If old Acquaintance be forgot
Thus Kosaka Jinnai, under the name of Osada, at the beginning of Shōhō 2nd year (1645) was established at Aoyama Harajuku-mura. For a gentleman of such abilities his pretensions were modest. It is true that he hung out a gilt sign before his fencing hall, with no boasting advertisement of his qualities as teacher. Yet his fame quickly became such that students flocked to him by the score. In a few months, on plea of being over-stocked, he was turning away all who would seek his instruction. Some he could not refuse—retainers of yashiki in his vicinity. But the generality of his disciples were a very rough lot; and this finer quality of his flock were carefully segregated, came and went at their appointed time apart from the common herd; and as matter of fact profited much from their teacher, and knew very little about him. Which was exactly the aim of Jinnai. This was remembered of him later.
There is but one domestic episode connected with this period, so short and purposely obscure in its duration. About the time of his first establishment a villager, on visit to Edo town, chanced upon the practice hour of Jinnai. The years had passed, yet the rustic had no difficulty in recognizing in the Sensei the one time Jinnosuké. When later he sought a more personal interview the great man was found courteous but freezing cold in the reception. The news from Tsukuba district was of that mixed character not to afford any exuberant pleasure. His reputation for bad company had gone abroad, though no great deeds of wickedness had been attributed to him. With the devotion of a daughter his wife had nourished the old folk, brought up her two daughters. On her shoulders during all these years had rested the management of these small affairs. The girls grew toward womanhood. When O'Kiku was in her seventeenth year Jisuké had died—unconsoled at the ill turn fortune had played him in this unfilial son. These grandparents had lingered out the years, crippled and helpless, urging a re-marriage on O'Ichi—always refused on the plea that such relation was for two lives. Jisuké Dono had united them, and he alone could separate her from Jinnai. She sought no second relation herself and plead against it; and Jisuké would not force it on this filial daughter, who thus would block the disinheritance of the son. Thus the farm stood, ready for the master on his return. Truly the whole village wondered, and admired her filial conduct.
To most of this Jinnai listened with indifference. "These girls—their looks and age?" Replied the man—"O'Kiku now is seventeen years; O'Yui Dono has fifteen years. Truly they are the village beauties, and rarely found in such life, for they would spare the mother all labour." He spoke with enthusiasm. "Then the mother lives?" The man shook his head—"The grave mound yet is very fresh. When she died she spoke no word of Jinnosuké Dono." Boldly he looked in rebuke at the unfilial man. Jinnai, if anything, showed annoyance. The old woman alive would have kept the inconvenient wife—the three women—at the distance of Tsukuba's slopes. His plans admitted of no possible descent on him at Aoyama Harajuku. Briefly he made request for the favour of bearing a message. Gladly the mission was accepted. With a discouraging cordiality in the leave taking the old acquaintance took his way back to the village. With something of a flutter O'Ichi opened and ran out the scroll he brought—"Unexpected and gratifying the meeting with Tarōbei San. The news of the village, not pleasing, is subject of condolence. Deign to observe well the instructions here given. The time will come when a summons to Edo town will be in order. At present the establishment is new and tender, and stands not the presence of strangers to the town. Condescend to show the same care in the present as in the past. The farm and its tenure is left to the hands of Ichi. As for these girls, look well to their care. They are said to be handsome and reputed the daughters of this Jinnai. Obey then his command. These are no mares for the public service, or for the private delectation of some rich plebeian. Service in a yashiki need not be refused, and jumps more with the plans and purposes of Jinnai. Keep this well in mind, and await the ripeness of time. With salutation...." Such the cold greeting through the years. "Reputed the daughters of this Jinnai." Ah! He thought and knew the years turned the beauty Ichi into the worn and wrinkled country hag of nearly forty years, only too ready to market her girls for her own necessities. She was ill and worn in her service. Here Jinnai was to be recognized. He was the man of his caste, with contempt for the plebeian he turned to his uses, but who must have no intimate contact with him or his.
Edo town was in a turmoil. North, East, South of the town the lives and purses of men who walked were at hazard. Plainly some band was operating in these quarters of the town. Aoyama Shūzen was hard put to it. His arrests, outrageous and barbarous, increased with his difficulties. Some specimens have been instanced. His bands of yakunin lay out in a wide net around the threatened quarters of the city. On the outskirts of Honjō a country mansion would be fired and plundered. In Ōkubo a temple (the Jishō-in) was clean gutted of its treasury—without notice to its neighbours. Not a sign of the spoil could be traced until the Shōshidai of Kyōto sent as present to the suzerain a most valued hanging picture (kakémono) of Shūbun, picked up for him in Ōsaka town, and worthy of being seen by the eyes of Edo's ruler. Murder and rape were the common accompaniments of these crimes, the doers of which left no witness, if resisted. Tsujikiri, cutting down wayfarers merely to test the value of a sword blade, found revival. Such murders in the outward wards of the city were of nightly occurrence. Yet they all centred in Aoyama's own precinct; starting forth from the fencing hall of Osada Jinnai. What a band they were! At this long distant date the names read with that tinge of the descriptive which such nomenclature gives—Yamaguchi Chiyari, Kanagawa Koni, Sendai no Ōkami, Okayama Koshin, Kumamoto Kondō, Tsukuba Endé;[26] their great chief being Kosaka Jinnai.
The eleventh month (December) was closing its first decade. The wine shop at Shiba Nihon Enoki was celebrating a first opening, a feast in progress for some hours, and to be maintained for the few ensuing days. The enthusiasm was at its height, and the wine flowed like water. Some few guests, who could, tottered home at midnight. Clerks and domestics—there is little difference in Nipponese practice—shut up the premises as well as their drunken state permitted. Those who had still some trace of sobriety proceeded to guzzle what was left in the opened casks. When the hour of the ox (1 a.m.) struck, not a man in the place knew front from rear. They lay sprawled out dead drunk—as were some of the women. This was the hour watched for and chosen by Jinnai. Such of the females as could give the alarm were bound and gagged by the masked invaders. Then they gutted place and store-houses. With bending backs they betook themselves over the hills the short distance to Harajuku. Here Jinnai, in the unwise benevolence of the bandit chieftain, gave rein to the licentiousness of these favourites of his mature age, to these lieutenants and agents in the great movement for which all this loot was gathered. The circuit was formed. The heads of wine barrels just stolen were broached. The grizzled, tousled member who officiated as cook, and as such had been left behind to his own offices, produced the feast of fish and delicacies in celebration of the great deed and accomplishment. "Now is the turn of this company," said Jinnai in pleasant reference to the victims of the raid. "A real banquet of extreme intoxication.[27] Alas! We have no tabo.... Too dangerous a loot," commented Jinnai amid the roar of laughter and approval. "Use and abuse go together; and the necessity to slit the throats of such chattering parrots. For this company the remains would give trouble, and might bring unexpected visitors about our ears. Be virtuous—and spare not the wine." The advice was followed to the letter. Soon the house of Jinnai was a match for that of the looted wine shop.
With the light of the December dawn a metal dealer (doguya) was trudging his way over the sifted cover of an early snow fall. He lived thereabouts; often had had small jobs of mending the weapons and implements of this sturdy establishment of Jinnai, hence had some good will to its owner, which was more than could be said of most of the neighbours. To his surprise he noted the wide open gate to Jinnai's entrance, the many tracks leading within. Strange sounds were heard. He would venture on a look. "Oya! Oya!" The man stood stock still, half in fright and half in a wondering concupiscence of curiosity, as he took in the riotous vision of the fencing hall. Some twenty men lay scattered in different postures—all dead drunk. The noise arose from their wide open snoring mouths and nostrils. A score of wine casks lay tumbled, the liquor spilled on the tatami. Mingled with the remains of food and vomit were stained cups and dirty plates. More suggestive to his frightened eyes was the heap of packages laid out at the side. Some of them had been opened, and displayed the varied assortment of the contents. Most conspicuous was Jinnai, who had gone to sleep with the bag of all the coin found in the wine shop as pillow. Ah! Ha! The scene needed no interpreter. This was a mere band of thieves, the house their den. The man stole to the kitchen. He knew his ground, and that in these bachelor quarters no women would be stirring. Jinnai was a misogynist—on business principles. Hearing a stir he would have fled at the rear, but the body of the drunken cook, the intermediary of their dealings, lay square across the exit. Fearful he made his return. As he passed out the front—"Alas! Alas! What is to be done? The Sensei, so just and prompt in his dealings, so kind in his patronage, is a mere thief. Report is to be made. As witness this Sentarō will send the Sensei to the execution ground. But the honoured mother—no trouble is to be brought on her. By other discovery ... and perchance someone has seen this entrance! What's to be done? What's to be done?" He did one thing in his perplexity. He shut the outside door, closed fast the big gate, and departed by the service gate. Thus no others should intrude on this rash man; and likewise Jinnai had no inkling of his visit. Then the doguya fled to his home, so blue in the face and overcome as to frighten the household. They gathered round the unhappy man with hot water to drink as restorative. "Had he seen a ghost?"
All day he pondered. Then he told his story to Aikawa Chūdayu. The officer was indebted to Sentarō; for many a hint in his operations. "Deign somehow, honoured yōnin, that the Sensei be allowed to escape. For this Sentarō to appear as witness will bring down the curse of one sure to be visited with execution. Condescend this favour." Chūdayu looked on him with approval, but shook his head in doubt—"Never mind the curse of one dead. The service to the suzerain is most opportune. Thus surely there will be reward, not punishment. For the present you cannot be allowed to leave, but the mother shall suffer no anxiety. There is much serious matter against this man; perchance no testimony will be called for.... Strange he should be caught thus; on both sides, and in accordance." He looked over the scroll he held in his hands, and with it took his way to his master's apartment. Thus it was he could spring on Shūzen the greater affair concerning the long missing man. Making his report of the tale of the doguya he passed over the scroll he held in his hand—"The fellow is caught in both quarters. There are three of these rōnin, most intimate. Of this Marubashi Chūya little favourable is known, but he has the support of Yui Sensei, the noted master of the Ushigomé Enoki fencing room, and favourite of all but Hida no Kami, whom he would rival in attainment. Shibata Saburōbei and this Katō Ichiémon seem honourable men, of clean lives and reputation beyond the fact of being rōnin. All experts at arms they live by teaching one form or other of the practice. Curiosity led Chūya to the encounter of this Osada at his fencing hall, to find him more than his match at everything but his favourite art of the spear. But here lies the point. Later he returned, in company with a one time shoké of the Zōjōji. As Dentatsu the priest had met with Jinnai, and nearly suffered at his hands. In what way he did not say, but told Chūya that the man's real name was Kosaka—of the stock of Kosaka Danshō no Chūden of Kai; of him your lordship already has had experience in early days. At last he comes into the net and under such fair terms."
Aoyama did know his man; even after all these years. He had ripened much. Why not Jinnai? He would have gone himself, and chafed at not doing so; but his satellites showed him the lack of dignity in such procedure. The magistrate in person to take a common thief! Darkness offered chance of escape; so with dawn a host of yakunin was sent under a yoriki[28] and several dōshin. Aikawa Chūdayu himself volunteered. Jinnai and his men were not yet up. On the previous day awaking amid the unseemly debris of the night's debauch, with no clear recollection of its progress and ending, the chief's first alarm had been dissipated by finding the outer gate locked. The unbarred wicket was attributed to an oversight which hardly would attract notice from the outside. Indeed he had not been the first to rise and take tale of his companions, to ascertain which one had occasion to open it and go without. With such a chief few would admit negligence. The day passed without notice. Confidence was restored. Now from the outside was heard a hum of voices. "On his lordship's business! On his lordship's business!" The cries came together with an irruption of yakunin into the entrance hall, Jinnai and his men promptly sprang to arms. A scattered fight began, with none too great stomach of the officers before the stout resistance offered. It was no great matter to reach a ladder to the loft. Jinnai was the last man up. The more daring to follow was laid low with an arrow shot from above, and the ladder disappeared heavenward. Panels now were thrust back, short bows brought into use, and almost before they had thought to fight or flee the constables had five of their men stretched out on the tatami.
Before the shower of missiles they could but retreat. At the request for aid Aoyama Shūzen was in a rage. There was now no preventing his departure. Mounting his horse off he rode from Kanda-mura toward Harajuku-mura. But it had taken some little time for the messenger to come; and more for Aoyama with his staff to go. Meanwhile much had taken place. The ward constables had joined the yakunin of Shūzen. The place completely surrounded, tatami were taken from the neighbouring houses for use as shields against the arrows. Then on signal a concerted rush of the hardiest was made. Pouring in, with ladders raised aloft; tumbling each other into the ditches, in the confusion pummelling each other with mighty blows, and in consequence securing stout whacks from the enraged recipients; the unlucky constables were soon indistinguishable in their coating of mud and blood. The outrageous ruffians, however, were soon tumbled from the posts of vantage and precise aim by well directed thrusts. A dozen men poured up the ladders and through broken panels into the loft above. Here in the uncertain light they hesitated. The figures of the foe could be seen, armed and ready for an arrow flight. Then a shout was raised from below. Stifling smoke poured up from every quarter. The scene was illuminated by the blazing figures of the archers, for these were old armour and weapons, lay figures stuffed with straw and meant but to gain precious moments of respite. The yakunin now had themselves to save. The retreat was as disorderly as at their first advent, but their rear was not galled by aught but flying sparks and burning timbers. Discomfited they watched the blazing mass of Jinnai's once establishment; watched it until it was a mere mass of ashes and charred beams.
Jinnai had been long prepared for such an adventure. The yakunin at first driven back he followed his company through the tunnel[29] leading to beneath a subsidiary shrine in the grounds of the neighbouring temple of the Zenkwōji. Here he dismissed them, with hasty division of the raided coin, and instructions to their chiefs to meet him at the festival of the Owari no Tsushima in the fifth month (June). Himself he would go north, to give notice and gather his recruits. Thus exposed at Edo, the great uprising now must centre in Ōsaka. They scattered to their different courses; and thus Jinnai failed to meet the enraged Aoyama Shūzen, now present on the scene. But even the harsh discipline of their master had to yield to the piteous appearance of his men in their discomfiture. Aikawa Chūdayu bent low in most humble apology. They had underestimated the man, had virtually allowed him to escape—"Naruhodo! The figures were of straw, and no wonder yielded so readily to the spear. Only the sight of the flames rising amid the armour betrayed the deceit in the gloom of the loft. Deign to excuse the negligence this once." A dōshin, an old and experienced officer, spoke almost with tears. Aoyama gave a "humph!" Then looking over this mud stained, blear eyed, bloody nosed, ash dusted band of his confederates he began to chuckle at the battered and ludicrous composition. All breathed again. But when he had re-entered his yashiki, and was left to himself, without concubine for service, or Jinnai for prospective amusement, then indeed he stamped his feet, his belly greatly risen. Alas! Alas! How could Yokubei Sama find a substitute for the one; and secure the real presence of the other?