Satow and I went out to see what was going on. We found the streets being patrolled by soldiers with field pieces placed so as to sweep the approaches to the castle. It was bitterly cold and the men had their heads wrapped in mufflers—a curious addition to the pomp and circumstance of uniform. The Aidzu people, who were posted about, told us that the reason for the Tycoon’s withdrawal was his unwillingness to allow fighting to take place near the precincts of the palace—a sort of “Star Chamber” reason. They said that Satsuma wanted to do everything by force—so like that martial clan! Tosa, on the other hand, was all for proceeding by reason; but in either case the object was the same. As for Gotō’s scheme for a Constitution, Japan was not ripe for that: the change would be too sudden and too violent. In the afternoon it became evident that the Tycoon was now close by. We saw wonderful groups of men clad in armour. They were very civil and full of patriotic declarations of readiness to die in the Tycoon’s cause, and indeed, as events proved, these were no empty boasts. They were beaten, but not before hundreds of Tokugawa men had died the death of heroes. Presently the bugles sounded and we saw a long procession of troops coming towards the castle. A more extravagantly weird picture it would be difficult to imagine. There were some infantry armed with European rifles, but there were also warriors clad in the old armour of the country carrying spears, bows and arrows, falchions, curiously shaped, with sword and dirk, who looked as if they had stepped out of some old pictures of the Gem-Pei wars in the Middle Ages. Their _jimbaoris_, not unlike heralds’ tabards, were as many-coloured as Joseph’s coat. Hideous masks of lacquer and iron, fringed with portentous whiskers and moustachios, crested helmets with wigs from which long streamers of horsehair floated to their waists, might strike terror into any enemy. They looked like the hobgoblins of a nightmare. Soon a troop of horsemen appeared. The Japanese all prostrated themselves and bent their heads in reverent awe. In the midst of the troop was the fallen Prince, accompanied by his faithful adherents, Aidzu and Kuwana. The Prince himself seemed worn and dejected, looking neither to the right nor to the left, his head wrapped in a black cloth, taking notice of nothing. Some of those with him recognized us and returned our salutes. It was a wild and wonderful sight and one of the saddest that I ever beheld. At the gate all dismounted, according to custom—save only the War Lord himself; he rode in, a solitary horseman. It was the last entry of a Shōgun into the grand old castle which had come into the heritage of the Tokugawa by one tragedy, and was to pass out of their possession by another. In each case fire, “the calamity of the dancing horse,”[2] played its cruel part.