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King Of Lies

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.
not let me walk civilly through it, doing no harm and paying for all I
want.” The ideal of a wooer of the Japanese Thornrose, according to
another, was that no blustering bully or roaring Commodore would
succeed. “Our embassador should be one who, with the winning
manner of a Jesuit, unites the simplicity of soul and
straightforwardness of a Stoic.”
Providence timed the sailing of the American Expedition and the
advent of the ruler of New Japan so that they should occur well nigh
simultaneously. The first circumnavigation of the globe by a steam
war vessel of the United States began when Matthew Perry left
Norfolk, November 24th, 1852 three weeks after the birth in Kiōto of
Mutsŭhito, the 123d, and now reigning Mikado of “Everlasting Great
Japan.”
Perry had remained long enough to learn the result of the
national election, and the choice of his old friend Franklin Pierce to
the Presidency. Tired of delay, he sailed with the Mississippi alone. At
Funchal the Commodore made official calls in the fashionable
conveyance of the place, a sled drawn by oxen, and laid in supplies
of beef and coal. The incidents on the way out, and of the stops
made at Madeira, St. Helena, Cape Town, Mauritius, Ceylon and
Singapore, have been described by himself, in his official narrative,
and by his critic J. W. Spalding,[25] a clerk on the flag-ship. Anchor
was cast off Hong Kong on the 6th of April, where the Plymouth,
Saratoga, and Supply, were met. The next day was devoted to the
burning of powder in salutes, and to the exchange of courtesies.
Shanghai was reached May 4th. Here, Bayard Taylor, the “landscape
painter in words,” joined the expedition as master’s mate. The
Commodore’s flag was transferred to the Susquehanna on the 17th.
 PERRY MAKING OFFICIAL CALLS IN FUNCHAL.

The low, level and monotonous and uninteresting shores of China

were left behind on the 23d, and on the 26th, the bold, variegated
and rocky outlines of Riu Kiu rose into view. An impressive reception,
with full military and musical honors, was given on the third, to the
regent and his staff on the Susquehanna. The climax of all was the
interview in the cabin. In lone dignity, the Commodore gave the
Japanese the first taste of the mystery-play in which they had thus
far so excelled, and in which they were now to be outdone. Perry
could equal in pomp and dignity either Mikado or Shō-gun when he
chose. He notified the grand old gentleman that, during the
following week, he would pay a visit to the palace at Shuri. Despite
all objections and excuses, the Commodore persisted, as his whole
diplomatic policy was to be firm, take no steps backward, and stick
to the truth in everything. His open frankness helped by its first
blows to shatter down that system of lying, deception, and
espionage, under which the national character had decayed during
the rule of the Tokugawas.
On the 9th of June, with the Susquehanna having the Saratoga in
tow, the Commodore set out northwards for a visit to the Ogasawara
or Bonin islands, first explored by the Japanese in 1675, and
variously visited and named by European navigators. Captain
Reuben Coffin of Nantucket, in the ship Transit, from Bristol, owned
by Fisher, Kidd and Fisher, landed on the southern or “mother” island
September 12th, in 1824, fixing also its position and giving it his
name. British and Russian captains followed his example, and also
nailed inscribed sheets of copper sheathing to trees in token of
claims made. “Under the auspices of the Union Jack” a motley
colony of twenty persons of five nationalities settled Peel island, one
of the group, in 1830. Perry found eight whites, cultivating nearly
one hundred acres of land, who sold fresh supplies to whalers. The
head of the community was Nathanael Savory of Massachusetts.
Perry left cattle, sheep, and goods, seeds and supplies and an
American flag. He arrived at Napa again June 23d, and the 2d of
July, 1853, the expedition left for the Bay of Yedo. Many and
unforeseen delays had hindered the Commodore, and now that he
was at the doors of the empire, how different was fulfilment from
promise! Over and over again “an imposing squadron” of twelve
vessels had been promised him, and now he had but two steamers
and two sloops. Uncertain when the other vessels might appear, he
determined to begin with the force in hand. The Supply left behind,
and the Caprice sent back to Shanghai, he had but the Mississippi,
Susquehanna, Plymouth and Saratoga.
The promontory of Idzu loomed into view on the hazy morning of
the 7th, and Rock island—now crowned by a lighthouse, and
connected by telephone with the shore and with Yokohama, but then
bare—was passed. Cape Sagami was reached at noon, and at 3
o’clock the ships had begun to get within range of the forts that
crowned or ridged the headlands of the promontory. The weather
cleared and the cone of Fuji, in a blaze of glory, rose peerless to the
skies.
Cautiously the ships rounded the cape, when from one of the
forts there rose in the air a rocket-signal. “Japanese day fire-works”
are now common enough at Coney Island. Made of gunpowder and
wolf dung, they are fired out of upright bamboo-bound howitzers
made of stout tree trunks. The “shell” exploded high in air forming a
cloud of floating dust. The black picture stained the sky for several
minutes. It was a signal to the army lying in the ravines, and a
notice, repeated at intervals, to the court at Yedo. The expected
Perry had “sailed into the Sea of Sagami and into Japanese history.”
In the afternoon, the first steamers ever seen in Japanese
waters, dropped anchor off Uraga. As previously ordered, by
diagram of the Commodore, the ships formed a line broadside to the
shore. The ports were opened, and the loaded guns run out. Every
precaution was taken to guard against surprise from boats, by fire-
junks, or whatever native ingenuity should devise against the big
“black ships.”
The first signal made from the flag-ship was this, “Have no
communication with the shore, have none from the shore.” The night
passed quietly and without alarms. Only the boom of the temple
bells, the glare of the camp-fires, and the dancing of lantern lights
told of life on the near land. This is the view from the American
decks. Let us now picture the scene from the shore, as native eyes
saw it.

[25] The Japan Expedition, New York, 1855

 CHAPTER XXX.

THE FIRE-VESSELS OF THE WESTERN BARBARIANS.

Among the many names of their beautiful country, the Japanese
loved none more than that of “Land of Great Peace,”—a breath of
grateful repose after centuries of war. The genius of Iyéyasŭ had, in
the seventeenth century, won rest, and nearly a quarter of a
millennium of quiet followed. The fields trampled down by the hoof
of the war-horse and the sandal of the warrior had been re-planted,
the sluices and terraces repaired, and seed time and harvest passed
in unintermitting succession. The merchant bought and sold, laid up
tall piles of gold kobans, and thanked Daikokŭ and Amida for the
blessings of wealth and peace. The shop keeper held a balance of
two hundred rios against the day of devouring fire or wasting
sickness, or as a remainder for his children after the expenses of his
funeral. The artisan toiled in sunny content, and at daily prayer,
thanked the gods that he was able to rear his family in peace. Art
and literature flourished. The samurai, having no more use for his
sword, yet ever believing it to be “his soul,” wore it as a memento of
the past and guard for the future. He lounged in the tea-houses
disporting with the pretty girls; or if of studious tastes, he fed his
mind, and fired his heart with the glories of Old Japan. As for the
daimiōs, they filled up the measure of their existence, alternately at
Yedo, and in their own dominions, with sensual luxury, idle
amusement, or empty pomp. All, all was profound peace. The
arrows rusted in the arsenals, or hung glittering in vain display,
made into screens or designs on the walls. The spears stood useless
on their butts in the vestibules, or hung in racks over the doors
hooded in black cloth. The match-locks were bundled away as
curious relics of war long distant, and for ever passed away. The
rusty cannon lay unmounted in the castle yards, where the snakes
and the rats made nests and led forth their troops of young for
generations.
Upon this scene of calm—the calm of despotism—broke the
vision of “the black ships at Uraga.” At this village, long noted for its
Midzu-amé or rice-honey, the Japanese were to have their first taste
of modern civilization. Its name, given nine, perhaps eleven
centuries before, was auspicious, though they knew it not. The
Chinese characters, sounded Ura-ga, mean “Coast Congratulation.”
At first a name of foreboding, it was to become a word of good
cheer!
“The fire-vessels of the western barbarians are coming to defile
the Holy Country,” said priest and soldier to each other on the
afternoon of the third day of the sixth month of Kayéi, in the reign of
the Emperor Koméi. The boatman at his sculls and the junk sailor at
the tiller gazed in wonder at the painted ships of the western world.
The farmer, standing knee deep in the ooze of the rice fields, paused
to gaze, wondering whether the barbarians had harnessed
volcanoes. With wind blowing in their teeth and sails furled, the
monsters curled the white foam at their front, while their black
throats vomited sparks and smoke. To the gazers at a distance, as
they looked from their village on the hill tops, the whole scene
seemed a mirage created, according to their childhood’s belief, by
the breath of clams. The Land of Great Peace lay in sunny splendor.
The glorious cone of Fuji capped with fleecy clouds of white, never
looked more lovely. Even the great American admiral must surely
admire the peerless mountain.[26] The soldiers in the fort on the
headlands, obeying orders, would forbear to fire lest the fierce
barbarians should begin war at once. The rocket signal would alarm
great Yedo. The governor at Uraga would order the foreigners to
Nagasaki. Would they obey? The bluff whence the Morrison had
been fired upon years before, once rounded, would the barbarians
proceed further up the bay? Suspense was short. The great
splashing of the wheels ceased. As the imposing line lay within an
arrow’s range, off the shore, the rattling of the anchor-chains was
heard even on land. The flukes gripped bottom at the hour of the
cock (5 p. m.)
The yakunin or public business men of Uraga had other work to
do that day than to smoke, drink tea, lounge on their mats, or to
collect the customs from junks bound to Yedo. As soon as the ships
were sighted, the buniō, his interpreter, and satellites, donned their
ceremonial dress of hempen cloth and their lacquered hats
emblazoned with the Tokugawa trefoil, thrust their two swords in
their belts, their feet in their sandals, and hied to the water’s edge.
Their official barge propelled by twelve scullsmen shot out to the
nearest vessel. By their orders a cordon of boats provisioned for a
stay on the water was drawn around the fleet; but the crews, to
their surprise could not fasten their lines to the ships nor climb up on
board. The “hairy barbarians,” as was not the case with previous
visitors, impolitely pitched off their ropes, and with cocked muskets
and fixed bayonets really threatened to use the ugly tools if
intruders mounted by the chains. A great many naru hodo (the
equivalent of “Well I never!” “Is it possible?” “Indeed!”) were
ejaculated in consequence.
Mr. Nakashima Saburosŭké (or, in English, Mr. Middle Island,
Darling No. 3) vice-governor, and an officer of the seventh or eighth
rank, was amazed to find that even he, a yakunin and dressed in
kami-shimo uniform, his boat flying the governor’s pennant, and his
bearers holding spears and the Tokugawa trefoil flag, could not get
on board. The i-jin (outlanders) did not even let down their gangway
ladder, when motioned to do so. This was cause for another official
naru hodo. The barbarians wished to confer with the governor
himself. Only when told that the law forbade that functionary from
boarding foreign ships, did they allow Mr. Nakashima and his
interpreter Hori Tatsunosūké (Mr. Conch Dragon-darling,) to board.
Even then, he was not allowed to see the grand high yakunin of the
fleet, the Commodore, who was showing himself master of Japanese
tactics.
 Perry was playing Mikado. The cabin was the abode of His High
Mighty Mysteriousness. He was for the time being Kin-réi, Lord of
the Forbidden Interior. He was Tennō, (son of the skies) and Tycoon
(generalissimo) rolled into one. His Lieutenant Contee acted as Nai-
Dai-Jin, or Great Man of the Inner Palace. A tensō, or middle man,
secretary or clerk, carried messages to and fro from the cabin, but
the child of the gods with the topknot and two swords knew it not.
Since the hermits of Japan were not familiar [with] the rank of
Commodore, but only of Admiral, this title came at once and
henceforth into use. The old proverb concerning the prophet and his
honors abroad found new illustration in all the negotiations, and
Perry enjoyed more fame at the ends of the earth than at home.
Mr. Nakashima Saburosŭké was told the objects for which the
invisible Admiral came. He had been sent by the President of the
United States on a friendly mission. He had a letter addressed to
“the emperor.” He wished an officer of proper rank to be chosen to
receive a copy, and appoint a day for the momentous act of
accepting with all the pomp and ceremony and circumstance, so
august a document from so mighty a ruler, of so great a power. The
Admiral would not go to Nagasaki. With imperturbable gravity of
countenance, but with many mental naru hodo, the dazed native
listened. The letter must be received where he then was.
Further, while the intentions of the admiral were perfectly
friendly, he would allow of no indignity. If the guard-boats were not
immediately removed, they would be dispersed by force. Anxious
above all things to preserve peace with the i-jin or barbarians, the
functionary of Uraga rose immediately, and ordered the punts,
sampans and guard-boats away.
This, the first and master move of the mysterious and
inaccessible Commodore in the game of diplomacy, practiced with
the Riu Kiu regent was repeated in Yedo Bay. The foiled yakunin,
clothed with only a shred of authority, could promise nothing, and
went ashore. There is scarcely a doubt that he ate less rice and fish
that evening. Perhaps he left his bowl of miso (bean-sauce)
untasted, his shiru (fish soup) unsipped. The probabilities approach
certainty that he smoked a double quota of pipes of tobacco. A
“hairy” barbarian had snubbed a yakunin. Naruhodo!
Darkness fell upon the rice fields and thatched dwellings. The
blue waters were spotted with millions of white jelly-fishes looking as
though as many plates of white porcelain were floating submerged
in a medium of their own density. Within the temples on shore,
anxious congregations gathered to supplicate the gods to raise
tempests of wind such as centuries ago swept away the Mongol
armada and invaders. The “divine breath” had wrought wonders
before, why not now also?
Indoors, dusty images and holy pictures were cleansed, the
household shrines renovated, fresh oil supplied to the lamps,
numerous candles provided, and prayers uttered such as father and
mother had long since ceased to offer. The gods were punishing the
people for neglect of their altars and for their wickedness, by
sending the “ugly barbarians” to destroy their “holy country.” Rockets
were shot up from the forts, and alarm fires blazed on the
headlands. These were repeated on the hills, and told with almost
telegraphic rapidity the story of danger far inland. The boom of the
temple bells, and the sharp strokes on those of the fire-lookouts,
kept up the ominous sounds and spread the news.
For several years past unusual portents had been seen in the
heavens, but that night a spectacle of singular majesty and awful
interest appeared. At midnight the whole sky was overspread with a
luminous blue and reddish tint, as though a flaming white dragon
were shedding floods of violet sulphurous light on land and sea.
Lasting nearly four hours, it suffused the whole atmosphere, and
cast its spectral glare upon the foreign ships, making hull, rigging
and masts as frightfully bright as the Taira ghosts on the sea of
Nagatō. Men now living remember that awful night with awe, and
not a few in their anxiety sat watching through the hours of
darkness until, though the day was breaking, the landscape faded
from view in the gathering mist.
The morning dawned. The barbarians had remained tranquil
during the night. The unhappy yakunin probably forgot the lie[27] he
had told the day before, for at 7 o’clock by the foreigners’ time, the
governor himself, Kayama Yézayémon, with his satellites arrived off
the flag-ship. Its name, the Susquehanna, struck their fancy
pleasantly, because the sound resembled those of “bamboo” (suzuki)
and “flower” (hana). The grand dignitary of Uraga in all the glory of
embroidery, gilt brocade, swords, and lacquered helmet with padded
chin straps, ascended the gangway as if climbing to the galleries of a
wrestling show. Alas, that the barbarians, who did not even hold
their breath, should be so little impressed by this living museum of
decorative art. There was not one of them that fell upon his hands
and knees. Not one Jack Tar swabbed the deck with his forehead.
Some secretly snickered at the bare brown legs partly exposed
between the petticoat and the blue socks. This buniō in whose very
name are reflected the faded glories of the old imperial palace guard
in medieval Kiōto, was accustomed to ride in splendid apparel on a
steed emblazoned with crests, trappings and tassels, its mane in
pompons, and its tail encased, like an umbrella, in a silk bag. His
attendant outwalkers moved between rows of prone palms and
faces, and of upturned top-knots and shining pates. Now, he felt ill
at ease in simple sandals on the deck of a mighty ship. The “hairy
foreigners” were taller than he, notwithstanding his lacquered
helmet. In spite of silk trousers, and rank one notch higher than the
official of yesterday, he was unable to hold personal intercourse with
the Lord of the Forbidden Interior. The American Tycoon could not
be seen. The buniō met only the San Dai Jin, Captains Buchanan
and Adams, and Lieutenant Contee. A long discussion resulted in the
unalterable declaration that the Admiral would not go to Nagasaki.
He would not wait four days for an answer from Yedo, but only
three. The survey boats would survey the waters of the bay.
“His Excellency” (!) the buniō was shown the varnish and key
hole of the magnificent caskets containing the letters from the great
ruler of the United States. Eve did not eye the forbidden fruit of the
tree of knowledge of good and evil with more consuming curiosity,
than did that son of an inquisitive race ogle the glittering mysterious
box. It was not for him to know the contents. He was moved to offer
food and water. With torturing politeness, the “hairy faces” declined.
They had enough of everything. The ugly barbarians even
demanded that the same term of respect should be applied to their
President as that given to the great and mighty figure-head at Yedo.
This came near being a genuine comedy of Much Ado about
Nothing, since one of the Tycoon’s titles expressed, in English print
was “O.”
In spite of the rising gorge and other choking sensations, the
republican president was dubbed Dairi. The buniō of Uraga was told
that further discussion was unnecessary, until an answer was
received. No number of silent volleys of “naru hodo” (indeed) “tai-
hen” (hey yo) or “dekinai” (cannot) could possibly soothe the
internal storm in the breast of the snubbed buniō. He gathered
himself up, and with bows profound enough to make a right angle of
legs and body, and much sucking in of the breath ad profundis, said
his “sayonara” (farewell) and went ashore.
The third day dawned, again to usher in fresh anomaly. The
Americans would transact no business on this day! Why? It was the
Sabbath, for rest and worship, honored by the “Admiral” from
childhood in public as well as private life. “Dōntaku” (Sunday,) the
interpreter told the buniō. With the aid of glasses from the bluffs on
shore, they saw the Mississippi’s capstan wreathed with a flag, a big
book laid thereon, and smaller books handed round. One, in a gown,
lowered his head; all listening did likewise. Then all sang, the band
lending its instrumental aid to swell the volume of sound. The strains
floated shoreward and were heard. The music was “Old Hundred.”
The hymn was “Before Jehovah’s awful throne, Ye nations bow with
sacred joy.” The open book on the capstan was the Bible. In the
afternoon, a visiting party of minor dignitaries was denied
admittance to the decks of the vessels; nor was this a mere freak of
Perry’s, but according to a habit and principle.
This was the American rest-day, and Almighty God was here
worshiped in sight of His most glorious works. The Commodore was
but carrying out a habit formed at his mother’s knee, and never
slighted at home or abroad. To read daily the Bible, receiving it as
the word of God, and to honor Him by prayer and praise was the
chief part of the “provision sufficient to sustain the mind” so often
recommended by him to officers and men. “This was the only
notable demonstration which he made before landing.”
“Remarkable was this Sabbath morning salutation, in which an
American fleet, with such music as those hillsides never re-echoed
before, chanted the glories of Jehovah before the gates of a heathen
nation. It was a strange summons to the Japanese.” Its echoes are
now heard in a thousand glens and in the cities of the Mikado’s
empire. The waters of Yedo Bay have since become a baptismal
flood. Where cannon was cast to resist Perry now stands the
Imperial Female Normal College. On the treaty grounds rises the
spire of a Christian church.
Meanwhile, the erection of earth-works along the strand and on
the bluffs progressed. The farm laborers, the fishermen, palanquin-
bearers, pack-horse leaders, women and children were impressed
into the work. With hoe and spade, and baskets of rope matting
slung from a pole borne on the shoulders of two men, or each with
divided load depending scale-wise from one shoulder, receiving an
iron cash at each passing of the paymaster, they toiled day and
night. Rude parapets of earth knit together with grass were made
and pierced with embrasures. These were twice too wide for
unwieldly, long, and ponderously heavy brass cannon able to throw a
three or six pound ball. The troops were clad in mail of silk, iron and
paper, a kind of war corset, for which rifle balls have little respect.
Their weapons were match-locks and spears. Their evolutions were
those of Taikō’s time, both on drill and parade. Curtained camps
sprung up, around which stretched impressive walls of cotton cloth
etched by the dyer’s mordant with colossal crests. These were not to
represent “sham forts, of striped canvas,” and thus to frighten the
invaders, as the latter supposed; but, according to immemorial
custom, to denote military business, and to display either the
insignia of the great Shō-gun or the particular clan to which a certain
garrison or detachment belonged. The political system headed by
the Tycoon, had to the Japanese mind nothing amusing in its name
of Bakafu or Curtain Government, though to the foreigner,
suggestive of Mrs. Caudle. It had, however, a certain hostile savor. It
was a mild protest against the camp over-awing the throne. It
implied criticism of the Shō-gun, and reverence to the Mikado.
The names and titles which now desolated the air and suffered
phonetic wreck in collision with the vocal organs to which they were
so strange, furnish not only an interesting linguistic study, but were
a mirror of native history. The uncouth forms which they took upon
the lips of the latest visiting foreigners are hardly worse in the
scholar’s eyes, than the deviations which the Japanese themselves
made from the Aino aboriginal or imported Chinese forms. In its
vocabulary the Japanese is a very mixed language, and the majority
of its so called elegant terms of speech is but mispronounced
Chinese. To the Americans, the name of one of the interpreters
seemed “compounded of two sneezes and a cough,” though when
analyzed into its component elements, it reflects the changes in
Japanese history as surely as fossils in the rocks reveal the
characteristics of bygone geological ages. In the old days of the
Mikado’s supremacy, in fact as well as in law, when he led his troops
in war, instead of being exiled in a palace; that is, before the
thirteenth century, both military and civil titles had a meaning.
Names had a reality behind them, and were symbols of a fact. A
man with kami (lord) after his name was an actual governor of a
province; one with mon terminating his patronymic was a member of
the imperial guard, a soldier or sentinel at the Sayé mon (left gate)
or Uyé mon (right gate) of the palace; a Hei was a real soldier with a
sword or arrow, spear or armor. A suké or a jō a marō or a himé, a
kamon or a tono was a real deputy or superior, a prince or princess,
a palace functionary or a palace occupant of imperial blood. All this
was changed when, in the twelfth century, the authority was divided
into civil and military, and two capitals and centers of government,
typified by the Throne and the Camp, sprang up. The Mikado kept
his seat, the prestige of antiquity and divinity, and the fountain of
authority at Kiōto, while the Shō-gun or usurping general held the
purse and the sword at Kamakura. Gradually the Shō-gun (army-
commander, general) usurped more and more power, claiming it as
necessary, and invariably obtaining new leases of power until little
was left to the Mikado but the shadow of authority. The title of Tai-
kun (“Tycoon”) meaning Great Prince, and the equivalent of a former
title of the Mikado was assumed. Next the military rulers at
Kamakura, from the twelfth to the sixteenth century and in Yedo
from the seventeenth century, controlled the appointments of their
nominees to office, and even compelled the Emperor to make certain
of them hereditary in elect families. The multitude of imperial titles,
once carrying with their conferment actual duties and incomes, and
theoretically functional in Kiōto became, as reality decayed, in the
higher grades empty honorifics of the Tycoon’s minions, and in the
lower were degraded to ordinary personal names of the agricultural
gentry or even common people. What was once an actual official
title sunk to be a mere final syllable in a name.
The writer, when a resident in the Mikado’s empire, was
accustomed to address persons with most lofty, grandiloquent, and
high flown names, titles and decorative patronymics, in which the
glories of decayed imperialism and medieval history were reflected.
His cook was an Imperial Guardsman of the Left, his stable boy was
a Regent of the University, while not a few servants, mechanics, field
hands and manure carriers, were Lords of the Chamber, Promoters
of Learning, Superintendents of the Palace Gardens, or various high
functionaries with salary and office. Just as the decayed mythology
and far off history of the classic nations furnished names for the
slaves in Carolina cotton fields, in the days when Lempriêre was
consulted for the christening of newly born negro babies, so, the
names borne by thousands of Japanese to-day afford to the foreign
analyst of words and to the native scholar both amusement and
reflection. To the Americans on Perry’s fleet they furnished endless
jest as phonetic and linguistic curiosities.

[26] A Japanese poet puts this stanza in the mouth of

Perry; “Little did I dream that I should here, after
crossing the salty path, gaze upon the snow-capped
Fuji of this land.”
[27] “M—— Y—— is at Shimoda, and has not forgotten
the art of lying.” Townsend Harris to Perry, October
27, 1857.
 CHAPTER XXXI.

PANIC IN YEDO. RECEPTION OF THE PRESIDENT’S LETTER.

Opening upon the beautiful bay (yé), like a door (do), the great
city in the Kuantō, or Broad East of Japan, was well-named Bay-
door, or Yedo. Founded as a military stronghold tributary to the Shō-
gun at Kamakura in the fourteenth century, by Ota Dō Kuan, it was
made in 1603 the seat of the government by Iyéyasŭ. This man,
mighty both in war and in peace, and probably Japan’s greatest
statesman, made the little village a mighty city, and founded the line
of Shō-guns of the Tokugawa family, which ruled in the person of
fifteen Tycoons until 1868. To the twelfth of the line Iyéyoshi,
President Fillmore’s letter was to be delivered, and with the
thirteenth, Iyésada, the American treaty made. The Americans
dubbed each “Emperor”!
Yedo’s chief history and glory are associated with the fortunes of
the Tokugawas. It had reached the zenith of its greatness when
Perry’s ships entered the bay. Its palaces, castles, temples, and
towers were then in splendor never attained before or beheld in
Japan since. It was the centre of wealth, learning, art and gay life.
Its population numbered one million two hundred thousand souls, of
whom were five hundred thousand of the military class.
Upon this mass of humanity the effect of the news of “black
ships” at their very doors was startling. All Yedo was soon in a
frightful state of commotion. With alarmed faces the people
thronged to the shrines to pray, or hastily packed their valuables, to
bury or send off to the houses of distant friends. In the southern
suburbs thousands of houses were emptied of their contents and of
the sick and aged. Many who could, left their homes to go and dwell
with relatives in the country. Couriers on horseback had first brought
details of the news by land. Junks and scull-boats from Uraga
arrived hourly at Shinagawa, and foot-runners bearing dispatches
panted in the government offices. They gave full descriptions of
what had been said and done, the number, shape and size of the
vessels, and in addition to verbal and written statements, showed
drawings of the black ships and of the small boats manned by the
sailors. It was no clam’s-breath mirage this time. The rumor so often
pooh-poohed had turned to reality.[28]
The samurai went to their kura (fire proof storehouses) and
unpacked their armor to repair and furbish, and to see if they could
breathe, as they certainly could perspire in it, and brandish a sword
with both hands, when fully laced up. They scoured the rust off their
spears, whetted and feathered their arrows, and restrapped their
quivers upon which the moths had long feasted. The women
rehemmed or ironed out flags and pennants. Intense activity
prevailed on the drill grounds and matchlock ranges. New earth-
banks for targets were erected. Vast quantities of powder were
burned in practice. It was the harvest time of the priests, the
armorers, the sword-makers, and the manufacturers of oiled paper
coats, leggings, hats and sandals, so much needed in that rainy
climate during camp-life. The drug business boomed with activity, for
the hastily gathered and unseasoned soldiers lying under arms in
camp suffered from all sorts of maladies arising from exposure.
Hokŭsai, whose merciless caricatures of carpet soldiers once
made all Japan laugh, and who had died four years before with the
snows of nearly ninety years upon his head, was not there to see
the fun. His pupils, however, put the humor of the situation on
paper; and caricatures, lampoons and jokes directed against these
sons of luxury in camp were numerous, and after the departure of
the ships they found ready sale.
One enterprising merchant and ship owner in Yedo had, months
before Perry arrived, made a fortune by speculating in oiled paper,
buying up all he could lay his hands upon, making water-proof
garments and selling at high prices. Indiscreetly exulting over his
doings, he gave a feast to his many friends whom his sudden wealth
had made. The two proverbs “In vino veritas,” and “Wine in, wit
out,” kissed each other. Over his merry cups he declared that “the
vessels of the barbarians” had been “the treasure-ships of the seven
gods of happiness” to him. The authorities got wind of the boast,
and clapped the unlucky wight in prison. He was charged with
secretly trading with foreign countries. His riches took wings and
flew into the pockets of the yakunin and the informer. While the
American ships were at Napa he was beheaded. His fate sobered
other adventurous spirits, but did not injure business.
The book-sellers and picture-shop keepers, who had sent artists
down to Uraga, also coined kobans by selling “brocade pictures” or
broadsides bedizened with illustrations in color, of the floating
monsters and the tall man of strange garb, speech, tonsure, hirsute
fashion, and shape of eyes. Fans, gaily colored and depicting by text
and drawing the wonders that now thrilled the nation, were sent into
the interior and sold by thousands. The governor was compelled to
issue proclamations to calm the public alarm.
Meanwhile, in the castle, the daimiōs were acquainted with the
nature of the despatches and the object of the American envoy.
Discussion was invited, but there was nothing to be said.
Innumerable pipes were smoked. Long hours were spent on the
mats in sedentary recumbence on knees and heels. Uncounted cups
of tea were swilled. Incredible indignation, impotent wrath and
contempt were poured upon the ugly barbarians, but still an answer
to the unanswered question, “what was to be done?” could not be
deferred. This was the problem.
They must first lie to the foreigners and make them believe that
the Shō-gun was a Tai-kun and had imperial power. This done, they
would then have the chronic task of articulating lie after lie to
conceal from prying eyes the truth that the Yedo government was a
counterfeit and subordinate. The Shō-gun was no emperor at all,
and what would they do if the hairy devils should take a notion to go
to Kiōto? They could not resist the big ships and men, and yet they
knew not what demands the greedy aliens would make. They had no
splendid war vessels as in Taikō’s time, when the keels of Japan
ploughed every sea in Asia and carried visitors to Mexico, to India, to
the Phillipines. No more, as in centuries ago, were their sailors the
Northmen of the sea, able to make even the coasts of China and
Corea desolate, and able to hurl back the Mongol armada of Kubhlai
Khan. Then should the Americans land, and, by dwelling in it, defile
the Holy Country, the strain upon the government to keep the
foreigners within bounds and to hold in the Yedo cage the turbulent
daimiōs would be too great. Already many of the vassals of
Tokugawa were in incipient rebellion. If Japan were opened, they
would have a pretext for revolt, and would obey only the imperial
court in Kiōto. The very existence of the Tokugawa family would
then be jeoparded. If they made a treaty, the “mikado-reverencers”
would defy the compact, since they knew that the Tycoon was only a
daimiō of low rank with no right to sign. In vain had the official
censors purged the writings of historical scholars. Political truth was
leaking out fast, and men’s eyes were being opened. In vain were
the prisons taxed to hold in the whisperers, the thinkers, the map-
makers, the men who believed the country had fallen behind, and
that only the Mikado restored to ancient authority could effect
improvement.
Finally, two daimiōs were appointed to receive the letter. Orders
were given to the clans and coast daimiōs to guard the most
important strategic positions fronting the bay of Yedo, lest the
foreigners should proceed to acts of violence. Several thousands of
troops were despatched in junks to the earth forts along the bay of
Yedo.
Meanwhile Perry, the Lord of the Forbidden Interior, had allowed
no Japanese to gaze upon his face. The buniō had held several
consultations with the Admiral’s subordinates, had been shown the
ship and appointments, and had tasted the strangers’ diet. The
barbarian pudding was delicious. The liquors were superb. One glass
of sugared brandy made the whole western world kin. The icy armor
of reserve was shuffled off. The august functionary became jolly.
“Naruhodo” and “tai-hen” dropped from his lips like minted coins
from a die. So happy and joyful was he, that he forgot, while his
veins were warm, that he had not gained a single point, while the
invisible Admiral had won all.
A conference was arranged to be held at Kurihama (long-league
strand), a hamlet between Morrison Bluff and Uraga for July 13th.
The minutest details of etiquette were settled. The knowing
subordinates, inspired by His Inaccessibility in the cabin, solemnly
weighed every feather-shred of punctilio as in the balances of the
universe. In humiliation and abasement, Mr. Yézayémon regretted
that upholstered arm-chairs and wines and brandies could not be
furnished their guests on the morrow. It was no matter. The
“Admiral” would sit like the dignitaries from Yedo; but, as it ill
befitted his Mysterious Augustness to be pulled very far in a small
boat, he would proceed in the steamers to a point opposite the
house of deliberation within range of his Paixhans. He would land
with a proper retinue of officers and soldiers. Possibly a Golownin
mishap might occur, and the Admiral wished to do nothing
disagreeable. Even if the government was perfectly sincere in
intentions, the swiftness of Japanese assassins was proverbial, and
the rō-nin (wave-man) was ubiquitous.
The day before, sawyers had been busy, boards and posts
hauled, and all night long the carpenters sent down from Yedo plied
chisel and mallet, hooked adze and saw. Mat sewers and binders,
satin curtain hangers, and official canvas-spreaders were busy as
bees. Finally the last parallelogram of straw was laid, the last screen
arranged, the last silk curtain hung. The retainers of Toda, Idzu no
kami, the hatamoto, with all his ancestral insignia of crests, scarlet
pennants, spears, banners, lanterns, umbrellas, and feudalistic
trumpery were present. The followers of Ito were there too, in lesser
numbers. For hundreds of yards stretched canvas imprinted with the
Tokugawa blazon, a trefoil of Asarum leaves. On the beach stood the
armed soldiers of several clans, while the still waters glittering in the
beams of the unclouded sun were gay with boats and fluttering
pennants.
In the matter of shine and dazzle the Japanese were actually
outdone by the Americans.
 The barbarian officers had curious looking golden adornments on
their shoulders, and pieces of metal called “buttons” on the front of
their coats. What passed the comprehension of the spectators, was
that the same curious ornaments were found at the back of their
coats below the hips. Why did they wear buttons behind? Instead of
grand and imposing hakama (petticoat trousers) and flowing
sleeves, they had on tight blue garments. As the sailors rowed in
utterly different style from the natives, sitting back to the shore as
they pulled, they presented a strange spectacle. They made almost
deafening and hideous noises with brass tubes and drums, with
which they seemed pleased. The native scullers could have beaten
the foreign rowers had the trial been one of skill. The Uraga yakunin
and Captain Buchanan led the van of boats. When half way to the
shore, thirteen red tongues flamed out like dragons, and thirteen
clouds of smoke like the breath of the mountain gods, leaped out of
the throats of the barbarian guns.
Then, and then only, the High, Grand, and Mighty, Invisible and
Mysterious, Chief Barbarian, representative of the august potentate
in America, who had thus far augustly kept himself behind the
curtain in secrecy, revealed himself and stepped into his barge. The
whole line then moved to the beach. A few minutes later there were
a thousand scowls and curses, and clinching of fingers on sword-
hilts, and vows of revenge, as the soil of the holy country was
defiled by the first barbarian, Buchanan, who sprang ashore on the
jetty hastily made of straw rice bags filled with sand.
Many a countryman in the crowds of spectators on the hills
around, as he saw the three hundred sailors, mariners, bandsmen
and officers, went home to tell his fellow-villagers of foreigners ten
feet in stature, as hairy in face as dogs, with polls on their crown as
red as the shōjo (or scarlet-headed demons), and of ships as big as
mountains, having guns that made heaven and earth crash together
when they were fired. The numbers as reported in the distant
provinces ran into myriads.
There was no one that gazed more upon Commodore Perry than
Kazama Yézayémon. He, the snubbed buniō, had waited through the
minutes of the hours of five days to see the mighty personage. With
vast officiousness he now led the way to the pavilion. Two gigantic
tars carried the American flag, and two boys the mysterious red box
whose outside Kazama had seen. Of majestic mien and portly form,
tall, proud and stately, but not hairy faced, “big as a wrestler,
dignified as a kugé,” (court noble) the august Commodore, already
victor, advanced forward. On either side as his guard, stalked a
colossal kurumbō (black man) armed to the teeth. This sable pair,
guarding the burly Commodore, like the Ni O (two kings) of a temple
portal, constituted one of the greatest curiosities of the pageant.
Many in the gazing crowds had never seen a white man; but
probably not one had ever looked upon a human being whose whole
skin was as black as the eyes of Fudō. Only in the theatre, when
they had seen the candle-holders with faces smeared with lamp
black, had they ever beheld aught like what now smote their eyes.
The procession entered the pavilion with due pomp. The
Japanese officials were all dressed in kami-shimo (high and low) or
ceremonial winged dress of gold brocade. Toda, Idzu no kami, and
Ito, Iwami no kami, the two commissioners, sat on camp-stools.
When all was ready, the two boys advanced and delivered their
charge to the blacks. These, opening in succession the scarlet cloth
envelope and the gold-hinged rosewood boxes, with true African
grace, displayed the letter written on vellum bound in blue velvet,
and the gold tasseled seals suspended with silk thread. In perfect
silence, they laid the documents on the lacquered box brought from
Yedo. It was like Guanzan handling the sacred books.
“The First Counsellor of the Empire,” as the Americans called
Toda, acknowledged in perfect silence receipt of the documents. The
interpreter who had been authorized by the “Emperor”—according to
the foreigners’ ideas—handed the receipt to the Commodore, who
sat during the ceremony. What little was spoken was in Dutch,
chiefly between Perry and the interpreters. The whole affair was like
a “Quaker” meeting of the traditional sort. The official reply read:—
“The letter of the President of the United States of North America
and copy are hereby received and delivered to the Emperor. Many
times it has been communicated that business relating to foreign
countries cannot be transacted here in Uraga, but in Nagasaki. Now
it has been observed that the Admiral in his quality of embassador of
the President would be insulted by it; the justice of this has been
acknowledged, consequently the above mentioned letter is hereby
received in opposition to the Japanese law. Because this place is not
designed to treat of anything from foreigners, so neither can
conference nor entertainment take place. The letter being received,
you will leave here.”
The Commodore then gave notice that he would return “in the
approaching spring, probably in April or May.” This concluded the
ceremonies of reception, which lasted half an hour. With all due care
and pomp the Americans returned to their decks. That part of the
Bay of Yedo fronting Kurihama was named “Reception Bay,” as a
certain headland was dubbed by Perry himself Rubicon Point.
The “black ships” remained in the bay eight days. Their boats
were busily employed in surveying the waters. Perry kept his men on
ship’s food, holding them all in leash, allowing no insults to the
people, receiving no gifts. In no instance was any Japanese
molested or injured. The Americans burned no houses, stole no
valuables, outraged no women. None was drunk. Not a single native
was kicked, beaten, insulted or robbed. One party landed, and
actually showed a politeness that impelled the people to set out
refreshments of water, tea and peaches. These “hairy” Americans
were so kind and polite that they smoked friendly pipes, showed the
people their trinkets and watches, and even patiently explained, in
strange and unintelligible language, but with pantomimic gesture,
the uses of many things which drew forth volleys of naru hodo! kiréi!
rippani! médzurashi! so désŭ, né! and many a characteristic grimace,
shrug and mutual nod from the light-hearted and impressible people.
All this was strange and unlooked-for. This was not the way the
Russians in Saghalin, nor the British sailors at Nagasaki, had acted.
The people began to think that probably the foreigners were not
devils, but men after all. Eyes were opened on both sides.
More than one American made up his mind that the Japanese
were not so treacherous, murderous, or inhospitable as they had
heard. The natives began to believe that if the “hairy faces” were
devils, they were of an uncommonly fine species, in short as jolly as
tengus or spirits of the sky. Strangely enough, the “hairy” foreigners
were clean shaven.
One authentic anecdote related by the Japanese is worth
mentioning. At the banquet given by the governor of Uraga, Perry
tasted the saké served so plentifully at all entertainments, and asked
what the cost or price of the beverage might be. On being told,
finding it exceedingly cheap, the Commodore with a very serious
face remarked to his host that he feared it was highly injurious to
the people to have so ridiculously cheap an intoxicant produced in
the country. All present were deeply impressed with the
Commodore’s remark.
Despite the fact that the decoction of fermented rice, called saké,
which contains alcohol enough to easily intoxicate, and fusel oil
sufficient to quickly madden, was not relatively as cheap as Perry
supposed, yet Japan’s curse for centuries has been cheap liquor.
Another anecdote, less trustworthy, is preserved in a native book.
The time suits Shimoda, but other considerations point to Uraga or
Yokohama. The subjective element, probably predominates over
historical fact. Some enemy of Buddhism or its priests, some wit
fond of sharp barbs, from a Shintō quiver, probably, manufactured
the story, which runs as follows:—

“When Perry came to Shimoda, he took a ramble through the

town, and happened to enter a monastery yard. It was in summer,
and two bonzes were taking a nap. Of course they were shaved as
to their heads, and their bodies were more than half uncovered. At
first glance, Perry thought that these shaven-pated and nude
savages were in an unseemly act. ‘This is a savage land’, he said;
and until he saw and talked with the better representatives of Japan,
he was of a mind to treat the Japanese as he would the lowest
African tribes.”

Without a yard of canvas spread, the four ships moved rapidly

out of the Bay on the morning of March 17th. The promontory of
Uraga was black with spectators who watched that stately
procession whose motor was the child born of wedded fire and
water.
Japan now gave herself up to reflection.

[28] Ota Dō Kuan the founder of Yedo (Gate of the Bay)

in the fifteenth century, wrote in the summer-house
of his castle a poem, said to have been extant in
1854, and to have been pointed out as fulfilled by
Perry:
“To my gate ships will come from the far East,
Ten thousand miles.”
—Dixon’s Japan, p. 218.
 CHAPTER XXXII.

JAPANESE PREPARATIONS FOR TREATY-MAKING.

The Mississippi touching at Napa, found there the Supply, and
met the Vandalia on the way to Hong Kong, where the Commodore
arrived on the 7th of August. The Powhatan returned from a futile
visit to Riu Kiu on the 25th. To protect American lives and property
against the imminent dangers of the Tai-ping rebellion, the Supply
was sent to Canton and the Mississippi anchored off Whampoa. The
remainder of the squadron was ordered to Cum-sing-moon, between
Macao and Hong Kong, where the machinery which sadly needed
repair was refitted.
Having thus disposed of his force, the Commodore, in order to
arrange the accumulated results of his voyage to Japan, took a
house at Macao for his own accommodation and that of the artists
and surveying party. A hospital, which was also established in the
town, under the care of the fleet surgeon, was soon full of fever
patients; and an annex, in the form of a cemetery, was found
necessary. The Japan expedition left American graves at Macao,
Napa, Uraga, Yokohama, Shimoda, and Hakodaté. Among the
officers lost, was Lieutenant John Matthews drowned at the Bonin
islands. His name was given by Perry to a bay near Napa, which he
surveyed. His monument in Vale Cemetery at Schenectady, N. Y. was
erected by his fellow-officers of the Asiatic Squadron.
The Commodore himself, worn-out by heavy and multifarious
duties, was finally prostrated by an attack of illness. Nevertheless
the work of the expedition suffered no remission. The making of
charts, and the completion of nearly two-hundred sketches and
drawings, and the arrangement and testing of the scientific
apparatus which was to be proved before the Japanese, were
perfected. The daguerreotype, talbotype, and magnetic telegraphic
apparatus were especially kept in working order. The Japanese from
the first, as it proved, were mightily impressed by these “spirit
pictures,” into which as they believed, went emitted particles of their
actual souls.
The lengthened stay of the Commodore at Macao enabled him to
see the places of interest and to study life in this old city, once so
prosperous; whence had sailed, three centuries before, in the
Portuguese galleons explorers, traffickers and missionaries to Japan.
The opulent American merchants of Canton made Macao their place
of summer sojourn, so that elegant society was not lacking. With the
French commodore, Montravel, whose fleet lay at anchor in the
roadstead, and with Portuguese whom he had met in Africa, his
intercourse was especially pleasant. It had been the intention of the
Commodore to wait until spring before sailing north, but the
suspicious movements of the French and Russians, spoken of below,
induced him to alter his plans.
Towards the end of November, the French naval commander
suddenly left port under sealed orders. About the same time the
Russian Admiral Pontiatine in the Pallas and with three other vessels
lay at Shanghai, having returned from Nagasaki. Suspecting that
either or both the Russians and French contemplated a visit to Yedo
Bay, Perry became very anxious for the arrival of the Lexington,
which had more presents for the Japanese on board. Rather than
allow others to get advantage and reap where he had sown, before
he himself had thrust in the sickle, Perry resolved to risk the
exposure and inconvenience of a mid-winter cruise to Japan, despite
the stories told of fogs and storms on the Japanese coast. The
dangers of a winter sea-journey between the two countries are
portrayed, even in very ancient Chinese poetry.
The object of the American mission had been reported at Kiōto,
where it created a profound impression and intense excitement. The
first thing done, and that within four days after Perry left, was to
despatch a messenger to the Shintō priests at the shrines of Isé to
offer up prayers for the peace of the Empire, and for the divine
breath to sweep away “the barbarians.” One week later, the Shō-gun
Iyéyoshi died. He was buried in Shiba in Yedo in a superb
mausoleum among his ancestors, but not until the 7th of September.
At Yedo, the question of acceeding to the demand of the
barbarians was hotly debated. The daimiōs “nearly lost their hearts
in consultation that lasted day and night.” The Prince of Mito wanted
to fight them. “The officials knew it would be madness to resist an
enemy with myriads of men-of-war who could capture all their junks
and blockade their coasts.” The Shō-gun’s minister was Abé, Isé no
Kami, the daimiō of Bizen, who had married the adopted daughter of
Echizen. He it was who inspired the arguments of the government.
He believed that as Japan was behind the world in mechanical arts,
it would be better to have intercourse with foreigners, learn their
drill and tactics, and thus fight them with their own weapons. If the
Japanese pleased, they might then shut up their country or even go
abroad to conquer other nations. Others doubted the ability or
willingness of many of the disaffected class to fight for Tokugawa.
The native historians tell us that “the Shō-gun Iyéyoshi, who had
been ill since the beginning of the summer, was rendered very
anxious about this sudden and pressing affair of the outer
barbarians;” and, soon after sickened and died. He was the father of
twenty-five children, all but four of whom had died in infancy. One of
his daughters had married. His death at this alarming crisis plunged
his retainers in the deepest grief. Iyésada, his seventh child,
succeeded him as the thirteenth Shō-gun of the Tokugawa line.
Of this fact, Perry had received official notice from the Japanese
through the Dutch authorities. As the communication hinted that
delay was necessary on account of official mourning, Perry, instead
of cock-billing his yards, thought it a ruse, and delayed not a
moment.
Accordingly, on the 14th of January 1854, in the Susquehanna,
with the Powhatan and Mississippi towing the stores ships Lexington
and Southampton, the Commodore left for Riu Kiu; the Macedonian
and Supply having gone on a few days before to join the Vandalia.
The Plymouth and Saratoga were to come later. The steamers
arrived at Napa, January 20th, and the Commodore thus paid his
fourth visit to Riu Kiu.
The slow sailers were to be sent ahead to Yedo Bay, with one
week’s start. Captain Abbot in the Macedonian, in company with the
Vandalia, Lexington, and Southampton set out northward on the 1st
of February. The Commodore followed on the 7th with the three
steamers, meeting the Saratoga just outside. The Supply with coal
and live stock from Shanghai, was to join the squadron in Yedo Bay.
The promise of an “imposing squadron of twelve vessels,” seemed
about to be fulfilled.
In Yedo, the new Shō-gun Iyésada and his advisers had felt that
something must be done both in peaceful and warlike preparations.
The ex-daimiō of Mito, released from confinement, was appointed
commissioner of maritime defences. A series of forts was built on the
shallow part of the bay in front of Yedo, off Shinagawa its southern
suburb. Thousands of laborers were paid isshiu (6¼ cts.) per day,
and the coins minted for that purpose are still called dai-ba (fort, or
fort money) by the people around Shinagawa. They were creditably
built of earth, and faced with stone; but having no casements, would
have illy defended the wooden city from bombardment by Perry’s
columbiads. A great number of cannon were cast, and military
preparations continued unceasingly. The expenses were met by a
levy on the people of Yedo and vicinity, and on the rich merchants of
Ozaka.
The old edict of Iyéyasŭ concerning naval architecture was
rescinded, and permission was given to the daimiōs, to build large
ships of war. Their distinguishing flag was a red ball representing the
sun on a white ground. This was the origin of the present flag of
Japan. The law of 1609 had commanded vessels of over five
hundred koku (2,500 bushels, or 30,000 cubic feet capacity) to be
burned, and none but small coasting junks built. Orders were given
to the Dutch to build a man-of-war, and to import books on modern
military science. A native who had learned artillery from the
Dutchmen at Nagasaki, was now released from the prison, and was
made musketry instructor. His method soon became fashionable and
he thus became the introducer of the European system of warfare
into Japan. Drilling, cannon-casting and fort-building were now the
rage.
Yet in all this fuss and preparation, wise men saw only the
fulfilment on a national scale of their own old proverb. “On seeing
the enemy, to begin to whet arrows.” Belated war-preparations,
when the enemy was at their gates, seemed futile. On the 1st day of
the 11th month (December 2d) a notification was issued, that
“owing to want of military efficiency, the Americans would, on their
return, be dealt with peaceably.” The salary of the governor of Uraga
was raised. Very significantly, at the end of the year, the old practice
of Fumi-yé, or trampling on the cross and Christian emblems, so
long practiced at Nagasaki, was abolished. Perry’s way was now
clear, though he knew it not.
There was a native scholar in Yedo, a typical progressive
Japanese of this period, a student, through the medium of the Dutch
language, of European literature. Hearing of the order for a man-of-
war and books from Holland, he petitioned the government rather to
send Japanese to Europe to study the most important arts, and to
assist in building and working the ship. They would thus learn the
art of navigation on the voyage, and see the foreign countries. The
authorities did not favor his proposition. Yoshida Shoin, one of his
former pupils, heard of his old master’s plan, and resolved himself to
make a sea-voyage.
When Admiral Pontiatine with the Russian ships put in at
Nagasaki in September “to discuss the question of the northern
boundary of the two nations in Saghalin,” Yoshida bade his master
good-bye, merely saying that he was going on a visit to Nagasaki,
but secretly intending to go abroad.
Sakuma, who divined his plan, gave him money for his expenses;
and, according to the custom of polite farewells, composed a stanza
of Chinese poetry in which he wished him a safe and pleasant
journey. On his arrival at Nagasaki, the ship had gone. He then
returned to Yedo, and Sakuma secretly told him how to set about
getting passage on the American vessels. We shall hear of Yoshida
again. He and Sakuma were typical men in a small, but soon to be
triumphant, majority.
 As the time for Perry’s return was near at hand, the Bakafu chose
Hayashi, the chief Professor of the Chinese language and literature
in the Dai Gakkō (Great School, or University) to treat with Perry. As
the American interpreters were Chinese scholars, the documents,
besides those in the Dutch and English language for the benefit of
Americans, would be in the Chinese character for the benefit of the
Japanese. Hayashi was a man profoundly versed in Chinese learning,
a pedant, and a stickler for exact terms. He was also a most
devotedly loyal retainer of the house of Tokugawa. His rank was that
of a Hatamoto (flag-bearer), and his title Dai Gaku no Kami, or
Regent of the University, (not “Prince” of Dai Gaku.) He was of
benevolent countenance, and courtly manners, dignified presence.
He had lived the life of a scholar, expounding the classics of
Confucius and Mencius, and was highly respected at court for his
vast learning. In brief, he was a typical product, and one of the best
specimens of Yedo culture in the later days of the Tokugawas. The
Hayashi family was noted for the many scholars in Chinese literature
that adorned the country and the name. He was carefully instructed
by his superior officers as how he should deal with Perry. He made
his preparations so as to leave the academic groves of Séido for the
treaty-house at Uraga; for there, it was decreed in Yedo that the
treaty was to be made.
Fortunately for the Japanese, they had a first-rate interpreter of
English, though Perry knew it not. His name was Nakahama Manjiro.
With his two companions, he had been picked up at sea in 1841, by
an American captain, J. H. Whitfield, and brought by way of
Honolulu to the United States, where he obtained a good school
education. Returning to Hawaii in 1850, he resolved with his two
companions to return to Japan. Furnished with a duly attested
certificate of his American citizenship by the United States consul,
Elisha Allen, afterwards minister to Washington, he built a whale-
boat named The Adventurer, sailed to Riu Kiu in the Sarah Boyd,
Captain Whitmore, and in January, 1851, landed. The three men
proved their nationality to the natives of Riu Kiu not by their
language, which they had forgotten, but by their deft manipulation
of chopsticks, the use of which a Japanese baby learns before he
can talk.
After six months in Riu Kiu and thirty months in Nagasaki, the
waifs reached their homes. On being brought to Yedo with his boat,
Manjiro was made a samurai or wearer of two swords. As an official
translator, he wrestled with Bowditch and logarithms, even to the
partial bleaching of his hair. After several years of severe work,
twenty manuscript copies of his book were made. His boat, now
come to honor, was used as a model for others. The original was
placed in a fire-proof storehouse as an honorable relic.
On Saturday, the 11th of February, 1854 three days after the
Russians had left Nagasaki, and on the ninth day of the Japanese
New Year, the watchers on the hills of Idzu descried the American
squadron approaching. The Macedonian had grounded on the rocks
a few miles from Kamakura, the medieval capital of the Minamoto
Shō-guns, and near the spot over which Nitta Yoshisada, three
hundred and twenty years before, had led his victorious hosts to
overthrow the Hōjō usurpers. The powerful Mississippi, which had
extricated and saved from utter loss during the Mexican war, the fine
old frigate Germantown from a similar peril, easily drew off the
Macedonian on Sunday, the 12th. On Monday, the 13th, amid all the
lavish splendors of nature, for which the scenery of Adzuma, as
poets call eastern Japan, is noted, the stately line of ships, the
sailers towed by the steamers, moved up the bay,
 “With all their spars uplifted,
Like crosses of some peaceful crusade.”

The superb panorama that unfolded before the eyes from the
decks charmed all eyes. Significant and portentous seemed the
position of the lights of heaven on that eventful day. To the west of
the peerless mountain Fuji, “the moon was setting sharply defining
one side with its chill cold rays.”[29] In the orient, the sun arising in
cloudless radiance burnished with brilliant glory the lordly cone as it
swelled to the sky. Did the natives recall their poet’s comparison and
contrast of “the old sage, grown sad and slow,” and “the youth” who
“new systems, laws and fashions frames?” The moon typified Old
Japan ready to pass away, the the sun heralded the New Japan that
was to be. Matthew Perry was set for the rising and fall of many in
the then hermit land.
Passing Uraga and Perry Island, the seven vessels dropped
anchor at the “American anchorage,” not far from Yokosŭka, and off
the place, called in Japanese, Koshiba-ōki, (the little grass-plot
looking out on the far-off sea). Unconsciously, the officers paced
their decks beneath the shadows of the twin tombs of Will Adams[30]
and his Japanese wife. From these very headlands, over which the
English exile, who may have seen Shakespeare, took his evening
walks two centuries before, he had perhaps seen in prophetic vision
a sight like that below. Happy coincidence, that Perry’s right-hand
man, bore the same name, Adams!
The Commodore, still mysterious, invisible and inapproachable,
had again out-flanked the wily orientals with their own weapons and
turned their heavy guns against themselves. The mystery-play was
kept up in a style that exceeded that of either Kiōto or Yedo. The
naval generalissimo remained in the Forbidden Interior of his cabin
as if behind bamboo curtains.
Kurokawa Kahéi and his two interpreters were received with
excruciating politeness by Captain Adams, assisted by Messrs.
Portman, Williams and the Commodore’s son. In the delegation of
official men were ométsŭkes (censors, spies, or checks). They were
well named “eye-appliers” (to holes usually made noiselessly, with
moistened finger-tips, in the paper screens of the houses). These
suggested that the negotiations should be carried on at Kamakura or
Uraga. The programme, foreshadowed by answers to their
questions, was an American advance on that of the previous year.
The “Admiral” would do no such thing. It must be near the present
safe anchorage. All the visits, conferences, discussions, presents,
bonbons, oranges and confectionery, offers of eggs, fish and
vegetables were impotent to alter the fiat of the Invisible Power in
the cabin.
For the benefit of the United States and the civilized world, the
survey boats were out daily making a map of the bottom of the bay.
No boats’ crews were allowed to land. No native was in any way
injured in person or property. The visitors received on deck
refreshments, champagne, sugared brandy, port, and politeness in
profusion. Of information concerning the invisible “Admiral’s” policy,
save as His Invisibility allowed it, they received not a word.
Several days passed, the broad pennant was transferred to the
Powhatan, and the Japanese were given till the 21st to make up
their mind. Captain Adams was sent to Uraga to inspect the
proposed place of anchorage and the new building specially erected
for treaty making. There an incident occurred which afforded more
fun to the Japanese than to the Americans. On the 22nd of February,
while the guns of the Vandalia were thundering a salute in honor of
Washington, Captain Adams with fourteen officers and attendants
entered the hall of reception. Here were gathered a formidable array
of dignitaries, retainers and no less than fifty soldiers. A suspicion of
treachery dawned on the Americans. Was this to be a Golownin
affair?
Perhaps Izawa, the daimiō in charge, was fond of a joke. He was,
in fact, in favor of foreign intercourse, but more noted for high living
and gay sport than for dignity of word and mien, withal a lively and
popular fellow. After preliminaries, Captain Adams handed him the
Commodore’s note. Preparatory to getting out his goggle-spectacles,
he folded his fan with a tremendous snap. Instantly the American
officers, alarmed and exchanging glances of concern, clapped hands