Kumagaye, for the honor of both, to despatch him on the spot. Above the
hoary head of the veteran gleams the cold blade, which many a time
before has sundered the chords of life, but his stout heart quails;
there flashes athwart his mental eye the vision of his own boy, who this
self-same day marched to the sound of bugle to try his maiden arms; the
strong hand of the warrior quivers; again he begs his victim to flee for
his life. Finding all his entreaties vain and hearing the approaching
steps of his comrades, he exclaims: "If thou art overtaken, thou mayest
fall at a more ignoble hand than mine. O, thou Infinite! receive his
soul!" In an instant the sword flashes in the air, and when it falls it
is red with adolescent blood. When the war is ended, we find our soldier
returning in triumph, but little cares he now for honor or fame; he
renounces his warlike career, shaves his head, dons a priestly garb,
devotes the rest of his days to holy pilgrimage, never turning his back
to the West, where lies the Paradise whence salvation comes and whither
the sun hastes daily for his rest.

Critics may point out flaws in this story, which is casuistically
vulnerable. Let it be: all the same it shows that Tenderness, Pity and
Love, were traits which adorned the most sanguinary exploits of the
samurai. It was an old maxim among them that "It becometh not the fowler
to slay the bird which takes refuge in his bosom." This in a large
measure explains why the Red Cross movement, considered peculiarly
Christian, so readily found a firm footing among us. For decades before
we heard of the Geneva Convention, Bakin, our greatest novelist, had
familiarized us with the medical treatment of a fallen foe. In the
principality of Satsuma, noted for its martial spirit and education, the
custom prevailed for young men to practice music; not the blast of
trumpets or the beat of drums,--"those clamorous harbingers of blood and
death"--stirring us to imitate the actions of a tiger, but sad and
tender melodies on the _biwa_,[9] soothing our fiery spirits, drawing
our thoughts away from scent of blood and scenes of carnage. Polybius
tells us of the Constitution of Arcadia, which required all youths
under thirty to practice music, in order that this gentle art might
alleviate the rigors of that inclement region. It is to its influence
that he attributes the absence of cruelty in that part of the Arcadian
mountains.

[Footnote 9: A musical instrument,