Part 13

ALL through the night, while Mori and other Imperialists looked interrogatively to the forces within and without the country, and while the dreaded foreigners kept careful watch upon their ships, native artisans reared the structure afterwards known in the memories of the strangers as the “Treaty House.”

Simple as was the building, its erection was attended with certain outward signs which would have led the observer to identify in them the same spirit pervading the market-place, the open public gathering space, the theatres, the shops.

Those who labored under torch-light, an unusual proceeding in itself, were impressed with a misshapen, grotesque, wholly undefined fear. Artisans as they were, they realized, if subconsciously, that their act had in it the germs of a future—dark and ominous, their instincts asserted. The Japanese officials—of a minor grade—who directed the work, being higher in the scale of intelligence, were by no means so vague in their minds. They believed firmly that the raising of this simple building meant the downfall of their country, its government, its institutions. Rapacious foreigners for two centuries had insulted them and flouted at Japan, had returned to accept no delay or parley.

Indeed, certain _sub-rosa_ expressions of opinion and declarations of purpose among officers of the fleet, translated to them by visitors to the foreign ships of that alien nation alone tolerated in Japan at this period—the Dutch—had deepened the alarm. The strangers had said in effect: “No nation has a right to withdraw herself from the comity and commerce of other nations. Japan must come to this view; amicably, if possible, but through cannoned arguments if not otherwise.”

Every act of the strangers thus far had been in accord with this secret expression of policy. The reserve and punctilious etiquette of the Japanese had been met with a bold advance by Commodore Perry’s squadron. At each pretext for delay advanced by the Japanese the ships had moved nearer to Yedo, believed by the officers of the squadron, knowing nothing of the Shogun-Emperor relationship, to be the capital of the Emperor of Japan.

When Perry had been told that he might deliver his letters and credentials to minor officials, he had replied that first they must send to him commissioners second in rank only to the Emperor. Perry himself, imitating the seclusion of those whom he sought to reach, took care to be seen or approached by no Japanese, delegating inferior officers to the task. Now for the first time he was to show himself to the people, and the nobles, the princes Aidzu and Catzu, in their capacity of high commissioners were to meet him.

Thus it was that all watched the work upon the Treaty House in sullen emotion. The workmen themselves moved in complete silence, which was broken not by word, but only by the noise of their operations. Their superiors gave their instructions by gesture or brief word.

The building itself was not pretentious, although its situation on a slight elevation near the water was central, in full view of the fleet out in the bay, and was overlooked by the surrounding heights and bluffs. It consisted of an ante-chamber and a long audience-hall, around whose side a sort of divan had been built. At the head of this apartment a number of chairs were placed for the comfort of the foreigners. In the centre of the space, upon a raised platform, whose tapestries and hangings suggested the altar of some semi-barbarian church, stood an immense, red-lacquered box, destined for the reception of the papers brought by the foreigners for transmittal to the “Emperor.”

In the distance were the encampments containing the retinues of the princes Aidzu and Catzu, to which the artisans withdrew when, as a final touch of preparation, they had secluded the entire surrounding of the Treaty House by the erection of huge bamboo and silken screens.

All were now awaiting the hour of eleven in the morning, the hour set for the ceremonial. The departure of a boat from the _Susquehanna_ was observed. In addition to its rowing crew, it contained a single officer in the stern.

Those about the Treaty House watched the dancing course of the boat over the waves, until, having discharged its officer at the coastline, it withdrew into stiller water; watched with seeming apprehension his landward course up the heights.

The officer was young; he knew a few words of Japanese, and went at once to the point upon his arrival before the Treaty House.

“What do these screens mean?” he demanded.

The minor officials looked from one to another. One official, a determined expression passing for an instant over his face, stepped forward. He bowed politely.

“We—insignificant and unworthy brained men that we are—cannot understand that honorable language that you speak. It is not Japanese, nor yet Dutch, which alone we know.”

Enough of this speech was understood by the lieutenant. Plainly, they pretended not to understand his Japanese.

“Wherefore these hidings of the light of the honorable sun from our insignificant eyes?” he continued in Japanese, changing his idiom.

Again came the answer of the Japanese official.

“Your excellency, we cannot understand.”

The lieutenant uttered an oath. These heathen were trying, he told himself.

“Any one here speak English?” he demanded.

Instantly a figure sprang forward out of the crowd of sightseers beyond the military lines. Having advanced boldly, the volunteer hesitated an instant, as if he had acted upon an impulse, regretted a moment too late. It was Mori, but Mori still in disguise.

The American lieutenant saw his hesitation.

“Do you speak English?”

Keiki summoned such knowledge of the language as Satsuma had taught him. He answered briefly:

“Yes.”

“Then ask what these screens have been put up for.”

Keiki repeated the question to the Japanese officer, who, angered at his penetration of their evasion, cast surly glances upon him. They answered readily, however. Mori translated their reply into English a moment later.

“They say,” he reported, “that in Nippon all great gatherings are private. These screens keep off the common, low people.”

“Tell them these things must come down,” ordered the officer, in what the Japanese considered an impolite, not to say insolent, tone.

Mori translated.

“What do they say?” asked the lieutenant.

There was a pause.

“Nothing yet,” said Mori, stiffly.

While the officials still stared, the officer turned to the offending screens. With his own hands he began their demolition. Slowly, one by one, the Japanese joined him. Soon the space once enclosed by the screens was bare to the view of all on the American vessels. The officer moved towards his boat.

“I wish to speak some more words with you,” said Mori, following him.

“Oh, certainly. What is it?”

“Not here, if you please. Down by the boat.”

“Come.”

Followed by the angry looks of the whole group of Japanese sub-officials, in which there was distinct hostility towards himself, Mori went with the lieutenant to a spot towards which the boat was approaching.

“Now what can I do for you?” inquired the officer, more affably.

“You think you treat with the Emperor?” inquired Mori, his face flushed by the other’s lack of courtesy.

“Certainly.”

“You do not.”

“What?”

The officer started, regarding Mori sceptically.

“No, you do not. You but treat with his war lord—the Shogun.”

“What’s the Shogun?”

“There are two emperors in Japan; one the rightful emperor, the Mikado; the other his vassal, his war lord, who is without authority to deal with you. He makes seeming submission to the Emperor.”

“Is this true?”

“Tell it to your master, that Lord Perry. Ask that he demand the truth from those sent to meet him, in the public gathering.”

“Why, this is astounding! It must be looked into. Will you come on board with me and report it in person?”

Mori shook his head.

“No, I cannot,” he replied, “but let him seek the truth where it must be told unto him.”

They had been speaking in Japanese, with an occasional word of English, when one was unable to understand the other’s rendering of its equivalent. The officer returned to English.

“Your name?” he asked.

Mori replied in Japanese.

“Your master is honorably ignorant of my name and rank. The truth from any source is sufficient. Ask at the proper place, and you will know that I speak truth.”

The officer paused, with one leg lifted over the gunwale of the boat. He made a sudden movement towards his men, sitting with raised oars.

“Seize him!” he ordered.

Before the sailors could drop their oars and obey, Keiki, who divined the significance of the words, ran rapidly along the sandy beach, disappearing beyond a headland.

“Damned awkward, this,” commented the lieutenant, “but it must be reported to the old man.” Then to his crew:

“Give way, men!”

XXX

WHATEVER speculation the sudden friendly interposition of a Japanese into the American officer’s dilemma caused among the sub-officials in charge of the Treaty House, it did not run a lengthy course. News that was whispered about, first among the multitude of unofficial visitors crowding all the surrounding points of vantage not occupied by the Shogun’s troops, penetrated gradually to the focal spot of the greatest curiosity, the Treaty House. It was an event of secondary importance to the expected visit from the men-of-war. The princes Aidzu and Catzu had arrived from Yedo, and were now awaiting the foreigners in the quarters prepared for them.

Many of those present had never seen these powerful princes. So, crowding past the common soldiers, they pressed upon their headquarters, until stopped by the chosen guard of samurai surrounding the princely pavilions.

About the tent of Catzu the press of the mob was heaviest. The huge Sir Genji, toying with his glittering blade significantly whenever a curious citizen came too near the entrance, remarked grimly to a fellow-samurai:

“Of a truth, all the dogs of Nippon invade our ranks to-day. I have only to extend my sword to split a dozen fat merchants.”

“Extend it, then,” growled the other, as with the flat of his blade he dealt a gentle blow upon the pate of a vender of wines.

The treatment accorded to the crowd by the samurai engendered no bitterness. The mercantile classes, awed at all times by the sight of one in samurai orders, shrank back at the first sign of displeasure brought upon themselves from the proudest grade in Japan.

Nor, indeed, was the real displeasure of the samurai at any time in evidence. They, too, like the common people, were engrossed in the expectation of events. Although their impassive faces did not permit the revelation of their real feeling, there was among them the same subtle curiosity and foreboding.

From across the bay, rolling and reverberating, striking the rocky angles of the highlands and driven back repulsed, came the long roar of the foreigners’ saluting guns. Instantly the populace became silent, riveted to whatever locality they occupied.

Among the ships there was bustle and movement. The foreigners were lowering boats from every vessel in their squadron. With their crews and officers sitting in them, the boats swung from the davits into the water. Plainly the squadron was sending every man and officer to be spared.

While the guns were still vomiting forth their salute to the occasion, the Lord Catzu came forth from his tent. With a wave of his hand he turned to Genji.

“Drive me back this rabble,” he ordered.

Instantly the samurai, joining with the common troop, beat back the mass of citizens, forcing open a wide lane, that extended but a short distance towards the Treaty House. Where no guards were, there the people obstructed the passage.

Genji quickly remedied this by despatching guards to clear a pathway to a point where a similar line from the Prince of Aidzu’s pavilion should join. Into the two paths opened by the Shogun’s troops the cortege of the two prince-commissioners passed. That of the Lord Catzu was headed by a troop of the young sons of samurai, boys small in stature, bearing aloft a silken banner whose gold embroideries were the crests of the Shogun and his feudal vassal Catzu. Next rode a troop of inferior samurai, heavily armed, on black horses. After them came the chief vassal of the Lord Catzu, mounted on a white horse, with three of his own vassals, each with his train of attendants. Finally, at the head of a brilliant and sparkling train of warriors and courtiers, came the imposing and portly Lord of Catzu, carried in a gilded norimon. A company of samurai, whose chief upon all ordinary occasions was Sir Genji, brought up the rear.

The train of the Prince of Aidzu was, in general order and arrangement, similar to that of the Lord Catzu.

The two cortèges moved in lines slightly converging until they met. Then the heads of each side column or division rode side by side. Throughout the whole company, in perfect order, this arrangement held, the left train of the Lord Catzu being nearer the bay than that of Aidzu. So completely was the symmetry of the parallel movement carried out that the Prince of Catzu had on his left the Prince of Aidzu.

At the moment of complete juncture, a word of command sped back among the allied ranks. In a moment Genji, at the head of a large body of mounted samurai, passed to the right of his lord on his way to the van. A similar body passed along the left.

These samurai, arrived at the front, rapidly drove the crowds back from the line of march, leaving a passage, which they lined at intervals, clear to the Treaty House. Each samurai rode back and forth in the side space he had kept free to himself.

The gorgeous pageant advanced rapidly through the short passage until its head rested upon the entrance of the Treaty House. Instantly the lines of the two princes divided as before, falling back on either side until the two norimons of the princes were reached. These advanced as before until the chief vassal of each prince stood before the Treaty House. Then the vassals assisted their lords to dismount from their norimons, bowing deeply and profoundly as they did so.

Side by side the two commissioners marched to the door of entrance, whose threshold they crossed alone. After a respectful interval the chief vassals and functionaries, with a number of samurai, followed their lords. The military force and other attendants still stood with their ranks open outside. Genji gave a quick command, and, the double ranks closing, faced about so as to present a solid armed front to any one moving against the Treaty House.

Inside, the princes with their chief commissioners were ranged at the head of the Treaty House, in silent waiting on the foreigners.

Meanwhile the fleet of small boats from the squadron were nearing the shore. Splendid as was the retinue of the commissioners, and outnumbering as it did that of the Americans, yet it was apparent at a glance that Perry had stripped his ships of all but a small force. The boats, crowded to the gunwales, moved slowly to the landing-place, built over-night.

First, the bodies of sailor-soldiers were disembarked. They wore the dress of sailors, but each carried a musket. Then a band came ashore. Finally the officers of the squadron and Perry’s staff itself mingled with the others. A small guard was left with the boats before the march was taken up to the Treaty House. Then, in quick step to the music of the band, the company set off, travelling at twice the pace of the Japanese retinues.

The band marched first. Then came the marines with their officers. In the centre was the Commodore Perry, with his staff. Following were more marines and officers.

As this array proceeded in the quick, sharp, uniform step peculiar to disciplined bodies, there were no shouts of applause, no encouraging cheers, no uncovering of heads, no clapping of hands. The silent multitudes regarded them sullenly, expectantly, fearfully.

“Gad!” exclaimed a young lieutenant, “they don’t take to us. This is no Fifth Avenue parade.”

“No, it is not. More like action,” mumbled his companion.

When the officers came within sight of the entrance and saw the columns hostilely arranged, there was a movement of alarm. But quickly the dual force of Catzu and Aidzu spread out to permit a passage through itself.

The Americans gave an order. Their band went suddenly to the rear, its place taken by a body of marines, who moved until their head rested upon the door of entrance. They in turn opened a way for the division at whose head marched the chief officer. With arms at “present,” they stood awaiting its approach.

At the head of the division now advancing, under the colors and backed by minor officers, strode a commanding figure. It was that of a full-bodied, ruddy, stern-featured man, in whose every poise of body and head was command. He was bareheaded. About his temples the breeze from the bay scattered his short, slightly gray hair.

The sight of the Japanese army in its menacing position, facing the multitudes, may have carried alarm to his soul. It had been instantly met by his counter arraying of marines; but there was no fear manifest in face, gait, or manner. Without pause he entered quickly the audience-hall, followed by his officers. Turning his head to neither side, he seated himself in a chair similar in respect and position to those occupied by the commissioners.

There was a pause, a momentary embarrassment was felt by all present. Then the American commodore summoned the Dutch interpreter, through whom the conversation was to take place.

“Inform them,” he said, “that I have some questions to ask.”

XXXI

WHEN the company of foreigners had passed into the Treaty House, the few moments intervening before the beginning of the ceremonies within were employed by the samurai still on guard outside in scrutinizing the cards of those citizens whose rank permitted them to fill the vacant rear of the hall.

At first the samurai, exacting in their task, examined carefully the invitation of each applicant. When, however, those in charge warned them that the time was short, they crowded ceremoniously within their lines into the hall, while those without, whether card-holders or not, were driven back roughly.

The movement had been noted in its first stages by Mori, who with Toro and Jiro had been forcing his way steadily towards the guarding samurai. When the first press of the rejected smote him on all sides, he turned to Jiro.

“If we are separated in this turmoil, I would charge you, Jiro—” he began.

The sudden interposition of a double rank of samurai drove him back, while it swept his companions within the circle of those being forced into the Treaty House. Turning, Jiro watched Mori struggle under the disadvantage the crowd imposed upon him. Then, with a resigned smile and a shrug of the shoulders, Mori made to Jiro a sign of writing. A moment more and Toro and Jiro found themselves within the audience-chamber. They gained places beside an opening through which the samurai preserving order outside could be seen.

When the American commodore addressed his first words to the interpreter, the Lord of Catzu arose. Toro and Jiro whispered together as they caught sight of the gorgeous figure. The interpreter translated to him the words of the American. Then through the interpreter the Lord of Catzu made reply:

“August sir, Lord Admiral of the unknown fleet, we will have joy in answering your honorable questions—any and all—in good time,” he said. “But first allow us to offer our apologies. We were unable to provide you with arm-chairs such as your excellency is accustomed to occupy on board your honorable ships; for that reason we are greatly pained, and trust you will overlook our impoliteness. But that chair which you now fill and whose brothers we humbly occupy, out of compliment to your excellency, resembles it so far as our abilities have been able to copy it.”

The American commodore looked at the chair he occupied. If the first words of the commissioner appealed at all to his risibilities, he was both too courteous a gentleman and too astute a diplomat to betray any sign. His face was grave to solemnity as he regarded the superb workmanship of the chair upon which he sat, plainly an Oriental interpretation of an American article.

“The chair is comfortable. It serves its purpose and honors its makers,” he made reply. “But I desire before presenting my credentials to question the prince-commissioners.”

Some one tapped Jiro lightly upon the shoulder. Looking about, he saw that a samurai, half extended through the window, had thus drawn his attention, and he was now making him the peculiar secret sign of the Imperialist, that of dropping suddenly downward the left hand with the little finger extended. Jiro looked into the face of the samurai Genji, where a smile of peculiar meaning shone. In the shock of surprise, Jiro’s face was raised so that Genji’s eyes gazed closely upon the entire contour, as for a moment the hair fell back from the youth’s brow. Instantly the smile in Genji’s face changed. His expression became involved. In it, Jiro read surprise, then delight, distrust, and apprehension.

As Jiro’s eyes met Genji’s again, the crimson flushed with sudden violence the lad’s cheeks. His eyes sank. Genji slipped into his hand a tiny roll.

“What is it?” whispered Toro.

“Genji,” said Jiro, with an expression of terror; “he recognized me.”

“But what did he want?”

Then Jiro recalled the paper in his hands. He opened it with trembling fingers. It was brief, and from Mori, who had evidently trusted his old friend Genji to deliver it to his attendant Jiro.

“_If aught is said of the cause, defend!_” he read.

“What is the meaning?” said Toro.

“Plainly what he says,” returned Jiro; “if any one speaks ill of the cause I am to silence and confound him.”

Toro smiled with superiority.

“You!” he whispered; “it is for me.”

With a passionate movement of negation, Jiro thrust the epistle into his bosom.

“Do nothing,” urged Toro; “if you disturb this gathering you are as good as dead. For a samurai it would be a pleasing feat.” Toro swelled in appreciation. “But for you—” He broke off. “Mori would not have asked it if he had known—”

“Silence!” whispered Jiro. “Listen.”

Several of the Dutchman’s translations had been lost by Toro and Jiro, but the interpreter was now speaking again for the American.

“I desire to know,” he said, “before I deliver my letters, with whom I am treating—with what Emperor—with which of the two?”

The Japanese were astounded.

“You are dealing with the Emperor of Japan,” they responded.

“But there are two. Which one?”

“We are unable to explain,” said Aidzu; “we cannot account for your strange belief.”

“Perhaps,” interjected the wily Catzu, “the Lord Admiral has confounded the head of our religion with the head of our state.”

“I must speak,” said Jiro, who was laboring under repressed excitement. “It is time.”

“Tsh-h!” growled Toro, staying his effort to rise.

“Let the prince-commissioner continue. I have been told that there are two emperors in this land, and that I have been placed in communication with the inferior, who is without authority to ratify his acts.”

“I assure you, my Lord Admiral,” said Catzu, “that you have fallen into an error common to foreigners.”

“Possibly,” was Perry’s brief assent.

“We have two heads, one a font of wisdom, the other of action. The one is the spiritual head, the divine Emperor; the other the true ruler and Emperor, with whom you are in communication. The spiritual head is without authority in mundane affairs. You make no error, for we, the princes of Japan’s real ruler, tell you this.”