Warriors of Old Japan, and Other Stories — Gen Sanmi Yorimasa, Part 2

There are many stories told of Yorimasa which show us that he was not only a brave soldier and a man of learning and a poet, but also a man of wit and tact who knew how to use men as he willed.

Now one day a band of discontented turbulent priests came to the Palace Gate where Yorimasa was on guard, and demanded entrance.

It must be explained that in those days the Buddhist priests of Kyoto were a set of wild and lawless men who often brought shame to their religion by their wicked lives.

They lived outside the city on Mount Hiei, which they made their stronghold, and, forgetting the dignity of their religion, they took sides in war and in politics.

They gave trouble to those in authority, especially to those who did not favour them.

They used the smallest event as an occasion for carrying swords and bows and arrows, and it was their habit to go out equipped like soldiers going forth to war.

Yorimasa saw that the priests were all well armed, and only too anxious to find a pretext for drawing their swords.

They carried with them in great state the sacred palanquin of their temple.

In this palanquin their patron god was supposed to dwell, and it was borne aloft on the shoulders of fifty men.

With loud shoutings and a wild display of strength the priests rushed the car along, now lifting it high above their heads, now staggering under its weight, as it seemed about to crush them to the ground.

Now Yorimasa was in no mood for fighting that day, and it seemed to him not worth his while to set his men--the best fighters and archers in the realm--against a handful of priests whom he could disperse in a few minutes; besides, these priests from Mount Hiei were troublesome fellows and he did not wish to earn their enmity.

So laughing quietly to himself he said that he would have some fun at their expense.

When the procession stopped opposite the gate, Yorimasa with his captains of the guard sallied forth to meet the noisy crowd, and coming in front of the palanquin bowed in reverence before it with slow ceremony.

The priests, who had expected and were prepared for a very difficult reception, were surprised and somewhat taken aback.

After some parley amongst themselves, their spokesman advanced and asked leave to enter the gate, saying they had a petition to present to the Emperor.

Yorimasa sent his captain forward.

"My lord bids you welcome," he said, "and wishes me to say that he worships the same god as yourselves, and he is therefore averse to shooting against the _Mikoshi_ [sacred palanquin] with his bows and arrows.

Besides this, we are very few in number, so that your names will be dishonoured and you will be called cowards for having chosen the weakest post to fight.

Now the next gate is guarded by the Heike soldiers, who are much stronger in numbers than we are.

How would it do for you to go round and fight there?

You would surely gain glory in an encounter with them."

The priests were so pleased by the flattery of this speech that they did not see that it was a ruse on the part of Yorimasa to get rid of them easily, and that he was sending them round to bother his rivals.

He had also appealed to their best feelings, for Japanese chivalry teaches that in the event of choosing between two enemies the weaker must always be spared.

Some polite answer was made to Yorimasa, and then the priests shouldered the _Mikoshi_ and departed in the same spirited and vociferous manner that they had come.

They went to the next gate, guarded by the Heike.

Battle was given at once, for they were refused admittance.

The priests were beaten and fled for their lives to the hills.

All these stories show us that Yorimasa was a clever man in every way, but in the end he was unfortunate, and for this there was no help.

When we read the story of his ill-fated death our hearts are filled with sorrow for him.

It is not always as one wishes in this world, and Yorimasa did not meet with the fate his meritorious deeds and character deserved.

The Heike or Taira clan were now in the ascendant (Yorimasa, it will be remembered, belonged to the Genji or Minamoto), and Kiyomori, their despotic and unprincipled leader, was Prime Minister.

All the important posts in the Government he gave to his sons, grandsons, and relations, who under these circumstances, seeing that they owed everything to him, did just as the tyrant ordered.

All _samurai_ who did not belong to the Heike clan he treated unjustly, even throwing those he did not like into prison, whether they were innocent or guilty of the crimes or behaviour deserving such punishment.

As a general of the rival Genji clan, Yorimasa suffered much from this unfair treatment.

As he watched the arrogant conduct of Kiyomori and his son Munemori, he longed to be able to punish them and to bring retribution on the whole clan, and to this end he thought and worked and planned.

At last the Heike became so overbearing and so powerful that their actions passed the bounds of all reason, and Kiyomori, on a question of succession to the throne, confined the reigning Emperor in his Palace.

This last step was too much for Yorimasa; he could endure this state of things no longer, and he resolved to make a bold strike for the right.

He placed Prince Takakura, the son of the late Emperor, at the head of his army and set out to do battle with the Heike.

But the Genji were far inferior in numbers to the Heike, and, sad to relate, Yorimasa was defeated in his good and just cause.

With the remainder of his army he fled before the enemy and took refuge in the Temple of Byodoin, situated on the river Uji.

The Byodoin Temple, a large edifice near Kyoto, remains to this day.

Here Yorimasa made a last stand to afford time for Prince Takakura to escape.

He divided his men into two parties--one division he stationed as a reserve force in the grounds of the temple, while the other he drew up in battle array along the banks of the river.

In case of pursuit, to prevent the enemy from crossing the river, they tore up the planks which formed the flooring of the bridge, so that only a skeleton of posts and cross-beams remained.

Then they rested and waited to see what would happen.

The Heike soon came in sight following hard after them.

First came the generals, then the soldiers, twenty-eight thousand strong.

They approached the bridge, but stopped short when they saw what the Genji had cleverly done.

In a few minutes they ranged themselves along the bank facing the enemy.

Both armies now stood confronting each other on either side of the Uji.

Simultaneously the order was given to fight by both the Genji and the Heike generals and a fierce discharge of arrows from both sides ensued.

Then there rushed forth from the ranks of the Genji a huge priest, Tajima Bo by name (in those days the Buddhist priests often took part in battles); brandishing an enormous halberd he dashed out alone on the skeleton bridge.

The Heike, thinking that he made an excellent target, shot a shower of arrows at him, but he was not in the least daunted.

When the arrows were aimed at his head, he stooped and they passed over him; when they were aimed at his legs, he jumped high in the air and they flew under him; when they were aimed at his body, he swept them aside with his halberd; and in this way he escaped free from hurt.

So quick was he in his movements, and so marvellous was the way in which he balanced himself in his progress across the bridge, that he seemed to be endowed with power more than human; and not only his own comrades but the enemy also looked at him in breathless admiration.

Then another of Yorimasa's men, also a priest, Jomyo by name, inspired by this example, came forth and stood up at the end of the bridge, and fitting his arrows to the bow, in rapid succession shot about a dozen of the foe, in the twinkling of an eye.

Crying out, "Oh, this is too much trouble!"

he threw away his bow and arrow, and walked over the bridge on another beam, sweeping aside with his sword the arrows aimed at him.

Yet another priest, famous for his great strength, dashed out and followed after his friends across the bridge.

He soon came up with Jomyo, but as the beams of the bridge were narrow he could not pass him.

Stopping for a moment to think what he should do, he stretched out his hands and touched the helmet of the man just in front of him, then lightly and quickly jumped leap-frog over his head.

The bridge was now soon swarming with the Genji, who with fierce battle-cries began to attack the Heike, whose advance was entirely checked.

For some minutes the Heike were greatly put out, not knowing what to do.

Then one brave youth, seeing how matters stood, and that it required some one to take a dauntless lead, sprang forth in front of the Heike and called out: "Now that it comes to this, there is no other way!"

and with these words he dashed his horse into the river.

It was the rainy season, and the waters were higher and the current stronger than usual.

Black with mud the river ran swirling and whirling on its course.

Never was there a braver sight than when the young soldier drove his horse into the swollen river and made for the other side.

His comrades could not stand still and watch him; fired by his courage, numbers of the Heike, shouting "I also!

I also!"

dashed in after him.

In a few minutes, while the Genji looked on in surprise, three hundred men had followed the gallant young captain, stemmed and crossed the torrent, and landed on the other side; and with the same dashing spirit, carrying everything before them, they broke through the last lines of the Genji and entered the Byodoin Temple, where their last stand was made.

The Genji, with Yorimasa at their head, were now in a desperate condition.

Seeing his father hard-pressed, Kanetsuna, Yorimasa's second son, an intrepid young knight, rushed into the thickest of the fight and tried to defend his father.

A Heike captain coming up with fifteen of his men seized Kanetsuna, overpowered him, and cut off his head.

Not one of Yorimasa's little band turned to flee.

Although they knew there was no hope, they fought on face to face with the foe, for _samurai_ traditions held it a disgrace to be even wounded in the back.

One famous general in ancient history issued an order to the effect that prizes would be awarded to those who were shot in the forehead, but those who were wounded in the back should be slain.

One by one, the Genji fell, slain either by sword or arrow.

Yorimasa received several wounds.

Then he saw that there was no use in fighting more; all was lost.

Those of the Genji who were still left made a brave stand round their chief; while they kept the enemy at bay Yorimasa slipped away and hastened to Prince Takakura, in the temple, and begged him to flee in safety while there was yet time.

Having seen his Imperial master safe, Yorimasa then retired to an inner part of the garden, and sitting under a large tree drew out his sword and prepared himself to commit _harakiri_, for _samurai_ honour would not let him survive defeat.

Calling his retainer Watanabe, who had escaped unhurt and who never left his master's side, Yorimasa bade him act as second in the rite.

Then quietly taking off his armour, he composed a poem.

He likened himself to a fossil tree that never knows the joy of blossoming, for he had never attained his ambition (the destruction of his enemies), "and sad indeed is the end of my life," the last line of the verse, were the last words he uttered.

He took out his short sword, and thrusting it into his side died like a brave and gallant _samurai_, without a moan.

Then from behind, as was his duty as second, Watanabe cut off his master's head, and so that it should not be discovered by the enemy and carried away as a trophy of war, he tied a large stone to it, and with sorrowful reverence dropped it into the river and watched it sink beneath the water out of sight.

In this way died Yorimasa; those of his followers who were not killed by the enemy died by their own hand, and Prince Takakura, fleeing to Nara, was overtaken by the Heike and put to death on the way.

Yorimasa was seventy-five years of age when he died.

Though, as he lamented in his last poem, he had not achieved his ambition in punishing the Heike, yet years later his work was carried on, and the Heike were completely exterminated by Yoritomo, the great chief and mighty avenger of the Genji; and the name of Gen Sanmi Yorimasa lives forever in the history of his country.

[1] All Japanese poetry is regulated and counted by syllables, not by lines and feet, as with us.

Many words have several meanings and the witty use of these punning facilities is greatly sought after.

[2] The cuckoo in Japanese literature and fancy takes the same place as the nightingale in England.

[3] "Above the clouds"--a complimentary expression used for the exalted Court circle.