“In honor to your dearest friend—”
“I am only a tojin. They will call my service a dishonor.”
“You have been received by Iyeyoshi as the equal of Satsuma. I have no other friend. Will you fail me in my need?”
“My God!” I cried. “How can I?”
“I speak only of friendship. I will not urge your assent on the ground of consideration for my father. For the sake of Dai Nippon, I went out into your tojin world and returned to die. You chose to return with me, brother. Will you now forsake me in my need?”
Suddenly the veil of horror parted before me, and I saw the intended sacrifice with the eyes of my friend. Iyeyoshi had been duped by the wiles of the reactionaries. The Mito party, if not quickly checkmated, would turn the Shogunate against all progress and greet the American expedition upon its return with an attack no less vicious than futile. After that, war and reprisals; bombardments by the black ships, rebellion, internecine war, and a weakened Government; harsh demands by the domineering tojin powers—possibly a conquest!
What more inspiring than the thought that all might be averted by the giving of one life? My friend was about to offer himself as a willing sacrifice for the good of his country. It was my privilege to ease the ordeal for him and to lend an added dignity to the ceremony. What did it matter if my Occidental prejudices were shocked and horrified at the part required of me? To the Japanese it was an almost sacred duty. He had well said that it was the highest service a man could render a friend.
“I—will serve—you, Tomo!” I gasped.
He sprang up, beaming. “There is no time to lose. Send Yuki to Shinagawa for Kohana. I must see my father and prepare a declaratory testament to be presented to the Shogun. Fujimaro will make all the necessary arrangements. Until the time comes, brother—”
He turned to go, but I sprang before him to grasp his hand. “Tomo! must it really be? Is there no other way?”