Yet, although there was to be still much missionary activity, though printing presses had been brought from Europe for the proper diffusion of Christian literature in the Romanized colloquial,[8] though there were yet to be built more church edifices and monasteries, and Christian schools to be established, a sad change was nigh.  Much seed which was yet to grow in secret had been planted,—­like the exotic flowers which even yet blossom and shed their perfume in certain districts of Japan, and which the traveller from Christendom instantly recognizes, though the Portuguese Christian church or monastery centuries ago disappeared in fire, or fell to the earth and disappeared.  Though there were to be yet wonderful flashes of Christian success, and the missionaries were to travel over Japan even up to the end of the main island and accompany the Japanese army to Korea; yet it may be said that with the death of Nobunaga at the hands of the traitor Akechi, we see the high-water mark of the flood-tide of Japanese Christianity.  “Akechi reigned three days,” but after him were to arise a ruler and central government jealous and hostile.  After this flood was to come slowly but surely the ebb-tide, until it should leave, outwardly at least, all things as before.

The Jesuit fathers, with instant sensitiveness, felt the loss of their champion and protector, Nobunaga.  The rebel and assassin, Akechi, ambitious to imitate and excel his master, promised the Christians to do more for them even than Nobunaga had done, provided they would induce the daimi[=o] Takayama to join forces with his.  It is the record of their own friendly historian, and not of an enemy, that they, led by the Jesuit father Organtin, attempted this persuasion.  To the honor of the Christian Japanese Takayama, he refused.[9] On the contrary, he marched his little army of a thousand men to Ki[=o]to, and, though opposed to a force of eight thousand, held the capital city until Hideyoshi, the loyal general of the Mikado, reached the court city and dispersed the assassin’s band.  Hideyoshi soon made himself familiar with the whole story, and his keen eye took in the situation.

This “man on horseback,” master of the situation and moulder of the destinies of Japan, Hideyoshi (1536-1598), was afterward known as the Taik[=o], or Retired Regent.  The rarity of the title makes it applicable in common speech to this one person.  Greater than his dead master, Nobunaga, and ingenious in the arts of war and peace, Hideyoshi compelled the warring daimi[=o]s, even the proud lord of Satsuma,[10] to yield to his power, until the civil minister of the emperor, reverently bowing, could say:  “All under Heaven, Peace.”  Now, Japan had once more a central government, intensely jealous and despotic, and with it the new religion must sooner or later reckon.  Religion apart from politics was unknown in the Land of the Gods.