LITMIR.BIZ

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themselves and their corps according to the most stoic traditions of the warrior class. Strictly prohibited were “violating the Code of the Samurai,” “quitting the corps,” “raising money for selfish purposes,” “taking it upon oneself to make accusations,” and “fighting for personal reasons.” Violation of any of these prohibitions was punishable by seppuku.§ Not all violators, however, were given the honor of dying like samurai. The less worthy ones were beheaded. Attached to the prohibitions was a particularly severe regulation that perhaps more than anything else accounted for the lethality of the Shinsengumi: “In case of a fight, if you do not kill your opponent you will be ordered to commit seppuku, just as if you had been wounded from behind.”¶

This sanguine code of conduct was, in fact, strictly enforced—although it would not be established as the official code of the Shinsengumi for nearly two years.* The number of corpsmen forced to commit seppuku, or who were beheaded or otherwise murdered, has been lost to history, though several incidents have been recorded. Ta’uchi Tomo of the province of Musashi made an unexpected visit to the home of his mistress in the southern outskirts of Kyōto. The table had been set with saké and some food, which aroused his suspicion. As he questioned the woman, he was suddenly attacked from behind by her secret lover. A fellow corpsman discovered Ta’uchi bleeding from his wounds. He helped him back to headquarters, where Kondō and Hijikata ordered him to commit seppuku—a propensity to kill. Another man was similarly punished for having an affair with a married woman—a propensity to kill. A fencing instructor in the corps who espoused radical Loyalist views was condemned to seppuku for “disrupting order in the corps”—a propensity to kill. One of the earliest members deserted after seeing fellow corpsmen condemned to death and countless of the enemy butchered in the streets of Kyōto. Having been with the corps for a long time, he was privy to confidential information, the divulgence of which was not to be tolerated. He was hunted down, captured, and hacked to death by several of his former comrades—a propensity to kill. Another corpsman was beheaded for attempting to extort money from a wealthy merchant—a propensity to kill. Two others, one of whom had been expelled from the Shinsengumi for cowardice, were murdered on the streets of Kyōto for attempting to use the corps’ name for their own profit—a propensity to kill. A man in charge of accounting for the Shinsengumi was ordered by Hijikata to commit seppuku for “the crime of miscalculation”—a propensity to kill.

      Although quitting the corps was certainly a capital offense, it was by no means easy to apprehend a deserter. Tracking down a deserter could be a drawn-out and complicated process, as was the case for one Shibata Hikosaburō. Shibata enlisted in 1864. About a year and a half later, in June 1866, he deserted after extorting money for personal use. When Hijikata received word of Shibata’s whereabouts in Izushi Han, northwest of Kyōto, he sent four men after him. The pursuers carried a detailed description of Shibata, including his features, age, dress, alias, and the fact that he spoke with a Musashi dialect. He was handed over to his pursuers by Izushi officials, brought back to Shinsengumi headquarters in Kyōto, and forced to commit seppuku as an example to would-be deserters—a propensity to kill.

      The most infamous instance of harshness by the Shinsengumi to one of their own is the unfortunate, if historically blurred, case of Vice Commander Yamanami Keisuké. According to Nagakura Shinpachi, Yamanami, “vehement in his Imperial Loyalism, was every bit as great as Kiyokawa Hachirō, Serizawa Kamo and Kondō Isami.” Even the protector of Kyōto was counted among Yamanami’s admirers. When Yamanami’s sword was severed in a battle in which he had killed a rōnin, the Aizu daimyō rewarded him with a new sword and eight ryō .

The trouble with Yamanami seems to have originated over a disagreement in philosophy, though Shimosawa also cites a bitter rivalry with the other vice commander, Hijikata Toshizō. Yamanami was apparently vexed over the lately inflated self-importance of Kondō and Hijikata. He felt that they had forgotten the original purpose for which the members of the Shieikan had enlisted in the “loyal and patriotic” corps. The unyielding will to power that had lately consumed his erstwhile friends had diminished their former patriotic ideals. According to most sources, Yamanami’s vexation was exacerbated sometime in early 1865, when Kondō and Hijikata, unhappy with their cramped headquarters at Mibu, decided to move to a more spacious location at Nishihonganji Temple in the southwest of the city. The temple priests were perplexed over the decision. Their attempts to rebuff the Shinsengumi were ignored by Kondō and Hijikata. Yamanami objected to what he considered coercion of Buddhist priests. “Certainly there are many other suitable places,” he admonished Kondō, and suggested that his commander reconsider. But his commander would not reconsider, and Yamanami resolved to pay the ultimate price. He composed a farewell letter explaining the reasons he could no longer, in good conscience, risk his life under Kondō ’s command. Then he defected.†

      Yamanami fled to the town of Ōtsu, about seven miles east of Kyōto on Lake Biwa. Although sources differ in the details of subsequent events, according to both Nagakura and Shimosawa, Kondō sent Okita to retrieve Yamanami. This was no easy task. For all of Okita’s skill with a sword, Yamanami himself was an expert in the Hokushin Ittō style. He was also proficient in jūjutsu. That Okita apprehended him without a struggle seems to indicate that Yamanami was resigned to his fate. Upon his return to Mibu, he was summoned to an assembly of Shinsengumi leaders in the Maekawa house.

      “Desertion,” Kondō said, breaking an austere silence, “is prohibited by Shinsengumi regulations.” Kondō spoke solemnly as he ordered Yamanami to commit seppuku—a propensity to kill. Yamanami calmly expressed his appreciation and happiness at being called upon to perform this most honorable task for a samurai. He then excused himself momentarily. When he returned to the room he had changed into formal attire. He placed a mat over the clean tatami floor so as not to soil it with his blood. He sat on the mat, assumed the formal position, and placed his short sword in front of himself. He thanked all present for their long-lasting fellowship. He exchanged ceremonious farewell cups of water with them and courteously delivered his farewell speech. He asked Okita Sōji to serve as his second, instructing the genius swordsman not to “lower your sword until I give the word.” Then he gently took up his short sword and plunged it into his lower abdomen. After slicing the blade across in one straight line, he fell forward with a final thrust of energy, earning, according to Nagakura, “Kondō’s praise for the splendidness” by which he performed this ultimate task.

      The number of rank and filers who suffered a similar fate is unknown. The officers were no exception. Of the twenty-two most noted officers, only three survived those bloody times. At least six were assassinated, three committed seppuku, and two were executed. In 1876, eight years after the death of Kondō Isami and the final collapse of the Tokugawa Bakufu, in the Itabashi district of Tōkyō—the new Eastern Capital—at a spot on the earth just a stone’s throw from the execution grounds where Kondō had been beheaded, Nagakura erected a stone monument for the repose of the souls of his comrades who did not survive the revolution. Their names are engraved on the stone. Thirty-nine are listed as having died in battle, and seventy-one having met their end by disease, accident, seppuku, or execution.

      The most severe treatment fell upon traitors and spies. Immediately following the coup in August, all Chōshū men and their rōnin allies were officially banned from the Imperial Capital. Some of them, however, managed to remain in the city for reconnaissance purposes, disguised as merchants or beggars. These outlaws were hunted by men of the Tokugawa camp, including Aizu and the Shinsengumi.

“The Shinsengumi became the object of hatred among shishi from Chōshū,” Nagakura recalled. “They concluded that as long as Kondō and his men dominated the Kyōto scene, it would be difficult for them to effect [another] uprising. And so Katsura Kogorō‡ chose four of his comrades ... as assassins” to infiltrate the Shinsengumi. On August 25, one week after the coup, several Chōshū men suddenly showed up at Mibu headquarters. They claimed to have left the service of their

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