Toru: Wayfarer Returns (Sakura Steam Series Book 1)

by Stephanie R. Sorensen

  Each cutter was shadowed by Tōru’s underwater ships, prepared to take them out if so commanded. As the boats came ashore and unloaded several hundred Americans, they formed ranks to welcome their Commodore.

  As he boarded his own cutter, the flagship’s guns sounded a 13-gun salute to the Commodore, the charges echoing from the hills to the black ships and back. As the American leader set foot on Japanese soil, the bands’ half dozen drums sounded a long and martial roll to welcome him to shore. The American officers and honor guards lined up in perfect rows to greet their leader as the band struck up a martial tune.

  Behind them on the shore, six thousand of the Shogun’s men and the men of the Hundred Armies stood in equally perfect rows, all fully armored and bearing their daishō swords. Archers held tall bows and pikemen fierce spears. War banners fluttered above them in the stiff morning breeze. Another thousand men from the Hundred Armies stood in formation to one side, their repeating rifles and a few pieces of heavier artillery, prominently placed, clearly visible to the American officers.

  A corps of American marines led the parade to the reception hall a few hundred steps from the shore. One of the bands followed them, along with a group of sailors. Next came two ships boys bearing the President’s letter and the Commodore’s credentials in special fine wooden boxes. Finally came Commodore Perry himself, flanked by two African stewards who served as his bodyguards, their ebony skin swallowing the mid-morning light as they marched impassively behind their Commodore.

  Two ancient brass cannons flanked the door to the reception hall. Commodore Perry and a handful of his officers stepped inside and took a moment to adjust their eyes to the dim light within, a pair of braziers offering the only source of light.

  Inside two elderly men in silk court robes sat on stools, flanked by a dozen kneeling retainers. Tōru was one of kneeling retainers, placed next to the main interpreter, who served to translate Japanese into Dutch. Tōru wore the livery of the Shogun’s house, a necessary subterfuge he found most strange.

  As the Americans entered, the two elderly men rose and bowed deeply in greeting. The translator announced them as princes, since Commodore Perry had demanded high-ranking officials receive his letter. The Japanese knew them to be merely the Governor of Uraga and his fellow Governor of Edo. Important men, but no princes, nor even high-ranking officials in the Shogun’s bakufu. Higher ranking officials had all refused the task rather than take on the filthy shame and disgrace of meeting with the Americans.

  A kneeling retainer ushered Commodore Perry to a red upholstered armchair while his officers stood at attention behind.

  A long silence fell over the room until one of the Japanese interpreters, speaking Dutch, introduced the parties to each other. The American interpreter translated the Dutch into English for the Commodore. Silence fell over the assembly again.

  The Japanese interpreter asked, “Is your Commodore ready to deliver the letter?”

  Commodore Perry beckoned to the two boys bearing the rosewood boxes bound in solid gold locks and hinges.

  They scurried forward, holding aloft the boxes for the inspection by the two Japanese “princes.”

  The African stewards stepped forward to unlatch the boxes and display for the Japanese representatives the two letters. One gave the Commodore Perry’s impressive and lengthy credentials, most of which were rendered incomprehensible by the translation chain.

  The other, more important, was the letter from President Fillmore to the Emperor.

  This was easier for the translators, with its flowery talk of friendship between the two nations and the benefits for both of free trade. A polite request, not a demand, for kind treatment of shipwrecked American sailors was also included, along with requests for access to coaling and supply stations and the exchange of envoys to negotiate a trade treaty. Buried amidst the ornate and courteous language was a request to consider changing Japan’s ancient laws forbidding trade. The President signed off with a cheery “your good friend.”

  While the words were clear enough, though bent and mangled through the tortuous translation, the assembled Japanese were profoundly confused by the juxtaposition of the friendly message with the martial and aggressive manner of the messenger. If he was ambassador for such a would-be friend, why did he fire off his ships’ guns with such enthusiasm? Why disembark for a friendly meeting with hundreds of armed men? Why did he so aggressively and disrespectfully violate their laws by refusing to deliver the letter to Nagasaki as every other foreign power had long agreed to do?

  In return, the Japanese interpreter presented to the American interpreter a lacquered box containing an “imperial receipt” acknowledging receipt of the American letters and promising to deliver them to the “Emperor.” The receipt stated the letters had been received under duress in violation of the ancient laws of Japan demanding that all foreign interaction take place only in Nagasaki through the Dutch. The receipt further explained that an exception had been made in honor of the American president.

  This language the Council had argued over for hours. Factions determined to kill the Americans outright faced off against those who saw this as an opportunity to throw open the country to trade and those who feared any opposition at all would lead to war and the destruction of Edo. All these competing views were distilled down, harmonized and written into the slim imperial receipt.

  The translator droned on with the reading of this peculiar document, concluding finally with, “As this is not a place wherein to negotiate with foreigners, so neither can conferences nor entertainments be held. Therefore, as your letter has been received, you can depart.”

  Perry bristled visibly at the implied command in the message once it had wound its way through the thicket of Japanese to Dutch to English translation. He had clearly heard the voice of the “kill them now” faction involved in the writing of the receipt. Determined to have the last word, he replied, with yet another barely veiled threat.

  “I will be leaving in a few days. As I am sure you have much to discuss within your Government, I will return with the remainder of my fleet next spring for your Government’s answer.”

  The officials present could not hide their shock at the mention of Perry’s return with a larger fleet.

  Perry beckoned again to one of his African stewards, who produced two white flags on short poles that an American officer had carried into the reception hall. He directed his steward to hand them to the Japanese translator.

  “Allow me to explain the use of these flags. In our country, if two parties enter into combat, and one party has no chance of winning, the losing party can hoist these white flags and the other party will cease to fire upon them and accept their honorable surrender.”

  The Japanese translator stared at Perry in dismay.

  Tōru understood Perry’s words perfectly, and the gesture as well. He was insulting and threatening his hosts, all in a simple “peaceful” gesture.

  The Japanese translator struggled to explain the white flags, not because the meaning was unclear, but because the words were so shameful. Not only was the concept of surrender alien, but the clear and unmistakeable threat implied in the presumption the Japanese would have need of such white flags was distasteful on his lips.

  Tōru, who had liked and admired his American hosts during his two years in America, clenched his teeth to hold in the rage rising in his gut as he watched the smiling American Commodore calmly threaten his people. Tōru’s heart abandoned his hopes for peace and joined those who would tear the foreigners to pieces rather than hold back to avoid provoking them. He breathed slowly and deeply, trying to calm the anger nearly blinding him. The Governor of Uraga barely restrained the tears glistening in his eyes as he grasped the message grinding its way through the interpreters.

  After the Japanese translator stammered through an explanation of Perry’s white flags, to thinly disguised rage on the faces of all who understood, he stood and turned to the Americans, repeating his earlier phrase from the
imperial receipt.

  “As the letter has been received, you can depart.”

  The Americans stood, marched in order to their cutters and boarded their black ships, serenaded all the while by their bands.

  The two Japanese “princes” bowed farewell, much more shallowly than they had at first greeting. The Japanese, maintaining perfect order, waited until the Americans had all boarded their ships before relaxing their military posture.

  Tōru stood with other officers on the beach watching the Americans board their ships. He noted grimly the American Commodore had succeeded where he, Tōru, had not.

  No matter whether a man wore the mon of House Shimazu or House Tokugawa, they were all united in their hatred of the arrogant commodore and his veiled threats. Tōzama and fudai lords, the rebellious outer lords and the loyal closely allied Shogunate lords, they stood as one in their desire to defy the Americans and defend the realm.

  The lords who had attended the ceremony joined Tōru in the reception hall. As commanded by Lord Abe, Tōru translated for them, more smoothly this time, the documents the Commodore had delivered. The telegraph carried his translation instantly to Lord Abe and the Shogun in Edo, where other lords waited in attendance in the Shogun’s reception hall.

  The American president’s letter was friendly and courteous enough. The trouble arose from the side letters written by Perry himself, and from the despicable white surrender flags.

  The Governor of Uraga listened as Tōru explained the various documents. He had spent the most time in actual contact with the Americans during the past week, often in a small boat shouting up to the tireless Lieutenant Contee through his interpreter.

  “Which of these is true, Himasaki? The friendliness of the President, or the hostility of the Commodore?”

  Tōru paused before replying. A wrong answer would have major consequences. “Both are true, my lord. The American President seeks trade, and has used respectful and friendly language. I believe his intent to be friendly. This Commodore, however…” Tōru paused to calm himself. “He is a military man. He sees the world divided into enemies and allies. We are not yet allies, and so he chooses to see us as enemies and treat us disrespectfully as such. The American President would not declare war on us, but this man seeks war. Worse, he seeks to provoke us into giving him an excuse for war, so he may defend himself to his President. The white flags…My lords, I cannot know for sure, but I do not believe those were sent by the President. Their…threat…comes from this man Perry alone.”

  The Governor spoke. “The American President sits far away on the other side of the world and this Perry with his black ships is right here. This is our problem.”

  A messenger burst into the reception hall.

  “The Americans are heading north. To Edo. They have broken their word and are moving to attack the capital!”

  CHAPTER 20

  KAMIKAZE

  “Do nothing which is of no use.”

  – Miyamoto Musashi

  “Time for Operation Kamikaze,” said Tōru.

  The lords in attendance nodded agreement. They paused for a moment in the dim light of the reception hall, where the American letters were still lying in their opened rosewood boxes. Lord Abe’s orders were clear. Do not provoke the Americans. Be courteous to the Americans. Give them no cause for war. But do not, under any circumstances, allow them near Edo. Whatever the cost.

  The telegraph operator had transmitted the news of the black ships heading north along the coast toward Edo. Scout ships were heading out from their positions along the coast to cover the American ships and ascertain whether they were merely surveying and mapping or heading north with more aggressive plans in mind. Both were forbidden, but the response might be different.

  Replies were already streaming in over the telegraph. Tōru’s heart was heavy. He genuinely hoped for peace between his people and the Americans he had come to admire and respect during his sojourn in America. He had dreamed of Japan’s energies and resources harnessed to lift up her people, not to fight a war against a powerful and relentless foe. He believed in the innate friendliness of the American people and the possibility of fruitful interactions with them. He longed to end the sakoku policy and not merely because it would render null his death sentence for violating it.

  But Perry’s demeanor had so insulted all who witnessed the exchange that there could be no peace for now, not with Perry as the messenger. Ambassadors could be sent later, to smooth things over, if the fine line between showing strength and shedding blood could be straddled and bloodshed avoided.

  If.

  The Shogun’s generals were in nominal command of the day’s operation, and they stood at the head of their troops and the vastly more numerous troops of the Hundred Armies. Soldiers stood in bristling rows along the wharves and beaches around Edo. Political differences had vanished, for the moment, as soldiers from every han in the realm prepared to defend the capital against the American commodore and his black ships. Today at least they were not Shogun’s men or rebel men, but Japanese men, for the first time in their long history as a realm of many independent hans, loosely bound together by the Shogun’s policies and regulations and firmly united by their rage against the foreign foe.

  The Shogun’s top general was in the reception hall, having played the part of retainer like Tōru, as he had wanted to examine the American warrior with his own eyes. He turned to Tōru.

  “So, fisherman, yes. Unleash the kamikaze Divine Winds.”

  Tōru nodded. The time for revealing the dragon dirigibles had come. The dirigible fleet, now 46 airships strong, had stayed hidden out of sight during the reception ceremony. Their captains and crews were eager to join the fight. The airships and their fighters had been built and trained by the rebel lords. The Shogun had been forced to entrust the first line of defense of the realm to his political enemies. But politics did not matter up in the sky. Not today. The airship captains too were Japanese.

  The general spoke to the telegraph operator. “Give the order. Position them between Edo and the fleet. No firing guns or dropping bombs except on my command.” He turned back to Tōru. “And your underwater ships?”

  “They are standing by. Don’t reveal them unless absolutely necessary. They are the best way to sink the American ships if it comes to that, but…”

  “That will trigger war, a war we cannot yet win. Wakarimashita.”

  The general turned and picked up the despised pair of white flags. Slowly, deliberately, delicately for a hardened man of war and action, as though he were a host formally preparing tea for a most noble guest, he wrapped the flags around their poles and bound them with silk ties.

  He presented them to Tōru with an exaggerated bow.

  “When you find the right moment, shove these down his smokestack.”

  Tōru stood on the shore, waiting for Takamori to pick him up in the Kagoshima Maru. Masuyo had already flown overhead, captaining the Toranosuke Maru. Admiral Jiro as well, at the helm of the Hakudo Maru, leading the front of the emerging V formation. The sight was awe-inspiring, as nearly four dozen airships streamed toward the bay from all directions, converging on the airspace above the black ships. Each hull was painted with terrifying creatures. Every prow bore the face of a dragon or hideous demon.

  Tōru could spot inexperience in some of the newer pilots as their ships wobbled a bit on their flight paths. The formations were not as tight as they should be. He winced as a pair barely avoided a mid-air collision. They only need to intimidate the Americans, not actually battle them he reminded himself, hoping it was true.

  Tōru found it strange that the very place he had feared and avoided since his return from America, the Shogun’s teeming capital, was now the city he would joyfully give his life for if he could save her. In Edo, he had been sentenced to death and imprisoned for months, and forced to escape, pursued by the Shogun’s men.

  Over three long years had passed since his adventure began.

  He had travel
ed far, to Boston and New York and Washington, an exile in an alien land, treated with curiosity and friendliness but never with true acceptance. In America, a keen loneliness had struck him, a loneliness that had not faded when he returned home to his village to find it empty of all who mattered to him. He had thought he had no home any longer, that he was an exile and wayfarer forever, condemned to wander alone. However, at this moment, he knew his home was no longer a small fishing village but a whole nation ruled from a great city, a city he would save.

  The rope ladder dropped near Tōru, pulling him out of his revery as he watched the magnificent airships stream overhead. He grabbed the rope ladder and climbed. The tail of the ladder scudded along the tops of the waves as the Kagoshima Maru headed out over the bay. Exhilaration filled Tōru as he sped just above the waves, rising as he and the airship climbed into the fresh sea air.

  Up here, soaring above the waves with a magnificent view of Japan’s green hills and her tidy towns and villages scattered along the coast, with the capital coming into view, a fierce love rose up in Tōru for all of it. The commoners tending their fields and their shops and their workshops and dancing in their festivals and praying to their local kami and to Lord Buddha. The samurai lined up under banners of the Hundred Armies and the Shogunate, side by side as one army. The soft full waving heads of rice in the terraced fields, heavy now with the summer crop. The mysterious Emperor and his newborn son hidden away in Kyoto, descended in an unbroken line directly from the sun goddess herself, a magnificent lineage his friends in America scoffed at, even as he forgave them for failing to understand the wonder of such a thing. The compassion of Lord Aya, the gruff cheerful courage of Lord Tōmatsu, the fierce insight of Lord Date, the crafty wisdom of young Lord Abe, all these were precious treasures to Tōru. Even the feeble Shogun who had condemned him to die—he too was Tōru’s and part of it all, his Shogun, keeper of the realm’s peace. And Jiro and Takamori and Asano, all fighting by his side. Masuyo too, the takadai no o-hana he could never reach, but only treasure in his heart, floating above him captaining her ship. Even the yearning for his missing mother and his noble father, so far away and distant, even that longing faded into the fierce love burning in him at that moment for all of Japan and every soul in her.