The first thing you must realize is that the poverty and squalor in which these peasants live is beyond anything you have ever seen in Portugal. Even the more wealthy among then, the upper class, only get the taste of rice about twice a year. Their usual fare is potatoes and radishes and such-like vegetables, while their only drink is warm water. Sometimes they dig up roots and eat them. They have a queer way of sitting—completely different from ours. Their knees are on the ground or the floor, and then they sit back on their heels. For them this posture is restful; but until we got used to it, it was terribly painful. The roofs of the houses are made of thatch. The houses are filthy, and their stench is unbearable. In Tomogi there are only two households that have a cow or horse.
The feudal lord has unlimited power over his people, much more than any king in a Christian country. The yearly tax is bitterly high, and those who fail to pay it are punished mercilessly. Indeed, the Shimabara rebellion was a terrible reaction against the unbearable sufferings imposed by this taxation. For example, here in the village of Tomogi, they tell the story of how, five years ago, the wife and children of a man called Mozaemon were seized as hostages and put in the water prison simply because he did not pay his tax of five bags of rice. The peasants are the slaves of the samurai, and above them stand the landowners. The samurai make much of weapons and, irrespective of rank, they all carry a dagger and a sword once they reach the age of thirteen or fourteen. The landowner has absolute power over the samurai, and he can kill at will anyone he does not like and confiscate all his property.
The Japanese go bareheaded both in winter and in summer, and the clothing they wear leaves them exposed to the cold. Generally they cut off their hair so as to be completely bald, only leaving one long tress of hair hanging down their back. The bonzes shave their heads completely, and there are others also, not bonzes, among the samurai, who do likewise.
…
… this is a sudden break.
I’m going to write to you as accurately as possible what happened on June 5th, though this report may well end up by being very brief. In our present plight we cannot say when the danger will come upon us. It may be that I will not have a chance to write to you at length and in detail.
On the 5th, around noon, I had a feeling that something strange was going on in the village down below. Through the trees we could hear the incessant barking of dogs. On quiet days, of course, when the weather is fine, it is not unusual for the bark of dogs and even the clucking of hens to be carried faintly up here—and indeed the sound is something of a consolation in our confinement; but today we felt somehow uneasy about it. Suspecting that something ominous might be in the wind, we went to the east side of the copse to look down and see what was going on. From here we could get the best view of the village at the foot of the mountain.
The first thing that caught our attention was a cloud of white dust on the road which skirted the sea and led into the village. What could this be? A bare-backed horse was galloping wildly out of the village at the entrance of which stood five men (clearly they were not our peasants) firmly barring the way so that no one could escape.
We realized immediately what had happened: the guards had come to search the village. Garrpe and I, falling over ourselves in haste, rushed back to our hut and, grabbing everything that might betray us, buried it in the hole dug by Ichizo. That done we plucked up courage and decided to go down through the trees and have a clearer view of what was going on in the village.
Not a sound could be heard. The white noonday sun beat mercilessly down on the road and on the village. All we could clearly see was the shadow of the farm-houses lying black on the road. Why was there no sign of life? Even the barking of the dogs had suddenly come to an end, and Tomogi was like an ancient, abandoned ruin. Yet I could sense the awful silence that enveloped the whole place. Earnestly I prayed to God. Well I knew that we should not pray for the happiness and good fortune of this world; yet I prayed and prayed that this awful noonday silence might forever be taken away from the village over which it hung so ominously.
Again the dogs began to bark as the men who had formed a block at the entrance to the village rushed out. Mingled with them we could see the form of the Jiisama—that poor old man—bound tightly with ropes. From his horse a samurai, wearing a black umbrella-like hat, shouted out an order and they all formed a single file behind the old man and then moved forward. Another samurai brandishing a whip led the way alone, with his own cloud of white dust, and as he rode he kept glancing backwards. The memory of the whole thing still remains vividly in my mind: the horses lifting high their legs as they galloped along, the old man reeling and staggering as he was dragged off by his captors. And so the procession advanced along the road in the white heat of the sun, just like a line of ants. Then it was lost from sight.
That night we heard the details from Kichijirō and Mokichi. The guards had appeared before noon. This time the people had no warning of their arrival. And so the samurai rode in, shouting orders to their men, galloping around the village and peering into every corner, while the people fled helter skelter in confusion.
No trace of anything Christian was found. Yet this time they did not give up in despair and withdraw. Instead, the samurai herded the peasants together in one place and declared that unless they made a clean breast of the whole thing a hostage would be taken. Yet no one spoke a word.
‘We do not neglect to pay our taxes; and we do our duty to the State.’ It was the Jiisama who spoke up to the samurai. ‘And our burials, too—they are performed in the temple.’
To this the samurai made no answer. Instead, with his whip he pointed to the Jiisama and immediately his men, who were standing in a group behind, threw a rope around the old man and bound him tightly.
‘Be careful! I want no back chat. We’re not here for discussion. An informer has recently told us that amongst you there are secret adherents of this forbidden Christian sect. If anyone will say frankly who these people are he will receive one hundred pieces of silver. But if you don’t confess, you must accept the consequences. After three days we will come for another hostage. Think it over!’
The peasants stood erect, silent. Men, women, children—all were silent. And so the seconds passed. It was as if enemies were staring at one another. Looking back on it now, I realize that it must have been precisely at this time when everything became silent that we looked down on the village from the mountain.
The samurai turned his horse toward the entrance and brandishing his whip rode off. The old Jiisama, bound and trailed along behind the horses, fell, stood up, then fell again. The men would grab hold of him trying to make him stand up as he was dragged along.
Such was the incident of June 5th just as we heard it.
‘No, father, we didn’t say a word about you,’ said Mokichi, hands on knees, ‘and if they come again, we’ll still say nothing. No matter what happens we’ll stand by you.’
He probably said this because he noticed the shadow that passed over our faces, a momentary fear and apprehension. If that was so, how ashamed I feel. Yet even Garrpe, good-natured in the face of the most terrible difficulties, fixed upon Mokichi a glance that was filled with anguish. ‘But if this goes on, you’ll all end up as hostages,’ he finally said.
‘Yes, father. It might turn out that way. But even so, we’ll say nothing.’
‘But this is impossible. Rather than such a calamity it is better for the two of us to get away from this mountain altogether.’ As he spoke, Garrpe turned to Mokichi and myself and to the terrified Kichijirō who sat beside us. ‘Can’t we take refuge in this man’s island?’
At these words a spasm of fear crossed the face of Kichijirō, but he said not one word. Looking back on the situation I see that this cringing weak-willed fellow, having brought us here and being embroiled in the whole matter, was in an awful fix. On the one hand he did not want to lose his reputation as a good Christian; and yet in his little head he was thinking furiously of a way to preserve his life. And so his cunning eyes flashed as he rubbed his hands just like a fly. He said that the same problem would then arise in Goto since it would be searched also. Then he kept trying to prove that it would be better to go to some place further removed. But anyhow no decision was reached that night, and the two men stealthily descended the mountain.
The next day the people of Tomogi were all excited and nervous. Far be it from me to make any criticism of them, but I want to tell you just what Mokichi reported to me. They were split into two factions: one faction insisted that the two of us should move off to a different location, the other said that the village ought to shelter us, come what may. There were even some who said that Garrpe and myself were responsible for the evil that had befallen the village. In the midst of all this Mokichi, Ichizo and Omatsu displayed an unwavering faith. No matter what happened they would protect the priests—such was their stand.
This confusion gave the authorities the chance they were looking for. On June 8th they adopted a new approach. This time it was not a ferocious-looking samurai on horseback who came but an old samurai with smiling face, accompanied by four or five followers. He advised the people to weigh the matter carefully, thinking of the pros and cons of the whole thing. He indicated that whoever would honestly reveal the names of the adherents of this Christian sect would obtain a reduction in taxation in the coming years. For these destitute farmers the thought of a tax reduction must have been alluring indeed; yet they overcame the temptation.
‘If you take such a firm stand, I suppose there is nothing for me but to believe you,’ said the old man as he laughingly looked back at his followers. ‘And yet I must ask my Superiors which is right—your statement or that of our informer. So we need a hostage. From your number please select three men and send them to Nagasaki tomorrow. Since I am quite confident that you are doing nothing wrong, there is nothing to worry about.’
In his voice there was not the slightest hint of intimidation, but everyone knew that it was a trap. And so the men of Tomogi spent that night debating fiercely as to who should be sent to the magistrate’s headquarters at Nagasaki. The men selected might never return. Small wonder that even the Tossama and the others who held office flinched. Gathering together in a dark farm house the peasants scrutinized one another keenly. Each seemed to be asking himself secretly how he could escape this terrible role.
The name of Kichijirō was mentioned. Probably the reasons for this were, firstly, that he was in a sense a stranger—not a native of Tomogi; and secondly many harbored the deep feeling that the whole catastrophe had occurred just because of him. Poor weakling! When he saw what was happening he fell into the most terrible confusion and began to cry. Finally he broke into abusive language against everyone around. But the others argued that they would have to abandon their wives and children. ‘You don’t belong to this village,’ they said. ‘The officials won’t cross-examine you so severely. Please go in our place.’ With clasped hands they entreated him, until finally from sheer weakness he could no longer refuse. So it was decided that he should go.
‘Let me go too.’ It was Ichizo who suddenly spoke up. Everyone gasped in amazement. Could this be the silent, stubborn Ichizo they knew so well?
And then it was Mokichi’s turn. He would join the other two, he said.
9th. From morning a light, drizzling rain had kept falling. The trees in front of our hut could scarcely be seen, wrapped as they were in the grey mist. The three climbed up to the wood. Mokichi seemed a little excited. Ichizo, his eyes narrowed as always, was sullen and silent. Behind the other two was Kichijirō looking like a whipped dog, pitifully glaring at me with eyes that seemed filled with resentment.
‘Father, if we are ordered to trample on the
fumie.
…
’
Mokichi, head hanging, mumbled the words as though he was talking to himself. it’s not only a matter that concerns us. If we don’t trample, everyone in the village will be cross-examined. What are we to do?’
At this, such a feeling of pity welled up within my breast that without thinking I gave an answer that I know you would never give. I thrust from my mind the memory of how Father Gabriel, during the persecution at Unzen when dragged before the
fumie
had cried out: ‘I had rather this foot were cut off than that I should trample on this image.
…
’ I know that many Japanese Christians and fathers have manifested such feelings when the holy picture was brought before their feet. But was it possible to demand this from these three unfortunate men?
‘Trample! Trample!’ I shouted. But immediately I realized that I had uttered words that should never have been on my lips. Garrpe looked at me reproachfully.
Kichijirō was still snivelling. ‘Why has Deus Sama given us this trial? We have done no wrong,’ he cried.
We were silent. Mokichi and Ichizo also remained silent; their eyes seemed fixed on a speck in the empty sky.
So all together we joined in a last prayer; and when we had finished, the three men descended the mountain. Garrpe and I watched the figures as they disappeared into the mist and were lost from sight. Never again was I to meet Mokichi and Ichizo.
Again it is a long time since I wrote to you. I have already described how the officials descended upon Tomogi; but I had to wait until now to be able to continue with the details about the cross-examination of the three Christians at Nagasaki. We multiplied our prayers to Heaven that they, together with the Jiisama, might be restored to us in safety. Night after night the people of the village offered up their prayers for this intention.
I do not believe that God has given us this trial to no purpose. I know that the day will come when we will clearly understand why this persecution with all its sufferings has been bestowed upon us—for everything that Our Lord does is for our good. And yet, even as I write these words I feel the oppressive weight in my heart of those last stammering words of Kichijirō on the morning of his departure: ‘Why has Deus Sama imposed this suffering upon us?’ And then the resentment in those eyes that he turned upon me. ‘Father’, he had said, ‘what evil have we done?’