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.