Bloody Sunrise

by Christopher Nicole

  ‘Take over, Tom,’ Nicholas said, and hurried with the boy into the town, afraid even to think. But when he gained the battlements of the castle and looked out at Kagoshima Wan, he gasped.

  ‘What are those ships?’ Saigo demanded, standing with his hands on his hips looking out at the forest of white canvas blocking the exit to the sea. ‘We have never seen ships so big.’

  ‘That, General, is a British battle squadron,’ Nicholas told him.

  Chapter Five – The Guns

  The distance was too great as yet to make out the flags, but Nicholas had no doubt. His stomach seemed to have filled with lead. As he looked more closely, and at last discerned the white ensigns, he thought he could also make out the differing tricolours of France and Holland as well; the European nations were uniting in their determination to punish the people of Satsuma for their effrontery. ‘Lord Shimadzu wishes to speak with you,’ Saigo said.

  Shimadzu was on the upper balcony of the palace, surrounded not only by his lords, but even by his ladies. This day, all were gazing out to sea with tremendous excitement, as the huge spreads of canvas slowly drove the great yellow-and-black hulls into the bay; the gun ports were presently shut, and indeed there was little activity to be seen on deck, but the men, and the powder and the balls, were there, Nicholas knew. Several of the ships had funnels, but none were under steam at the moment. ‘How dare they enter Kagoshima Wan without invitation?’ Shimadzu demanded. ‘Is that not an act of war?’

  ‘Look there!’ Saigo pointed. From the lead vessel of the fleet, now well into the bay where its bottle-neck opened out into the large sheet of sheltered water, a single gun had exploded. It was certainly loaded with a blank cartridge, and intended only as a signal or a warning: the watchers could neither hear the noise nor see the plunge of the shot into the sea – only the puff of white smoke denoted what had happened. Immediately all the ships swung up into the wind, not anchoring, but heaving-to with perfect symmetry, while from the largest of the ships-of-the-line a boat was lowered, and commenced pulling towards the city, the Union Jack flying from her stern, and an equally large white flag from her bow. ‘They are invading us!’ Shimadzu shouted.

  ‘Not so, my lord,’ Nicholas said. ‘That white flag is known as a flag of truce. They are sending you a message.’

  ‘A message?’ Shimadzu was on his feet, gripping the balustrade to stare at the boat. ‘What message can a barbarian send to me, save an insult? Barrett san, sink that boat before it reaches the shore.’

  ‘My Lord!’ Nicholas cried. ‘A flag of truce is an internationally recognised device. Anyone who fires upon such a flag brings upon himself universal condemnation.’

  ‘Bah!’ Shimadzu commented. ‘What care I for this universal condemnation of which you speak? I am Shimadzu of Satsuma, lord of the southern isle. I have commanded you, Barrett san, to fire into that boat and sink it, and then drive away that fleet.’

  ‘My lord . . .’ Nicholas drew a long breath. ‘I cannot do it. Those are my countrymen.’

  ‘They are no longer your countrymen, Barrett. This is your home, now, and these are your countrymen.’

  Nicholas tried another tack, deciding to appeal to commonsense rather than ethics – he suspected that would be more effective with the intensely pragmatic Japanese. ‘My lord, if you fire upon that boat, the fleet will destroy this castle, and it will destroy all Kagoshima. My lord, those are the most powerful ships in the world. Their guns are the most powerful, and they will be served by the best gunners in the world, too. My lord, I beg of you, accept the flag of truce and the message; it can do no harm to learn what they have to say.’

  ‘I will deal with no barbarians,’ Shimadzu shouted. ‘They will be destroyed. You say they are powerful? Then we shall call on our allies. General Saigo, send a messenger north, to Edo, to tell the Shōgun we are being attacked. Send another messenger to Shimonoseki, to inform the Lord Nariaka of Cho-Shu of our situation, and beg him to come to our aid with all the men he can muster. Tell him the sacred soil of Japan is in danger from these barbarians, and that if he ever wishes to look his ancestors in the face he must march to my assistance.’

  Saigo hurried to give the necessary orders. As he passed close to Nicholas, he muttered, ‘Obey the lord, I beg of you, Barrett san, as you value your life.’

  Nicholas refused to give up. ‘My lord,’ he said. ‘There is no way in which the Shōgun can reach you in time to help.’

  Shimadzu smiled, slyly. ‘I know that, Barrett san. And I do not really wish his help. That I have summoned him is all that matters. If he does not at least mobilise against the barbarians he will be disgraced in the eyes of all men of honour.’

  ‘But even the Cho-Shu cannot get here in time,’ Nicholas shouted desperately. ‘And if they could, there is no effective help they could give you. There is no force in all Japan capable of withstanding those ships. You must parley.’

  Shimadzu’s arm came up, the forefinger pointing. ‘I know you, Barrett san, for a scoundrel who would betray the people who saved his life, who gave him shelter in his hour of need. This will not happen. Seize that man!’

  Before either Nicholas or Tom could move, two of the waiting samurai had grasped the midshipman’s arms and dragged him before the daimyo. Nicholas himself had his arms gripped, the revolver torn from his belt; the Japanese ignored his sword – in their eyes it was a useless weapon, but they had learned to respect the revolver. ‘Now, listen well, Barrett san,’ Shimadu said as Tom was forced to his knees before him. ‘You will sink that boat before it reaches the shore. And then you will destroy or drive away that fleet. Because if you do not, this man’s throat will be cut, as will the throat of your wife, and then her belly, and she and her unborn child will together be hurled from these battlements into the sea, where you will join them. Mark me well, Barrett san. Go down to your guns and sink that boat.’

  Nicholas hesitated, gazing at Tom, who gazed back, his eyes wide with discomfort and fear. He knew if it was Tom’s life alone, he might still defy the daimyo. But Sumiko, who had given herself into his keeping, and even more, the child! He could not condemn his wife to a horrible death, his child never to be born. Perhaps it had been fate that had driven him on the rocks off Kyushu. Then was his future here. He could at least hope to survive the coming bombardment, and if the fleet was not resolutely commanded, or, more hopefully, had not been instructed to commence hostilities, he might even drive it away – and there was little chance that the outdated guns of this fort would do any damage or claim any lives. There was no hope at all if he refused to fight the guns. ‘And if I obey you, Lord Shimadzu?’ he asked.

  ‘Fight well, and you and yours will be honoured through all eternity,’ Shimadzu promised. ‘I personally will see that your wife is placed in safety until after the battle.’

  Nicholas looked at Saigo, who had returned from sending his messengers. ‘Haste, Barrett san,’ the general said.

  *

  Nicholas ran down the stairs, followed by the excited samurai. The powder and shot had already been brought up, the guns were waiting. And the cutter was halfway to the shore, dancing gently over the waves; he could even make out the two blue-coated officers seated in the stern. ‘Load,’ he commanded, himself laying the gun. The cutter was within range, but he had no intention of committing murder, and thus aimed to put the shot immediately in front of the boat rather than into it. ‘Fire!’

  The cannon exploded, and a plume of water leapt into the air some thirty feet from the target. Immediately the oars were checked, and then backed, as the two officers conferred, and looked over their shoulders at the ships of the line, seeking instruction. ‘Fire!’ Nicholas commanded the second gun. Another roar, and another plume of water scattered across the seamen. Now a signal gun was fired from the flagship, and the cutter turned and began rowing back as fast as it could. Shouts of ‘Banzai!’ rang out from the watching samurai, and swords and spears were waved in triumph.

  ‘Fire into the fleet!’ S
aigo cried, having joined Nicholas on the battlement. ‘Do not wait. It is war, now.’

  ‘They are still out of effective range of these guns,’ Nicholas told him.

  ‘Will they not come closer?’

  ‘I’m afraid they will.’ Nicholas looked up at the verandahs, at the excited people gathered there, and wondered if they realised that most of them might be living their last few minutes on earth? Then he looked back at the fleet. The cutter having been taken up, the sails were shaken out, and the gunports slowly raised. They intended to bombard. The two Japanese guns had been reloaded, and the entire battery was ready, the gunners expectant. ‘Prepare!’ Nicholas called, trying not to think of what was about to happen. The matches were taken from the tubs, glowing in the light morning breeze. ‘Fire!’

  Kagoshima Castle was shrouded in smoke as the eighteen guns exploded together. Men coughed and cheered at the same time, and high above them the ladies of Shimadzu’s court clapped their hands. Saigo clambered into an embrasure the better to see, as the fleet began to move thorough the water, bringing each mighty war machine about, so that together they could run down before the wind. ‘Bah! They are withdrawing.’

  ‘No,’ Nicholas said. ‘I do not think they are withdrawing, honourable General.’ He looked at white smoke. The entire fleet, eight ships-of-the-line and twelve frigates, disappeared save for their mastheads, as their combined starboard broadsides, some two hundred and fifty cannon, he estimated, exploded together. He never actually heard the noise of the explosions at all. He was picked up by a gigantic hot wind and thrown against the battlements; but these battlements had disappeared into crumbled stone, and he found himself hanging over a sheer precipice, with the sea fifty feet beneath him.

  Desperately he scrambled back over the lip, lay on the ground panting, and gazed at a cannon which had been thrown on its side, the unfired ball rolling away from its muzzle, at the samurai scattered about it, arms and legs and armour a smother of blood. He smelt smoke, and looked up at the palace, hearing now the cheers turning to shrieks of fear, and watched flames leaping from the upper pagodas. The morning was filled with sound, but it only reached him from a great distance: his ears were ringing with faint human cries of terror and misery. The sound he anticipated and feared, the boom of a second broadside, was for the moment absent. But only momentarily. He got to his feet and stared at the men-of-war, and saw that they were again wearing ship, to bring their port guns to bear. As he watched, they completed the manoeuvre, and were again enveloped in white smoke. Desperately he threw himself flat, trying to merge with the ground itself, and was once again enveloped in a wind from hell.

  He tried to think, to make himself do something. He got to his feet again, gazed at the horror which had been the battlements. Those samurai who had survived the two broadsides were sitting or standing in bewildered incomprehension of what had happened; of the eighteen cannon, twelve had been dismounted, and lay, useless lumps of iron, under or over the scattered bodies of their gunners. ‘Barrett san! Barrett san!’

  It was Saigo. The general had lost his helmet and even his samurai swords, and was blackened with powder. He staggered, but otherwise seemed unhurt. Nicholas was actually glad to see him, as he counted Saigo one of the few men in Kagoshima who had any grasp of reality. But he gasped as Saigo seized his arm, and turned him to look at the sheets of flame and smoke that had been Kagoshima. This was destruction on a scale of which not even he, with his experience of the bombardment of Sevastopol and the Taku forts, had any knowledge.

  *

  Nicholas’ thoughts turned immediately to Sumiko, and her unborn child. Shimadzu had promised to send her to safety, but Shimadzu had had no concept of the power he had been challenging, even had he had the time to carry out his word. Nicholas’ house was on the beach; he did not know if it could have survived the bombardment, but he had to get there, and find out.

  ‘Look there!’ Now Saigo pointed back at the bay, and the dozens of boats which had suddenly appeared on it, each pulled by a dozen bluejackets and containing a score of red-jacketed marines, sitting rigidly shoulder to shoulder, their muskets, with bayonets already fixed, held upright between their knees. ‘We must rally our people to resist this invasion.’

  ‘You find some people to rally. I must find my wife,’ Nicholas told him, and ran for the gate. No one attempted to stop him; the entire garrison was too shaken. He had no idea what had happened to Tom, and had to hope and pray that the boy had somehow survived – but Tom would know his first duty was to Sumiko. He ran across the drawbridge, and checked. The boats had already reached the shallows, and men were springing out, forming ranks on the sand. Nicholas could see his house, now, and to his enormous relief could also see that it was undamaged. But he was not going to get there; the men on the beach had both seen him and recognised his tattered uniform.

  ‘Halt there, sir. Halt!’ shouted a marine officer. Nicholas checked and faced them, as they came forward. ‘Why, sir, you must be Lieutenant Nicholas Barrett,’ the marine captain said.

  ‘Why, yes,’ Nicholas said in surprise. ‘How did you know I was here?’

  The captain gave a brief laugh. ‘Oh, we knew you were here, Mr Barrett. Capturing you is one of our prime objectives. And I have that honour. You’ll hand over your sword, sir.’

  ‘I’m afraid I do not understand,’ Nicholas said, as he surrendered the weapon. This fellow could not possibly know he had fired the guns at the flag of truce.

  ‘You are under arrest, sir, on a charge of desertion, to which will be added one of treason. I believe Admiral Kuper means personally to attend to your hanging.’

  *

  Nicholas realised that he had to get his wits under control. He was desperate to learn where Sumiko was, and if she had escaped the bombardment, but it seemed likely that she had, as his house had not been hit. On the other hand, if four of the marines had remained, reluctantly beside him, and were urging him down the beach towards the waiting boats, the rest were uttering tremendous whoops as they charged into the burning city behind their fixed bayonets, clearly intent on destroying anyone and anything they might encounter. His people, he thought bitterly. Once he had been proud of that.

  He stared at the harbour, where the fishing-boats and the trading-junks lay in sinking confusion, many on fire, and then at the burning houses of Kagoshima itself, listening to the moaning wails of the women and children, huddling together, momentarily expecting to be raped and murdered . . . Sumiko might well be amongst them. For the moment the marine officers seemed to have their men in hand, and the women were merely being herded away from the houses and on to the open space of the exercise ground, where they were safe from the flames, but the morning was still young, and the marines had not yet got at the sake.

  Nicholas was thrust down the roadway towards the beach, and brought to a sudden halt as his feet touched sand. Just disembarking from a barge were several officers of obviously high rank, from their cocked hats and the amount of gold braid at the breasts and shoulders of their uniforms. Leading them was a tall, thin-faced man wearing the blue frock coat and white breeches of a British admiral. He carried no sword, but instead a telescope under his arm, which he now waved at the burning citadel. ‘Hot work, eh, gentlemen,’ he remarked. ‘Hot work. What’s this?’ he inquired as he saw Nicholas being marched towards him. ‘I had no idea the Japanese grew to such a size.’

  With his face and hair powder-blackened, and his uniform torn and filthy, it was impossible to make out Nicholas’s nationality at a distance. ‘Begging your pardon, Admiral, sir,’ said the marine sergeant, saluting. ‘This is no Japanese. This is the deserting officer we was told to look out for. Lieutenant Barrett, sir.’

  ‘Taken alive, by God!’ the Admiral cried in delight, and stood before Nicholas. ‘Yes, indeed, he has the look of a scoundrel about him. And he was pretending to be Japanese, eh? Meaning to save his skin, if he could, eh? Well, well. You, sir, are a traitorous rascal, as well as a murdering scoundrel, by al
l reports. I shall have great pleasure in sentencing you. Yes, indeed. Secure him over there, sergeant. We’ll have the court-martial the moment I return from my tour of inspection. Yes, indeed. Let him sweat awhile. And have that fellow Reynolds brought ashore. We’ll do it properly.’

  ‘Reynolds?’ Nicholas cried. ‘You mean Petty Officer Reynolds?’

  ‘Oh, aye,’ the Admiral said. He tapped Nicholas on the chest with his telescope. ‘Can’t have you complaining about a lynching, eh, even if it’s what you deserve. But when I hang a man, I like him to know he’s had a fair trial. Oh, yes, you’ll have a fair trial, Mr Barrett. And then we’ll hang you.’

  *

  ‘You can sit down, sir,’ the sergeant said, kindly enough. ‘For the last time, eh?’ Nicholas sat on the sand, and felt the sweat trickling down his shoulders. It was very hot, as the sun soared above the mountains to the east, and brought a vivid sharpness to the scene. The smoke was rising above Shimadzu’s burning fortress and palace, and from the city as well, contrasting so intensely with the calm of the blue waters of the bay, the quiet peace and power represented by the long line of now anchored warships. But he was perspiring more with the understanding that he was probably in greater danger than at any moment since he had stood before Shimadzu-no-Takanawa to be sentenced, and that there was unlikely to be a Saigo waiting in the wings to come to his rescue.

  He did not even know if Saigo was alive. Although the general had not been killed during the bombardment, he might well, with his Japanese concept of honour, have dashed into the midst of the marines, or simply have committed seppuku, after being defeated. As for Tom . . . And he had no idea how it had happened. It had never occurred to him that any member of Juno’s crew could possibly have survived. That it should have been Reynolds, and that he should somehow have been able to make his way to Edo, and relate some entirely false tale, which had apparently been believed . . . he began to feel an increasing sense of hopelessness as he sat on the sand for upwards of an hour, watching several injured marines being brought down for transportation back to the ships – they seemed to have suffered burns and bruises from falling timbers more than sword cuts – as well as several samurai under guard, and watched, too, more and more men coming ashore.