as to command the place where the ceremony was to be held. Carpenters,
mat makers, tapestry hangers, and decorators sent from the capital
had been working night and day, and under their skilful hands a great
pavilion, as though by the wave of a magician’s wand, had sprung up
on the beach. When all was in readiness the governor and his suite,
their silken costumes ablaze with gold embroidery, pulled out to
the flag-ship to escort the commodore to the shore. As the Japanese
stepped aboard, a signal called fifteen launches and cutters from
the other ships of the squadron to the side of the _Susquehanna_.
Officers, bluejackets, and marines in all the glory of full dress
piled into them, and, led by Commander Buchanan’s gig, they headed
for the shore, the oars of the American sailors rising and falling
in beautiful unison. As the procession of boats drew out to its full
length, the bright flags, the gorgeous banners, the barbaric costumes
of the Japanese, the leather shakoes of the marines, and the scarlet
tunics of the bandsmen, with the turquoise sea for a foreground and
the great white cone of Fujiyama rising up behind, combined to form
a never-to-be-forgotten picture. When the boats were half-way to the
landing stage, a flourish of bugles sounded from the flag-ship, the
marine guard presented arms, and Commodore Perry, resplendent in cocked
hat and gold-laced uniform, attended by side boys and followed by a
glittering staff, descended the gangway and entered his barge, while
the _Susquehanna’s_ guns roared out a salute. On the shore a guard of
honor composed of American sailors and marines was drawn up to receive
him. As he set foot on the soil of Japan the troops presented arms,
the officers saluted, the drums gave the three ruffles, the band burst
into the American anthem, and the colors swept the ground. Nothing had
been left undone which would be likely to impress the ceremony-loving
Japanese, and the effect produced was spectacular enough to have
satisfied P. T. Barnum. The land procession was formed with the same
attention to ceremonial and display. First came a hundred marines
in the picturesque uniform of the period, marching with mechanical
precision; after them came a hundred bluejackets with the roll of the
sea in their gait, while at the head of the column was a marine band,
ablaze with gold and scarlet. Behind the bluejackets walked Commodore
Perry, guarded by two gigantic negroes--veritable Jack Johnsons in
physique and stature--preceded by two ship’s boys bearing the mahogany
caskets containing Perry’s credentials and the President’s letter, the
delivery of which was the reason for all this extraordinary display.
As the glittering procession entered the pavilion the two counsellors
of the empire who had been designated by the Mikado to receive
the letter rose and stood in silence. When the governor of Uraga,
acting as master of ceremonies, intimated that all was ready, the
two boys advanced and handed their caskets to the negroes. These,
opening in succession the rosewood caskets and the envelopes of
scarlet cloth, displayed the presidential letter and its accompanying
credentials--impressive documents written on vellum, bound in blue
velvet, and fringed with seals of gold. Upon the master of ceremonies
announcing that the imperial high commissioners were ready to receive
the letter, the negroes returned the imposing documents to the boys,
who slowly advanced the length of the hall and deposited them in a box
of scarlet lacquer which had been brought from Tokio for the purpose.
Again a frozen silence pervaded the assemblage. Then Perry, speaking
through an interpreter, paid his respects to the immobile functionaries
and announced that he would return for an answer to the letter in the
following spring. When some of the officials anxiously inquired if he
would come with all four ships, he sententiously replied: “With many
more.”
Although he had announced that he would not revisit Japan until
the spring, when Perry learned that the French and Russians were
hastily preparing expeditions to be sent to Tokio for the purpose of
counteracting American influence, he decided to advance the date of
his return, entering the Bay of Tokio for the second time on February
12, 1854, thus getting ahead of his European rivals. This time he had
with him a really imposing armada: the _Susquehanna_, _Mississippi_,
_Powhatan_, _Macedonian_, _Southampton_, _Lexington_, _Vandalia_,
_Plymouth_, and _Saratoga_. On this occasion he refused to stop at
Uraga and, much to the consternation of the Japanese, steamed steadily
up the bay and anchored off Yokohama, within sight of the capital
itself. The negotiations which ensued occupied several days, during
which Perry insisted on the same pomp and ceremony, and took the same
high-handed course that characterized his former visit. Noticing that
the grounds surrounding the treaty house had been screened in by large
mats, he inquired the reason, and upon being informed that it was
done so that the Americans might not see the country, he said that he
considered that the nation he represented was insulted and ordered that
the screens instantly be removed. That was the sort of attitude that
the Japanese understood, and thereafter they treated Perry with even
more profound respect. The negotiations were brought to a conclusion
on the 31st of March, 1854, when the terms of the treaty whereby the
empire of Japan was opened to American commerce were finally agreed
upon. Thus was recorded one of the greatest diplomatic triumphs in
our history. As Washington Irving wrote to Commodore Perry: “You have
gained for yourself a lasting name and have done it without shedding a
drop of blood or inflicting misery on a human being.”
But Perry’s accomplishment had a sequel, and a bloody one. The
treaty which admitted the foreigner precipitated civil war in Japan.
Although for two hundred and fifty years the Japanese had been at
peace and their sword-blades were rusty from lack of use, the embers
of rebellion had long been smouldering, and the act that admitted the
alien served to fan them into the flame of open revolt. The trouble
was that the tycoon--the viceroy, the mouthpiece of the Mikado, the
power behind the throne--had become all-powerful, while the Mikado
himself, as the result of a policy of seclusion that had been forced
upon him, had become but a puppet, a figurehead. As the treaty with
the United States had been signed under the authority of the tycoon,
the rebels took up arms in a double-barrelled cause: to restore the
Mikado to his old-time authority and to expel the “hairy barbarians,”
as the foreigners were pleasantly called. The insurrectionists, who
represented the powerful Choshiu and Satsuma clans, induced the
Mikado to issue an edict setting June 25, 1863, as a date by which
all foreigners should be expelled from the empire. The tycoon, though
bound to the United States and the European powers by the most solemn
treaties, found himself helpless. He promptly sent in his resignation,
but the Mikado, coerced by the rebellious clansmen, refused to accept
it and left the unhappy viceroy to wriggle out of the predicament as
best he could.
Meanwhile the leaders of the Choshiu clan seized and proceeded to
fortify and mine the Straits of Shimonoseki, the great highway of
foreign commerce forming the entrance to the inland sea, which at that
point narrows down to a channel three miles in length and less than a
mile in width, through which the tides run like a mill-race. On June
25, the eventful day fixed for the expulsion of the barbarians from
the sacred dominions of the Mikado, the American merchant steamer
_Pembroke_, with a pilot furnished by the Tokio government and with
the American flag at her peak, was on her way northward through
the channel when she was fired on by the clansmen though, as luck
would have it, was not hit. But peace which had existed in Japan
for nearly two centuries and a half was broken. A few days later a
French despatch-boat was hit in seven places, her boat’s crew nearly
all killed by a shell, and the vessel saved from sinking only by a
lively use of the pumps. On July 11 a Dutch frigate was hit thirty-one
times, and nine of its crew were killed or wounded, and a little later
a French gunboat was badly hulled as she dashed past the batteries
at full speed. It was evident that the Japanese had acquired modern
guns in the ten years that had passed since Perry had taught them the
blessings of civilization, and it was equally evident that they knew
how to use them.
News is magnified as it travels in the East, and by the time word of
the _Pembroke_ incident reached Commander David McDougal, who was
cruising in Chinese waters in the sloop of war _Wyoming_ in pursuit
of the Confederate privateer _Alabama_, it had been exaggerated until
he was led to believe that the American vessel had been sunk with all
hands. Though possessing neither a chart of the straits nor a map of
the batteries, McDougal ordered his ship to be coaled and provisioned
at full speed (and how the jackies worked when they got the order!),
and on July 16, under a cloudless sky, without a breath of wind,
and the sea as smooth as a tank of oil, the _Wyoming_, her ports
covered with tarpaulins so as to make her look like an unsuspecting
merchantman, but with her crew at quarters and her decks cleared for
action, came booming into Shimonoseki Straits. No sooner did she get
within range of the batteries than the five eight-inch Dahlgren guns
presented to Japan by the United States as a token of friendship,
opened on her with a roar. It was not exactly a convincing proof of
friendship. The Japanese batteries, splendidly handled, concentrated
their fire on the narrowest part of the straits, which they swept
with a hail of projectiles, while beyond, in more open water, three
heavily armed converted merchantmen--the steamer _Lancefield_, the bark
_Daniel Webster_, and the brig _Lanrick_, all, oddly enough, American
vessels which had been purchased by the clansmen for use against their
former owners--lay directly athwart the channel, prepared to dispute
the _Wyoming’s_ passage, should she, by a miracle, succeed in getting
past the batteries. As the first Japanese shell screamed angrily
overhead, the tarpaulins concealing the _Wyoming’s_ guns disappeared
in a twinkling, the stars and stripes broke out at her masthead, and
her artillery cut loose. It was a surprise party, right enough, but the
surprise was on the Japanese.
As McDougal approached the narrows, sweeping them with his
field-glasses, his attention was caught by a line of stakes which, as
he rightly suspected, had been placed there by the Japanese to gauge
their fire. Accordingly, instead of taking the middle of the channel,
as denoted by the line of stakes, he ordered the Japanese pilot, who
was paralyzed with terror, to run close under the batteries. It was
well that he did so, for no sooner was the _Wyoming_ within range than
the Japanese gunners opened a cannonade which would have blown her
out of the water had she been in mid-channel, where they confidently
expected her to be, but which, as it was, tore through her rigging
without doing serious harm. There were six finished batteries, mounting
in all thirty guns, and the three converted merchantmen carried
eighteen pieces, making forty-eight cannon opposed to the _Wyoming’s_
six.
Clearing the narrows, McDougal, despite the protestations of his
pilot, who said that he would certainly go aground, gave orders to
go in between the sailing vessels and take the steamer. Just then a
masked battery opened on the _Wyoming_, but even in those days the fame
of the American gunners was as wide as the seas, and they justified
their reputation by placing a single shell so accurately that its
explosion tore the whole battery to pieces. Then McDougal, signalling
for “full steam ahead,” dashed straight at the _Daniel Webster_,
pouring in a broadside as he swept by which left her crowded decks a
shambles. Then, opening on the _Lanrick_ with his starboard guns, he
fought the two ships at the same time, the action being at such close
quarters that the guns of the opponents almost touched. In this, the
first battle with modern weapons in which they had ever engaged, the
Japanese showed the same indifference to death and the same remarkable
ability as fighters and seamen which was to bring about the defeat
of the Russians half a century later. So rapidly did the crew of the
_Lanrick_ serve their guns that they managed to pour three broadsides
into the _Wyoming_ before the latter sent her to the bottom. The
_Lanrick_ thus rubbed off the slate, McDougal swept down upon the
_Lancefield_, and oblivious of the terrific fire directed upon him by
the _Daniel Webster_ and the shore batteries, coolly manœuvred for a
fighting position. But during this manœuvre the _Wyoming_ went ashore
while at the same moment the heavily manned Japanese steamer bore down
with the evident intention of ramming and boarding her while she was
helpless in the mud. For a moment it looked as though the jig was up,
and it flashed through the mind of every American that, before going
into action, McDougal had given orders that the _Wyoming_ was to be
blown up with every man on board rather than fall into the hands of
the enemy--for those were the days when the Japanese subjected their
prisoners to the horrors of the thumb-screws, the dripping water, and
the torture cage. But after a few hair-raising moments, during which
every American must have held his breath and murmured a little prayer,
the powerful engines of the _Wyoming_ succeeded in pulling her off the
sand-bar, whereupon, ignoring the bark of the batteries, McDougal
manœuvred in the terribly swift current until the American gunners
could see the _Lancefield_ along the barrels of their eleven-inch
pivot-guns. Then both Dahlgrens spoke together. The accuracy of the
American fire was appalling. The first two shells tore apertures as big
as barn-doors in the Japanese vessel’s hull, a third ripped through her
at the water-line, passed through the boiler, tore out her sides, and
burst far away in the town beyond. The frightful explosion which ensued
was followed by a rain of ashes, timbers, ironwork, and fragments
of human beings, and before the smoke had cleared the _Lancefield_
had sunk from sight. It was now the _Daniel Webster’s_ turn, and in
a few minutes the namesake of the great statesman was shattered and
sinking. The three vessels thus disposed of, the _Wyoming_ was now
free to turn her undivided attention to the shore batteries, her
gunners placing shell after shell with as unerring accuracy as Christy
Mathewson puts his balls across the plate. Gun after gun was put out
of action, battery after battery was silenced, until the whole line
of fortifications was a heap of ruins with dismounted cannon lying
behind their wrecked embrasures and dead and wounded Japanese strewn
everywhere. At twenty minutes past noon firing ceased. Then, his work
accomplished, McDougal turned his ship and steamed triumphantly the
length of the straits while the hills of Japan echoed and re-echoed the
hurrahs of the American sailors.
In this extraordinary action, which lasted an hour and ten minutes, the
_Wyoming_ was hulled ten times, her funnel had six holes in it, two
masts were injured and her top-hamper badly damaged. Of her crew, five
were killed and seven wounded. On the other hand, the lone American,
with her six guns, had destroyed six shore batteries mounting thirty
improved European cannon and had sent three ships, with eighteen pieces
of ordnance, to the bottom, killing upward of a hundred Japanese and
wounding probably that many more. It is no exaggeration, I believe, to
assert that the history of the American navy contains no achievement
of a single commander in a single ship which surpasses that of David
McDougal in the _Wyoming_ at Shimonoseki. Dewey’s victory at Manila was
but a repetition of the Shimonoseki action on a larger scale.
Four days later two French war-ships went in and hammered to pieces
such fragments of the fortifications as the _Wyoming’s_ gunners had
left, but the clansmen, reinforced by _ronins_, or freelances, from
all parts of the empire, repaired their losses, built new batteries,
mounted heavier guns, and succeeded for fifteen months in keeping
the straits closed to foreign commerce. Then an allied fleet of
seventeen ships, with upward of seven thousand men, repeated the work
which the _Wyoming_ had done single-handed, forcing the passage,
destroying the forts, putting an end to the uprising, and restoring
safety to the foreigner in Japan. The American representation in
this great international armada consisted of one small vessel, the
_Ta Kiang_, manned by thirty sailors and marines under Lieutenant
Frederick Pearson, and mounting but a single gun. So gallant a part
was played by Pearson in his cockle-shell that Queen Victoria took
the extraordinary step of decorating him with the Order of the Bath,
which Congress permitted him to wear--the only American, so far as
I am aware, that has ever been thus honored. But no other operation
of the war so impressed the Japanese and so gained their admiration
and respect as when the _Wyoming_ came storming into the straits and
defied and defeated all their ships and guns. Years afterward a noted
Japanese editor wrote: “That action did more than all else to open
the eyes of Japan.” Though the European commanders were loaded with
honors and decorations for what was, after all, but supplementary
work, the heroism displayed by McDougal and his bluejackets received
neither reward nor recognition from their own countrymen, for 1863 was
the critical year of the Civil War, and the thunder of the _Wyoming’s_
guns in far-away Japan was lost in the roar of the guns at Gettysburg.
As Colonel Roosevelt once remarked: “Had that action taken place at
any other time than during the Civil War, its fame would have echoed
all over the world.” But, though few Americans are aware that we once
fought and whipped the Japanese, I fancy that it has not been forgotten
by the Japanese themselves.
FOOTNOTES:
[A] In 1814 Bean was sent by General Morelos, then president of the
revolutionary party in Mexico, on a mission to the United States to
procure aid for the patriot cause. At the port of Nautla he found a
vessel belonging to Lafitte, which conveyed him to the headquarters of
the pirate chief, at Barataria. Upon informing Lafitte of his mission,
the buccaneer had him conveyed to New Orleans, where Bean found an old
acquaintance in General Andrew Jackson, upon whose invitation he took
command of one of the batteries on the 8th of January and fought by the
side of Lafitte in that battle. Colonel Bean eventually rose to high
rank under the Mexican republic, married a Mexican heiress, and died on
her hacienda near Jalapa in 1846.
[B] A full account of the life and exploits of Jean Lafitte will be
found under “The Pirate Who Turned Patriot,” in Mr. Powell’s “Gentlemen
Rovers.”
[C] A detailed account of the amazing exploits of Colonel Boyd will be
found in “For Rent: An Army on Elephants,” in Mr. Powell’s “Gentlemen
Rovers.”
[D] Erastus Smith, known as Deaf Smith because he was hard of hearing,
first came to Texas in 1817 with one of the filibustering forces that
were constantly arriving in that province. He was a man of remarkable
gravity and few words, seldom answering except in monosyllables. His
coolness in danger made his services as a spy invaluable to the Texans.
[E] It is a regrettable fact that this, one of the finest episodes in
our national history, from being a subject of honest controversy has
degenerated into an embittered and rancorous quarrel, some of Doctor
Whitman’s detractors, not content with questioning the motives which
animated him in his historic ride, having gone so far as to cast doubts
on the fact of the ride itself and even to assail the character of
the great missionary. Full substantiation of the episode as I have
told it may be found, however, in Barrows’s “Oregon, the Struggle for
Possession,” Johnson’s “History of Oregon,” Dye’s “McLoughlin and Old
Oregon,” and Nixon’s “How Marcus Whitman Saved Oregon,” an array of
authorities which seem to me sufficient.
[F] Years afterward, Daniel Webster remarked to a friend: “It is safe
to assert that our country owes it to Doctor Whitman and his associate
missionaries that all the territory west of the Rocky Mountains and
north of the Columbia is not now owned by England and held by the
Hudson’s Bay Company.”--Dye’s “McLoughlin and Old Oregon.”
[G] The efflorescent soda incrusted on the margin of the water was used
by the soldiers as a substitute for saleratus.
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:
Italicized text is surrounded by underscores: _italics_.
Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.
Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized.
Archaic or variant spelling has been retained.
New original cover art included with this eBook is granted to the
public domain.