After an interval of a few minutes of anxious suspense, Taki Zenzaburo, a stalwart man, thirty-two years of age, with a noble air, walked into the hall attired in his dress of ceremony, with the peculiar hempen-cloth wings which are worn on great occasions.  He was accompanied by a kaishaku and three officers, who wore the jimbaori or war surcoat with gold-tissue facings.  The word kaishaku, it should be observed, is one to which our word executioner is no equivalent term.  The office is that of a gentleman:  in many cases it is performed by a kinsman or friend of the condemned, and the relation between them is rather that of principal and second than that of victim and executioner.  In this instance the kaishaku was a pupil of Taki Zenzaburo, and was selected by the friends of the latter from among their own number for his skill in swordsmanship.

With the kaishaku on his left hand, Taki Zenzaburo advanced slowly towards the Japanese witnesses, and the two bowed before them, then drawing near to the foreigners they saluted us in the same way, perhaps even with more deference:  in each case the salutation was ceremoniously returned.  Slowly, and with great dignity, the condemned man mounted on to the raised floor, prostrated himself before the high altar twice, and seated[112] himself on the felt carpet with his back to the high altar, the kaishaku crouching on his left-hand side.  One of the three attendant officers then came forward, bearing a stand of the kind used in temples for offerings, on which, wrapped in paper, lay the wakizashi, the short sword or dirk of the Japanese, nine inches and a half in length, with a point and an edge as sharp as a razor’s.  This he handed, prostrating himself, to the condemned man, who received it reverently, raising it to his head with both hands, and placed it in front of himself.

[Footnote 112:  Seated himself—­that is, in the Japanese fashion, his knees and toes touching the ground, and his body resting on his heels.  In this position, which is one of respect, he remained until his death.]

After another profound obeisance, Taki Zenzaburo, in a voice which betrayed just so much emotion and hesitation as might be expected from a man who is making a painful confession, but with no sign of either in his face or manner, spoke as follows:—­

“I, and I alone, unwarrantably gave the order to fire on the foreigners at Kobe, and again as they tried to escape.  For this crime I disembowel myself, and I beg you who are present to do me the honour of witnessing the act.”