by Anthony Grey
‘Try to look as though you’re enjoying it, Mr. Armstrong,’ remarked the commander in a jocular undertone as the bands struck up a new march. ‘It’s unlikely that you’ll experience anything like this ever again.’
The missionary nodded quickly but made no reply. Ahead of him, filling his vision, were the broad, confident shoulders of Matthew Calbraith Perry; beyond him, the massed white plumes of the marines moved rhythmically as the tempo of the music increased and every marcher, relieved to be ashore after many long days at sea, swung his limbs with renewed vigour. Feeling the raw, pent-up energy of trained fighting men flowing all around him, Armstrong lifted his head and quickened his own step. But although he marched with his eyes open, he had begun to say. a fervent prayer inside his mind, and he went on praying hard as the armed column swung across the beach in a broad arc, heading towards the pavilion.
‘Keep very still and make no noise,’ hissed Prince Tanaka, pressing himself deeper into a thicket of low spreading trees and bushes that sprouted from the side of the winding ravine. ‘We won’t have long to wait!’
His bare chest heaved from the intense physical effort of scrambling halfway down the ravine at the front end of the norimono, which was now concealed beneath the trees. His six disguised bearers, who were crouching closely around him in the thicket, were also gulping air gratefully into their lungs after their fast run with the cumbersome carrying-chair and a desperate, slithering descent of the near- precipitous slope. Once they reached the thicket they had quickly torn branches from some of the bushes to camouflage the norimono, and now all were staring anxiously through the mist towards the track which zigzagged downwards in a double hairpin through a narrow, rocky defile no less than twenty feet below them.
‘By running straight, instead of following the curves of the ravine, we may have gained two or three minutes on them: gasped Tanaka, staring fixedly at the rock around which he expected the Makabe armed column to appear. ‘But it can’t be more.’
Now that they had stopped running, they could hear the insistent thud of drums, and the stirring martial strains of the two American bands, rising from the beach. In the still morning air the noise from the unfamiliar instruments rang strangely in their ears, and they looked at one another mystified as they waited.
‘The foreign barbarians have certainly landed now,’ whispered Tanaka. ‘There’s very little time left!’
He glanced up over his shoulder to a high outcrop of rock above them where he had stationed the samurai who had acted as their guide. Lying prone amidst the scrub on top of the rock, the man had a bird’s-eye view of both the narrow defile below and the following hairpin bends that led on towards the fork in the track above Kurihama. Around those double bends Gotaro and the rest of his troop of Kago guards had concealed themselves in another clump of trees that jutted from the steep slope. They had tethered their horses a safe distance away above the ravine, and were now waiting tensely for a signal that the men of the Makabe clan had come in sight.
‘We shall have very little time to do what is necessary,’ murmured Tanaka, lifting his hand towards the rock in a prearranged signal to indicate that both the norimono and his men were ready. ‘So our actions must be calm and natural in every way.’
He continued to watch until he saw the samurai lookout raise his head briefly above the edge of the rock and wave once in acknowledgement of the signal. The mist around the heights, Tanaka noticed, was beginning to disperse more rapidly, and he turned back to watch the track below, hoping desperately that the sun would not break through too soon. Across the entire hillside the natural noises of the morning remained muted; no birds sang and no animals moved among the trees. The curious marching music from the bay remained the only intrusion on the strange stillness, and Tanaka and his loin-clothed samurai strained their ears in vain for some sign that the Makabe warriors were approaching.
‘Could they have taken another route we don’t know about, O Kami-san?’ whispered the youngest samurai, who was crouched beside him. ‘Could we have missed an earlier fork?’
Tanaka shook his head decisively, glancing up again towards the overhanging rock. ‘Our lookout knows the region well. He’s certain there is no other junction...’
A loud, long-drawn-out groan of anguish broke the stillness suddenly close at hand, causing them to start and, on realizing its source, Tanaka gestured for the door of the norimono to be opened. When the young samurai hurriedly obeyed, they found that the terrified captive lying inside had somehow loosened the binding around his mouth; his head rolled agitatedly from side to side, his eyes were wild and staring, and he was moaning uncontrollably.
‘Silence him!’ commanded Tanaka. ‘Refasten the gag securely - and make it clear he’ll die immediately if he makes another sound!’
The young warrior grunted menacingly, drawing the short sword he had concealed inside his loincloth. Kneeling roughly on the captive’s chest, he held the blade to his throat while a second samurai retied the gag tightly. After muttering fierce warnings in his ear and checking his other bonds, they closed the door of the norimono again. As they did so, the leading horseman of Lord Daizo’s armed contingent moved into view at the head of the rocky defile forty yards away.
‘Wait for my command; breathed Tanaka, watching Yakamochi and his guards advance towards the sharp bend directly beneath their hiding place. ‘And keep low’
The lingering mist was still sufficient to blur the faces of the riders until they came close, but Tanaka could see the dampness of the morning air glistening on the forehead and topknot of Yakamochi as he swung his horse sharply below them and began riding away towards the next turn.
‘Get ready!’
Tanaka mouthed the words in less than a whisper as the last of the leading group of samurai turned the corner below them and the black norimono came into sight. Its bearers were still moving comfortably twenty or thirty yards behind the vanguard, and Tanaka noted that they trotted in the same formation as before: the two biggest men supported the front and rear ends of the carrying-pole, two slighter men were running in between them, and two others were jogging empty-handed in reserve.
‘Note their positions and their bearing,’ Tanaka hissed urgently as they bobbed nearer. ‘Be ready to imitate their movements exactly
Holding his breath, Tanaka watched intently to see if the Makabe guards following the carrying chair had moved any closer; but by the time the norimono was turning below their hiding place, the track behind it was still empty.
‘Take the front and rear positions,’ he commanded, pointing at his two brawniest bearers. ‘You and I will fill the support places,’ he added quickly, turning to the youngest samurai. ‘Now let’s uncover the chair!’
In an instant the branches and foliage were tugged aside, and laid carefully on the ground where they would attract no attention from below. As soon as this was done, Tanaka motioned for the conveyance to be raised but he delayed his final order as he watched the Makabe norimono move slowly away from them towards the next bend in the defile. At any second, he knew, the following group of guards could appear - but he also feared that if he moved too soon and too noisily the bearers themselves would turn round and all would be lost. Forcing himself to remain calm although his heart was pounding in his chest, Tanaka waited until the softly chanting Makabe bearers were some fifteen yards distant, then lifted his arm suddenly towards the rock high above them in a final signal.
‘Now! Forward!’
Taking his place under the carrying-pole, he urged his men out of the trees and down the nearly vertical incline. They slipped and slithered under the weight of their swaying burden, clutching wildly with their free hands at the long grass and bushes in an attempt to slow their descent. To Tanaka they seemed to slide with an agonizing slowness over the intervening twenty feet, and all the time his eyes flicked back and forth towards the projecting rock around which the Makabe rearguard was about to appear.
Stones and dirt cascaded all around them as th
ey descended, and one bearer fell and slid painfully down to the track on his back. Tanaka feared their noise might betray them, even if they were not seen, but they reached level ground moments later and to his great relief the bearers of the Makabe norimono went on jogging obliviously forward until they went out of sight around the turning ahead. Catching a fleeting glimpse of the first horse of the rearguard moving into view through the mist behind them, Tanaka quickly helped the fallen bearer to his feet and rushed their own chair onwards a few paces, until it was concealed by the rocks of the bend. Once they had steadied themselves, however, and were moving safely along the centre of the track, he slowed the pace.
‘Go very easily now,’ he hissed. ‘Run exactly as you saw the others running - but even slower. It’s important we should be seen soon by the guards behind.’
They rounded another sharp bend, to find that the norimono was still in sight, and they watched on tenterhooks until once again it disappeared along the winding track. Glancing up towards the high rock, Tanaka saw his lookout signalling to indicate that they had succeeded in entering the column without causing any evident alarm - but he was also making urgent gestures for them to move less quickly, and Tanaka acknowledged this with a quick hand signal of his own.
‘Slow right down,’ he ordered sharply, dropping to little more than walking pace. ‘We’re approaching the area where the track forks - where Gotaro and our guards are lying in wait! We’ll only have seconds to act. . So we must hold back the warriors behind us...,
Within a few moments the Makabe rearguard came into sight behind them, and Tanaka braced himself for an outburst of shouting that would signal the discovery of their deception. All around him the faces of his men became tense as they lowered their heads and concentrated hard on imitating the lolloping gait of the real bearers. Moving more ponderously, they slowed the rhythmic ‘Yo-ho, yo-ho, yo-ho’ pacing chant to less than half speed, and from their expressions Tanaka could see that they were intensely aware of the eyes of Yakamochi’s samurai boring into their backs.
‘Try to keep your nerve now!’ he commanded tersely as they approached yet another sharp bend. ‘In the mist they won’t notice any difference.’
They could hear the casual mutter of the following guards’ voices growing in volume as they drew closer, but still no alarm was raised and Tanaka murmured urgent new words of encouragement to his men. Glancing up towards the lookout, Tanaka saw him signal decisively with two raised hands towards the place where the Kago samurai were concealed. As ordered, he had judged from his vantage point which moment would be most favourable for them to go into action, and Tanaka knew that within seconds Gotaro and the others would hurl themselves from their hiding place into the ravine. Seeing that he and his bearers were approaching a bend which would hide them briefly from the eyes of the enemy guards behind them, he signalled surreptitiously to one of the reserve runners to prepare to take over from him.
‘Hold this pace for another half minute,’ he commanded. ‘Then speed up. If all goes well and you reach the fork without being recognized, make sure you follow Yakamochi to the left - down towards the bay!’
The moment they rounded the bend and were hidden temporarily from the eyes of the following guards, Tanaka ducked away from beneath the carrying-pole.
‘You’ve all done well,’ he whispered fiercely, looking at each man in turn. ‘Play your roles as long as you can. When you’re discovered, fight to the death
- or flee for your life! Each of you is free to choose!’ After glancing back quickly, to ensure that they
were still unobserved, Tanaka dashed away at full speed and within seconds disappeared beyond the next curve in the track.
At first sight Samuel Armstrong thought that two life-sized effigies had been set up beside the scarlet chest at the far end of the ceremonial pavilion. Already formally seated on the stools of decorated porcelain, the two imperial delegates held their straight-backed postures uncompromisingly in the manner of lifeless statues as Commodore Matthew Perry and his three-hundred-strong escort marched jauntily towards the pavilion’s entrance, with bands playing and colours flying. The inside of the pavilion was shadowy in contrast to the sin1it beach but the shaven pates and oiled topknots of the two delegates earned softly in the penumbra.
Both the high officials were wearing wide, stiff- shouldered jackets of rich brocade, bound with brown sashes from which twin swords jutted; flowing trousers of purple silk almost hid their black- lacquered clogs, and their respective clan insignia were embroidered in brilliant colours on wide sleeves inside which their hands lay concealed. Their narrow eyes were focused unseeingly in the middle distance, as though nothing of interest was visible before them and, like the eyes of stone statues, they remained blank and unblinking even after the parade had come to a brisk halt before the entry vestibule.
The moment the marchers halted, the bands also ceased to play, and another dramatic hush fell over the beach. The thousands of armed men and the watching civilians seemed to hold their breath again, unsure of what might follow. The turbaned sentries around the pavilion entrance gazed uncertainly at the first foreign barbarians they had ever seen close up - but none of them moved.
As the parade drew nearer, Armstrong had noticed that the governor and Haniwara Tokuma were waiting diplomatically beside the entrance. Because he was under scrutiny from so many eyes, the interpreter appeared to be making an effort to disguise his earlier unease, and he stood straighter, gazing expressionlessly ahead. But at close quarters his pale nervousness was still evident to the missionary and inside his mind Armstrong suddenly heard again the anguished warning that the Japanese had muttered aboard the Susquehanna during their last private conversation - ‘You should stop . . . There’s greater danger than you realize!’
The memory brought Armstrong’s own growing agitation to a sudden peak and acting on an impulse of the moment, he stepped forward and bowed elaborately, first to the governor, then to his interpreter.
‘Perhaps Your Excellency would wish now to inform us of what formalities are planned,’ he said deferentially in Japanese. ‘We can then endeavour to help things proceed as smoothly as possible.’
‘There’s no need for any prior explanation,’ replied the governor. He nodded towards the carved wooden funeral thrones that had been set up to the right of the scarlet chest. ‘I am about to lead your admiral and his officers to their seats.’
‘And thereafter?’ Armstrong turned his head to look at the interpreter, trying to indicate by the intensity of his glance that he wished to exchange a few private words with him. ‘What procedures will be followed?’
‘It will become clear,’ replied the governor impatiently, beginning to move up the steps leading into the pavilion. ‘We shall indicate how and when your letters should be presented. An imperial receipt will be offered - but no discussions of any kind can take place. Let us now take up our places.’
Turning quickly, Armstrong explained this exchange to Lieutenant Rice, then watched Commodore Perry, the two frigate commanders and the flag lieutenant follow the governor up onto the red carpet that led through the vestibule to the inner chamber. The Japanese interpreter began to move forward at the same time, but Armstrong surreptitiously tugged at one of his sleeves and with a gracious gesture beckoned another group of American officers to proceed ahead of them.
‘Confide in me, please, Haniwara-san!’ whispered the missionary urgently, falling into step beside him but speaking Dutch this time so nobody around them would understand. ‘You can trust me. I know we’re all in great danger. I promise I’ll help, if it’s in my power.’
The diminutive Japanese interpreter walked in a dogged silence for a few paces, his gaze fixed dully on the carpet. ‘How can anybody help?’ he whispered at last, without looking up. ‘It’s too late.’
‘You and I are both men of goodwill,’ insisted Armstrong. ‘It’s our human duty to act together for peace!’
Glancing ahead, the missionary saw that they
were approaching the high-ceilinged inner chamber where the walls were decked with long silken drapes and giant mural paintings. As the American officers moved to take up their places around the Buddhist funeral thrones, from the opposite side of the pavilion groups of topknotted Japanese nobles and officials were entering. All wore twin swords and one by one they ranged themselves along the wail, kneeling, in support of the still motionless imperial delegates.
‘Your officer Eden has been captured,’ whispered the interpreter. He looked up quickly, and the missionary saw from his haunted expression that fear had suddenly overcome his native caution and reserve.
‘Then he’s alive!’ exclaimed Armstrong, feeling a surge of elation. ‘Where is he now?’
‘Not far away: whispered Haniwara frantically. ‘But one of our most hostile daimyo is bringing him here in chains. When he arrives, nobody will be able to stop the killing.
Before Armstrong could reply, there was a sudden stir in the pavilion, and the procession in which they were moving halted. Armstrong looked ahead to see the two imperial delegates rising stiffly from their stools. Without focusing their gaze on anyone in particular, they bent forward from the waist in deep, formal bows to acknowledge the arrival of the American commander-in-chief. The governor, who had stepped to one side, prostrated himself on the red carpet facing the two imperial delegates and pressed his forehead against the floor for several seconds. Commodore Matthew Calbraith Perry however, barely disturbed the elegant gold tassels of his chapeau, as he lowered his chin a mere few inches in response.
A flurry of hostile whispering broke out among the watching Japanese and there were murmured comments too among the American officers as they moved to take up their places. At Armstrong’s side the Japanese interpreter had prostrated himself in the fashion of his superior and the missionary had to wait until he had risen before moving forward alongside him again.