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!”
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[Illustration: Decoration]