BY JOHN H. WIGMORE
(1863-1943)

AMONG the chief qualities which rendered Oka, Lord of Echizen, at once feared, admired and trusted by the townspeople of Yedo, was his marvelous capacity for discerning character in a moment's observation of those who came before him. The case of Sokichi illustrates (at least in local tradition) not only these profound powers of penetration attributed to Oka, but also the force of the sentiment of gratitude as evinced in the steadfast self-sacrifice of a humble Yedo citizen.

      It happened, one morning (the 5th of April, to be particular), about the middle of the last century, that, as Oka was proceeding through the streets to the court, the sound of the fire-bells near by led him to change his course, but as he passed in his chair through a narrow side-street, his attention was attracted by the noise of an altercation proceeding from a pawn-shop. A samurai (to whose face Oka instinctively took a distrust) was administering a beating to a respectable, but needy-looking tradesman; and at the moment Oka passed, he heard the samurai exclaim, "You rascal! you swindler! I was the one that did the work for this!" His constables soon had the people out before him and heard their stories. A woman, Osugi, whose face bore traces of grief and distress, was the principal personage, and with her was her nephew Kohachi, the one who had been using the stick. The woman was the wife of Sato Jubei, the retainer of a knight whose family had fallen into pecuniary distress. Jubei had two nights before drawn a part of his master's stipend from the treasury, and on his way home had been foully murdered in a dark street by an unknown man. The nephew, Kohachi, had called at his house in the afternoon to borrow money of him, and having learned his whereabouts, started to meet him. But he never saw Jubei alive again. The next morning the uncle's body was found by the roadside, with a long sword-wound on the neck, and by its side the corpse of his faithful attendant. The fifty ryo in gold, which he was to have drawn for his master, was not to be found, but an inquiry at the treasury showed that he had certainly received the money. There was no clue of any kind to the murderer. If the grief of Jubei's family was great, their pecuniary condition was now equally distressing, for their share of this stipend had thus been lost to them, and nothing now remained but the usual resort of the poor, the pawn-shop. Here they were, Osugi and her nephew Kohachi, on the succeeding morning, just before Oka saw them, when there entered a poorly dressed merchant bent on settling a long-standing debt. To their astonishment and horror he drew out of his pocket, as he proceeded to make the payment, the crêpe purse which had belonged to the murdered man. They knew it by the yellow color and by the spray of wisteria-blossom embroidered on it. The woman shrieked, and the nephew with a cry sprang upon the man, and was endeavoring to overpower him, when the constables came up. When the man Sokichi's turn came to speak, he had only protestations of innocence to make; and Oka finally ordered all the parties to appear in court next morning, sending Sokichi along meanwhile with two constables.

      In the interval Sokichi had time to reflect what course to pursue. He was in fact utterly innocent of the charge now to be made against him. But he had nevertheless obtained the purse and its contents under circumstances so peculiar that every sentiment of honor and gratitude forbade him to reveal the facts at the present time. Sokichi had been, like his fathers before him, a dealer in second-hand clothes. The family had never been anything but poor, and as Sokichi's parents had died when he was quite a child, he and his sister had been brought up by the grandparents, who in their turn were now utterly dependent on him. The day came at last when Sokichi was compelled to raise money by disposing of the one remaining treasure of the house, till now left religiously untouched. On the second night before his arrest he had been returning home with the money (fifty ryo gold) in his pocket, when he was set upon by two men, and robbed of it all. The greater part of the money had been intended for a miserly blind money-lender, who had of late been threatening in his demands, and Sokichi now saw before him the disgrace of the family name and the life of a ruined bankrupt. He speedily unwound his sash, climbed a wayside tree, and fastening one end to his neck and the other to a branch, precipitated himself into mid-air. But the branch was rotten, and the sudden shock broke it short off and let Sokichi to the ground, stunned and half-choked. As he lay there in a stupor, footsteps approached, a pair of hands lifted him to his feet and began to adjust his dress, inquiring the cause for a resolution so plainly indicated by his appearance. Sokichi told him the story of his misfortunes. The man heard it with expressions of sympathy, and at its close took out a purse, embroidered with wisteria, and, pressing it quickly into his hand, went off into the darkness. Sokichi called and ran after him to learn the name and abode of his benefactor, but he had disappeared. It was when Sokichi, rejoicing in his replenished resources, had gone to the pawn-shop to settle a long-standing account, that he had been pounced upon by Kohachi; and the result found him a prisoner of the law on a charge of which he was entirely innocent.

      But the true explanation seemed clear enough to Sokichi, and to his mind there was but one course open to him. To betray his benefactor, to throw the crime on the true offender, would be the act of one dead to all sense of honor and gratitude; for Sokichi never doubted that the man who had given him the purse was the real robber and murderer, and his suspicious haste in avoiding identification served to remove all doubt. Sokichi, then, if necessary, would confess to crime and let Oka do with him what he pleased, but he would in no way do anything to reveal the guilt of his generous benefactor. Such was Sokichi's philosophy, and when he came up for examination he loyally stood by it.

      Oka had made inquiries as to his history and reputation, and what he heard had confirmed the good impression he had received of Sokichi's honest face. He had made up his mind that the man was not the real offender; and it was an entire surprise to him when Sokichi, at the first question, confessed his guilt, begging only that the news might in some way be kept from his grandparents, who would be heart-broken to know of his great disgrace. "How did you kill these men?" said Oka. "With a carving-knife," said Sokichi, for he knew Oka would not believe that he, a tradesman, had killed two samurai with a sword, the professional weapon of the samurai. "But the wounds," said Oka, "are over a foot long; you could not have made them with a knife. Where was it you attacked them?" "Inside the Gate of the New Bridge," said Sokichi, for he had heard the rumor of the murder. "That is curious," responded Oka, "for the bodies were found without the Gate." At length, Sokichi kept silence, for he only entangled himself in contradictions. The confession was a consideration which Oka could not disregard, and so in spite of his conviction of Sokichi's innocence, he remanded the latter to jail until further developments. Meanwhile he had his own hypothesis as to the guilty one.

      Then a strange thing happened. As Sokichi left the court house, in the rude litter used for criminals, a man passed into the court, apparently bent on legal business, whose face seemed somewhat familiar. A glance of half-recognition passed between them. It was the man who had given him the purse. For an instant it seemed to Sokichi as though the opportunity for saving himself ought not to be rejected. Then his better feelings conquered, and he put away his base impulse, and thanked fortune that he was not such a man as to gain a little longer life by bringing evil upon the man who had once saved that life. But the passer-by, too, had recognized Sokichi, and the thought instantly came over him that it must be the purse or something connected with it that had brought Sokichi into this plight. So, without taking the time to inquire, he returned to his house, got pen and paper, and wrote out an affidavit to the following effect:—

      "On the 3d of April, in the evening, I took a sedan chair from Bancho ward to Horsedealers' ward. The cushion was still warm from the previous occupant when I entered, and a purse was lying upon it, embroidered with wisteria, and containing some forty or fifty ryo. I put it in my pocket, intending to report its discovery next day, but after I had left the chair, and was passing along the street, I saw on the ground, insensible, a young man who had been trying to commit suicide. I restored him to consciousness, and when he told me that he had just been robbed of the last ryo he had in the world, I took out the purse, on the impulse of the moment, and forced it upon him. I then left him, but, as it seems that he has been accused of stealing the purse, I hasten to inform you that he is entirely innocent."

      Oka, when he read the affidavit, proceeded to summon both Yagobei (for that was the man's name) and Sokichi, and began by questioning the latter. "I learn," he said, "that you have been trying to deceive me, and that you really received the purse from this man here, and did not steal it at all." But Sokichi, now convinced utterly that his benefactor was the real thief and had confessed to save Sokichi, was determined not to be outdone in generosity, and made one last effort to complete his sacrifice. "This man is a liar," he protested, "I am the one who killed the men and stole the money, and whoever denies it speaks falsely." When Oka perceived this noble attempt of Sokichi to defend his benefactor, he was filled with admiration, and said to himself that he had seldom seen such noble self-sacrifice in one so young. But he saw that as far as Sokichi went there was nothing more to be learned, so he turned to Yagobei and asked him about the chair-bearers, the appearance of the chair and a few other details. On the next day he had all the chair-bearers from Asakusa district to Ushigome district, a distance of several miles, summoned to court. They came in obedience to the summons, a motley throng, and ill at ease, for a summons from Oka never failed to send a thrill of apprehension to every Yedo townsman, whose conscience could not show the very whitest record.

      The examination proceeded, and after several clues had been followed up, the matter was narrowed down to this: That two sedan-bearers were found who had carried Yagobei that evening; that the passenger just before him had got into the chair in a drunken condition, and had gone off in an unknown direction; that the only thing. noticeable about him was that he carried a lantern marked "Yorozu Mago," and that there was a tea-house near the New Bridge kept by a man named Magohachi, of the Yorozu House. So this man was summoned. Now it happened that the Kohachi already mentioned, the nephew of the murdered man, had recently spent much money at this tea-house, and was, in fact, the man to whom Magohachi had lent a lantern on the night in question. All of this Magohachi readily confessed in great trepidation, for he had been surprised at the amount of money the man was spending, and was anxious to clear himself of all suspicion in connection with the man's conduct.

      So Kohachi was summoned, and Oka charged him directly with the murder of his uncle, and the robbery of the fifty ryo. But Kohachi stoutly protested his innocence, and laid the charge to the malice of his enemies. Then Oka said to the sedan-bearers, who had been brought in while Kohachi spoke: "Do you know this man?" And they answered, "He is the same drunken samurai whom we carried on the night of the 3d of April." Then Oka asked Magohachi, the tea-house keeper: "Do you know this man?" And he answered: "This is the man who has caused all the trouble. I lent you a lantern that night, and you never returned it. Sorry I am for the day I first knew you, for this disgraceful affair has brought me and my family into great trouble, and is ruining our business." But Kohachi vehemently protested that they were all liars, and that secret malice was the motive of their declarations.

      Then Oka commanded silence and said: "Kohachi, you have forgotten the meaning of the phrase, 'the eyes of God,' which is, that though darkness is about you, Heaven does not permit your evil deeds to pass unseen. Do not hope to escape the results of your wickedness, for justice never fails to bring the evil man to his just deserts. I know you to be the guilty man, and by a confession out of your own mouth. On that day when this innocent man was arrested, I was passing, and I heard your words when you said, 'I was the one that did the work for this.' Know, then, that when I heard these words, and saw your hypocritical face, I divined the true robber and murderer. Witnesses have been brought who have convicted you before all men, but from the beginning I knew where the guilt lay."

      Then Kohachi broke down and confessed the story of the crime from beginning to end. The people were loud in their praises of Oka, and none more than the relatives of the deceased, to whom had been revealed with the plainness of day the unwelcome truth that the murderer was the unfilial beneficiary of the faithful old retainer.