For a full half-minute I leaned out, listening intently. No alarm broke
the peaceful stillness of the night. I closed the window and drew the
curtains. Having carefully covered the panes, I struck a lucifer match
and crossed over to light my large swinging lamp. Three more steps
brought me to the stateroom door, which I locked and bolted. Turning
about as the lamp flamed up to full brightness, I saw my guest standing
well to one side of the window, his narrow oblique eyes glancing about
the room with intense yet well-bred curiosity.
His dress was far different from what it had been aboard the
guard-boat. In place of the baggy trousers and flowing robes of silk,
his body was now scantily covered with a smock-like garment of coarse
blue cotton, and his legs were wound about with black leggings of still
coarser stuff. On his feet were straw sandals, secured only with a
leather thong that passed between the great and second toes. His bare
head gave me my first chance to view at close quarters the curious
fashion in which, after the manner of his country, his hair was shaved
off from brow to nape, and the side locks twisted together and laid
forward on the crown in a small gun hammer cue.
All this I took in at a glance as I turned back towards him. Meeting
my gaze, he beamed upon me with a grateful smile and bowed far over,
sliding his hands down his thighs to his knees in the peculiar manner I
had observed when he was aboard the guard-boat.
Not to be outdone in politeness, I bowed in response. “Welcome aboard
the _Sea Flight_, sir. Pray be seated.”
At the word, he dropped to what seemed to be a most uncomfortable
posture on his knees and heels.
“Not that,” I protested, and I pointed to a cushioned locker. “Have a
seat.”
He shook his head smilingly, and replied in an odd Dutch dialect,
as inverted as his English but far more fluent, that he was quite
comfortable.
“Very well,” I said in the same language. “Let us become acquainted. I
am Worth Adams of South Carolina, lately resigned from the navy of the
United States.”
“’Merica?” he questioned.
I bowed, and catching up from under the window his curved long
sword and straight short sword, or dirk, I presented them to him
by the sheaths. He waved them aside, bowing and smiling in evident
gratification at my offer. I insisted. He clasped his hands before him,
palm to palm, in a gesture of polite protest. I drew back and hung the
weapons on the wall rack that held my service sword. He flung himself
across, beside his bale of dunnage, and plucked at the lashings.
As I turned to him he unrolled the oiled paper in which the bundles
were wrapped. The contents opened out in a veritable curio shop of
Oriental articles. There were three or four pairs of straw sandals, two
pairs of lacquered clogs, a folding fan, a bundle of cream-colored,
crinkly paper, a tiny silver-bowled pipe, two or three small
red-lacquered cases, a black mushroom hat of lacquered paper, and a
number of robes, toed socks and other garments, all of silk and some
exquisitely embroidered in gold thread and colors.
From the midst of one of the silken heaps he uncovered a sword whose
silk-corded hilt and shark-skin scabbard were alike decorated with gold
dragons. Straightening on his knees, he held the weapon out to me,
his face beaming with grateful friendship. “_Wo--Wort--Woroto Sama_,
honorable gift take.”
“Gift!” I exclaimed. “I cannot accept so splendid a gift from you.”
“Exkoos!” he murmured in an apologetic tone, and holding the sword
with the edge towards himself and the hilt to his left, he slowly
drew it out until two or three inches of the mirror-like blade showed
between the twisted dragon of the guard and the lip of the scabbard.
Pointing first to the shark-tooth mark running down the length of
the blade and then to a Chinese letter near the guard, he explained
persuasively, “Good, Masamune him make.”
“The more reason why I should refuse such a gift,” I insisted.
He rose to his feet and bowed with utmost dignity. “You him take. Low
down Yoritomo me, honorable son high honorable Owari _dono_, same
Shogun brother.”
“What! Your father a brother of the Shogun--of your Emperor?”
He stood a moment pondering. “Shogun cousin,” he replied.
“You mean, your father and the Shogun are cousins?”
He nodded, and again held out the sword. “You him take.”
“With pleasure!” I responded, and I accepted the gift as freely as it
was offered. A cousin of the Emperor of Japan should be well able to
afford even such extravagant gifts as this beautiful weapon.
“My thanks!” I cried, and I half turned to bare the sword in the full
light of the lamp. Though of a shape entirely novel to me, the thick
narrow blade balanced perfectly in my grasp. Being neither tall nor
robust, I found it rather heavy, and the length of the hilt convinced
me that it was intended to be used as a two-handed sword by the
slightly built Japanese. I presented it, hilt foremost, to Yoritomo.
“Pray show me, sir, how you hold it.”
He stared at me in a bewildered manner. I repeated my request, and
thrust the hilt into his hand. After a moment’s hesitancy, which I
mistook for confusion, he reached for the scabbard as well, sheathed
the sword, and thrust it into his narrow cotton sash. When he turned to
kneel beside his dunnage, I flushed with anger at what I took to be a
deliberate refusal of my request.
He rose with a wooden chopstick in his hand. Politely waving me to
one side, he stepped out into the clear centre of the stateroom and
bent to set the chopstick upright on the floor. Even had the ship been
motionless, I doubt if he could have made the little six-inch piece of
wood stand on end for more than a fraction of a second. Yet, having
placed it in position, he suddenly freed it and sprang back to strike
a two-handed blow with the sword, direct from the sheath, with amazing
swiftness. The chopstick, caught by the razor-edged blade before
it could topple over, was clipped in two across the middle. In a
twinkling the blade was back in its sheath.
“_Mon Dieu!_” I gasped. “That is swordsmanship!”
I held out my hand to him impulsively. He bowed and placed the sword on
my palm. The splendid fellow did not know the meaning of a handshake.
Much to his astonishment I caught his hand and gave it a cordial grip.
I addressed him in my best Dutch, inverting it as best I could to
resemble his own dialect: “My dear sir! You wish to see the world? You
shall travel as my guest.”
He caught up one of his lacquer cases and opened it to my view. Within
it lay a few dozen oval gold coins, hardly more than enough to have
paid his passage to New York. There could be no doubt that he had
vastly underestimated the purchasing value of his coins in foreign
lands. He explained in his quaint Dutch: “The punishment for exchanging
money with foreigners is death. So also it is death to leave Dai
Nippon. I can die but once.”
“They will never kill a cousin of their Emperor!”
He smiled. “Death will be welcome if I can first bring to my country a
better knowledge of the _tojin_ peoples and their ways.”
Even an Adams of South Carolina might well be proud to act as cicerone
to an Oriental prince. Yet I believe I was actuated more by the subtle
sympathy and instinctive understanding that was already drawing me to
him, despite the barriers of alien blood and thought and language which
lay between us.
“Put up your gold,” I said. “You will have no need for it. I am wealthy
and free from all ties. You shall travel with me and see the world as
my guest.”
He caught my meaning with the intuition of a thorough gentleman, and
his black eyes flashed me a glance of perfect comprehension. He laid
down the box of coins and took up one of the silken garments, with an
apologetic gesture at the coarse dress he was wearing. I shook my head.
“No,” I said. “There’s been no outcry from the guard-boats, so I’m sure
I can stow you away until we are clear of your country. But it will be
best to disguise you, to guard against any chance glimpse. What’s more,
the sooner you don Occidental clothes the better, if you wish to avoid
annoyance from the rudeness of our shipmates. You’re perhaps an inch
the shorter; otherwise we are about of a build, and I’ve a well-stocked
wardrobe.”
While speaking I proceeded to haul out three or four suits from
my lockers, and signed him to take his pick. The gesture was more
intelligible to him than my words. He bowed, smiled, and chose
the least foppish of the suits. I laid out my lightest slippers, a
tasselled smoking-cap, linen, et cetera, and drew his attention to the
conveniences of a well-furnished washstand.
He took up and smelled the small cake of perfumed soap and was about to
try his flashing teeth upon it, when I showed him its use by washing my
hands. At this his smile brightened into delight, and, casting loose
his girdle, he dropped his short robe from him as one would fling off a
cloak. The leggings and sandals followed the robe, and he stood before
me nude yet unabashed, his lithe figure like a statue of gold bronze.
Fortunately I was too well acquainted with the peculiar variations of
etiquette and manners exhibited by the different peoples of the East
and West to betray my astonishment at this exposure. I poured him the
bath for which he seemed so eager, and politely excused myself with the
explanation that I must provide him with refreshments.
As I had my own private larder in the second stateroom, I had no need
to call upon the steward for a luncheon, having on hand various sweets,
potted meats, English biscuits, and Chinese conserves, in addition to
my wines. When I returned with a well-stocked tray, I found my guest
struggling to don his linen over his coat. His relief was unmistakable
when I signed him to lay aside everything and slip on a loose
lounging-robe.
Following my example, he seated himself at the little folding table.
When served, he waited, seemingly reluctant to eat alone. Accordingly I
served myself, and fell to without delay. At my first mouthful he also
caught up knife and fork and began to eat with undisguised heartiness
yet with a nicety and correctness of manners that astonished me. When I
expressed my surprise that our table etiquette should be so similar, he
explained with charming candor that he was but copying my actions.
I could not repress my admiration. “Here’s to our friendship!” I said,
raising my glass to him. “May it soon ripen to the mellowness of this
wine.”
I doubt if he sensed the meaning of the words, but he raised his glass,
and his face glowed with responsive pleasure as together we drank the
toast. The act of good-fellowship seemed to bring him still nearer to
me, and as I gazed across into his glowing face I could almost forget
our differences of race. In my robe and smoking-cap his color and the
obliqueness of his eyes appeared less pronounced, and I realized that
in all other respects his features differed little from my own. True,
my eyes were dark blue and his jet black, and though my nose was rather
low between the eyes, his was still flatter. But below their bridges
our noses rose in the same softly aristocratic curve. The outlines of
our faces were of a like oval contour, there was a close similarity
about our mouths and chins, and even our eyebrows curved with an
identical high and even arch.
“My friend,” I said, “do not answer unless you feel free to
explain,--but I wonder that you, a relative of the Emperor, should be
compelled to start your travels in this secret manner.”
“Shogun, not Emperor,” he corrected. “Law over Shogun, too. I travel
_naibun_--incognito. Shimadzu Satsuma-no-kami my friend. I teach
_Raugaku_--the Dutch learning,--war ways, history, engineering. No man
know real me at Kagoshima. Daimio of Satsuma gone Yedo. I steal aboard.
No man know. Shogunate no punish _daimio_, my friend.”
“They would punish even the Prince of Satsuma if they found you had
escaped from his province?”
My guest nodded. “Very old law.”
“Yet you would leave the country at the risk of death?”
His smile deepened into a look of solemn joy. I give his broken Dutch a
fair translation.
“My soul is in the eyes of Woroto Sama. There is trust between us. I
speak without concealment. The _tojin_ peoples of the west have dealt
harshly with the Chinese. The black ships have destroyed many forts and
bombarded great cities. I fear the black ships may come to devastate
Dai Nippon; yet my people know even less of your people than did
the Chinese. The Dutch of Deshima warn us to heed the demands of the
_tojin_ to open our ports. The officials in control of the Shogunate
shut their ears.”
My lip curled. “The English are a nation of shopkeepers, and our
Yankees are no less keen for bargains. They will never rest until they
have found a market for their wares in every country on earth. If they
cannot get into your ports peacefully, sooner or later they will break
in by force.”
“Such, then, is the truth,” he murmured. “_Namu Amida Butsu!_ I ask
only that I may live to bring back to Dai Nippon a clear report of the
power and ways of the _tojin_ peoples.”
“Nothing could please them more,” I replied. “Count on me to help you
fulfil your noble mission!”
He thanked me with almost effusive gratitude, yet with a nobility
of look that dignified the Oriental obsequiousness of his words and
manner. To cut short his thanks, I went out for a second bottle of
wine. He had drunk his share of the first with gusto. Returning
briskly, I caught sight of my guest’s face for the first time without
its pleasant smile. It was drawn and haggard with fatigue. Putting
aside the wine, I asked him if he did not wish to turn in. He signed
that he would lie down upon the floor. But I explained the use of a
bed, which seemed an absolute novelty to him, and bundled him into my
berth before he could protest. He fell asleep almost as his head sank
upon the pillow.
I stowed his dunnage in a locker, and hastened to extinguish the
lamp and open the window, for the room was suffocatingly hot. As I
leaned out of the window I caught a glimpse of one of the guard-boats
sculling leisurely across the belt of light between the _Sea Flight_
and Kagoshima. Yoritomo’s boat had evidently drifted away through their
cordon undetected. Five minutes later I was outstretched on a locker,
as fast asleep as my guest.
I awoke with what I took to be a crash of thunder dinning in my ears.
But the bright glare of sunshine that poured in through the stern
windows told of a clear sky. No less unmistakable was the loud shouting
of commands on the deck above me and the sharp heeling of the ship to
port. The _Sea Flight_ was already under way and her crew piling on
more sail as swiftly as Downing and his bucko mates could drive them
with volleying oaths and orders.
As I sprang to my feet the explanation of the situation quickly came in
the barking roar of an old-style twelve-pounder carronade. This was my
supposed thunder. During the night the Satsuma men had either brought
up a gun-boat or placed a battery on the nearest point of land, and now
they had at last opened fire on the _tojin_ ship that refused to leave
after due warning.
I stared out the nearest window, and sighted our guard-boats of the
night, sculling along in our wake, not a biscuit’s throw distant.
Their gunners stood by the little swivels, slow-match in hand, and the
soldiers held their antique muskets trained upon us. But the firing was
all from the shore. A puff of smoke showed me where the carronade was
concealed behind a long stretch of canvas upon a point near the lower
end of Kagoshima. The ball plunged into the water half a cable’s length
short of us.
Before the gunners could reload, the _Sea Flight_ drew off on the
starboard tack with swiftly gathering headway, and drew out of range.
The crews of the guard-boats were for a time able to keep their swift
clipper-built craft close astern, but the ship, once under full sail,
soon began to outdistance her pursuers.
The purpose of the Japanese became clear to me when I saw them lay
down their arms without giving over the pursuit. They had no desire to
harm us, but were inflexibly determined to drive us out of their port.
And follow us they did, though long before we had tacked down into the
mouth of the great bay they were visible only through a glass, as
little black dots bobbing among the whitecaps.
Yoritomo had roused from his profound sleep as we came about for
the first time to tack off the Osumi shore. When I had returned his
smiling salute, he listened to my account of our flight with quiet
satisfaction, and explained that, since we had not left peaceably,
the Satsuma men were compelled to resort to these forceful measures.
Otherwise their lord, though in Yedo, would be punished for permitting
our ship to remain in his harbor.
While my guest then took a morning bath, I closed the door between my
staterooms, and ordered the steward to serve me a hearty breakfast in
the vacant room. When he had gone, I locked the door and called in
Yoritomo, whom I had assisted to dress in his Occidental garments. Thus
attired, and with my smoking-cap over his cue, he might easily have
passed for an Italian or Spanish gentleman had it not been for the
slant of his eyes.
After we had breakfasted, we found seats beside one of the sternports,
and spent the morning viewing the receding scenery of the bay and
conversing in our inverted Dutch. Eager as I was to make inquiries
about my friend and his country, he showed still greater curiosity
regarding myself and the wide world from which his people had been
cut off for so long a period. The result was that by midday I had told
him a vast deal, and gathered in turn a mere handful of vaguely stated
facts.
Meantime the _Sea Flight_, having tacked clear of the mouth of the
bay, raced down to Cape Satanomi with the full sweep of the monsoon
abeam. No less to my gratification than my surprise, Yoritomo proved
to be a good sailor, and watched our swift flight along the coast with
wondering delight. The heavy rolling of the ship in the trough of the
sea affected him no more than myself.
Before long we cleared the outjutting point of Cape Satanomi and,
veering to port until upon an easy bowline, drove due east into the
vast expanse of the Pacific. I pointed to the craggy tip of the cape
where the breakers foamed high on the dark rocks, and rose, with a wave
of my hand. “Farewell to Dai Nippon! Come--Downing will be tumbling
below for dinner, now that we are clear of land--come and meet the
hairy _tojin_.”
Yoritomo bowed and, with a last glance at the fast-receding cape,
followed me out into the passage. We found Downing already at his pork
and beans. But he paused, with knife in air, to stare at my companion,
gaping as widely as did the steward.
“Good-day, skipper,” I said. “Allow me to introduce to you my Japanese
cousin Lord Yoritomo.”
“Cousin?--lord?” he spluttered. “Danged if he’s not the first danged
stowaway I ever--”
“You mistake,” I corrected, “I invited the gentleman aboard as my guest
for the passage. He will share my staterooms, and you are to look to me
for his passage money.”
“Well, that’s a different matter, Mr. Adams,” grunted Downing. “If
you’re fool enough to--”
“Mason,” I called sharply to the steward, “lay a plate for His
Lordship.”