THE PROFESSOR AND THE SAILOR MAKE A TREATY.
THE morning of March 8th, 1854, dawned clear and beautiful. The bay was
alive with gorgeous state barges, swift punts, and junks with tasseled
prows. On land, in the foreground were a few hundred feudal retainers in
gay costumes, while on the bluffs beyond stood dense masses of
spectators. These were kept back with rope-barriers, and by petty
officials of prodigious self-importance. The sunbeams glittered on the
bare heads and freshly-pomatumed top-knots of country folk, and was
reflected dazzlingly from lacquered hats and burnished weapons. In the
variegated paraphernalia of feudalism,—then of such vast importance,
but now as cast off trumpery transmigrating through the parlors and
museums to dusty nirvana in the garrets of christendom,—could be
distinguished the insignia of the commissioners and feudal lords, whose
troops darkened the hill tops as spectators. The striped oval figure of
Hayashi; the five disks surrounding a smaller central dot like
satellites about Jupiter, belonging to Ito; the feminine millinery,
three curved women’s hats, of Isawa; the revolving disks suggesting a
wind-mill, of Tsudzuki; the three Euclid-recalling cubes of Udono; the
ring-enclosed goggle-spectacles of Takénouchi; appeared and reappeared
on banner, umbrella, hat, coat, and cover of dignitaries and retainers.
Many and various were the explanations offered by the Americans as to
the cabalistic meaning of these crests of Japanese heraldry. One in
particular, which looked like three commas in perpetual revolution, but
prevented from flying off into a nebular hypothesis by a tire, attracted
special attention.
Only the stern discipline to which they were accustomed, and the
suspicion of possible need for powder and ball, in case of treachery,
kept grim the faces of marines and sailors. The whole tableau seemed to
the officers a well-sustained joke from the pages of Gulliver’s Travels.
To Jack Tar, it looked as if a pack of euchre-cards had come to enlarged
life. The gay-costumed figures and bronze visages moved before him like
the flesh-and-blood originals of the kings, jacks, and knaves on his
favorite pasteboards. Can we doubt but that more than one Japanese now
saw himself in a new light?
With five hundred men landed in twenty-seven boats, each one, including
musicians, thoroughly well-armed, the marines forming a hollow square,
the three bands discoursing music, the Paixhans on the _Macedonian_,
and the howitzers in the boats, making fire, flame, thunder, and
echoes; with all possible fuss, parade, shine and glitter, the
sailor-diplomatist made disembarkation at noon, in his white gig from
the _Powhatan_. With due deliberation and stately march, he entered the
treaty-house, where negotiations began. The Commodore knew as he
confesses, “the importance and moral influence of such show upon so
ceremonious and artificial a people as the Japanese.” Without being at
all anxious to imitate or copy them, he yet impressed them amazingly.
How he came to know so much about etiquette and propriety, without
having lived in Kiōto, or studied Confucius or Ogasawara (the
Chesterfield of Japan) strained their wits to discover. Perhaps they
noticed that while “the emperor,” that is the chief daimiō of Yedo, and
the Mikado’s lieutenant styled “Tycoon,” (as _Koku-O_, king of a
country) received a salute of twenty-one guns, and his hatamoto Hayashi,
officer of the sixth rank seventeen guns, the first salute was from the
heavy ordnance on the _Macedonian_, while the others were from
boat-howitzers. The _Powhatan_ hoisted at the masthead the striped
pennant, which the Americans innocently supposed was the national
emblem.
The tedious business of diplomacy began by interchange of notes and
answers. Then Hayashi remarked that attention would be given to the
supply of wood, coal, and water for needy ships, and to the care of
shipwrecked sailors, but that no proposition for trade could be allowed.
To this Perry made no reply, but spoke up suddenly upon the question of
burial. A marine on the _Mississippi_ named Williams, had died two days
previously, and it was proposed to bury him on Matsu-shima (Pine Isle)
or Webster’s Island. After private conferences by the Japanese in
another room, exchange of much sentiment on both sides, and an
exposition of Japanese law and custom by Hayashi—during which Perry
intimated his readiness to stay in the bay a year or two if
necessary—permission was granted to bury in one of the temple-grounds
at Yokohama. Thus began with Christian ceremonies, under the very shadow
of the edicts promulgated centuries before, denouncing “the Christian
criminal God,” with offer of gold to informers against the “outlawed
sect,” that God’s acre now so beautiful. Its slope was to fatten with
many a victim by the assassin’s sword before Japan should become a Land
of Great Peace either to the alien or the Christian.
The native scribe adds in a note to his _Record_, “This subject was
brought up suddenly, as if the American wished to find out how quickly
we were in the habit of deciding questions. Hence the commissioners made
their decision promptly. Thereupon Perry seemed to be very glad and
almost to shed tears.” In response to the Commodore’s assertion that to
esteem human life as very precious was the first principle of the United
States government, while the contrary was the case with that of Japan,
Hayashi answered, warmly defending his countrymen and superiors against
intentional cruelty, but denouncing the lawless character of many of the
foreign sailors. Like all Japanese of his school and age, he wound up
with a panegyric of the pre-eminence of Japan above all nations in
virtue and humanity, and the glory and goodness of the great Tokugawa
family which had given peace to the land during two centuries or more.
“The frog in the well knows not the great ocean,” say his countrymen of
to-day.
In the further negotiations, the Japanese official account of which
agrees with the details given in Perry’s own narrative, the Commodore
made wholesome use of the fears of the islanders. The reputation of
American ships, ordnance, and armies had preceded him. The invaders of
Mexico were believed fully when the wealth, power, and rapidity of
movement possessed by the United States were dilated upon. Perry
threatened to make use of “the resources of civilization,” if the plain
demands of humanity were ignored. It is more than probable that cold
statistics would not have justified his glowing vision of fifty or a
hundred war steamers, full of soldiers, coming from California to make
war on Japan, in case her government refused to help shipwrecked
Americans. Yet, of his patience, persistency, and resolve neither to
provoke nor to take an insult, there can be no question. Perry, in
person, impressed the Japanese commissioners as much as by the fleet
itself. They noted, as the _Record_ declares, that Captains Adams,
Abbot, and Buchanan, as shown by their uniform and epaulettes, were of
the same rank, “so that if Perry were killed, either of the others could
command,” and continue the matter in hand.
The _Record_ also reflects the character of Perry as a man of kindly
consideration. His friendly regard for and sympathy with a people of
high and sensitive spirit, which had been weakened by centuries of
enforced isolation, is also witnessed to. In one sense the Japanese
feel, to this day, proud to have been put under pressure by so true a
soldier, and so genuine a friend.
Between ship and shore, during the blustery March weather, the Commodore
made many trips in his barge, accompanied by chosen officers. One day,
with Pay-director J. G. Harris, who relates the incident, Perry and his
companions entered the treaty-house. Their boat-cloaks, which they had
worn to protect the “bright-work” of epaulettes, buttons and belts from
the salt spray, were still over their shoulders. One of the first
questions asked the Japanese commissioners was, whether they had
favorably considered the proposition of the day before, that certain
ports should be opened.
Hayashi replied that they had pondered the matter, and had concluded
that Shimoda and Hakodaté should be opened; provided that Americans
would not travel into the interior further than they could go and return
the same day; and provided, further, _that no American women should be
brought to Japan_.
When the translation of Hayashi’s reply was announced, the Commodore
straightened up, threw back his boat-cloak, and excitedly exclaimed:
“Great Heavens, if I were to permit any such stipulation as that in the
treaty, when I got home _the women would pull out all the hair out of my
head_.”
The Japanese fairly trembled at the Commodore’s apparent excitement,
supposing they had grossly offended him. When, however, explanation was
made by the interpreters, they all laughed right heartily, and the
business continued.
The Ninth Article, or the “favored nation” clause was introduced at the
suggestion of Dr. S. Wells Williams.[34]
Unknown to any of the Americans, Nakahama Manjiro, who had received a
good common school education in the United States, sat in an adjoining
room, unseen but active, as the American interpreter for the Japanese.
All the documents in English and Chinese were submitted to him for
correction and approval.[35] He was afterwards made curator of the
scientific and mechanical apparatus brought by Perry and presented by
the United States government, and in 1860, he navigated the first
Japanese steamer, commanded by Katsŭ Awa, to Hawaii and California.
Katsŭ Awa was one of the captains commanding the troops detailed to
watch carefully “the American barbarians, lest they should proceed to
acts of violence.”
While the negotiations were progressing, the other ships arrived, making
ten in all. Presents and bouquets were exchanged, and guests and hosts
amused each other. American palates were tickled with _castira_
(Castile) or sponge-cake, rice beer, candied walnuts, Suruga tea,
pickled plums, sugared fruits, sea-weed jelly, luscious crabs and
prawns, dried persimmons, boiled eggs, fish soups, broiled _tai_, _koi_
and _karei_ fresh from the nets of the Yokohama fisherman. They essayed
or avoided the impossible dishes of cuttle and sliced raw fish. All was
served in the baby-house china and lacquered ware of the country. Some
of the officers were vividly reminded of their infantile days.
The Japanese were regaled with viands that were master-pieces of
American cookery. To the intense amusement of the “children of the
gods,” the lords of the kitchen were kurumbō (blacks), a color and a
creature such they had seen only in their own theatres when
candle-holders with lamp-blacked faces illuminated the facial
performances of actors. Save the dignified professor, Hayashi, they
became over-flowingly merry over champagne and the national mixed drinks
of the Great Republic. They learned the mysteries of mint-juleps and
brandy-smashes. They lost their center of gravity over puddings and
potations, and then laughed themselves sober at the sailors’ exhibition
of negro minstrelsy. They were shown the discipline and drill of the
ships, and the evolution of the marines. They were delighted with
presents which revealed the secrets of the foreigners’ power. Rifles and
gunpowder, the electric telegraph, the steam locomotive and train,
life-boats, stoves, clocks, sewing-machines, agricultural implements and
machinery, standard scales, weights, measures, maps and charts, the
works of Audubon and other American authors were presented, most
improperly labeled or engraved “To the Emperor of Japan.” The Mikado,
Japan’s only emperor, never saw them, though the writer did in the
storerooms of the exiled Tycoon at Shidzŭoka in 1872. The American may
proudly note how very large a share his countrymen have had in
inventions and in applications of the great natural forces that have
revolutionized modern society. That one mile of telegraph wire has now
become thousands; and that tiny railway, with toy locomotive and one car
able to hold only a child, was the germ of the railway system in the
Mikado’s empire. Historic truth compels us to add that among the
presents there were one hundred barrels of whiskey, a good supply of
cherry cordial, and champagne. Thus did the new civilization with its
good and evil confront the old. New Japan was to be born in the age of
steam, electricity, the photograph, the newspaper and the
printing-press; yet in the train of the culture of the West was to
follow its curses and enemies. With the sons of God came Satan also.
In return, the Japanese presented the delicate specialties of the
artisans of their country, in bronze, lacquer, porcelain, bamboo, ivory,
silk and paper; with coins, match-locks and swords, which now rest in
the Smithsonian Institute. For the squadron, one hundred kokŭ (five
hundred bushels) of rice and three hundred chickens were provided. They
entertained their guests with wrestling matches between the prize bipeds
whose diet includes the entire fauna of Japan. Strangely enough, they
did not play _dakiu_ or polo, their national game on horseback, in which
so many of their riders excel. All the presents were duly wrapped in
paper, with a symbolic folded paper and dried fish skin.
During the two months and more of the presence of the ships in the bay,
the Japanese cruisers and spy-boats kept watch and ward in cordon,
though at a distance from the Americans. This was to prevent political
enemies and too eager students from getting aboard in order to leave
Japan. Again and again did Yoshida Shoin and his companion attempt to
break the blockade, but in vain. The pair then set off overland to
Shimoda.
When the telegraph poles and rails for the locomotive had been made
ready, the news of the exhibition about to be given fired the _samurai_
of Yedo with consuming curiosity to see. All sorts of pretexts were made
to obtain permission to be on the spot. Egawa, a noted flag-supporter
whose _yashiki_ or feudal palace lay near Shiba in Yedo, insisted on
coming to Yokohama on the pretext of guarding the treaty building. He
was ordered back, and it was hinted that Sanada’s men at arms could
perform worthily the coveted duty. If the Americans made war and
proceeded to Yedo, Egawa’s picked men could die more nobly “under the
Shō-gun’s knee.” As the Japanese narrator learned afterwards, Egawa’s
real purpose was to learn telegraphy and the secrets of steam
engineering. It is not at all improbable that among his band of
well-dressed gentlemen were expert mechanics as well as students who had
from the Dutch at Nagasaki obtained their first knowledge of western
inventions.
The treaty was signed March 31st, 1854. Its provisions are thus given by
a Japanese author[36]:—
[Illustration: SIGNATURES AND PEN-SEALS OF THE JAPANESE TREATY
COMMISSIONERS.]
“The Bakafu promised to accord kind treatment to shipwrecked sailors,
permission to obtain wood, water, coal, provisions and other stores
needed by ships at sea, with leave also to anchor in the ports of
Shimoda in Idzu and Hakodaté in Matsumaé.” Trade or residence was not
yet secured. “The hermit” was as yet unwilling to enter “the
market-place.” The gains by treaty did not seem great, but Perry knew
then, as we know more fully now, that the thin end of a great wedge had
been inserted in the right place. He had made a beginning which was half
the end, as we shall see farther on.
The sleeping princess had received her first kiss, and the gates of
Thornrose castle would soon fly open. They were now ajar. More than one
native of this “Princess Country” recalled the hiding of the Sun-goddess
in the cave, and how with music and dance, feast and frolic, and show of
cunning inventions exciting her curiosity, she was lured to peep out, so
that the strong-handed god could open the door fully and all faces
become light with joy.[37]
Moving his steamers up the bay to within sight of Yedo, the Commodore
left on the 18th of April for Shimoda, having sent the sailing ships
ahead for survey. For nine weeks he had held in leash his two thousand
or more ship’s people, and had impressed the Japanese with the decency
and dignity of the American sailor’s behavior. Grand as was the triumph
he accomplished in diplomacy, his victory in discipline seems equally
praiseworthy and remarkable.
At Shimoda (now noted chiefly for the quarries which furnish stone for
the modern government buildings in Tōkiō) the squadron remained until
the end of the first week in May. One day late in April as Dr. S. Wells
Williams and clerk J. W. Spalding were botanizing on land, Yoshida Shoin
and his devoted companion, Ichiji Koda met them, and pressed into the
clerk’s bosom a letter.[38] On the appearance of Japanese officers, they
disappeared. Somewhat after midnight of the 25th the watch-officer on
the _Mississippi_ heard the cry of “American, American!” With their
delicate and blistered hands they implored in the language of gesture to
be taken on board, that their boats be cast adrift, and they be secreted
aboard. Their clothing was stuffed full of writing-paper and materials,
on which they expected to note down what they saw in foreign countries.
They were sent to the flag ship, and Perry, as he felt in honor and in
conscience bound, despite his own sympathies and desires and their
piteous appeals, sent them ashore. Further than this, he was unable to
get at the real motive of the suppliants. “It might have been a
stratagem to test American honor, and some believed it so to be,” yet
Perry wrote in addition, with the prophecy of hope, “In this disposition
of the people in Japan, what a field of speculation, and it may be
added, what a prospect full of hope opens for the future of that
interesting country.”
The prisoners sent to Chôshiu, were kept incarcerated within the limits
of their own clan for five years. Sakuma was punished as an accomplice,
because his stanza of poetry was discovered in Yoshida’s baggage. Active
in those events leading to the revolution of 1868, Yoshida (who altered
the name to Toraijiro) suffered decapitation and political martyrdom in
Yedo January 31st, 1859. He died thinking it
“Better to be a crystal, though shattered,
Than lie as a tile unbroken on the housetop.”
His indomitable spirit possessed others, and his pupils rose to high
office and power in the wave of revolution that floated the boy-mikado
to supreme power and placed the national capitol in Yedo in 1868.
The Commodore arrived at Hakodaté May 17 and remained in the waters of
Yezo until June 28th, 1854. He little knew then that the beautiful
harbor would fourteen years later be made famous by a naval battle
between the Shō-gun’s force of Dutch and American-built wooden war
steamers, and the Mikado’s iron-clad ram Adzuma Kan (Stonewall).
Sailing for Riu Kiu, he entered Napa harbor, July 1st. On the 12th, the
regent presented him with a large bronze bell of fine workmanship, cast
in 1168 A. D., by two Japanese artizans, and inscribed with flowery
sentences. One, which declared that “the barbarians would never invade
the land,” had a striking significance, though its composer had proved a
false prophet. It now hangs, tongueless but useful, in the grounds of
the Annapolis Naval Academy. As from China and Formosa, so from Japan at
Shimoda and in Riu Kiu, blocks of native stone duly engraved were
accepted as contributions to the obelisk on the banks of the Potomac, in
perpetuation of the memory of Washington. On the 17th, the other vessels
of the squadron having been despatched on various missions, the
Commodore in the _Mississippi_ left Napa for Hong Kong.
The glory of Commodore Perry’s success is not that he “invented,” or
“first thought of” or was the “sole author, originator, and father of
the Japan expedition.” Such language is nonsense, for the thought was in
many minds, both of naval men and civilians, from Roberts to Glynn and
Aulick; but it was Perry’s persistency that first conquered for himself
a fleet, his thorough-going method of procedure in every detail, and his
powerful personality and invincible tenacity in dealing with the
Japanese, that won a quick and permanent success without a drop of
blood. A thorough man of war he was from his youth up; yet he proved
himself a nobler hero, in that he restrained himself and his lieutenants
from the use of force, while yet not giving place for a moment to the
frivolities of Japanese yakunin of the Tokugawa period.
-----
[34] Autograph letter to the writer. February 8th, 1883.
[35] _The Friend_, Honolulu. October, 1884—“An unpublished chapter in
the History of Japan.” Rev. S. C. Damon’s interview with Manjiro in
Tokio, summer of 1884.
[36] Kinsé Shiriaku, p. 3.
[37] Japanese Fairy World, p. 300.
[38] Perry’s Narrative, pp. 484-489. Spalding’s Japan Expedition, pp.
276-286. R. L. Stevenson’s Familiar Studies of Men and Books.