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It was agreed that Hideyori should remain in the
possession of the castle and of all his domains, and that the
garrison, as well as the unattached samurai who formed part of it,
should not be punished but should be provided for subsequently. It
might have occurred to the leaders of the Osaka party that these
lenient conditions covered some occult designs; nothing was less
likely than that a statesman like Ieyasu would be content with so
signal a failure. But a short-sighted sentiment of confidence seems
to have obscured the judgment of the Osaka folks. They actually gave
heed to Ieyasu's complaint that he, the o-gosho, and his son, the
shogun, must not be allowed to have taken so much trouble for
nothing; that it was customary to give hostages to an army which
agreed to raise a siege, and that at least a portion of the castle's
defences should be destroyed. As to the last point, the Tokugawa
chief was kind enough to say that the work of demolition should not
cost the garrison anything, since labour would be supplied gratis by
the shoguni.
After considerable correspondence it was agreed that Harunaga's son
should go to Yedo as a hostage, and that a portion of the outer moat
of Osaka Castle should be filled up. Ieyasu did not lose a moment in
giving effect to this latter provision. He ordered some of the fudai
daimyo of the Kwanto to proceed to Osaka with several thousands of
men, who should go to work forthwith to tear down the parapets and
fill up the moats of the castle. These orders were implicitly obeyed,
and as Ieyasu had omitted to indicate any limit for the work of
destruction, it went on without check, and presently the second line
of parapets began to follow the first. The Osaka leaders protested
and essayed to stay the destruction. But the officers who were in
command of the operation said that without a direct message from
Honda Masazumi, who represented Ieyasu, they could not suspend their
task. Efforts were then made to approach Honda, but he was
conveniently absent "on account of his health," and the ensuing
correspondence occupied several days, during which the pulling-down
and filling-up went on by day and by night. More than one-half of the
second moat had disappeared before Masazumi could be found. His
answer was that he had been merely told to fill up the moat. Possibly
he had mistaken the scope of his instructions and he would refer the
matter to Ieyasu. This involved further delay and more filling,
until, finally, Masazumi acknowledged that he had made a mistake,
declared himself prepared to undergo punishment, and withdrew his men
to Fushimi.
Ieyasu supplied the sequel of the farce. When complaint was made
against Masazumi, the Tokugawa leader simulated astonishment,
expressed much regret, and said that he would condemn Masazumi to
commit suicide were it permissible to mar this happy occasion by any
capital sentence. "Peace," declared the astute old statesman, "has
now been fortunately concluded. Let us not talk any more about the
castle's moats or parapets." Against such an attitude the Osaka men
could not enter any protest, and the farce ended there. Had the Osaka
leaders possessed any measure of the wisdom that marked all the
doings of Ieyasu, they would not have suffered matters to rest at
such a stage. But they foolishly imagined that some retaliation might
be effected by calling upon the Tokugawa to supplement that part of
the peace provisions which related to allowances for the samurai who
had fought on the side of the garrison. A demand in that sense was
preferred to Ieyasu. But he had now laid aside his transient suavity.
The Osaka people were brusquely informed that they must look to the
Toyotomi family for recompense, and that as for rewarding unattached
samurai who had drawn the sword against the shogun, the Osaka people,
were they obedient to the dictates of loyalty, would of their own
account peremptorily reject such an unwarranted proposition, even
though Ieyasu himself were disposed to consent to it.
Of course this answer profoundly enraged the Osaka party. They
appreciated for the first time that they had been deceived
throughout, and that by a series of adroit manoeuvres they had been
removed from an almost impregnable position to a practically helpless
plight. Not a few turned their backs on the castle, but a great
majority determined to renew the conflict and to die at their posts.
The circumstances, however, had now undergone a radical change. The
castle had been converted from the strongest fortress in Japan into a
mere semblance of strength, and no garrison, however brave and
however resolute, could have defended it successfully against the
forces that the Tokugawa were able to marshal.
As for Ieyasu, he knew that his task had been immensely lightened. On
the 3rd of May, 1615, he started from Sumpu for Osaka at the head of
an army numbering scarcely one-third of the force previously led
against the castle. Nevertheless, one contingency presented itself in
a dangerous light. It was always possible that Hideyori himself
should make a sortie from the fortress, and, in that event, the
prestige attaching to the memory of his father, Hideyoshi, might have
demoralized a large section of the Tokugawa troops. To avert this
danger, Ieyasu had recourse to his wonted methods of deception. It
has been shown that he held Harunaga's son, as a hostage. This youth
was required to write a letter to his father stating that collusion
existed between parties within and without the fortress, and that the
traitors had plotted to induce Hideyori to make a sortie, whereupon
the castle would be given up and Hideyori would be delivered into the
hands of his enemies. Harunaga does not appear to have entertained
any doubt as to the trustworthiness of this letter. He carried it
hastily to Hideyori, who was in the act of preparing to sally out of
the castle and throw himself upon the beleaguering forces.
The receipt of the letter naturally led to a change of plan, and
although desperate fighting subsequently took place, the castle was
finally set on fire by traitors and its fate was seen to be hopeless.
Hideyori's wife, granddaughter of Ieyasu, repaired to the Tokugawa
headquarters to plead for the life of her husband and his mother. But
Ieyasu was inexorable. He granted asylum to his granddaughter, but
replied to her prayer by ordering a renewal of the attack upon the
castle. On June 4th, Hideyori committed suicide, and his mother,
Yodo, was killed by one of his retainers. Some thirty men and women
killed themselves at the same time.
Men spoke of the first fruitless assault upon the castle as the
"Winter Campaign," and of the second and successful assault as
the "Summer Campaign." But the two operations were radically
different in their character. For, whereas in the first assault the
garrison--numbering something like one hundred and eighty thousand
men--stood strictly on the defensive, wisely relying on the immense
strength of the fortress, on the second occasion most of the fighting
took place outside the walls, the garrison preferring to rely upon
strategy and courage rather than on ruined parapets and half-filled
moats. Thus, the details of the second campaign occupy a large space
in Japanese histories, but these tedious features of strategy and
tactics are abbreviated here. There can be no doubt that Ieyasu, so
far from seeking to save Hideyori's life, deliberately planned his
destruction. Moreover, when it became known that an illegitimate son
of Hideyori, called Kunimatsu, had been carried from the castle by
some common soldiers and secreted at a farmhouse in Fushimi, Ieyasu
caused this child of six to be seized and beheaded by a common
executioner at Sanjo-kawara in Kyoto. This episode reflects no credit
whatever on the Tokugawa leader. That he should extirpate every scion
of the Toyotomi family was not inconsistent with the canons of the
tune or with the interests of his own security. But death at the
hands of a common executioner ought never to have been decreed for
the son of the u-daijin, and the cruelty of the order finds no
excuse. No tenet of bushido can be reconciled with such inhumanity.
To this chapter of history belongs the attitude of Ieyasu towards the
memory of his old friend and benefactor, Hideyoshi. He caused to be
levelled with the ground the temple of Toyokuni Daimyo-jin, where the
spirit of Hideyoshi was worshipped, and he ordered the removal of the
tomb of the Taiko from Amidagamine to a remote corner of the Daibutsu
enclosure. Finally, he sought and obtained the Emperor's sanction to
revoke the sacred title conferred posthumously on Hideyoshi. One
looks in vain for any fragment of magnanimity among such acts. Ieyasu
is reported to have avowedly adopted for guidance the precept,
"Before taking any step propound to your heart the query, how about
justice?" He certainly did not put any such query to his own
conscience in connexion with the castle of Osaka or its inmates.
THE GENNA YEAR-PERIOD (1615-1623)
The battle of Sekigahara is often spoken of as the last great
internecine campaign in Japanese history, but this is hardly borne
out by the facts. Indeed, from what has been said above, it will be
seen that Sekigahara was merely a prelude to Osaka, and that the
former stood to the latter almost in the relation of a preliminary
skirmish. It is from August, 1615, that we must date the commencement
of the long period of peace with which Japan was blessed under
Tokugawa rule. The year-name was then changed to Genna.
DEATH OF IEYASU
In February, 1616, Ieyasu fell sick, and in April the Emperor sent an
envoy to confer on him the title of dajo daijin. He expired a few
days afterwards at the age of seventy-five and was apotheosized as
Tosho Dai-Gongen (Light of the East and Great Incarnation). He was
buried on the summit of Mount Kuno in Suruga, and ultimately his
ashes were carried to Nikko for interment. It is recorded, though not
on independent authority, that when his end was drawing near he spoke
to those at his side in the folio whig terms: "My death is now in
sight, but happily the country is at peace, and Hidetada has already
discharged the duties of shogun for several years.
possession of the castle and of all his domains, and that the
garrison, as well as the unattached samurai who formed part of it,
should not be punished but should be provided for subsequently. It
might have occurred to the leaders of the Osaka party that these
lenient conditions covered some occult designs; nothing was less
likely than that a statesman like Ieyasu would be content with so
signal a failure. But a short-sighted sentiment of confidence seems
to have obscured the judgment of the Osaka folks. They actually gave
heed to Ieyasu's complaint that he, the o-gosho, and his son, the
shogun, must not be allowed to have taken so much trouble for
nothing; that it was customary to give hostages to an army which
agreed to raise a siege, and that at least a portion of the castle's
defences should be destroyed. As to the last point, the Tokugawa
chief was kind enough to say that the work of demolition should not
cost the garrison anything, since labour would be supplied gratis by
the shoguni.
After considerable correspondence it was agreed that Harunaga's son
should go to Yedo as a hostage, and that a portion of the outer moat
of Osaka Castle should be filled up. Ieyasu did not lose a moment in
giving effect to this latter provision. He ordered some of the fudai
daimyo of the Kwanto to proceed to Osaka with several thousands of
men, who should go to work forthwith to tear down the parapets and
fill up the moats of the castle. These orders were implicitly obeyed,
and as Ieyasu had omitted to indicate any limit for the work of
destruction, it went on without check, and presently the second line
of parapets began to follow the first. The Osaka leaders protested
and essayed to stay the destruction. But the officers who were in
command of the operation said that without a direct message from
Honda Masazumi, who represented Ieyasu, they could not suspend their
task. Efforts were then made to approach Honda, but he was
conveniently absent "on account of his health," and the ensuing
correspondence occupied several days, during which the pulling-down
and filling-up went on by day and by night. More than one-half of the
second moat had disappeared before Masazumi could be found. His
answer was that he had been merely told to fill up the moat. Possibly
he had mistaken the scope of his instructions and he would refer the
matter to Ieyasu. This involved further delay and more filling,
until, finally, Masazumi acknowledged that he had made a mistake,
declared himself prepared to undergo punishment, and withdrew his men
to Fushimi.
Ieyasu supplied the sequel of the farce. When complaint was made
against Masazumi, the Tokugawa leader simulated astonishment,
expressed much regret, and said that he would condemn Masazumi to
commit suicide were it permissible to mar this happy occasion by any
capital sentence. "Peace," declared the astute old statesman, "has
now been fortunately concluded. Let us not talk any more about the
castle's moats or parapets." Against such an attitude the Osaka men
could not enter any protest, and the farce ended there. Had the Osaka
leaders possessed any measure of the wisdom that marked all the
doings of Ieyasu, they would not have suffered matters to rest at
such a stage. But they foolishly imagined that some retaliation might
be effected by calling upon the Tokugawa to supplement that part of
the peace provisions which related to allowances for the samurai who
had fought on the side of the garrison. A demand in that sense was
preferred to Ieyasu. But he had now laid aside his transient suavity.
The Osaka people were brusquely informed that they must look to the
Toyotomi family for recompense, and that as for rewarding unattached
samurai who had drawn the sword against the shogun, the Osaka people,
were they obedient to the dictates of loyalty, would of their own
account peremptorily reject such an unwarranted proposition, even
though Ieyasu himself were disposed to consent to it.
Of course this answer profoundly enraged the Osaka party. They
appreciated for the first time that they had been deceived
throughout, and that by a series of adroit manoeuvres they had been
removed from an almost impregnable position to a practically helpless
plight. Not a few turned their backs on the castle, but a great
majority determined to renew the conflict and to die at their posts.
The circumstances, however, had now undergone a radical change. The
castle had been converted from the strongest fortress in Japan into a
mere semblance of strength, and no garrison, however brave and
however resolute, could have defended it successfully against the
forces that the Tokugawa were able to marshal.
As for Ieyasu, he knew that his task had been immensely lightened. On
the 3rd of May, 1615, he started from Sumpu for Osaka at the head of
an army numbering scarcely one-third of the force previously led
against the castle. Nevertheless, one contingency presented itself in
a dangerous light. It was always possible that Hideyori himself
should make a sortie from the fortress, and, in that event, the
prestige attaching to the memory of his father, Hideyoshi, might have
demoralized a large section of the Tokugawa troops. To avert this
danger, Ieyasu had recourse to his wonted methods of deception. It
has been shown that he held Harunaga's son, as a hostage. This youth
was required to write a letter to his father stating that collusion
existed between parties within and without the fortress, and that the
traitors had plotted to induce Hideyori to make a sortie, whereupon
the castle would be given up and Hideyori would be delivered into the
hands of his enemies. Harunaga does not appear to have entertained
any doubt as to the trustworthiness of this letter. He carried it
hastily to Hideyori, who was in the act of preparing to sally out of
the castle and throw himself upon the beleaguering forces.
The receipt of the letter naturally led to a change of plan, and
although desperate fighting subsequently took place, the castle was
finally set on fire by traitors and its fate was seen to be hopeless.
Hideyori's wife, granddaughter of Ieyasu, repaired to the Tokugawa
headquarters to plead for the life of her husband and his mother. But
Ieyasu was inexorable. He granted asylum to his granddaughter, but
replied to her prayer by ordering a renewal of the attack upon the
castle. On June 4th, Hideyori committed suicide, and his mother,
Yodo, was killed by one of his retainers. Some thirty men and women
killed themselves at the same time.
Men spoke of the first fruitless assault upon the castle as the
"Winter Campaign," and of the second and successful assault as
the "Summer Campaign." But the two operations were radically
different in their character. For, whereas in the first assault the
garrison--numbering something like one hundred and eighty thousand
men--stood strictly on the defensive, wisely relying on the immense
strength of the fortress, on the second occasion most of the fighting
took place outside the walls, the garrison preferring to rely upon
strategy and courage rather than on ruined parapets and half-filled
moats. Thus, the details of the second campaign occupy a large space
in Japanese histories, but these tedious features of strategy and
tactics are abbreviated here. There can be no doubt that Ieyasu, so
far from seeking to save Hideyori's life, deliberately planned his
destruction. Moreover, when it became known that an illegitimate son
of Hideyori, called Kunimatsu, had been carried from the castle by
some common soldiers and secreted at a farmhouse in Fushimi, Ieyasu
caused this child of six to be seized and beheaded by a common
executioner at Sanjo-kawara in Kyoto. This episode reflects no credit
whatever on the Tokugawa leader. That he should extirpate every scion
of the Toyotomi family was not inconsistent with the canons of the
tune or with the interests of his own security. But death at the
hands of a common executioner ought never to have been decreed for
the son of the u-daijin, and the cruelty of the order finds no
excuse. No tenet of bushido can be reconciled with such inhumanity.
To this chapter of history belongs the attitude of Ieyasu towards the
memory of his old friend and benefactor, Hideyoshi. He caused to be
levelled with the ground the temple of Toyokuni Daimyo-jin, where the
spirit of Hideyoshi was worshipped, and he ordered the removal of the
tomb of the Taiko from Amidagamine to a remote corner of the Daibutsu
enclosure. Finally, he sought and obtained the Emperor's sanction to
revoke the sacred title conferred posthumously on Hideyoshi. One
looks in vain for any fragment of magnanimity among such acts. Ieyasu
is reported to have avowedly adopted for guidance the precept,
"Before taking any step propound to your heart the query, how about
justice?" He certainly did not put any such query to his own
conscience in connexion with the castle of Osaka or its inmates.
THE GENNA YEAR-PERIOD (1615-1623)
The battle of Sekigahara is often spoken of as the last great
internecine campaign in Japanese history, but this is hardly borne
out by the facts. Indeed, from what has been said above, it will be
seen that Sekigahara was merely a prelude to Osaka, and that the
former stood to the latter almost in the relation of a preliminary
skirmish. It is from August, 1615, that we must date the commencement
of the long period of peace with which Japan was blessed under
Tokugawa rule. The year-name was then changed to Genna.
DEATH OF IEYASU
In February, 1616, Ieyasu fell sick, and in April the Emperor sent an
envoy to confer on him the title of dajo daijin. He expired a few
days afterwards at the age of seventy-five and was apotheosized as
Tosho Dai-Gongen (Light of the East and Great Incarnation). He was
buried on the summit of Mount Kuno in Suruga, and ultimately his
ashes were carried to Nikko for interment. It is recorded, though not
on independent authority, that when his end was drawing near he spoke
to those at his side in the folio whig terms: "My death is now in
sight, but happily the country is at peace, and Hidetada has already
discharged the duties of shogun for several years.
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