The Forgotten Samurai Warrior: Togukawa Kato

This is the story of Tokugawa Kato, a great samurai and warrior. Kato’s story is long and complex, but it begins on the east coast of Africa, during the mid-16th century, and is best told by the samurai himself.

I had lived in the coastal city of Zanzibar for the first six years of my life when I boarded a Portuguese ship for the first time. I carried boxes and boxes of gear and supplies across the ship’s deck, toward the storage area below, even though I was just a child. Despite being held against my will, I was eager to explore, to journey to a new and far place in the world. We began sailing. I wasn’t quite sure where we were going, and I became even more confused after a typhoon struck, pushing us off course.

The violent storm caused us to shipwreck. António Peixoto, António da Mota, and Francisco Zeimoto, the voyage’s leaders, were three Portuguese explorers. We had landed in this new world, what we would come to know as Tanegashima, Japan, in 1543. While it was an accident, it would lead to drastic changes in Japanese culture.

The minute the Portuguese made contact with the locals, they began exchanging resources. Most coveted was the matchlock-style firearms introduced by the Portuguese. The Japanese were fascinated and hungry for more information. The other slaves and I hung back while they talked, waiting to be told what to do.

As we waited, I began thinking. Suddenly, I realized that in this new environment, I had a chance to escape from the Portuguese sailors and into a new world. The generals stood distracted, likely planning their next move or bargaining tactic. I was still on shore, standing near the boxes of things I had brought back to land. Now was my chance. I paused, taking another look around. The area along the water was open, but just past the first row of buildings were small paths and trees, perfect for quickly disappearing.

Once the idea had struck, I didn’t take more than a few seconds pondering it. I took off through the woods, my heart pounding and pulse racing. Before I knew it, I had stumbled upon a house. The house was likely new, built in the Muromachi period. I could see through the window a tearoom and tsuke shoin, or study room, two distinctive characteristics of architecture at this time. I noticed a middle-aged man standing just outside.

His head snapped up as I approached. He seemed hesitant, mystified by me, the stranger who now stood before him. However, once I spoke, the conversation seemed to flow smoothly. He introduced himself as the local daimyo, Matsudaira Hirotada. Hirotada asked lots of questions, especially of such a young child, as he escorted me inside. They were basic at first but became more in-depth as time went on. I told Hirotada how I ended up at his home, and what I was running from, as best as I could. He seemed to understand, which wasn’t what I was expecting. Japanese samurai were known for their strong code of honor. It was even common for them to welcome hostages into their lives and teach them.

In the house, my eyes were drawn to the corner of the main room. A set of classic dō-maru armor was laid out across an old chair. The armor was in perfect condition, as if it hadn’t been worn at all. The tightly woven and brightly colored skirt followed a split apron pattern. The chest plate was simple, just strong enough to protect from a knife or sword. It was detailed, simple, and majestic all at once. I hoped that one day I might be honored with a similar set.

When the conversation seemed to slow, Hirotada paused for a moment. Hirotada’s wife, Odai no Kata, joined us inside and watched attentively. What Hirotada said next lifted a million pounds of stress off my shoulders, and any sort of jitters or anxiety seemed to leave my body.

“Would you like to stay with us? “You’re so young, and you deserve someone who will care for you,” were Hirotada’s exact words. Time flew by, and before I knew it, we were as close as I had been to my family back home in Africa.

At the time I began living with Hirotada and his wife, they had just had a newborn, Tokugawa Ieyasu. Despite the six-year age difference, we grew extraordinarily close. We played together, hung out constantly, and even did chores together. Unfortunately, just several years later, we were separated from both Hirotada and Kata and held hostage in Sumpu by a nearby clan, the Imagawa.

In accordance with the Samurai Honor Code, the clan raised us kindly, and I soon began training to be a samurai myself, as did Ieyasu just a few years behind me. The lessons combined physical exercises, historical study, poetry practice, and, most importantly, spiritual discipline. Many of the practices were influenced by Confucianism and Buddhist principles. There were seven principles of samurai education: justice, courage, benevolence, respect, honesty, honor, and loyalty. After we had finished learning about bushido, a code for being both fearless and kind, my training was complete, and I was able to don armor similar to the set that had mesmerized me so deeply many years before.

As I slid the chest plate on, I noticed some differences. This armor was known as Yokohagi Okegawa ni-mai do. It had a leather-covered iron chest plate, strong enough to protect from not only knives and swords but also firearms. I observed the medallions and how they differed from Ieyasu’s father’s. These small medalions shined a bright bronze color. The neck pad felt snug against my skin, the silk was soft and smooth, and the skirt, made from iron, leather, and wool, fit perfectly. The helmet was by far the most prestigious part of the armor set, and I felt incredibly accomplished to be honored with such an intricate piece of artwork.

I wore the armor proudly throughout my life as a samurai warrior, always keeping in mind the kindness Ieyasu’s father had shown me on that day long ago. I stuck with Ieyasu, whose friendship was as strong as ever as he transformed into a powerful leader. I stood alongside him as he unified Japan and ended years of unnecessary violence between clans, becoming one of several shoguns during the Sengoku period. As I grew old, my duties lessened, and my usage of the armor faded away. Instead of letting it sit, useless, I passed it onto the next generation of samurai, which included my young son, Shingen. I hoped it would inspire him just as it had me.

 

Bibliography

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“Japan: Memoirs of a Secret Empire . Samurai.” PBS, Public Broadcasting Service, Accessed 22 Sept. 2023. www.pbs.org/empires/japan/enteredo_8.html.

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