Murderous Samurai of the Bakumatsu Period

In the latter half of the 19th Century, Japan would see 250 years of relative peace devolve into a bloody landscape of violence, with disillusioned samurai banding together to attach and permanently silence those who they believed to be ruining the country. This was further exacerbated by historic rivalries between domains, by class differences between the lower and upper samurai, as well as by the intra-domain politics of the time. In the midst of this chaos, bands of samurai bonded together to uphold their ideals, cloaking their murders under the pretense of honorable justice.

With Samurai Assasins, available from McCarthy and available on Amazon.com, Romulus Hillsborough continues his examination of the Bakumatsu--the fall of the Tokugawa Bakufu--that eventually gave birth to the Meiji Government and modern Japan. Fans of his earlier work on the Shinsengumi will recognize his style, presenting the events of the time with an eye towards the dramatic and captivating stories of the myriad individuals involved in those bloody events. Whereas that previous work focused primarily on those pro-Bakufu forces, this book focuses more on the actions of the pro-Imperial factions.  Together, these works complement each other and help further illuminate the complex violence of the period.

Hillsborough has really become one of the most recognized names in English literature on this period, presenting it in a way that is digestible even by those without previous depth in the period. He doesn't simplify the narrative, but neither is it beyond the reader to be able to comprehend. The present work may not be the go-to first volume for someone without any prior knowledge of Japanese history, but for those who have at least the broad brush strokes of the Bakamatsu period it may provide some insights easily overlooked when following some of the more popular threads in the intricate tapestry of events that unfolded in the latter half of the 19th century.

Samurai Assasins looks at three areas of the fall of the Tokugawa government and how assassinations, or "dark murder", played a role in how the events unfolded.  He starts with the assassination of Ii Naosuke, whose strongman tactics and then death many claim as one of the primary catalysts behind the later violence.  From there he looks at the numerous assassinations by men of the Tosa Loyalist Party, a pro-Imperial, anti-foreigner group of men that terrorized Kyoto in the 1860s.  Finally, he takes a look at the death of Sakamoto Ryōma, whose proposals were part of the foundation for the later Meiji government.  Through these events, he outlines some of the chaos and bloodshed that went on throughout this period.

With these stories, Hillsborough makes it clear that the political turmoil that brought down the Bakufu was extremely complex.  While it may be tempting to simplify the story of the revolution--the Imperial Loyalists, led by the Satsuma-Chōshū alliance, against the Tokugawa Bakufu and their supporters--Hillsborough delves into some of the complex motivations that moved the situation forward.  This can make the text dense at points; Hillsborough takes great lengths to provide the names of all of the actors, which may get confusing for readers not accustomed to Japanese names.  He counters this with a narrative style that comfortably leads the reader through the twists and turns of this historical record. 

The subject of the first part of this book, the assassination of Ii Naosuke, the Bakufu's strongman during the turbulent times of the mid-19th century, is often seen as a catalyst for much of the violence that would follow.  Romulus Hillsborough takes a look at the causes and effects of the Ansei Purge, Ii Naosuke's iron fisted attempts to squash Bakufu resistance, in conjunction with the rise of the subversive Mitogaku school of political thought that drove the assassins.  This assassination, known to history as the Sakuradamon Incident, is especially interesting in the light of the assassins' ties to the Bakufu--they were men of Mito, one of the three domains overseen by direct descendants of Tokugawa Ieyasu, the founder of the Tokugawa government.  In fact, in the following decade one of the scions of the Mito house would actually come to power as shōgun Tokugawa Yoshinobu, who would then have the dubious distinction of being the last shōgun, overseeing the end of the Bakufu. 

In examining the events, Hillsborough focuses less on the assassination itself, which has been fairly well documented in a variety of sources, and more on the causes and ramifications that followed.  He provides the situation in Mito leading up to the decision, and one can clearly see the conflict in society.  This was not a simple decision, nor was it inevitable, but myriad twists and turns pushed these men over the edge.  Hillsborough looks at the conditions in Mito, both the political situation of the Mito house of Tokugawa and the reaction among the lower ranks of samurai since the arrival of foreigners and the Bakufu's own negotiations with them.  From local remonstrations to the eventual assassination, Mito was clearly at odds with Bakufu policy, though they wouldn't go as far as the next domain.

The second topic in the book delves into the Tosa Loyalist Party, with particular attention paid to its leader, Takechi Hanpeita (aka Takechi Zuizan).  Tosa is another example of the complexity of this period, as its daimyō were traditionally fiercely loyal to the Tokugawa family.  However, the Tosa Loyalist Party took up the cause of Sonnō Jōi ("Revere the Emperor, Expel the Foreigners") even though their daimyō was a staunch supporter of the Bakufu.  Hillsborough covers many assassinations, from that of Yoshida Tōyō to numerous examples of tenchū, or "Heavenly Punishment". Most of these appear to have been instigated and carried out under the orders and influence of Hanpeita.  Detailing the bloody violence that these assassins brought to Kyoto--violence that eventually influenced the creation of the infamous Shinsengumi--Hillsborough describes the terror that they wrought.  This provides a clear counterpoint to his work on the Shinsengumi, and goes to show that there is blood on the hands of both sides in the fall of the Bakufu.

The killings in Kyoto are told in detail, at least where we have them.  Given that most of these killings were published by the assassins themselves, displayed on signs next to the heads or corpses of those they had killed, we have quite a bit of information, although the actual identities of most of the assassins remains a mystery.  Of those we know, only a few of the murders can be attributed to them directly.  Some of the more enlightening passages are the few contemporary accounts of the character and behavior of some of those involved in these dark deeds.  Throughout it all, the
humanity of the situation comes through, with many of the murderers driven in at least part with what they considered honorable motives.

Covering the Tosa Loyalist Party, Hillsborough looks at the inequalities between the various levels within the samurai class itself, especially in the Tosa domain.  This was exacerbated by the differing views of daimyō and his own retainers.  Although the ties of vassalage in feudal Japan are often thought to be absolute, the intra-domain politics were quite fierce, and with various parties vying for control of the ruling house.  Hillsborough describes the tension and conflict, following it through to the death of the Tosa Loyalist Party leader, Hanpeita.  Even then, the tale of his imprisonment and eventual execution--illuminated by his own letters to his wife, as well as the official record--demonstrates conflict within the domain and the beliefs that were driving anti-Tokugawa sentiment.

Interestingly, Hillsborough makes a similar case about the drivers of the Tosa Loyalists--and, in fact, many of the assassins of this period--as he does about the Rōshigumi and the Shinsengumi.  That is to say, these are samurai of the lower classes who likely saw an opportunity to showcase their skills and seek glory, hoping to increase their place in society through these acts.  The system of stipends, along with restrictions on what jobs a samurai could actually take and a rising population, meant that a good many were under-employed and their stipends did not go as far as they used to.  For them, a show of prowess may just earn them enough face and respect to land them a better position.  On either side, the killings were justified under extreme interpretations of bushidō and Neo-Confucian concepts of loyalty to either the Emperor or the Bakufu.  Few would have imagined that their acts would eventually lead to the destruction of the samurai class as a whole.

Hillsborough finishes off with the assassination of Sakamoto Ryōma.  Unlike the previous assassinations, committed by enemies of the Bakufu, this assassination was committed by pro-Bakufu forces, though the exact details remain unclear.  After a brief introduction to Sakamoto Ryōma, (more information on his life can be found in numerous English works, including Hillsborough's own Ryoma: Life of a Renaissance Samurai) Hillsborough takes the reader through the various reports of the incident.  There is no clear narrative on the assassination.  Many of the Bakufu reports are missing, and later "confessions" by people who claimed to be part of the attack don't fully match up with the official record, nor each other.  Hillsborough merges these accounts, and provides his take on their veracity, providing at least a plausible account of what happened (spoiler: he puts the blame on the Mimawarigumi).  He finishes off with a look at the repercussions and ramifications of the assassination, as well as a brief summary on the final fall of the Tokugawa Bakufu and the rise of the Meiji government.

Overall, the book reads well, and provides a look at these instances which many people outside of specialists are unlikely to be intimately familiar with.  Despite a slightly idiosyncratic system of Romanization (in particular the use of é on all kanji-final "e", not simply word-final, providing things like Takéda Hanpeita), the text flows easily enough.  It is accessible for even casual readers, covering subjects not typically found in most English histories of Japan.  Perhaps most importantly is the way that he follows the various paths that wind and wend their way through the fabric of this era.  It is easy to mistake this period as a straight up fight between supporters of the Bakufu and Imperial Loyalists.  Instead, we see exposed the internal tensions of Tokugawa Japan, formed through the historic ties between the various domains.  Although Satsuma and Chōshū are often spoken of in a single breath as the forces that finally brought down the government, it is easy to forget that before the political deal-making of Sakamoto Ryōma these two domains were fierce rivals.  That the concept of "expel the foreigners" was not strictly an anti-Bakufu stance, while many Imperial Loyalists viewed opening ties with the West as crucial to build up Japan's strength.  In all there was not one single factor that can be pointed to as the ultimate reason for the Bakufu's demise.  Hillsborough does an excellent job of cutting through all of this without oversimplifying everything.

If you are interested in Samurai Assassins, or some of Hillsborough's earlier works, his Amazon page.

Katsu Kaishu, Navigator Of Chaos: An Interview With Romulus Hillsborough, Author Of “Samurai Revolution”, Pt. 2

We’re happy to present our readers with the conclusion of our two-part interview with Romulus Hillsborough, author of the recently published Samurai Revolution: The Dawn of Modern Japan Seen Through the Eyes of the Shogun's Last Samurai. You can read part one of the interview HERE. In the following interview, RH is author Romulus Hillsborough and SA is the Samurai Archives’ Randy Schadel. 

SA: One of the more difficult concepts for newcomers to Bakumatsu studies to understand is why the new Imperial Government felt the need to use military force against the Tokugawa after Yoshinobu had resigned the office of Shogun and returned power to the Emperor in 1867. Satsuma and Choshu (in conjunction with some highly placed Court nobles) even went so far as to forge an Imperial edict to attack the Tokugawa and put together phony Imperial flags for the Satcho army. Was this simply a case of the Loyalists led by Satsuma and Choshu wanting to ensure that the Tokugawa would be eliminated from national politics beyond a shadow of a doubt? Or was there evidence that Yoshinobu still had plans to retain his primacy in the political arena? 

RH: Regarding this complicated issue, I refer readers to Samurai Revolution since I wrote quite a bit about it there. Let me just say here that the Imperial Court refused Yoshinobu’s request to abdicate and restore Imperial rule in the Tenth Month of Keio 3 (1867) because it wasn’t yet ready to accept the burden of governing; then after the coup in Kyoto in the next month, by which the Bakufu was abolished, Yoshinobu was deposed and a new provisional government was established under the Emperor, Yoshinobu no longer intended to step aside peacefully-which was why he sent 15,000 troops from Osaka to crush 5,000 enemy troops, mostly of Choshu and Satsuma. They clashed at Toba-Fushimi on the way to Kyoto and, of course, the Bakufu side was defeated. 

SA: Throughout Samurai Revolution you’re also quoting extensively from the accounts of foreign diplomats and officials, giving their contemporary viewpoint on the Bakumatsu. This gives a valuable outsider’s look at the proceedings and just what the ‘foreign devils’ responsible for much of the unrest thought of what was transpiring. Despite the fact that the English actively supported the Loyalists and the French the Shogunate (with the Dutch watching their own interests, the Russians chipping away at territories north of Japan, and the Americans largely staying out of things due to being involved in their own Civil War) when the actual fighting began in the Boshin War, the Western nations agreed to not become involved and remain neutral. What was it that kept the Western nations out of the conflict and perhaps spared Japan the fate that China suffered at the hands of the European and American powers? 

RH: I will not state the reasons that the foreign governments agreed to stay out of the internal conflict in Japan. However, I will say a little about France and Great Britain. Napoleon III, it seems, lost his stomach for overseas adventure, which was why the Bakufu lost France’s support in the latter part of Keio 3 (1867). Great Britain, on the other hand, wanted to secure its lucrative Japan trade, which was predicated on political stability in Japan. This was part of the reason that Ernest Satow published his essays, “English Policy,” in the Japan Times in 1865-66, in which he argued that the best means of assuring political stability in Japan was through a council of powerful feudal lords, including the shogun and his senior councilors, under the authority of the Emperor. Of course this resembles Sakamoto Ryoma’s great plan for the shogun’s abdication and restoration of Imperial rule, which he wrote down aboard ship in the summer of Keio 3 (1867). 

SA: The dramatic highlight of the book comes when your two central figures, Katsu Rintaro of the Shogunate and Saigo Takamori of the Imperialists, come together in early 1868 to save the city of Edo from destruction. While it is often assumed that Katsu was negotiating from a hopelessly weak position and threw the city’s fate on the mercy of the Imperial faction, it actually appears as if he had quite a bit to bargain with militarily-particularly the Tokugawa navy. There was also the fact that of all the Tokugawa vassals, he had the best relationship with the leaders of the Imperialists. Nonetheless, the negotiations were dicey with the behavior of extremists on both sides threatening to escalate the situation into all-out warfare. Through it all, Katsu continued to work towards ensuring Tokugawa Yoshinobu’s safety and the financial/political security of Tokugawa vassals. Had there not been such a strong preexisting bond between Katsu and Saigo (or had some other leaders headed up negotiations), was it likely that the city of Edo would have been destroyed-perhaps triggering an all-out civil war rather than the scattered fighting of the Boshin War? 

RH: The short answer is yes, I think so. Katsu Kaishu himself stated as much in his narrative, Kainanroku, which he wrote in 1884. And later in the 1890’s in an interview he said that had the Imperial Army sent anyone other than Saigo to speak with him, that person would have laid the blame for the dangerous situation on the Tokugawa, or on Yoshinobu, or on the troops who had fled the city, or on Kaishu himself, and “the talks would have broken down immediately.” However, like so many other things in history, nothing (or I should say, very little) is black and white. Consider this: Saigo had been forewarned by Sir Harry Parkes, the British minister to Japan (Satow’s boss), not to punish Yoshinobu or attack Edo, since the former shogun had already given up. “Killing the former leader of the nation, Parkes asserted, would violate international law. In the eyes of the rest of the world, as long as the Tokugawa agreed to surrender the castle, the Imperial Army lacked a moral justification to attack. Furthermore, Parkes warned, to launch an attack without first officially notifying the foreign representatives in Yokohama and safeguarding the lives and property of the foreign community smacked of anarchy.” (Samurai Revolution) 

SA: One of our favorite quotes from the book comes on page 522 courtesy of Saigo Takamori. In responding to a Satsuma man in the Meiji period who remarked that they would now be able to get rid of the foreigners, he states “Are you still talking about that? That was just an excuse to overthrow the Bakufu”. Among the higher-ups in actual positions of power among the various Loyalist han, do you believe that disenfranchising the Tokugawa was always the central goal and that Joi was only a means to garner support? 

RH: Originally, no-but after the summer of 1863, yes. Remember what occurred in Satsuma and Choshu that summer. Both of those han, leaders in the “expel the barbarians” movement, were punished by foreign warships in their own backyards – Satsuma by the British, and Choshu by American and French forces. After that they realized that Joi was impossible without first modernizing their militaries, for which they needed to trade with foreign nations. For further details, I refer readers to Samurai Revolution. 

SA: Saigo’s Rebellion (the Satsuma Rebellion/Seinan Sensou/Southwest Campaign of 1878) is usually seen as the last stand of the samurai, lashing out at the Meiji government for their loss in status and other assorted grievances. Saigo is often portrayed as aggressively spearheading the movement, most notably in works of pop culture like the film “The Last Samurai” (in the person of his cinematic ‘stand-in’, Katsumoto). But historically, it seems that Saigo ended up as the leader of the anti-Meiji forces almost by accident. Was he the reluctant leader he appears to have been, and if so, how did he end up in that position? 

RH: I wouldn’t say it was by accident but rather by circumstance. Saigo, after all, was probably the single most powerful driving force behind the revolution. And, as you will recall, he was hailed as a hero and natural leader by disgruntled samurai not only in Satsuma but throughout Japan. And, as I have explained in the book, Saigo was an extremely complex and enigmatic personality. Analyzing him is extremely difficult and sometimes he is impossible to understand. But as I write, he had “a genuine and reciprocated affection” for the Emperor. I quote Donald Keene that “absolutely nothing suggests that Saigo . . . had hoped another form of government might replace the monarchy,” based on his Confucian ethic that (in my own words) “the Emperor must rule according to Heaven’s will.” But he hated the corruption in the Meiji government. His ultimate objective in the Satsuma Rebellion (even if he did not actually start it) was, according to Keene, “to rid the emperor of the corrupt officials surrounding him so that he might rule undisturbed by their evil influence.” 

SA: The assassination of Sakamoto Ryoma in many ways is the Japanese version of the Kennedy assassination in America. While Shinsengumi chief Kondo Isami was unjustly executed for the crime and Imai Noburo of the Mimawarigumi later confessed to it, there are seemingly dozens of theories as to who the perpetrators were. A popular one is that it was agents of Satsuma or Choshu (Ryoma’s ostensible allies) who were concerned that Ryoma meant to work to include the Tokugawa in the new Imperial government or that Ryoma actually intended to maneuver himself into the government’s top spot (in effect, filling in the ‘three blank circles’ on one of his manifestos). What is your preferred theory? 

RH: I don’t have a preferred theory. 

SA: In your opinion, what impact might it have had on Japanese history if Tokugawa Yoshinobu been named Shogun instead of Tokugawa Iemochi in 1858? 

RH: I think it is safe to say that had Yoshinobu become shogun at that time, Ii Naosuke would have been defanged, and therefore would not have been able to purge his enemies from the government or to conclude the trade treaties without Imperial sanction. Therefore, he would not have been assassinated. And since his assassination marked the beginning of the end of the Tokugawa Bakufu . . . well, I think you can see where I’m headed with this logic. However, I prefer not to elaborate further in this forum, because I will discuss this in detail in my next book. 

SA: As well as providing an engaging narrative, we found Samurai Revolution to be an excellent reference work. It has extensive footnotes, a glossary of important terms, domains, and figures, a bibliography filled with excellent Japanese sources, and a sizable index. What were some of the issues you faced trying to balance the two-keeping the narrative interesting while making sure the book retained its usefulness as an historical text? In a related point, how did you handle the issue of bias among your sources-how to determine whether to take them at face value or read between the lines? 

RH: Writing requires technique, which, for me, has developed over many years. In other words, it is a craft that needs to be learned. Maintaining historical accuracy is an academic task. Writing a narrative to hold readers’ interest, maintaining historical and cultural accuracy, and presenting the humanity of my characters have been my overriding objectives in all my books. As you know, my first book, Ryoma: Life of a Renaissance Samurai, is an historical novel. As such, I did not cite my sources in that book. And while most of the dialogue is my own creation, it is based on historical documents including Ryoma’s letters, and definitive biographies of Ryoma and other main characters in the book. I took as much care to maintain historical and cultural accuracy in that book as I have in all subsequent books, including the historical narrative (i.e., nonfiction) Samurai Revolution, which is my best book thus far. 

Regarding your second question about taking my sources at face value or reading between the lines, I will limit my answer to a brief discussion of two compilations of interviews of Katsu Kaishu, from which I quote extensively in Samurai Revolution. As I explained in the Appendix, one of these, Hikawa Seiwa, is a compilation of interviews that originally appeared in newspapers and magazines. They were erroneously edited and partially rewritten by the editor of the original 1897 publication. Katsu Kaishu’s most authoritative biographer, Matsuura Rei, meticulously researched the original interviews to correct those errors. Matsuura’s annotated edition of Hikawa Seiwa, published by Kodansha in 1973, was my source. The other compilation of Kaishu interviews, Kaishu Goroku, was the work of one person, who conducted all of the interviews himself. As such, the original 1899 publication, which appeared shortly after Katsu Kaishu’s death, was a more reliable source than Hikawa Seiwa before the Kodansha edition. The Kaishu interviews are “oral histories,” recounted in the 1890s, decades after the fact. As such, they may be viewed with skepticism. But, as I write in my new book, their credibility “is reinforced by their agreement with Katsu Kaishu’s journals, written memoirs, and histories–as if he had drawn on them for the interviews–and by the fact that the contents in both volumes, though recorded, edited, and published separately, often replicate each other.” 

SA: You were a long term resident of Japan and made it a point to visit many of the locales and historical sites where the events described in Samurai Revolution took place. What advantages did that give you in the writing process over someone who had only read about them in documents and books?

RH: I won’t speak for other writers, but I would not have been able to write any of my books in the style that I have chosen, had I not been able to visualize certain of the historical events and places depicted. Visiting and observing–and feeling–the actual sites, not only buildings and other man-made structures but also the natural surroundings and topography of the places, aided in the visualization process. It also helped me to better understand the men who lived and died in those places.

SA: Now that you’ve written a comprehensive examination of the Bakumatsu and books on several of its most well-known figures and organizations, what projects can we expect from you in the future? 

RH: I am currently working on a new book of the same historical era. I hope to finish the manuscript this year. 

SA: Thank you, Mr. Hillsborough, for your insights and thoughts on this pivotal period of Japanese history, and best of luck on all your future projects. 

You can order Samurai Revolution on the SA’s Amazon store HERE or directly from Tuttle Publishing’s website HERE . Visit Romulus Hillsborough’s Samurai Revolution website for more about the book along with interesting essays and news items (such as documents recently discovered in Kochi sealed with Sakamoto Ryoma’s blood).

Katsu Kaishu, Navigator Of Chaos: An Interview With Romulus Hillsborough, Author Of “Samurai Revolution”, Pt. 1

Romulus Hillsborough is the author of several popular books dealing with the Bakumatsu/early Meiji period of Japanese history and the personalities that shaped its course. These include Shinsengumi: The Shogun's Last Samurai Corps, Samurai Tales: Courage, Fidelity and Revenge in the Final Years of the Shogun (an expansion of his earlier Samurai Sketches), and the work for which he is perhaps best known, Ryoma: Life of a Renaissance Samurai. Just published is Samurai Revolution: The Dawn of Modern Japan Seen Through the Eyes of the Shogun's Last Samurai. Samurai Revolution tells the story of the final years of the shogunate in the 1850’s and 60’s to the last rebellion of the former samurai class in 1877. It’s largely told through the life and works of Katsu Kaishu, a vassal of the Tokugawa who was both loved and loathed by the shogunate and its Imperial Loyalist enemies. We found it to be not only an excellent biography of Katsu, but an exceedingly well-done, intricate, and clearly written overview of this vital period of Japanese history. 

Recently the SA talked to Mr. Hillsborough (pictured here with the memorial tablet presented to San Francisco by Osaka in 1960 to commemorate the 100th anniversary of the Kanrin Maru’s voyage to that city-a voyage captained by Katsu Kaishu) about the book and some of the issues it explores. In the following interview, RH is author Romulus Hillsborough and SA is the Samurai Archives’ Randy Schadel. 


SA: Mr. Hillsborough, congratulations on the publication of Samurai Revolution and thanks for taking the time to discuss the new book with the Samurai Archives. Could you start off by letting our readers know a bit of your background—your career, education, and travels?

RH: First of all, I would like to thank you for the opportunity to speak to the readers of your excellent forum. As for my background, I grew up in Los Angeles, CA. I have a BA in English and an MA in humanities. My passions are writing and reading (mostly, literature, history and philosophy). My favorite writers over the years have been (in reverse chronological order) Friedrich Nietzsche, Eugene O’Neill, Mark Twain, William Butler Yeats, Dylan Thomas, Akutagawa Ryunosuke, Shiba Ryotaro, Ernest Hemingway, and J.R.R. Tolkien. I practiced a Japanese martial art in an organization called Shotokan Karate of America (SKA), chief instructor Tsutomu Ohshima, for more than 30 years—including in Los Angeles, Tokyo and San Francisco. Shortly after graduating from college I went to Japan, where I lived for around 16 years, and where I “came of age” as a writer. In the mid-1980’s I worked for popular Japanese magazines while researching and writing my first book, Ryoma: Life of a Renaissance Samurai, an historical novel. All of my other books were written after I returned to the United States in the 1990’s. My martial arts practice along with my experience living, studying and working in Japan have greatly influenced my writing. 

SA: Samurai Revolution is quite the ambitious work, weighing in at 600 pages and giving a comprehensive overview of the decline of the Bakufu (the Tokugawa shogunate) and eventual extinction of the samurai class. It spans the gamut from the earliest rumblings of foreign interference in Japanese affairs that pre-dated Perry’s Black Ships to the last throes of the samurai during the Satsuma Rebellion. It does an excellent job of explaining in an understandable and detailed manner the sometimes confusing shifts of allegiance and philosophy undergone by groups as well as individuals. Did you start off with the idea of writing such a comprehensive and detailed work, or did it take on a life of its own during the writing process? 

RH: When I conceived of a book focusing on Katsu Kaishu around the year 2000 (shortly after publishing Samurai Sketches), I intended to write a fictionalized “autobiography.” But after working on it for a while, I abandoned that format for two reasons. One was the dearth of published material about Kaishu in the English language. I thought that there ought to be at least one detailed, historically and culturally accurate non-fiction account of the life and times of such an important and interesting figure published for an international readership. I wanted this book to be the definitive portrait (it is not a biography in the traditional sense) of Katsu Kaishu in English. And I also wanted to make the book more of a comprehensive treatment of the Bakumatsu era than I had originally intended, presenting this history as the human drama that it actually is. To do so I needed to focus on the personalities of its leading players, giving them more attention than I would have in an “autobiography.” These include the last shogun Tokugawa Yoshinobu and his father Tokugawa Nariaki of Mito; their nemesis Ii Naosuke, the dictatorial regent to the boy shogun Iemochi whose assassination in the spring of 1860 was the beginning of the end of the Tokugawa Bakufu; Yoshida Shoin, Takasugi Shinsaku, and Katsura Kogoro, the three most important figures of Choshu during the Bakumatsu, posthumously succeeded by Ito Shunsuke (later Hirobumi, Meiji Japan’s first prime minister) and Inoue Monta (later Kaoru); Kaishu’s and Shoin’s teacher, Sakuma Shozan, perhaps the most brilliant of all, who even before Perry had advised the Bakufu to develop a modern navy to defend against Western imperialism; Saigo Takamori and Okubo Toshimichi of Satsuma, the leaders of the Satsuma clan and collectively the most powerful driving force behind the revolution; Shimazu Nariakira, the revered daimyo of Satsuma who died in his prime, some believe by poisoning by his own vassals; Sakamoto Ryoma and Nakaoka Shintaro, the two political outlaws (ronin) from Tosa who managed to unite Satsuma and Choshu in a political-military alliance that would change history and who were assassinated together shortly after Yoshinobu abdicated based on a plan formulated by Ryoma; and others who I will not mention here but who have also been given ample attention in Samurai Revolution. 

And during the eleven years it took me to complete Samurai Revolution (including two periods totaling about two years when I did not work on it), it did “take on a life of its own”—actually it went through several metamorphoses. For example, my original intent was to end the book with the fall of the Bakufu and the peaceful surrender of Edo Castle as negotiated by Kaishu and Saigo. But as I approached the end of the story, I realized I could not simply drop it—and let my readers wonder what happens next in this riveting human drama. So I included Book 2 to chronicle the rise of Imperial Japan. The definitive and culminating event during that era (i.e., the first decade of Meiji) is the Satsuma Rebellion; and the driving personality behind it is Saigo, for whom Kaishu had the courage to continue expressing his undying admiration, never once forgetting their friendship even after Saigo had died as an alleged “traitor,” stripped of his Imperial rank, for his supposed leading role in the Rebellion. I also thought that I would need an Epilogue to complete the manuscript, which at around 325,000 words was substantially longer than the edited published version. And so, in its final form, Samurai Revolution is a detailed examination and analysis of the Bakumatsu era through the eyes of Katsu Kaishu, who seemed to me the best spokesman for the era (for reasons I explain below.) Regarding the reason for the epithet “the shogun’s last samurai,” that is explained in the Epilogue. 

SA: Speaking of shifts of allegiance and philosophy, what was the catalyst that caused the Sonno-Joi (Revere the Emperor, Expel the Barbarians) groups to embrace Western learning and technology, dropping Sonno-Joi for Kinno-Tobaku (Imperial Loyalism, Down with the Bakufu)? 

RH: The short answer, I think, is an honest acceptance of reality around the summer of 1863, ten years after Perry first showed up. Until then Sonno-Joi had been embraced with religious zeal. In the summer of 1862, Takasugi Shinsaku, one of the leaders of Sonno-Joi in Choshu, traveled to Shanghai during the Taiping Rebellion. Upon arriving he was struck by the large number of foreign ships, many of them warships, in the harbor. And he was deeply troubled to see Chinese kowtowing to white men and the defilement of a Confucian shrine, which was being used as a British military encampment. He also observed modern weaponry, including breech-loading guns, at foreign merchant houses in the city. All of this convinced him of the futility of trying to take on the likes of Great Britain, France and other Western powers without first developing a modern military. He concluded that there was no room for Joi (“Expel the Barbarians”) in the Sonno (“Revere the Emperor”) equation, if the rebels intended to overthrow the Bakufu and create a modern Japanese state under the Emperor, strong enough to deal with Western imperialism from a position of power—as Takasugi’s martyred teacher, Yoshida Shoin, had espoused. But most Choshu samurai remained fanatically anti-foreign—until Choshu was humiliated with the bombardment by foreign ships and brief occupation of its territory on the Shimonoseki coast by French troops in the summer of 1863. This, then, was the catalyst which forced them to accept the reality that Joi was impossible. A few days after the French occupation, Takasugi established the Kiheitai, Japan’s first modern militia—not to “expel the barbarians” but to overthrow the government (i.e., the Bakufu) which had let them in. 

Meanwhile, Satsuma, the other leader in the Sonno-Joi movement, experienced a rude awakening of its own when it engaged British naval forces in its own front yard on Kagoshima Bay about a month after the bombardment of Shimonoseki. The British had come to Satsuma to demand reparation for the murder of a British subject, Charles Lennox Richardson, by Satsuma men at Namamugi in the previous year (the notorious Namamugi Incident, also known as the Richardson Affair). Satsuma refused and the British attacked. Though Satsuma put up a good fight, its forces were no match for the superior guns and warships of the British, which, in the words of Ernest Satow, who was aboard one of the ships, “dismounted some of their batteries and laid the town to ruins,” before retreating. As a condition for peace, however, Satsuma agreed to pay an indemnity and punish Richardson’s killers, though the second part of its promise was never fulfilled. As I wrote in Samurai Revolution: “But the Satsuma men learned an important lesson from the whole ordeal, realizing once and for all that they were not equipped to expel the foreigners by military force.” Ironically, the Satsuma men embraced the British as allies to help them build up their military in the gathering revolution. 

SA: Most works on the Bakumatsu center around figures of the Loyalist factions, most notably Sakamoto Ryoma and Saigo Takamori. However, Samurai Revolution uses Katsu Rintaro (usually known as Katsu Kaishu in the West), a vassal of the Tokugawa shogun, as its focus. What made Katsu the appropriate vessel to carry such a wide-ranging narrative? 

RH: Beside my own personal interest in Katsu Kaishu (he’s generally known by this name in the Japanese literature as well) both as a personality and an historical figure, and the lack of accurate and detailed information on him in English, he was one of the few men on the Tokugawa side who commanded the respect and goodwill of the Imperial Loyalists. In fact, he was more popular among the enemy side than among people in the Tokugawa camp, where he was widely reviled as a traitor (though he was not a traitor in any sense of the word)—and this is an overriding theme in my book, as reflected in my use of the term “outsider” to describe him. (“Outsider” is included in the titles of each of the five Parts comprising the book.) And since he had many friends and allies among the Loyalists, including most notably Ryoma and Saigo but also Katsura Kogoro and others from Choshu, Satsuma, and Tosa, and even Anegakoji Kintomo, one of the two leaders of the Sonno-Joi faction at the Imperial Court until his assassination in 1863, Kaishu was able to see things from both perspectives. So much so that he eventually told his superiors in the Bakufu, “The Bakufu must willingly fall,” which is an astonishing pronouncement from a loyal Tokugawa vassal with the high position of commissioner of warships. And it was precisely his flexibility of mind and his moral and physical courage to admit that the Bakufu’s time had run out that earned him the respect of the other side and the enmity of his own camp. But for all of his honesty and pragmatic realism, he was loyal to the Tokugawa family to the bitter end—which, I think, was one of the reasons that he embraced men such as Ryoma and Saigo to do the “dirty work” of actually overthrowing the Bakufu—which as a samurai of the Tokugawa clan he was incapable of—although in his later years he did say about the Bakufu: “Eventually I brought it down myself.” 

SA: It’s somewhat ironic that the seeds of the shogunate’s downfall were found in the activities of Mito Han, itself a major Tokugawa branch house. However, despite being a major player in the early stages of the Bakumatsu, they soon were eclipsed by activists from Choshu, Tosa, and Satsuma. What differentiated Mito Han’s brand of Imperial Loyalism from these other han? 

RH: As you mention, Mito was one of the Three Tokugawa Branch Houses (the “go-sanke”), the highest ranking of all the han. And so even the most radical of the Loyalists of Mito never opposed the Tokugawa Bakufu itself. But Mito was the cradle of Imperial Loyalism, which sprang from the Mito school of thought called Mitogaku—and the retired daimyo of Mito, Tokugawa Nariaki (Yoshinobu’s father), had coined the term Sonno-Joi. As such, Nariaki, one of the most powerful voices within the Bakufu, was the champion of the early Imperial Loyalism movement. And though Mito would never oppose the Bakufu, it would and certainly did oppose certain elements within the Edo regime that it found reprehensible and anathema to Imperial Loyalism, most notably Ii Naosuke, who was finally assassinated by a band of eighteen ronin, seventeen from Mito and one from Satsuma—though it was the Satsuma man who actually killed the regent, cutting off his head. 

Mito Han is very difficult to comprehend, which makes it even more difficult to explain. And since I will include a great deal about Mito Han and Mitogaku in my next book, I will save further commentary about Mito for the future. 

SA: One of Mito’s most notorious acts was the assassination of the shogun’s Tairo (Great Elder of the shogunate), Ii Naosuke. Naosuke was the lighting rod around which anti-foreign sentiment seemed to coagulate, both for opening certain ports to foreign trade and the often heavy handed way he dealt with political opponents. Did Ii ever have a realistic chance of garnering support for the way he handled foreign relations, or was any action he took doomed to fail (either by angering the Western nations or the anti-foreign Joi factions)?  

RH: Kind of “damned if he did and damned if he didn’t,” right? Yes, I would agree with that. In fact, Ii Naosuke was probably no less anti-foreign at heart than his biggest enemies including the most fervent “barbarian haters” of Mito, Satsuma, Choshu, and Tosa. If he had had his way Japan would have probably remained closed. But, like Katsu Kaishu and other progressive thinkers of the time, Ii Naosuke was a realist. I wrote a lengthy chapter about these issues in Samurai Revolution, in which I argue that Naosuke demonstrated political courage in concluding the foreign trade treaties in defiance of popular opinion and even the Imperial Court itself, and that as the most powerful man in Japan, “he faced a dangerous and crucial decision—and in making that decision it appears that he had the welfare of Japan first and foremost in his heart. And in his mind—and indeed the minds of most if not all of the reactionary feudal lords of the Tokugawa camp—the Bakufu was Japan. But unlike many of his fellow antiforeign reactionaries, Naosuke had the sense to realize that if he refused the Americans’ demands for a trade treaty, he faced the very real danger of a devastating war. On the other hand, if he yielded to those demands, he knew that he would have to deal with a country of hotheaded samurai who violently opposed opening the ports to the barbarians, and that those samurai were led by his nemesis, Nariaki.” And so, he decided to conclude the trade treaties as the lesser of two evils, thus saving Japan from foreign subjugation. And for that and his crackdown on his political enemies, he was eventually killed. 

SA: While the men who specialized in spreading violence and murder (from the numerous Loyalist assassins to the Shinsengumi) often become the face of the Bakumatsu in popular culture, many of the intellectual leaders (teachers in particular) had a far greater impact on the course of Japanese history in the 1850’s and 1860’s. Many of the Bakumatsu’s most famous figures (on both sides) received their intellectual training and core values from these teachers. Obviously your central character Katsu Rintaro was one of these teachers, but even the teacher needed to be taught. Could you tell us about a few of the other more notable teachers?  

RH: Katsu Kaishu’s two greatest teachers, I think, were Sakuma Shozan of Matsushiro Han and Yokoi Shonan of Kumamoto Han. Sakuma was also the teacher of Yoshida Shoin and many other notable men. He was a compelling character not only for his foresight and brilliance (his influence on Japan can be seen up to WWII) but for his quirky yet strong personality. He married Katsu Rintaro’s younger sister and it was Sakuma who gave Rintaro the pseudonym “Kaishu,” which Sakuma himself had used. One of his cherished slogans was “control the barbarians through barbarian technology,” as he had advised the Bakufu as early as 1850, three years before Perry showed up. I introduce that slogan here because it sums up Sakuma’s ideas of how to deal with the dangers of Western imperialism. I wrote quite a bit about him in Samurai Revolution, including his significant influence on both of Katsu and Yoshida. 

Yokoi was the chief political advisor to Matsudaira Shungaku, the powerful daimyo of Fukui (a Tokugawa-related house) who served as the Bakufu’s political director. (Shungaku was also a personal friend and political ally of Kaishu’s.) Kaishu described Yokoi as profound; and in his profundity, Kaishu found him “frightening.” “I’ve seen two frightening men in my life,” Kaishu said years later, in the 1890s. One was Yokoi, the other Saigo. “Yokoi didn’t know that much about the West; I taught him a thing or two [on that subject]. But there were often times, when it came to the high tone of his ideas, that I felt I could never reach [his level]. . . . Although Yokoi was not very good at working on his own, if there was anyone around who could implement his ideas, I thought that the two of them [could accomplish great things.]” As it turned out, two of Kaishu’s closest confidants on the anti-Bakufu side, Ryoma and Saigo, did implement Yokoi’s ideas, which of course changed history. 

Sakuma, Yokoi, and Ryoma were assassinated. Saigo too met a violent death in the Satsuma Rebellion. Kaishu himself was nearly assassinated on several occasions. They lived in an exceedingly violent time. 

SA: The shogunate failed badly in two abortive attempts to militarily chastise the rebels in Choshu Han. This not only led to a loss of respect among their allied han and foreign nations, but also much resentment among the various han for the seemingly harsh attitude they were taking towards Choshu (who, after all, were seen by many as just trying to carry out the Emperor’s edict of expelling the foreigners). Was this the turning point of the Bakumatsu? Did Choshu’s military abilities, the Bakufu’s failure, and public opinion serve to isolate the Bakufu from all but their most hardcore allies?  

RH: I don’t think it was a turning point in the revolution, the first of which came several years earlier in 1860 with Ii Naosuke’s assassination. The next turning point I think was the Satsuma-Choshu Alliance, concluded in early 1866. Without the Satsuma-Choshu Alliance, and the help of Sakamoto Ryoma’s company in procuring weapons from foreign traders, Choshu would not have had the means to defeat the Bakufu in the war which broke out in the summer of 1866. So more than describing the war as a turning point, I look at it more as a nail in the coffin of the Bakufu, which was already tottering before the war started—which was why Choshu was able to win. But when Yoshinobu became shogun at the end of that year, things started to look better for the Bakufu—and had he played his cards a little differently, and been more lucky at the game, he might have been able to revive the teetering regime that he had inherited. Of course, he did not—but I write about those things in detail in Samurai Revolution. 

SA: While the focus usually falls on Choshu Han as the driving force behind the anti-Bakufu factions, in many ways it seemed that it was Satsuma Han that determined the course of the Bakumatsu. From allies of the shogunate and sworn enemies of Choshu they abruptly allied with Choshu—and during the early years of the Meiji Period became enemies of Choshu again. They seemed to be the true wild card of the Bakumatsu, never keeping to a consistent policy but rather adapting to opportunities as they presented themselves. While Sakamoto Ryoma’s part in securing the ‘Satcho’ alliance is well known, why was Satsuma even willing to ally itself with enemies? Did they see parallels between the treatment of Choshu and their own position, and perhaps thought that the increasing influence of Tokugawa Yoshinobu on Bakufu policy (he was not yet shogun) posed a danger to Satsuma?  

RH: There were numerous men and factors who influenced Satsuma’s decision (which was actually Saigo’s and Okubo’s decision) to ally itself with Choshu, including the ideas of their late revered daimyo Shimazu Nariakira, Satsuma’s relationship with the British, the ideas of Katsu Kaishu and Sakamoto Ryoma, and Satsuma’s (i.e., Saigo’s and Okubo’s) flexibility to seize an opportunity when it presented itself. The alliance with Choshu was such an opportunity, and the seeds of the alliance were planted in Saigo’s mind by Kaishu; and they were nurtured by Ryoma. But I feel that this question is far too complicated to do justice to in this forum. Therefore I refer readers to Samurai Revolution, in which I discuss in detail Satsuma’s history and ethos (which resembles the ethos of the ancient Spartans in its stoicism), the origins of the Satsuma-Choshu Alliance, and the roles of those two han, among others, in the overthrow of the Bakufu. But let me share one of my favorite Katsu Kaishu quotes here: “The difference between Choshu and Satsuma is that Choshu men make money to gain political power, whereas Satsuma men gain political power to make money. . . . A Choshu man will carefully write down his last will and testament to avoid being misunderstood after death. . . . But a Satsuma man is very straightforward. When he encounters a situation in which he knows he will die, he won’t utter a word.” Here, Kaishu was referring to the Satsuma ethos. 

SA: Yamauchi Yodo, the retired daimyo of Tosa Han, ruthlessly moved to purge the Loyalist element from his domain. He was well known for being an ardent supporter of the shogunate. Yet it was largely because of him that the last shogun, Tokugawa Yoshinobu, resigned from the office and returned power to Emperor Meiji. Why did such a loyal shogunate vassal end up working towards its removal from power?  

RH: All I will say here is that Yodo did not work to remove the Bakufu from power. Rather he worked to save the Bakufu and Yoshinobu from destruction by endorsing Sakamoto Ryoma’s plan for the shogun to abdicate peacefully and restore Imperial rule, thereby expecting a place for the former shogun within the new government. The detailed explanation to all of this is in my new book. 


Part 2 of our interview with Mr. Hillsborough will be forthcoming shortly and will touch on such topics as the early years of the Meiji Restoration, the Satsuma Rebellion of 1877, the advantages of writing about places an author has explored in person, assassination conspiracy theories, and even a bit of speculative history. For now, you can order “Samurai Revolution” on the SA’s Amazon store HERE or directly from Tuttle Publishing’s website HERE . Visit Romulus Hillsborough’s “Samurai Revolution” website for more about the book along with interesting essays and news items (such as documents recently discovered in Kochi sealed with Sakamoto Ryoma’s blood).

Total War, Total Fantasy: Shogun 2-Fall Of The Samurai

 Any time a developer puts together a game based on an historical event, there’s going to be a tradeoff between accuracy and playability. Whether it’s a tabletop sim or a computer game, some situations just aren’t easily recreated, or would cause a serious problem with game balance. Even the most accurate Japanese history sims like Magitech’s “Takeda” series (that uses actual maps of castles and cities and features some battles that even the developers say are impossible to win-just as they were in history), Paradox’s “Sengoku”, or Si-Phon’s “Genpei Souran: Shogun E No Michi” have to take liberties with history in order to give the player some flexibility in options and play style (to say nothing of dispensing with a lot of micromanagement and recordkeeping). Other games like the Nobunaga No Yabou (Nobunaga’s Ambition) series stray from history even further, introducing abstract arcade style battles and making certain characters supermen that tower over everyone else. Which brings us to today’s selection-Creative Assembly’s “Total War Shogun 2: Fall of the Samurai”. Fall of the Samurai is a ‘stand-alone/expansion’ that purports to recreate the turbulent times of the Bakumatsu and early Meiji period where the Tokugawa Shogunate fell and the samurai class was abolished. While CA’s Shogun games have often played fast and loose with history, this time around they’ve managed to take things a step further and create a Japan that has more in common with the Union and Confederacy of the American Civil War than it does the supporters of the Shogunate and Emperor. Total War has become Total Fantasy. 

Take a look at the box artwork above for Fall of the Samurai-it tells you all you really need to know about the game. An American officer brandishing a revolver shares the cover with a samurai in traditional elaborate armor. If this doesn’t bring to mind a certain blockbuster movie starring Tom Cruise, then CA’s marketing department hasn’t done its job. The modernization of Japan and the influence exerted on it by Western countries (particularly England, France, and the United States-for whatever reason, the Russians, Prussians, and the Dutch are omitted) are the focal point of the game, and about forty years of real time are telescoped into the 6-12 years that the game plays out in. This results in armies on both the Shogunate and Imperial sides that wield an incredible amount of firepower and highly developed naval forces-far more than Japan would ever have been able to accumulate or more importantly, afford. To accommodate the wishes of the game’s largely European and North American player base, CA has not only given them ‘Foreign Veteran’ agents (think Nathan Algren from “The Last Samurai”, or historical French advisor Jules Brunet) that can join Japanese armies and engage in combat/duels, but also allows players to field Western army units. That’s right-you can have units of US Marines (or their British/French counterparts) under the direct command of the Shogunate. Now, we can see allowing these units to appear in the game as allies. After all, it only makes sense that a US/Brit/French unit would defend the commercial interests of their country in Japan-and that sometimes this might have them fighting alongside the Shogunate or Imperialists. But to have them under the DIRECT CONTROL of the Japanese? Ridiculous. It serves no function other than to let Westerners shoehorn their own culture into the ‘mystique’ of the samurai-something which has been going on since (at least) “James Clavell’s Shogun” and movies like “The Hunted”, “The Barbarian and the Geisha”, and the glorious “Bushido Blade” but rarely this blatantly. Want some laughs? Check out some of the game cinemas, where the Emperor sans his retinue is shown chatting with Western advisors at the dockyards in 1864, or the Shogun is shown doing the same thing (and depicted in Court Robes at that). 

Don’t even get us started on the myriad of different unit types that can be fielded. Past players of the Total War: Shogun series already know that CA loves to throw in ‘chrome’ units that have little to no historical justification. The player base just loves ‘em whether they existed or not. In the past we’ve seen units armed exclusively with katana or no-dachi-yeah, right. Crossbow ashigaru? This ain’t China, bub. Fall of the Samurai has Imperial Infantry, Line Infantry, Shogunate Guards, Imperial Guards, Republican Guards, Tosa rifles, Kihetai, Shogitai, Yugekitai, Tortoises, Phoenixes, Red Bears, Black Bears, White Bears, Dragons, and Tigers, oh my-and more. All of these represent virtually the same type of unit-Japanese troops armed with Western rifles. The only difference is that Japanese units tended to get impressive sounding names rather than numbers, but CA gives them all different stats, special attacks, and abilities. If they wanted to differentiate troops, a much better way would have been to do so by the type of rifles they were armed with (they did do this with cavalry)-something that was a big factor in making the Imperialists stronger than the Shogunate. One interesting side note is that while Shogun 2 has at least three different female units, Fall of the Samurai has none-despite the fact that women played a much, much bigger part in the Boshin war than they did during the Genpei War or Sengoku Jidai.

Economic development gets the same treatment. While you can’t build railways in every province, you can put together an impressive network that stretches from one end of Honshu to the other. Of course, what the developers seem not to have realized is that the first railway in Japan wasn’t completed until 1872, and was an extremely short line between Tokyo and Yokohama. This means that the short campaign (ending in 1870) shouldn’t have them at all, and that even the long campaign (which runs until 1876) shouldn’t have any sort of rail net-what existed in Japan at that time were a handful of very short, isolated lines. Quite simply, Japan couldn’t afford to build them. Rails were probably thrown into the game for their ‘kewl’ factor-CA obviously hasn’t read Dan Free’s book.

The game map is also a massive failure, being province based instead of han based. We understand they wanted to build on the regular Shogun 2 map, which is province based. And they did add parts of Ezo and a few other islands. And yes, there were over 200 han during the Edo period, which would have made things a bit too complex for some players. However, using provinces instead of han virtually strips the game of any claim to realistic starting positions-not to mention leaving out many important clans. In many cases the daimyo given for the han seem to be invented out of whole cloth (we’re getting to that), as were their loyalties to the Shogunate/Imperialists. The set-up you see is about as abstract as it gets. A province based map also ensures that the Tokugawa Shogunate has no real footprint on this version of Japan-and as you can see by the map in this thread on the Samurai Archives, they had the largest holdings in Japan.

This brings us to the game’s largest failing. You can play as all four of the Imperial ‘Satchotohi’ factions who were the prime forces that brought an end to the Bakufu-Satsuma, Choshu, Tosa and Hizen (represented by Saga). But you CAN’T play as the Tokugawa Shogunate, the single most powerful faction in Japan and ruler of the country-five times wealthier than the closest daimyo. The Tokugawa are virtually invisible in-game. If you look at ‘Edo’ domain in game, they give its daimyo as Matsui Yasuhide, a fictitious name. If they meant Matsudaira Yasuhide-then he was far north of Edo in 1864, and even when he was transferred to Kawagoe in 1866, wouldn't be considered part of Edo-Kawagoe was a separate han. Nope, totally wrong-how hard would it have been to just use Tokugawa Iemochi, the Shogun who did count Edo among his holdings? Instead we get Aizu and some minor loyal factions like Obama, Jozai, Nagaoka, and latecomers Sendai. Why? While the spread out nature of the Tokugawa holdings might have presented a problem to an accurate in-game representation, it also would have provided players with a unique challenge-a faction that has huge holdings and a foothold in every part of the country but whose exposed position and fragile condition leaves it wide open to conquest. It just seems to us the Tokugawa were left out because the developers wanted to avoid the play balance problems that might have cropped up. However, leaving them out pretty much cripples the entire game. Fall of the Samurai might as well be called “Total War: Kick the Shogun’s Ass”-a theme reflected in the ‘historical’ battles, all of which give players control of Imperial Forces under Saigo ‘Worms’ Takamori.

And what about those historical battles? As a microcosm of the game’s failure as a sim, let’s take a look at one of them, the Battle of Osaka. This isn’t the famous series of battles that took place in 1614-15 between the Toyotomi and Tokugawa, but rather the action in 1868 that followed the Battle of Toba-Fushimi. What did the Fall of the Samurai developers get right? Well, mostly just the stuff in the opening and closing cut scenes. Tokugawa Yoshinobu did indeed abandon his troops, board an American ship (although the game doesn’t bring that up) while waiting for one of his own to pick him up, and then return to Edo. And the Imperials did indeed burn large areas of the castle after occupying it. Pretty much everything else here is wrong. 

For all intents and purposes, there was NO “Battle of Osaka” in 1868-the Shogunate troops largely followed the leader when Yoshinobu abandoned the castle, and the few that were left surrendered the castle peacefully to the Imperial army. Instead, the game has the player assaulting a force over three times their size that’s entrenched in one of the strongest castles ever built in Japan. This would not have ended well for the Imperials had this been the case-one only has to look about ten years into the future when a small Imperial force held off Saigo Takamori’s attackers at Kumamoto Castle to see what the outcome would have been. The casualties during a playthrough of this single battle end up being about twice what the total was for the entire Boshin War. The layout of the town of Osaka is completely wrong, but not as bad as the depiction of the castle. The extent of the defenses, the schematics and number of the different ‘maru’, the bridges running into the castle, even the location of the site of the tenshu are all wrong. There’s a nicely developed railroad running from the harbor area into town, but as we’ve already seen, Japan wouldn’t even see a rudimentary railroad for four more years.

The game action encourages players to bombard the turrets of the castle, which are holding gunpowder that will eventually be used to blow bridges (usually when players try to cross them). Scoring a single hit on a turret causes a 4^th of July explosion that forces the enemy to abandon their defenses. Now how stupid would a defender have to be to put their gunpowder in such an exposed position? Historically, Osaka Castle’s gunpowder store building is one of the few original Tokugawa structures to survive to the present day-precisely because it was located well within the grounds and built to stand up to a bombardment. 

But perhaps one mistake exemplifies the developer’s disregard for history more than anything else. In the game there’s a really nice tenshu sitting right at the back of the Osaka defenses. In looks, it resembles the original Toyotomi castle far more than the Tokugawa version that replaced it. Of course, this fact really isn’t all that important because in 1868 OSAKA CASTLE HAD NO TENSHU. It was struck by lightning and burned to the ground around 200 years earlier (1665) and was never rebuilt.  

So you would think after all this bitching that we hated the game-but that isn’t the case. We love it! While it’s basically worthless as a simulation, it does give one a sense of the essential issues of the Bakumatsu/early Meiji periods. At the heart of everything is modernization and forming bonds with foreign nations. To do so or not? Not doing so will keep your people happy, but leave your military and economy weak and exposed. Doing so strengthens your economic base and gives access to advanced units, but also ties up more of your resources in policing an increasingly restless populace. Rebellions are far more likely the more modernized your faction becomes and can easily destroy you from within. Allying with the United States, British, or French will also give players the opportunity to gain those Marine units we complained about a few paragraphs back-not to mention unique ships like the HMS Warrior, which could decimate enemy fleets all on its own.

Graphically, the armies of the Bakumatsu are depicted in a realistic and accurate matter. They look great. No one can do ‘real time battles’ like CA. Taking direct command of your artillery batteries is great fun and becoming skilled at this will make many battles (particularly the historical ones) much easier. Naval battles are spectacular, with ships blowing up, taking torpedo hits, getting rammed, hammered by shore batteries, and reduced to splinters by nigh-invincible ironclads-all based on real ships and detailed to the max. Game sound adds much to the goings-on with the crackle of gunfire, the scream of incoming artillery, the deafening roar of a broadside, and the clang when two ironclads ram each other. Special mention should be made of the game soundtrack-it’s outstanding, possibly the best game soundtrack we’ve ever heard (even better than the one for Yoshitsune Eiyuuden Shura). While it’s heavily Western influenced (and actually sounds quite a bit like “The Last Samurai” soundtrack) it does have a few Japanese motifs mixed in.

Gameplay accurately reflects the new world of advanced firearms and artillery. Players who are used to success by taking the direct approach in Shogun 2 are in for a rude awakening in Fall of the Samurai. Marching directly towards the enemy is a quick way to lose an entire army. Opposing forces are quick to seek cover and to bolster each other with overlapping fields of fire. Players are rewarded for being patient and meticulous, outmaneuvering the enemy and putting their big guns out of commission with counter-fire. While players can make the choice to eschew modernity, doing so will result in an extremely difficult and uphill battle. We suggest new players try out the historical battles before tackling the campaign just to become adjusted to combat. Trying to wind your way through the mountains of Aizu with armies waiting in ambush on all sides and multiple batteries of Armstrong and Parrott guns looming over the pass is quite the task-and just a warm-up for the final assault on the castle. While spear and sword units have lost much of their utility, they’re still very useful in certain situations, and can easily turn the tide of battle for players who can use them correctly.

Naval warfare in Fall of the Samurai is massively stepped up from Shogun 2. You will no longer be able to concentrate on developing your army at the expense of your navy. Navies can now support land forces with artillery fire, bombard port defenses, economic centers, and shore batteries, and interdict enemy amphibious invasions. A navy is now vital to developing an economy as well as defending it.

Victory in the game is much different than that in Shogun 2. There it was more about conquering Japan for yourself. In Fall of the Samurai, it’s more about ensuring that your faction comes out on top. Personal conquest matters less, but supporting your allies in the Shogunate (or your fellow traitors in the Imperial forces) becomes high priority. Brave players can also take the opportunity to form an independent republic, telling both the Shogun and Emperor to go screw themselves. As expected, this is for the very brave and capable, as it results in virtually every other faction declaring war on you and the defection of many of your agents and forces.

 

And oh yeah, there are geisha in the game. But not the killing machine geisha of past Shogun titles. Nope, here they’re back to doing what they do best-enchant, inspire, entertain, and distract all of the men. Especially those gaijin foreign veteran agents, who were no doubt as helpless against Japanese women as they are these days. At any rate, the killing is now left to new agents like those same foreign agents, the Shinsengumi, and Ishin Shishi. Not to mention our old friend the Shinobi.  

A word here on Online Multiplayer. Many players don’t bother with multiplayer, just sticking with the single player campaign. We’ve played a bit of it, and it’s a mixed bag. Creative Assembly has put together a fun and varied multiplayer experience with several different game modes and an option for up to four playable avatars (we use one each for Genpei, Sengoku, Boshin Shogunate, and Boshin Imperialist). You can play as a standard Shogun 2 army or a Fall of the Samurai army, even pitting the two against each other in land combat (not naval combat-that would be a King Kong sized mismatch). But the player base, particularly in the Ranked matches, can be wretched. Many matches are not decided by individual skill, but rather by players that find exploits in the game system (whether it be Loan Swords or Tosa Rifles) and milk it for all it’s worth (and then bitch like hell when CA patches the exploit). Many veteran players mod their games to use functions like the ‘debug’ camera, giving them a huge edge over players that don’t know about it. And we’ve played more than a few matches where opponents with incredibly good won-loss records show just how they got them-when they’re taking a pounding and ready to lose, they simply break their internet connection. Viola, no loss! And the verbal abuse spilled out by angry teenagers in ranked matches (whether they’re winning or losing) is enough to burn the ears off a hardened sailor. Take our advice and skip ranked matches. Unranked matches are a much more pleasant experience with a more laid back player base, and after all, the whole idea of the game is to have fun.

So is it worth picking up Fall of the Samurai? Yes, indeed. For all its failures as a sim, the tradeoff is a game that is eminently playable and engaging. It looks great. It sounds great. It plays great. For around $29, it’s also a steal. Players would be wise to approach it much like the movie it channels, “The Last Samurai”. Spectacular action, fun and exciting, and involving-but with everything taking place in a Japan that has only the names and places in common with the real thing. It’s a fantasy land that seems to have been developed more as a beta test for the next Total War game (which by all indicators is going to involve the Victorian Era/US Civil War). Yes, CA really should hook up with a reliable Japanese historian (not Stephen Turnbull, a crass opportunist who’s as careless and sloppy as they come) to weed out some of the more obvious and easily avoidable errors. But they’ve still managed to produce a game that looks and plays wonderfully and that conveys the general circumstances and atmosphere of Bakumatsu era Japan. Historically, it’s Total Fantasy-but paradoxically the fantasy of every gamer with an interest in this period of Japanese history.