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.”
------------------------------------------------------------------------
[Illustration: Decoration]