuma’s men opening the gate, trampled through the bamboo fence whose binding ropes he had severed the previous night and charged inside. It was a residence he had frequented nearly daily and knew down to its last corner. Gripping his hand spear, he slipped swiftly through the kitchen entrance. Among the clan members who had shut tight the sliding doors of the tatami room and lay waiting to cut down each attacker individually, it was Yagobei who first detected movement at the rear entrance. He too, grasping a hand spear, went out to inspect the kitchen.

The two men stood facing each other, their spear tips nearly touching.
“Oh—Matashichirō?” Yagobei called out.

“Oh,” he said. “You’ve been boasting all along.”
“You’ve come to witness spear technique.”

“Well met. Come on.”

The two men stepped back a pace and crossed spears.
They fought for a time, but as Matashichirō’s spearmanship was superior, he thrust mightily through Yagobei’s breastplate.
Yagobei discarded his spear with a clatter and tried to retreat toward the tatami room.

“Coward! Don’t retreat!” Matashichirō shouted.

“No—I won’t flee. I’ll cut my belly.” With those final words, he entered the tatami room.

In that instant—“Uncle, your opponent!”—Shichinosuke, his forelock flying, rushed out like lightning and pierced Matashichirō’s thigh. Having dealt Yagobei a grave wound in close combat and unwittingly lowered his guard, even the battle-hardened Matashichirō fell prey to the boy’s strike. Matashichirō dropped his spear and collapsed where he stood.

Kazuma passed through the gate and positioned his men throughout every corner of the residence. Advancing first to the entranceway, he found the front wooden door slightly ajar. When Kazuma reached for the door, Tokuemon shoved it aside and whispered urgently.

“Please wait,” said Tokuemon. “Lord Kazuma is today’s supreme commander. I shall take the vanguard.”

Tokuemon flung open the door and leapt inside.
Tokuemon was struck through his right eye by Ichidayu’s spear lying in wait, staggered, and collapsed against Kazuma.

“Out of the way!”
Kazuma pushed Tokuemon aside and advanced.
The spears of Ichidayu and Godayu pierced through both flanks.

Soejima Kubei and Nomura Shōbei rushed in one after another.
Tokuemon, though grievously wounded, did not yield and returned to the fray.

At this moment, Takami Gonemon, who had broken through the rear gate, brandished his cross-shaped spear, plowed through Abe’s retainers, and reached the tatami room.
Chiba Sakubei followed and pressed into the barricade.

The forces from front and rear intermingled as they charged in screaming and bellowing.
Even with its sliding doors and fusuma panels removed, the tatami room spanned fewer than thirty mats.
Just as urban warfare’s horrors surpass those of open battlefields, so too did this scene resemble insects swarming on a platter to devour one another—a sight too gruesome to witness.

As Ichidayu and Godayu continued exchanging spear thrusts indiscriminately with their opponents, they sustained countless wounds across their bodies.
Even so, undeterred, they discarded their spears, drew their swords, and slashed wildly around them.
Shichinosuke had collapsed unnoticed.

As Eimoto Matashichirō lay wounded in the kitchen with a pierced thigh, a member of Takami’s forces saw him and said, “You’ve taken quite an injury—most impressive! Best make your retreat now,” before passing through to the inner rooms.
“If I had legs to retreat with, I’d go inside too,” Matashichirō said bitterly, gnashing his teeth.
Thereupon, one of the retainers who had followed his lord inside came running up and, hoisting him onto his shoulder, withdrew.

Now Amakusa Heikurō, another retainer of the Eimoto household, guarded his lord’s retreat path and shot at approaching enemies with a half-bow until meeting his end on that very spot.

Under Takeuchi Kazuma’s command, Shima Tokuemon died first, followed by Squad Leader Soejima Kubei.

While Takami Gonnoemon wielded his cross-shaped spear in battle, the page armed with a half-bow kept close to the spear’s side to shoot enemies, but later drew his sword and cut them down.
Suddenly, there was someone aiming a matchlock at Gonnoemon.

“I will intercept that bullet,” said the page, positioning himself before Gonnoemon—and the bullet came striking.
The page died instantly.
Chiba Sakubei, the squad leader who had been transferred from Takeuchi’s unit to Takami’s, sustained grave injuries and made his way to the kitchen, where he drank water from the jar before collapsing there in a heap.

The Abe clan first saw Yagobei commit seppuku, while Ichidayu, Godayu, and Shichinosuke all finally succumbed to their grievous wounds.
Many of their retainers were also killed in battle.

Takami Gonnoemon gathered his forces from both front and rear, had them demolish the storage shed that had been at the rear of the Abe clan’s residence, and set fire to it.
Under the hazy overcast sky of a windless day, smoke rose straight and was visible from afar.
Then they stamped out the flames, doused the embers with water, and withdrew.
Chiba Sakubei, who was in the kitchen, and others who had sustained grave injuries were shouldered by their retainers and comrades as they followed along.
The time was exactly at the Hour of the Sheep.

Mitsutaka often paid visits to the homes of prominent figures within his household, but on the twenty-first day—when he had sent forces to subjugate the Abe clan—he departed for Matsuno Sakyo’s residence from dawn.

From the flower garden where the mansion stood, Yamazaki lay just beyond; thus, when Mitsutaka departed the mansion, he could hear voices and clamor coming from the direction of the Abe residence.

“They’ve breached the compound now,” Mitsutaka said and boarded the palanquin.

When the palanquin had advanced barely one chō, a report arrived.
It was at this moment that they learned Takeuchi Kazuma had been killed in battle.

Takami Gonnoemon led the entire force of attackers, withdrew to the front of Matsuno’s residence where Mitsutaka was stationed, and had it formally reported that every last member of the Abe clan had been annihilated.
Mitsutaka said he would meet him shortly and had Gonnoemon directed to the study hall’s garden.

Just as deutzia flowers bloomed pure white in the hedge, Gonnoemon opened a small wicket gate there and entered, then settled heavily onto the lawn.
Mitsutaka, seeing this, called out, “You’ve been wounded. That was quite an ordeal.”
The black crepe garment had become drenched in blood and was now mottled with charcoal and ash that had scattered when they stamped out the fire in the shed during their withdrawal.

“Not at all.
“It is but a scratch.”
Gonnoemon had been struck by someone’s downward thrust, but the spear tip struck against a mirror he carried in his breast and was deflected.
The wound had merely let blood seep into the handkerchief.

Gonnoemon gave a detailed account of each man’s deeds during the assault and yielded the foremost merit to his neighbor Eimoto Matashichirō, who had single-handedly inflicted a grave wound upon Yagobei.

“What became of Kazuma?”

“As I had rushed in through the front gate just ahead of them, I did not witness it.”

“I see,” he said. “Have everyone enter the garden.”

Gonnoemon called everyone in.
Except for those with grave injuries who had been carried back to their homes, all others prostrated themselves on the lawn.
Those who fought were stained with blood; those who merely assisted in burning the shed were covered in ash.
Among those drenched only in ash was Hata Jūdayū.
Mitsutaka called out.

“Jūdayū, how did you fare in the battle?”

“Hah,” he said, then remained silent and prostrated himself.
Jūdayū was a large-framed coward; when the Abe clan had been loitering outside the residence and set fire to the shed before withdrawing, he finally crept timidly inside.
When first ordered to lead the attackers, the swordsman Miyamoto Musashi saw him stepping forward and said, “What divine fortune! You’ve done quite a feat,” giving his back a hearty slap.
Jūdayū paled and attempted to retighten his loosened hakama strings, but his hands trembled so much that he could not fasten them, it is said.

Mitsutaka rose from his seat and said, “You all have exerted yourselves. Return and rest.”

Takeuchi Kazuma’s young daughter was permitted to adopt an heir and succeed the family headship, but this house later died out. Takami Gonnoemon received an increase of 300 koku, while Chiba Sakubei and Nomura Shōbei each received an increase of 50 koku. To Eimoto Matashichirō, Yoneda Kenmotsu—having received the directive—sent Squad Leader Tani Uchinosuke as a messenger to deliver words of commendation.

When relatives and friends came to offer their congratulations, Eimoto laughed and said, “Back in the Genki and Tenshō eras, sieges and open-field battles were as common as our morning and evening meals. Crushing the Abe clan was a trifle of trifles—a morning trifle!”

Two years passed, and in the summer of Shōhō 1, Eimoto’s wound had healed, and he was granted an audience with Mitsutaka. Mitsutaka entrusted him with ten guns and said, “If you wish to fully heal your wound through hot spring treatment, do so. I shall also grant you a villa site outside the castle town—name your desired location.”

Eimoto Matashichirō received an estate site in Mashiki Koike Village. The back of it was a brushwood-covered mountain. “Shall I grant you the brushwood mountain as well?” Mitsutaka said. Eimoto Matashichirō declined it.

Bamboo serves a purpose even on ordinary days. If there were a war, there would be a need for many bamboo bundles. He could not feel at ease if he were to receive that for himself. Thus, the brushwood-covered mountain was placed in perpetual custody under the lord’s authority.

Hata Jūdayū was exiled.
Takeuchi Kazuma’s older brother Hachibei, though he had joined my attack force, was not present at the site of his younger brother’s death in battle and was thus ordered into house confinement.
Furthermore, a certain individual—the son of a horse guard who served as a close attendant—resided near the Abe residence; he was excused from his regular duties with the directive, “Attend to fire prevention,” and together with his father climbed onto the roof to extinguish stray embers.
Later, when he realized he had acted contrary to the intentions behind being graciously excused from duty and requested leave, Mitsutaka said, “That is not cowardice. Take greater care hereafter,” and let him remain in service.
This close attendant committed *junshi* when Mitsutaka passed away.

The corpses of the Abe clan were brought out to Ideguchi and examined.
When they washed the wounds one by one at Shirakawa, the wound on Yagobei—pierced through the breastplate by Eimoto Matashichirō’s spear—proved more impressive than any other received, and so Eimoto truly distinguished himself.

Taishō 2nd Year, 1st Month (January 1913)