At the western gate Mori halted the van of his division, while the cavalry, closely compact, rested on his right in readiness for their orders. At his left was his artillery force, so arranged that their fire should cut obliquely the line of entrance.
The Irregulars who faced the samurai guarding this port of entrance presented a far from uniform aspect. They, the infantry of his force, were all in armor, but their weapons differed. Some carried rifles, others were armed with spears, swords, and bows and arrows. They were gathered into corps according to the nature of their arms, but all were infantry.
At a signal from Mori a rifle volley cut down the samurai at the gate. Those who were struck dashed through the portals, whence issued audible proofs of the alarm felt within.
Instantly the ranks of the infantry parted to permit the passage of a body of laborers and sappers, who, attacking the gate with their tools, gave promise of a speedy breach.
At the moment when one of the doors gave way, when the infantry, straining every nerve, waited couched for the charge, when Mori in their rear gathered about him the picked samurai he was to lead, there thundered from a point across the palace directly opposite the heavy detonation of artillery.
The commander was thrown into grave anxiety. From its volume he knew that one of his lieutenants, disobeying his orders, was shelling the Imperial palace. The safety of the Emperor, and his own good faith, were equally endangered, since the death of the Mikado would make him and his men choteki (traitors) in the eyes of the nation.
Mori came to an instant decision. Even at the cost of the utter failure of the storming of the palace, such a false position must be avoided. Committing the assault of the western gate to a young officer, and bidding his picked samurai follow him, he seized the horse an attendant held for him, and galloped around the angle of the palace wall.
When he came within sight of the central gate of the eastern wall, Mori saw that Toro, wearying of the slowness of his pioneers, had ordered his artillery to batter down the doors. One small volley had been fired when the Prince, riding fiercely at the men serving the guns, beat them down with the flat of his sword.
“Remove these guns at once,” he shouted; “you must not fire.”
Sheepishly the gunners picked themselves up, as the horses dragged the pieces to one side. Mori, dismounting, strode up to Toro, now standing abashed before the very gate he was to storm.