Father scowled at Hana suspiciously. ‘If you can make money without sleeping with anyone, all well and good. But if you’re not getting repeat bookings in a couple of days, then it’s into the cage with you.’
Hana nodded, grateful for the reprieve. She thought of the young man with the broad face and delicate hands. If they put her virginity up for sale, she hoped he would bid the highest.
17
Kitaro had been in his grave a month when the cherry trees flowered. Clouds of pale pink blossom filled the grounds of the Star Fort, wafting through the air and lying in great drifts on the ground. Flocks of seagulls wheeled and screamed, buzzards soared, larks trilled and huge crows with beady yellow eyes opened their black beaks and cawed. The island of Ezo had become somewhere Yozo could call home, somewhere worth fighting for.
With the cherry blossoms came news that eight warships had left Edo, steaming north. Lookouts kept watch night and day, scouring the horizon, training their telescopes on the harbour mouth, but nothing happened, no enemy fleet appeared, guns blazing.
One balmy spring morning Enomoto called a meeting in the presidential quarters. When Yozo arrived, straw sandals were lined up side by side with leather boots in the entranceway to the building. The leaders of the new republic had all gathered in their high-collared uniforms with burnished buttons and swords in their belts. The quiet, intense General Otori, now Minister of the Army, stood beside Navy Minister Arai, a gangly man with prematurely thinning hair and eyes that popped out when he was excited. Three of the nine French military advisers were there too, resplendent in belted blue jackets with gold epaulettes and red trousers – the dapper Captain Jules Brunet, now second-in-command of the army, and Sergeants Marlin and Cazeneuve, who headed a battalion each. Japanese and French, they were all in their early thirties and talked loudly and eagerly, eyes blazing, full of ardour for their cause.
Commander Yamaguchi stood a little apart from the rest, looking around and taking everything in. Yozo watched him, eyes narrowed. It was the first time he had been in his presence since Kitaro died. He turned away abruptly. In the centre of the room, maps were spread on the table alongside a pile of books, including two precious volumes of naval tactics which Enomoto had brought back from Holland and saved from the Kaiyo Maru. Another thick volume, the Règles Internationales et Diplomatie de la Mer, lay open.
Enomoto raised his hand and the room fell silent.
‘Gentlemen,’ he said. ‘We have news.’ He spoke gravely and seriously as befitted the Governor General of the Republic of Ezo but there was a twinkle in his eye and a hint of a smile at the corners of his mouth. ‘As you know, the southern forces are on their way but it seems they’ve been having trouble navigating the Stonewall. They got into difficulties as soon as they left Edo, put in at Miyako Bay and haven’t moved since. Their crews have gone on shore leave.’
The men looked at him, then at each other. Navy Minister Arai hooted with laughter and the others too began to chuckle. Even the Commander smiled.
‘Waiting for the weather to improve, no doubt,’ said Arai when the hubbub had died down.
‘Fine sailors they are!’ said Captain Brunet sarcastically. ‘We managed to make it up here in the middle of winter!’
‘No doubt the crews are enjoying the local brothels,’ added Arai. ‘We won’t be hearing from them for a while!’
‘Hear me out, gentlemen,’ Enomoto persisted. ‘We’re not going to sit around any longer waiting for the southerners to come and get us. We’re going to take the fight to the enemy. Arai and the Commander have cooked up a plan.’
‘We have only six ships left now we’ve lost the Kaiyo Maru and the Shinsoku and none of them are as strong as the Stonewall,’ General Otori interjected soberly.
‘The Stonewall’s the key,’ said the Commander. He glanced around the room, eyes glittering. ‘All we have to do is get her back and the war’s won. And even if we fail, we’ll have done the enemy some real damage.’
The room was silent.
‘The southerners think we’re cowering up here,’ the Commander went on. ‘We’ll show them they’re wrong. We’ll take the Kaiten, the Banryu and the Takao and sail into Miyako Bay …’
‘… flying the American flag!’ shouted Arai. ‘It’s allowed by international law.’ He slapped his hand on the Règles Internationales, sending a cloud of dust puffing from the yellowing pages.
‘At the last minute we hoist our colours,’ the Commander continued, his voice rising. ‘The Banryu and Takao pull in alongside the Stonewall and the Kaiten gives covering fire. We board, capture the crew, take the ship and we’re back in Hakodate before anyone knows what’s happened.’
It was a reckless plan, Yozo thought, there was no doubt about that, but the best plans always were. For all their merriment, the men were well aware that the southerners massively outnumbered them and would soon be sailing north to drive them off the island and destroy them – unless, that is, they could make the first move and intercept them. In any case, they were eager for action, and the idea of taking the southerners by surprise was a brilliant one.
And the troops too were more than ready. They’d been training for so long, practising at the firing range, honing their swordsmanship, and they were desperate for a glimpse of the enemy. A sneak attack might just work and even if it didn’t – well, they had to do something. It was unbearable to sit around any longer, waiting to be flushed out of their lair. Let the hunted become the hunter! They would show the southerners that they were a force to be reckoned with. And if they actually succeeded in laying their hands on the Stonewall, they would have command of the seas around Ezo. Yes, thought Yozo, it was a risk worth taking. With a bit of luck they could turn the odds on their head and put the southerners out of business once and for all.
For a moment the Commander’s words hung in the air. Then the men started laughing and cheering and slapping each other on the back.
The only person looking sceptical was General Otori. ‘They have eight ships,’ he said, measuring his words. ‘And we send three?’
‘We have surprise on our side,’ said Enomoto, his eyes shining. ‘The Stonewall’s gun deck will be packed with provisions and firewood. They won’t be able to get to their guns and their boilers won’t be lit. By the time they’re ready to fight we’ll be halfway home.’
After the others had left, Yozo stayed behind. Enomoto took off his swords and threw down a couple of cushions, then opened a bottle of vintage Glendronach and poured them each a glass.
‘You’ll be wanting to join them,’ he said as they clinked glasses. Yozo settled on one of the cushions, legs crossed, and took a sip of the fiery liquor, swilling it thoughtfully around his mouth. Sunlight filtered through the paper screens on to the Dutch carpet and rosewood furniture and for a moment he forgot he was on the island of Ezo and imagined he was with his friend back in Holland. ‘I could do with some action,’ he said. ‘We haven’t seen any serious fighting yet, not what I’d call a real engagement. Sure, we captured the Star Fort and Matsumae, but those were skirmishes, and Esashi was a walkover. I’d like to take the measure of this mighty southern navy of theirs and find out what’s the worst they have to offer.’
‘I wish I could go myself,’ Enomoto said.
‘That’s the price of success,’ said Yozo. ‘The Governor General of Ezo can’t just leave his post and set off on some madcap expedition. What about General Otori?’
‘He’s in command of the garrison and it’ll be a sea battle, added to which he’s not fully behind the plan.’ Enomoto emptied his glass and looked at Yozo. ‘I’d like you to go on the Kaiten. No one knows more about the Krupp breech-loaders than you do.’
Yozo nodded. The Prussian breech-loaders they’d brought back from Europe were the most advanced cannons in the world, far more lethal and effective than the old muzzle-loaders, but they were also less reliable and a lot more dangerous and there were frequent accidents. Apart from Enomoto, Yozo was the only man among t
he northern forces who had detailed knowledge of how they functioned and could keep them in good working order.
Enomoto was staring into the distance. ‘Remember Herr Krupp and that mansion of his in Essen?’ he asked.
Yozo pictured the long-nosed industrialist with his grey spade-shaped beard and extravagant residence and grinned. ‘I’d call Villa Hugel a castle, not a mansion.’
Of all their adventures, visiting Alfred Krupp had been one of the most extraordinary. When they and their thirteen colleagues had first arrived, crowds had followed them wherever they went, gawping at their samurai skirts, oiled topknots and curved swords, and they’d quickly had their hair cut and started wearing western clothes so they could blend in. But they’d soon discovered that when they needed a favour, if they put on their samurai outfits and their swords, no one seemed to realize that they were mere students and treated them as if they were high-ranking emissaries of their country.
Together with one of their colleagues named Akamatsu, Yozo and Enomoto had been taken to observe the Schleswig-Holstein War and had toured the front lines, where they’d seen the new Prussian breech-loading field guns in action. They’d also asked to visit the Krupp armaments factory in Essen but were told they couldn’t do so in wartime for reasons of security. Instead, they had been invited to lunch with the legendary Alfred Krupp.
‘The size of the place!’ said Yozo, as he remembered bowling through the grounds in a horse-drawn carriage and seeing the vast expanses of lawn, the liveried guards lined up outside the front doors, the cavernous entrance and hallway and the grey-bearded magnate and his buxom wife, Bertha, coming out to greet them. ‘Didn’t Herr Krupp tell us there were three hundred rooms?’
‘I was more nervous than that time we had an audience with the shogun, before we left,’ said Enomoto, chuckling.
‘And that huge high-ceilinged dining room, and all the cutlery,’ said Yozo. ‘I was terrified I’d use the wrong knife and fork.’
He remembered how his heart had sunk as the servants came trooping in, bent under platter after platter laden with enormous sides of meat. Until they’d arrived in the West they’d hardly eaten meat at all – the Japanese diet was mainly fish – and they had had to struggle manfully to show their appreciation of the rich German food. But they’d managed to converse in simple German with the great industrialist and his formidable wife and later with some of his lackeys, and had acquired considerable knowledge of the cannons.
‘So I’m to go on the Kaiten,’ said Yozo, coming back to the present. He grimaced, suddenly realizing there might be a snag. ‘The Commander’s travelling on the Kaiten too, isn’t he? I’m not on the best of terms with him, as you know.’
Enomoto drew himself up and looked at Yozo sharply, no longer his friend but his commanding officer. ‘Commander Yamaguchi and Navy Minister Arai will be in charge of the operation. They’re an excitable pair. I need you there as a steadying influence – and to be my eyes and ears.’
When Yozo went down to the docks that afternoon, he found the seamen already on board, making final checks on the ships and going through their jobs again and again, ensuring everyone knew exactly what they had to do and where they should be.
He paced the Kaiten’s decks, getting to know the feel of the ship. Raised to flagship after the demise of the Kaiyo Maru, she was a paddle steamer with two masts and a funnel, a little smaller than the Kaiyo Maru had been but not by much, and equipped with thirteen of the new Prussian breech-loaders. He went from cannon to cannon, checking that all the parts were in good order, that there was an ample supply of shells and powder, that each man knew his job and that the rifling was not clogged up with lead.
When the three ships steamed out of Hakodate Bay the following day, the weather was mild but the wind was as strong as ever. Huge gusts whipped the waves into billows and it was all the men could do to keep the Kaiten on course as they sailed along, hugging the coast. A few hours into their journey, the Banryu and the Takao started to fall behind and finally the Takao hoisted a signal flag, a red diamond on a white square: ‘Ship disabled. Engine trouble.’ The Banryu had been driven out to sea by the wind and had disappeared from view.
On the Kaiten, the seamen turned and looked and a silence fell across the decks.
‘What now?’ muttered one young fellow. His skin was already leathery but beneath the tan Yozo could see he was not a day over sixteen. ‘They expect us to carry on on our own?’
‘Sure they do,’ grunted another, jerking his head towards the officers standing on the captain’s bridge. ‘Those fellows don’t turn back once they’ve set their minds on something.’
Yozo screwed up his eyes and peered up at the bridge. Captain Koga, the ship’s captain, was there, conferring with the Commander and Navy Minister Arai. A moment later the Commander strode across the deck to where the militia were gathered in their sky-blue coats.
‘Are you with me, lads?’ he shouted. ‘We’ll show the southerners how to take back what’s ours. It’ll be a tough battle but we’ve fought tougher. We’ll give those cowards something to think about!’
One against eight. The odds had worsened quite a bit, Yozo knew, but that only made the men all the more determined. He wished Enomoto were on board. With the Commander in charge there would be no turning back, no matter how great the odds.
At first light next morning, the Kaiten steamed into Miyako Bay, the American flag flying high on her mainmast. Eight great black warships lay there at anchor, bobbing gently on the calm blue water, each far bigger than the tiny ship Yozo was on. Among them the Stonewall lurked, long and low, like a sinister sea monster. Yozo looked at her and felt a stab of foreboding. She was a floating fortress, even more formidable than he remembered. Fast and deadly, ‘like a snake among rabbits’, he thought, remembering how the Dutch sailors he’d known had spoken of the fearsome ironclads.
But there was no life on the ships, no steam coming out of the funnels. Their sails were stowed, and there was not a single sailor at work on the decks. It was like a scene in a painting.
Yozo was relieved to see several ships flying foreign flags in the harbour as well. Maybe their ruse would work. He held his breath as the Kaiten nudged between the ships, heading straight for the Stonewall. Amazingly, no one seemed to pay them the slightest attention.
They were approaching the Stonewall at breakneck speed. Then, at the last moment, the men at the mainmast hauled down the American flag and ran up the flag of Ezo.
‘Banzai!’ the men shouted. ‘Banzai! Banzai!’
By now they were so close that Yozo could see the faces of the men who had rushed out on to the Stonewall’s deck. They were waving and pointing, opening their mouths to shout, though their yells were drowned by the thunder of the Kaiten’s engines. Then, as the Kaiten bore down on them, they scattered and ran.
‘Now!’ Yozo yelled, leaning over the bulwarks and thumping the railing in excitement. All they needed was to give the Stonewall a good blast of cannon fire, then her crew would flee and they’d be able to take her without a fight. He looked around, slapping his fist into his hand in impatience, waiting for the order to fire. But no order came. He cursed aloud. What the hell was the Commander doing?
The next moment there was a deafening crunch and the sound of metal ripping and wood cracking and Yozo was thrown with stunning force halfway across the deck. Around him, sailors and militiamen slammed into masts, cannons and launches. Gasping for breath, he scrambled to his feet and stumbled towards the bow. The Kaiten had smashed headlong into the massive iron hull of the Stonewall and her wooden bow was half stoved in, bristling with shards of torn metal and splinters of wood. Yozo leaned over the mangled bulwark. The bowsprit was entirely destroyed but as far as he could see the damage was above water level. At least she was still seaworthy.
Now at last came the order to fire. Half the men raced to the bulwarks and peppered the Stonewall’s deck with rifle fire. Militia and soldiers scrambled on to the bow, shouting, ‘Let’s g
o! Let’s get ’em!’
Yozo could see at a glance that boarding the Stonewall was going to be far more difficult than they’d thought. In all their planning no one had foreseen that the Stonewall’s deck would be well below the Kaiten’s, added to which the men had to jump from the damaged prow, which meant that only a few could leap at a time. Above the crackle of rifle fire, alarm bells rang out on the Stonewall as southern soldiers burst out of the hatches and charged across her deck, some still pulling on their uniforms. Through the smoke Yozo saw the first group of boarders jump, but the southerners cut them all down before they had a chance to draw their swords or ready their rifles.
Another wave of men jumped, only to fall straight on to the spears and swords of the southerners. Yozo could hear Arai and Captain Koga on the captain’s bridge, yelling, ‘On! On! Board! Board!’ The Commander was striding up and down the deck, his eyes burning, his hair flying, urging the men on.
Yozo ran across the deck from cannon to cannon, checking that the men were all at their places and everything was in good order, then put his hands to his mouth and yelled, ‘Fire!’ There was an enormous boom and a pall of smoke covered the Stonewall’s deck. When it cleared he could see that it was strewn with dead and wounded. Then the Kaiten turned her cannons on the other warships. By now the enemy warships were beginning to return fire. The sky was black with smoke, the sea pocked with falling cannonballs and shot and the air was full of the choking smell of gunpowder.
Shells smashed across the Kaiten’s decks. Men fell silently, eyes glazing; others staggered about with arms or shoulders spurting blood. The young lad who had hung on to the wheel of the Kaiyo Maru so bravely in the storm when they were on their way to Ezo was standing near Yozo. There was a boom and he staggered back, clutching his belly, blood oozing between his fingers. Yozo put his arm around him and held him as he gave a sigh, went limp and slipped to the ground. Another youth stumbled by, half his shoulder blown off. Deafened by the incessant noise, closing his ears to the boom and crackle of gunfire and the screams of the dying men behind him, Yozo focused on doing what he was trained to do – checking on the cannons, helping to load the shells, stepping in to take over whenever a man fell.
The Courtesan and the Samurai Page 14