Tokyo Bay

by Anthony Grey

  All the remaining guards instantly raised their clenched fists in the air and, after selecting half a dozen, Tanaka jumped down from his horse and began to remove his jimbaori and his armour. Two or three minutes later he and the six chosen guards stood ready beside the commandeered norimono, naked except for the borrowed loin-cloths and the towel-turbans which hid their samurai topknots. They watched as the prisoner, dressed now in peasant clothing, was bundled inside the carriage, blindfolded and swathed in bloodied bandages; then, at a command from Tanaka, they bent to hoist the single long carrying-pole onto their shoulders.

  ‘How far from here is the track where Daizo’s men are descending?’ demanded ‘Tanaka, addressing the samurai who had captured the bearer.

  ‘About two ri, O Kami-san.’

  ‘Then lead us there now as fast as possible!’ He turned and motioned to Gotaro and the remaining twenty samurai to follow discreetly. ‘Ride at a distance behind us! We shall try to approach silently through the trees, without being seen.’

  He waved his free arm and, as one man, he and the six disguised samurai broke into a jog-trot, carrying the norimono on their shoulders. Following in the wake of the single mounted warrior, they hurried away into the mist, heading quickly towards the most southerly track leading down to Kurihama.

  44

  As THE SUSQUEHANNA and the Mississippi rounded the jutting headland which had previously concealed Kurihama Bay from American eyes, a sudden hush fell over both ships. The seamen and marines, who had been busying themselves with the preparation of their weapons arid equipment, fell silent and crowded to the open gunports and other vantage points to stare towards the shore. To their astonishment a great mass of Japanese fighting men was already waiting in full view, drawn up in spectacular ranks on the beach along the entire length of the bay.

  Thousands of infantrymen, arc hers, pikemen and lancers, standing motionless and silent on the sands, glared seaward from amongst forests of fluttering feudal banners and pennants. The brightening sun glinted on spears, pikes and the bayonets of brassbound muskets and, all round the margins of the crescent-shaped bay, hundreds of boats filled with armed guards had been anchored in parallel groups to face the American ships. Higher up the beach, partly concealed behind long canvas screens, large bodies of cavalry samurai could be seen moving quietly to and fro on spirited, brightly caparisoned horses.

  A steep valley gorge, walled in with thickly wooded hills, rose abruptly above the beach, and the watching Americans could see that swathes of early morning mist still clung to its gullies and ravines. The steepness of these hills provided a dramatic backdrop, both to the mass of medieval soldiery gathered below and the ceremonial pavilion which was now fully visible at the centre of the bay. Constructed of blue and white canvas, and rising in three pyramid- shaped roofs only a hundred yards or so from the waterline, the pavilion dwarfed the humble houses of the nearby village of Kurihama Like the forts on the heights above Uraga, and the gun emplacements around the bay itself, it was flanked by long canvas screens designed to conceal troop movements, and these too were emblazoned with the imperial Nipponese crest. A temporary wharf jutted into the sea at the mid-point of the bay, built from bags of rice- straw and sand, and a path had been cleared from it to the pavilion’s entrance.

  ‘It truly looks as though we’re being invited to stick our heads in the lion’s mouth, Major Pearsall, don’t you think?’ murmured Samuel Armstrong in amazement as he gazed out at the extraordinary scene from the quarterdeck beside the senior officer of the US Marine Corps, who was preparing to lead the contingent of armed men ashore. ‘All that remains to be seen, surely, is how badly we get bitten.’

  ‘There’s no real cause for alarm, Mr. Armstrong,’ drawled the major, who was scanning the shore through a telescope. ‘Look close and you’ll see their lines are very loose. That means they lack real good order. And their men look squat and effeminate.’ The broad-chested marine officer, who stood ramrod straight and well over six feet tall, lowered his telescope, passed it to the missionary and waved a white-gloved hand proudly towards the spar deck, where junior officers were beginning to marshall together squads of the brawniest men who had been hand-picked for the landing party. ‘Man for man, Mr. Armstrong, we’re much bigger and stronger - and we’re much better disciplined. If this lion tries to bite, we’ll do more than tweak his tail.’

  Armstrong looked through the glass then handed it back, his dubious expression indicating that he did not share the marine officer’s supreme confidence. ‘The feudal past is clashing with the new power of the modern world right before our eyes he said quietly. ‘There’s no telling what repercussions this will have - now or later. I for one will be praying very hard.’

  ‘I trust in the Lord myself, Mr. Armstrong,’ grinned Major Pearsall, tapping the missionary lightly on the shoulder. ‘But I trust also in the steady aim of my men, in their strength and their training.’

  Swinging on his heel he hurried down to the deck below, where some of the chief participants in the landing party were beginning to rehearse their drills, and Armstrong moved nearer to watch. On the assumption that no such men had ever been seen in Japan, two powerful-looking black sailors with broad shoulders and bulging biceps had been chosen by Commodore Perry himself to march at his side as personal bodyguards. Both were nearly seven feet tall, and they gave an ominous impression of strength as they stood stock-still on the main deck, clutching the newest revolving rifles across their chests as well as carrying pistols and cutlasses in their belts.

  Two strapping white seamen, almost as tall, were lined up ahead of them, bearing the United States flag and the commodore’s blue pennant. In between stood two ship’s boys who had been given the ceremonial responsibility of bearing the letters of the American President and the commodore’s credentials. Dressed in new blue and white uniforms identical to those of the seamen, their flushed faces betrayed their excitement as they took up their places, and Armstrong watched two midshipmen enclose the vellum letters carefully in their gilded rosewood boxes, then wrap them in large envelopes of scarlet cloth before handing them to the young sailors.

  The ship’s band was drawn up ahead, and when all were ready the column marched a few dozen practice paces around the deck with Major Pearsall striding between the two black bodyguards in place of the commodore. Perry himself had made no appearance on deck since they had rounded the headland and Armstrong wondered whether this was evidence of his total confidence in the situation, or whether he might have been secretly surveying the heavily guarded beach from some invisible vantage point below decks. These reflections aroused new feelings of apprehension in his mind, and he let his hand fall tentatively to the unfamiliar sword hilt that dangled uncomfortably against his left hip. Whenever he moved, the sword and scabbard seemed to knock clumsily against his leg or the skirt of his blue frockcoat, and with a nervous gesture he adjusted its belt to another position.

  ‘We are about to anchor, Mr. Armstrong,’ said Lieutenant Rice, breaking in on his thoughts suddenly as the Susquehanna began to swing broadside to the beach. ‘The Japanese officials who will guide us ashore are to be piped aboard soon.’

  Armstrong turned to find the flag lieutenant at his shoulder, staring out towards six Japanese boats that had been keeping station with the warships on a parallel course since the moment they weighed anchor. Two of them flew the now familiar black and-white striped flag of the Governor of Uraga, and Armstrong had already identified the governor and his interpreter, Haniwara Tokuma, among the group of sumptuously gowned officials who were visible aboard the leading boat. Their four escort boats flew the same red pennants as other guard craft and, on seeing the great paddle-wheels of the Susquehanna begin to slow down, the oarsmen of all six Japanese boats changed direction abruptly to head towards the flagship’s already lowered gangway.

  ‘Does the commodore wish me to attend at the gangway to greet the Japanese dignitaries?’ asked Armstrong, still fumbling distractedly with his sword. �
��And to entertain them while they are aboard, perhaps?’

  The lieutenant shook his head decisively. ‘No. They will be greeted by my midshipmen. They alone will conduct them to chairs by the taffrail.’ He turned and gestured with one hand towards several seats already in place. ‘It’s the commodore’s wish that nobody shall have any verbal contact with the Japanese entourage on this ship this morning. All communication must take place exclusively ashore:

  “Why’s that, Lieutenant?’ asked Armstrong, raising his eyebrows in surprise. ‘Is he concerned I might try to ask some more awkward questions about Robert Eden?’

  ‘The commodore feels his orders are necessary in view of the delicacy of the moment,’ replied Rice, carefully ignoring the question. ‘Nothing must be allowed to jeopardize the situation now, and strict formality is to be observed by everybody.’

  ‘All this will enable our Japanese guests, no doubt, to watch without interruption while we clear our decks, prime our heavy guns, and run them out towards their shores: said Armstrong “with mild sarcasm. ‘It will help them clearly understand our war readiness.’

  The flag lieutenant allowed himself a half-smile. ‘Yes, Mr. Armstrong, that of course had occurred to us. But after that they won’t be aboard very long. In one minute’s time I shall order a signal to be hoisted summoning all cutters from our sister ships. As soon as they’re assembled, our hosts will be invited to re-embark in their own boats and we’ll follow them in convoy to the beach. You’ll travel in our first boat with Major Pearsall and the commander of the Susquehanna. Commodore Perry will follow the main convoy at a distance in his official barge, accompanied by myself and the commander of the Mississippi.’

  ‘Thank you, Lieutenant,’ said the missionary hesitantly, struggling to hide his dismay at the prospect of approaching the heavily guarded beach in the first boat. ‘It will be an honour.. to be among the first ashore.’

  Noticing that the grey-whiskered missionary was still fiddling agitatedly with his sword belt, the flag lieutenant smiled and gestured towards the main deck, where the drilling of the landing group had just finished. ‘Perhaps you should try to relax a little, Mr. Armstrong. You might even try taking a stroll around the ship to get used to this strange business of walking with a sword at your side. Try it this way.’ The flag lieutenant bent quickly to adjust his belt and scabbard for him, then grinned encouragingly before hurrying off to execute his other orders.

  Because the Japanese boat had already reached the gangway, Armstrong waited on the quarterdeck until the Governor of Uraga and his entourage had been piped aboard. When they were escorted to their appointed seats, he noticed that the governor was more extravagantly garbed than previously in a shimmering gown of multi-coloured silk brocade trimmed with bright yellow velvet. His family crests were embroidered in gold thread on its back and also across the garment’s broad sleeves, inside which he clasped his hands invisibly as he walked. Like his similarly dressed suite of officials, he wore broad silken trousers that hid his feet, and a black-lacquered winged bonnet lent a new gravity to his serious features.

  At his side, Haniwara Tokuma was more sombrely clad in darker robes trimmed at the cuff and hem with a scholar’s official black satin; he wore a softer hat of black silk too, but it was his tense demeanour not the sombreness of his clothing which made Armstrong stare hard at the Japanese interpreter. Noticeably paler in the face than before, even at a distance across the quarterdeck, he seemed to Armstrong to be hunched with tension as he perched uncomfortably on the unfamiliar western chair and, as the minutes ticked by, his evident agitation served to heighten the missionary’s own growing unease. On catching the governor’s eye, Armstrong had bowed low in greeting and was gravely acknowledged in the same fashion, but the interpreter kept his eyes fixed steadfastly on the deck before his feet and never once looked up.

  Even when the urgent drumbeat of ‘general quarters’ was sounded from the spar deck below, and gunnery officers began barking orders to prepare the flagship’s massive sixty-four-pounders for action, Haniwara still did not raise his head. The governor and the rest of his entourage watched with near expressionless faces as the American gunners raced efficiently back and forth, loading, priming and heaving the muzzles of the great wheeled guns out through their firing ports; but through all this the Japanese interpreter continued to gaze unswervingly in front of himself, as though his mind was focused deliberately in another time and place.

  When the commotion subsided to the sudden quiet of the ship’s battle-preparedness, Armstrong found he could no longer stand inactive on the quarterdeck, and he descended quickly to pace back and forth along the spar deck in an effort to quell his own increased uneasiness. He stopped now and again to stare out through a port towards the crowded shore, but felt himself further disturbed by the apparent calm of the assembled Japanese forces. As the time drew nearer for the landing, they seemed, to his anxious eyes, to grow more intent in their determination to resist invasion.

  On a broad stretch of raised ground behind the beach he saw a great throng of civilians had gathered to watch. They seemed to be standing unnaturally still, too, as they peered down towards the landing area, and this sight made him think suddenly of the great Roman amphitheatre where helpless Christians had been cast before ravenous lions under the eyes of the baying crowd. He shivered involuntarily, despite the warmth of the summer morning, and began walking again, finding that he had quickly learned how to hold his sword with one hand so that it did not impede his steps. But when at last he heard the clatter of the Susquehanna’s boats being lowered, and officers began shouting orders for the landing group to embark, he climbed slowly back to the appointed entry port with the greatest reluctance.

  By the time he reached the top of the gangway, the flotilla of fifteen American cutters was bobbing in line alongside the flagship. Most of them were filled with their quotas of blue-jacketed marines and seamen, and the two ship’s bands were already settled in separate craft. The Governor of Uraga had also re-embarked with his suite in the two leading Japanese boats, and soon after Armstrong hurried down into the barge of the Susquehanna’s commander the whole flotilla began to move away towards the shore.

  The Japanese oarsmen, who were stripped to the waist, hissed vigorously at each stroke as was their habit and pulled ahead. Provoked by this challenge, the American sailors began to dip their own oars with greater rapidity in order to keep up, and the long flotilla sped forward across the glittering waters, slipping easily over long tendrils of seaweed that grew close to the surface. As they went, Armstrong noticed that some of the young Americans were staring towards the beaches, their serious faces showing that they too were wondering anxiously how the day might end. Others, however, joked and bantered boisterously with each other to keep up their spirits.

  Although some mist still clung to many of the green ravines above Kurihama, the sun was becoming brilliant over the sea. It dazzled on the white plumes of the marines, gilded the caps and gold braid of the officers more brightly, and flashed on the steel of the many carbines and cutlasses which bristled in each boat. The spray from the fast-moving oars began to whip Armstrong’s face and, despite his deep Christian abhorrence of all forms of warfare, he suddenly felt an illogical surge of exhilaration in his breast. The two bands struck up a cheerful sea-shanty, as if the danger of the Japanese shore batteries opening fire on this aggressive American flotilla was non-existent, and Armstrong let his body relax for the first time that day against the gunwale of the barge. At that moment one of the Susquehanna’s massive cannon exploded with a deep roar that shook the whole bay. A second gun roared a moment later, and the great crowd of Japanese civilians at which Armstrong had been staring began to break up and flee in all directions. A third gun boomed from the flagship and the missionary instinctively ducked lower in the barge, looking fearfully about himself

  ‘Don’t worry, Mr. Armstrong,’ said Major Pearsall affably. ‘It’s just a thirteen-gun salute. The commodore is now leaving his f
lagship.’

  Armstrong straightened sheepishly on his seat and looked back to see that the commander-in-chief of the US Navy squadron was in the act of stepping down into his barge. A resplendent figure wearing a gold-tasselled cocked hat, white gloves, ceremonial sword and his full-dress uniform of blue and gold, he paused and appeared to survey the shore haughtily for a moment, before embarking and taking his seat. The sixty-four-pounders continued to boom deafeningly across the bay as his craft began to respond to its oarsmen, and Armstrong turned back towards the shore to find that the crowds of Japanese civilians were hurrying back to their vantage points above the beach, having quickly realized that the roar of the foreign barbarian guns was merely symbolic, and that no damage or casualties were yet being inflicted.

  None of the thousands of Japanese fighting men ranged along the shores, however, seemed to have moved a muscle. Each line stood as immobile and impassive as before, and he sensed instinctively that he was absorbing a lesson of vital importance about a nation that was still largely a mystery to him. Even the samurai cavalrymen, he noticed, had drawn their horses quietly into line behind the screens, and although a few of the animals shied and bucked briefly on hearing the guns roar, all were being quickly and efficiently quietened by their riders. Even though their lines might not have been as well drawn as a unit of United States marines, the unflinching devotion to duty evident in their stillness was eerily impressive and the missionary-interpreter continued to scan their ranks with apprehensive eyes as the American flotilla sped towards the beach.

  45

  ‘WHAT ARE THOSE guns, O Kami-san?’

  A young samurai, who was racing at Tanaka’s heels through the misty woods above Kurihama, gasped out his question in a startled voice as the Susquehanna’s cannon continued to boom across the unseen waters of the bay below.