Most of all, Bob was struck by the glimpses he obtained of the samurai ideals. Kobo never talked about his honour; it was not a matter either to boast of or to prove; but from the stories he told, and his manner of telling, Bob recognized that his ideal of honour equalled, if it did not even transcend, the ideals of the preux chevaliers of Christendom. In the old days, the samurai's devotion to his feudal chief was the pole-star of his life. He allowed nothing, not the direst tortures, not death itself, to stand in the way of his duty as he conceived it. In the Sengakuji temple in Tokio Bob had seen the tombs of the Forty-seven Ronins, the national heroes of Japan, whose story as he heard it now from Kobos lips was an epic, an Iliad that was literally true. The Ronins, whose very name means "wave-tost", were samurai, and their lord having been compelled to put himself to death, they formed themselves into a league to avenge him against the man whose treachery had brought this woe upon him. Unfalteringly they pursued their aim, though they knew that the end must be to themselves also death. Against all difficulties and machinations they held on their course unswervingly; their lord's enemy was slain; and with serene cheerfulness they accepted the inevitable doom, and forty-seven, slew themselves in the manner prescribed.
Kobo's conversation was not merely about the past. He spoke of the difficulties at that moment facing his country—difficulties due in great measure to the interference of western powers. With an increasing population, a soil of which a large part was unfit for cultivation, and rapidly-growing industries, Japan needed outlets for her energies, and was determined not to be debarred from her legitimate markets in Manchuria and Korea by restrictions imposed upon her by Russia, which had stepped in and robbed her of the fruits of her victory over China. It was now no secret that a critical stage had been reached in the negotiations between the two empires. Russia promised but did not perform; Japan was biding her time. Would she fight? Bob could not refrain from asking the question. Kobo smiled.
"You saw that little quarrel between two rickshaw men in the narrow road yesterday. They could not pass; neither would yield to the other; they bowed and smiled and discoursed pleasantly for a long time. Then all at once, as you saw, the eyes of one shone, his features set themselves with grim purpose, and he secured the right of way by a heavy stroke that rendered his adversary helpless. Our diplomatists will be polite until the last word is said, and then—"
The information was not merely on Kobo's side. Bob felt that, while the purpose with which he had come to Japan was perfectly known to his host, some further account of his antecedents was due to him. One evening, therefore, he spoke of his parents, of his home in the hill-country near Penrith; of his school-days at Glenalmond, and the vigorous bracing system there; of his early taste for mechanics, and his subsequent years with a Glasgow engineering firm and at Glasgow University. He spoke modestly of his experience, enthusiastically of his work, and hopefully of his prospects; and Kobo, listening without any outward sign of sympathy, said a few simple words of encouragement, which Bob appreciated much more than if they had been extravagant and fulsome.
One day a chance reference to the Chinese war of 1894 prompted Bob to ask a question on a matter that had engaged his curiosity ever since his little adventure in the Ueno Park.
"Chang-Wo?" said Kobo with a smile. "Yes, I will tell you about him if you do not mind listening to a somewhat long story. It was in the autumn of '94. I was then a captain in the Eleventh regiment. Our general, Count Yamagata, had driven the Chinese across the Yalu, and we had made a dash on Feng-huang-cheng, only to find the place a heap of ruins. But we captured a vast quantity of stores, and it was while we were making arrangements for the disposal of these and for the advance of our main army from Kiu-lien-cheng that word was brought to General Tatsumi of a disaster that had befallen one of our transport trains. It was one of those tiresome little contretemps that cause loss and annoyance without affecting the general progress of a campaign."
"We had several affairs of that kind in our Boer war," remarked Bob. "But I interrupt you, sir."
"A half company of infantry escorting a large quantity of war material had been ambushed by a force of Manchus from the hills on our right. Nearly all our men had been killed; the remainder, with the wagons, were carried off into the mountains. The leader of these guerrilla warriors, or brigands as they would more properly be described, was a certain Chang-Wo, a notorious freebooter, who had collected a formidable band of outlaws, and was playing for his own hand. The news was brought to us by one of the wagon-drivers, who had cut the traces of his team and made good his escape. He told us that the brigands were very numerous, but owing to the suddenness of their onslaught he could not give us definite particulars. It was clear that the attack had been most skilfully planned, for the captain in charge of our column was an officer of great ability.
"The general could hardly allow such an attack to pass unpunished. He would have sent cavalry in pursuit of the brigands but that the hilly country was entirely unsuited to them. It happened that my infantry company had been the first to scale the defences of Kiu-lien-cheng, and General Tatsumi selected us to track the marauders down. But he gave us only twenty-four hours. If we did not overtake them in that time we were to return; he said he could not afford to waste a company on a wild-goose chase in the hills. Accordingly I set off at once with my men. The brigands had four hours' start of us, and unluckily we had no information as to their route. But the chances were that they would make with their booty for their stronghold, and we discovered that that lay some two or three marches distant among the hills. It was fifteen miles to the spot at which the ambush had been laid; that was four hours' march, so that the enemy were altogether eight hours ahead of us. We had only sixteen hours left of our twenty-four. Could we accomplish our task? The one point in our favour was that Chang-Wo was encumbered with booty. No doubt he had impressed natives to carry it: wagons would be useless in the hills; and laden coolies perforce go slowly.
"Just as we were starting, it occurred to me that we might make use of the river if boats could be procured. After a little searching we found enough flat-bottomed craft to embark all our men, and we punted down the river for some sixteen miles, saving our legs, and making excellent progress, for we were going with the stream. We kept a sharp look-out on its banks, and at last my man Taru, an excellent scout, declared that he saw traces of a recent fording of the river by a large force. We landed, following up the tracks, and prepared to march them down.