My Life is Yours, The Death of the Last Samurai.

📷Saigo Takamori, Ueno Park, Tokyo

The canon fire echoed through the forested canyon. Saigo Takamori sat in a small cave feeling the reeds in his mat. His friends sat around the cave, leaning against the walls.

Tea was passed around, men laughed, some silently cried, some slowly polished there swords and loaded their rifles. The canon fire stopped. Shouts and screams began closing in on the small band of men.

30'000 of them had marched north from Kagoshima seven months earlier. A few thousand had come back. Barley three hundred of them now cowered in caves of the Shiroyama mountains, they were surrounded.

Kagoshima shuffled nervously under the eye of the imperial army, the volcano Sakurajima let out a plum of black ash. Takamori looked up at the last eruption he would ever see.

His home town sat on the other side of the hills. They had lost the castle and the high ground the day before. Gun fire drew closer. The sharp shock of rifle shots rang through the valley. Saigo rested his hand on his knife, and looked his old friend in the eye, they knew what was coming.

The imperium rushed on, 40'000 soldiers slowly closed in on the men in the mountains, though vastly outnumbered they held off the attacks, but slowly they fell back.

From the brush men fled. Desperately looking for escape. There would be no mercy for the last of the loyal. A handful clustered around Saigo's cave, waiting for their leader, desperately hoping he would help them escape. Slowly the great general got to his feet.

A bullet ricocheted off the wall, men dove for cover and fired back, stemming the oncoming tide.

Quietly Saigo donned his Kimono, gently tying his white obi around his waist, he ran his fingers over the delicate embroidery, and smiled, his wife had made it for him.

His men filed through the brush, some stayed behind to keep the army off them. They would try and break through the lines, and flee into the mountains. The firing behind them ceased. The men paused, they knew their friends were gone. The sound of shouting filled the hills, Saigo face was calm but his heart beat heavily in his chest. He gestured for his men, and began to run.

As they rounded the hill, the makeshift fortifications of the imperial army could be seen in the distance. Suddenly a shout, they had been spotted. Saigo drew his sword, and charged forward, those with guns covered them, those without rushed forward with their swords. The blue wave parted, the Samurai pushed them back with shot and sword. The blue tide fell back, gathering itself, it threw the full force of industry at this bulwark.

📷Battle of Shiroyama 1877

Saigo led them, his men looked at him and felt confident, perhaps they could break through.

Suddenly Saigo fell, screaming in pain. A bullet had pierced his side. His friends ran to him, some fired back, pulling him up they retreated into a bend in the mountain, hiding them from the hail of bullets, as the imperial troops gathered, larger and larger, rushing in a turbulent mass toward the doomed men.

Beppu Shinsuke, Saigo's loyal lieutenant and friend, laid Saigo on the ground. Saigo struggled to his feet clutching the wound in his side. He fell, Beppu steadied him, Saigo drew his sword, pushing it into the ground and lowering himself to his knees, his men crowded round, shouts could be heard closing in from every direction.

"Shin don," he said breathlessly, "Is the Imperial palace that way?" Slowly Saigo knelt in the dirt, facing east, and prayed.

His men looked on, tears in their eyes.

Beppu drew his sword, and gestured to his men. The little band turned their backs and ran to cover. Desperately they fired at the oncoming blue tide.

Saigo looked up, he could see the smoke from the houses of Kagoshima. It was so close. Saigo drew his knife. Beppu stood beside him. Saigo looked at the horizon, behind the smoke of his home Sakurajima erupted quietly, pouring ash on the town as it did every day.

The gunfire stopped, he blue soldiers slowly crawled forward, guns raised. The proud samurai laid down their guns and drew their swords some wore tattered uniforms, others stained armour. Some wore death like a mask. They glanced at the soldiers briefly. The soldiers came forward more confidently, yelling like heralds of a new age, they stared up at Beppu who wept over the body of his friend. His sword stained with his blood.

The Samurai charged down the little hill, and were washed away, their last act of defiance, one final protest, they cried then fell silent.

Yamagata Aritomo commander of the imperial forces walked up the blood stained hill, his bodyguards kept close watch to the woods, jumping at every break, worried one last proud man would try to avenge his leader.

"Where is Saigo?' He asked quietly.

His men gathered round the Generals body, none had dared move it. Aritomo knelt staring at this giant of history. He took a deep breath and looked to the horizon.

"Saigo was a great man, it is a matter of regret history has forced him to die like this."

So died the last of the Samurai.

📷Saigo's Cave

This is a fictional narrative about the death of Saigo Takamori, who died in a cave in Kagoshima, on September 24, 1877. The details and numbers are based off the limited records of the time, the quotes are mostly from local histories however are largely apocryphal, based off later stories that spread through the region.