One guidebook actually published a register of thirty-one rashamen and their foreign patrons, including the following:
Dutch consul “Bosubokusu” [Dirk de Graeff van Polesbroek], a rashamen called Chō
British consul “Kepitan Uisu” [Captain F. H. Vyse], a rashamen called Taka
No. 41, Dutch merchant “Batakui” [P. J. Batteke], a girl called Sekino
No. 70, Dutch merchant “Gabutaimen” [identity unknown], a girl called Kin62
Polesbroek’s mistress is known to have been the twenty-one-year-old daughter of a Japanese merchant by the name of Bunkichi, who lived in Nichōme. Although she was already living with Polesbroek in his official residence in Chōenji temple in Kanagawa, once the new system was implemented, she was required to register with the Gankirō as one of its prostitutes, and she was billed to Polesbroek at the rate of fifteen ryō per month.63
While some writers expressed compassion for the fate of the rashamen, others expressed indignation at the women themselves and the foreign men who patronized them. One masterless samurai, Shimizu Seiichi, attacked and killed two British army officers in November 1864. Under interrogation, he justified his crime in part by referring to a visit he had made to a foreign merchant’s house. Inside the house he had found a beautiful young Japanese woman: “She was richly dressed, as if she were the wife of an official: she greeted us with a friendly smile and did not appear to feel the shamefulness of her position. The servant addressed her with the greatest subserviency and asked permission of the hussy to show me the sleeping room and bath room of the master. When I returned to Yedo in the evening, I thought of all I had seen and my own misery.”64
The women who worked in the Yokohama licensed quarter came mainly from the class of meshimori onna, or “teahouse girls.” Most of them had been sold into prostitution because of the poverty of their families, who were landless villagers, manual laborers, or outcasts. Although little evidence has survived on the lives of these women, some information is available from surviving contracts of prostitutes in the teahouses along Japan’s highways—the places from which most of the women in Miyozaki were brought. For example, in the case of a contract from 1848, a girl called Moto was sold by her father, Senjirō, to an innkeeper named Tōjirō for a four-year term as a prostitute. Senjirō gave as the reason for the sale that he was unable to pay his annual rice tax. The lump-sum payment was fifteen ryō, a relatively high sum (just a few years earlier, at the height of the Tenpō recession, girls were being sold for as little as two ryō). The entire amount was paid up front to Senjirō. Moto would have to work for the entire four years or her father would be sued as a debtor. Although Moto’s age is not stated, surviving records from the same post station indicate that the majority of prostitutes were from eighteen to twenty-four, although some were as young as thirteen.65 In another case, that of a peasant called Shigesaku who sold his twenty-five-year old wife, the contract even included a return clause: if the buyer was not satisfied with his purchase, he had the right to return her within twenty days for a full refund. Many such contracts also contained suicide clauses: if the girl or woman were to commit suicide for any reason, the seller was obliged to return the payment in full.66
One documented case of a Yokohama prostitute is that of Taki. Taki came from a respectable rural family, and at the age of twenty-two she made a good marriage, to a samurai in service to the Kii branch of the Tokugawa family. Taki’s husband worked in the domain’s Edo residence, and the couple lived there for seven years until, for unknown reasons, they divorced. When she returned to her village, she found her father gravely ill and the family sunk into debt. Forced to help her family, she consented to be sold to Tokubei in the Miyozaki licensed quarter. The following year, Taki was a victim of the great fire of November 1866.67
In 1867 William Willis, a doctor attached to the British legation, researched and wrote up a study on the sex trade in Yokohama and Japan more broadly.68 Willis divided Japanese prostitutes into two classes: those who were bought at the age of six to ten and instructed in “such accomplishments and arts as it behoves them to acquire, such as playing music, making poetry, and writing letters, etc.,” and those who were “picked up at different ages” below twenty-five. In either case, prostitutes were considered ready to start servicing men at the age of fifteen. The zengen, or “go-betweens” who arranged the purchase of prostitutes from their families, “are supposed to be respectable persons and their seal a guarantee that the transaction is a fair one and agreeable to the established custom of Japan.”69 According to Willis, the girl’s consent was required in order for the transaction to be recognized as valid, “unless in the case of children where the parent seems to possess right of disposal.” Consent might be given for a number of reasons, but the most common was the poverty of the girl’s family. In Japan, Willis writes, “it not unfrequently [sic] happens that when a man is reduced to poverty his daughter or wife volunteers to sell herself for a term to a brothel, and such an act is looked upon as the highest evidence of filial or conjugal affection.”70 Given the circumstances of their sale and the extensive powers that brothel keepers had over the women they employed, their status amounted to little short of slavery. This was in stark contrast to the glamorous aura of beauty and lighthearted entertainment that the brothels strove to convey.
STUMBLING WITH TRADE
With so many people pouring in and so much national attention focused on Yokohama, it must have felt to Chūemon at times as though he had found his way to the center of the world. Now all he had to do was take advantage of the enormous opportunity that had opened up. By April of 1860 he had his family with him. His period of isolation was over, and his partners in Kōshū were waiting for him to start making money for them.
But how? Chūemon lacked the money to buy the product that the foreigners most wanted: silk thread. For a while, he clung to the idea of the “Kōshū Products Company” that would sell the varied produce of his region. But there were no buyers for grapes, tobacco, cotton cloth, or any of the other products on which they had pinned their hopes. What the foreigners wanted most was gold. And after that, silk and tea.
Forced to improvise, Chūemon began dabbling in a succession of low-value products, many of which were not from Kōshū at all. He scored one early success with eggs, which he was able to buy in Kōshū and resell at a small profit in Yokohama.71 Chūemon also started trading in tea, buying small batches from growers around the Kantō Plain and peddling them to the foreign merchant houses.72 He considered trying again with a small consignment of tobacco, but in the end he decided it was not worth it.73 In January 1862 he submitted a sample of seaweed (kajime) to a foreigner. “If he buys, the deal will be for a total of 434 ryō.” But there is no sign that this deal ever came to fruition.74
Chūemon also began trading Japanese products to the local Japanese community. In early 1861 he began buying dried sardines from Awa province (now Chiba prefecture), used by farmers in the Kantō area for fertilizer.75 Chūemon also hoped to land a commission on a trade in Kōshū-made paper: “Please tell Ichikawa’s Tsujiya that if he wants to sell paper, he is welcome to come here. It seems he is planning to sell four thousand or five thousand ryō worth of merchandise, so even a 2 percent commission would be quite an amount.”76 These commission sales offered a basic livelihood to small-scale merchants like Chūemon. But if he was ever going to make real money, he would need to buy and sell on his own account, and preferably to the foreigners.
An inventory dated December 1861 listed all the trade products Chūemon had registered with the town hall during the course of the previous two years. They included seaweed, dried fish, cotton and silk cloth, tea, sundry imported goods, sweets, lacquer, medicine, vegetables, eggs, salted fish, cocoons, silkworm eggs, tobacco, paper, cotton and silk thread, lumber, cabinetwork, soap for clothes, copper, wax, and foods aimed at foreign buyers. The picture that emerges from this list is of a sort of general store, with a mix of business with foreign buyers, the
Kōshū market, and the local population. Meanwhile a merchant by the name of Mataemon who was subletting some of Chūemon’s space was selling food to the foreign community, specifically chicken and other fresh meats—a detail that, put together with the dried fish and other food products, suggests that Chūemon’s shop must have been quite a pungent place.77
One of the stranger items Chūemon dabbled in was animal bone. On August 29, 1861, he wrote, “A foreigner is buying horse bones. Top-quality bones are 3 bu [$1.50] for 100 kin [132 lbs.].” Chūemon mentioned that a daimyo in Edo was buying up available supplies in order to resell them to this foreigner. He asked his collaborators to send him a shipment if they could.78 It is unclear what the foreign buyer might have planned to use them for: perhaps fertilizer. However, this venture did not go very far. On September 9, Chūemon wrote to his business partners, “The foreigner has left, so no one’s buying them in Yokohama. The daimyo in Edo will still honor any commitments he had made, but after that he will stop. I will share any losses you have on this.”79
Nothing that Chūemon tried his hand at really seemed to work. And in the meantime, the debts began to mount up. From the beginning, Chūemon’s letters were filled with pleas to his son and business partners to advance him more money, to wait longer for payment of debts he owed them, and to borrow money in Kōshū on his behalf. In the early months of 1860, Chūemon wrote repeatedly to Shōjirō asking him to raise money and send it to him: “Did you return to the village safely? Now, you need to let me know if you were able to raise the money I asked for. Even if you weren’t able to raise it all, send what you can as soon as possible. Many customers are coming here, but I have no money for purchases or for transportation, so please send money as soon as you can.”80 Money was available for loan in Yokohama, but “on a loan of fifty ryō the monthly interest is from six to seven ryō, which you could hardly call a good deal. At home, even a so-called high interest rate is only 10 or 20 or at most 30 percent. Please understand this and borrow money even at a high rate.”81 So short of funds was he that Chūemon was forced to sublet the back half of his own shop: “I rented our work area [katte] with all its implements to Shirobei. I, Mother, Naotarō, Seitarō, and three others are all living in the front of the shop.”82
It was customary for men of Chūemon’s class to settle their debts twice a year, at the summer Bon holiday and at the New Year. When the Bon holiday approached in 1860, Chūemon faced the reality that he would once again be unable to repay his creditors. “I’m very sorry that I still can’t send you money. I still haven’t received the income from my tea sales.” Chūemon was acutely aware that he needed to send gifts to his in-laws and the senior branch of his family, as expected at the Bon holiday, but “I haven’t the money … I intend to send the goods as soon as I have the money.”83
In the second half of 1860, things went from bad to worse. Chūemon’s whole family fell sick with a severe skin disease that left them suppurating and bedridden. Chūemon identified the disease as hizen, or scabies: a parasitic mite that burrows into the skin causing irritating rashes. When left untreated, the mites can multiply into the millions, causing thick encrustations over the body. At best, the disease was disfiguring and socially disabling. At worst, especially if combined with other chronic conditions, it could be life threatening.
The disease hit Chūemon and his family as his expenses were relentlessly piling up. After a serious fire had destroyed many merchants’ stocks in January, Chūemon had begun construction of a fireproof storage building, at a cost of seventy ryō. He needed a safe place to store his merchandise: he was holding much of it on commission, and if it was destroyed by fire, he would be held liable. But as the year went on and his entire family fell sick, he struggled more and more to make the payments. Meanwhile he had to find thirty-five ryō to cover his share of the cost of the July Benten festival described in the previous section. And he had to put food on the table.
In August, Chūemon was forced to pawn all his wife’s kimonos just to pay the day-to-day bills.84 This was the low point in his entire experience as a Yokohama merchant. In September, he wrote, “We are all losing our strength … I do realize that I have to work very hard on my end. However, I am suppurating with pus at present and really finding things difficult.”85 Meanwhile, Chūemon’s wife’s illness was reaching a critical stage, to the point that he feared for her life. She was “vomiting everything and … is in pain both day and night.” Chūemon summoned a doctor, who “mixed up some medicine for her, which had an immediate effect.”86 But now he had expensive medical bills to worry about on top of everything else.
In November, Chūemon’s father-in-law became seriously ill in Edo. Etiquette prescribed that Chūemon should send a gift of money to help with expenses and, if the old man became worse, pay him a visit in person. But because of his sickness and his financial worries, Chūemon was unable to meet these obligations. “I am very concerned about the grave sickness of the old gentleman,” he wrote apologetically.
I understand that he will be leaving Edo shortly to return home, and I also understand that you want me to send some money, but, unfortunately, since the summer I have been sick and things have been difficult for me … There is really nothing I can say to excuse myself. I, too, would like to return home, but my wife has been very ill … even to the point that her life has been in danger … I, too, have broken out all over my hands and legs, and I have been unable to attend to my official duties but have been stuck at home lying next to my wife. Naotarō has also erupted all over his feet. The main thing, though, is to take care of my wife. I really want her to return home and was thinking of hiring a traveling chair to do so, but she has broken out all over her backside, so it would be impossible to sit. It is really extremely unfortunate.87
When the old man died a few days later, Chūemon wrote to express his bitter regret. “We very much wanted to return home to see his face one last time, but with my wife gravely ill we simply could not. I wrote to them, but I hope you will convey that message. Although we are grieving, [my wife] was gravely ill. Now at last her life is spared. But even if we were to set off now, it would be too late. There’s really nothing we could have done.” Chūemon added, “As for us, we have been taking medicinal baths since the twelfth, and we seem to be improving. Mother is able to eat two small rice balls at a time. We are unable to go to work in the town hall and remain stuck at home. I am conducting no trade, and I have no money. We are completely stuck as a result of these travails. I know I need to do something, but it is not going to happen immediately, and in the meantime I’m in a bad way.”88 Chūemon entered into some desultory negotiations to either sell or lease his shop, but no serious buyers came forward.
As the end of the year approached, Chūemon once again faced the prospect of being unable to settle his debts. Indeed, he urgently needed his son to borrow more money on his behalf. On December 1, 1860, he wrote,
Your letter of the eighth [Man’en 1/10/8] did not mention whether you had succeeded in raising money. This is extremely important. You cannot abandon your father in this moment of trouble. No matter what other business people have, you must please send money. Our creditors will certainly not lose on their investment in this business. Please think about this carefully and help your gravely ill father in the nick of time … This winter the interest will be payable to our creditors in the village, and this is a grave worry. Here, too, I have had many worries since the spring. Trade has not gone well. All I am able to do is get a small commission on the sale of packages that people bring me, and with prices as low as they are in the current economy, there is no trade. My health problems have just made things worse … You must put your strength into it and come to your father’s aid in his time of need!89
Remarkably, in the midst of these troubles, Chūemon’s mind could still turn to new business opportunities. As the days grew shorter and the nights colder, he had noticed the extremely high price of charcoal in Yokohama. Prices in general were high in Yokoh
ama because of the strong demand for food and other supplies and the relative price insensitivity of the foreign community. In the case of charcoal, there was an additional stimulus from the enormous consumption of the foreigners. A contemporary description of the foreigners’ lifestyles notes that “when winter comes around, they burn large amounts of charcoal or coal in each room, and the smoke exits the house through copper pipes that pass through holes in the roof or walls, without staining the ceilings or the walls in the least. It is as warm as though it were the third or fourth month [April or May in the Western calendar].”90
On December 16, 1860, Chūemon wrote to Shōjirō,
In Yokohama the price of charcoal is above 400 mon [$0.08] for a 3-kan [25.5 lbs.] bag. In the Kawauchi region [of Kōshū] you can get a 6-kan bag for under 200 mon … It seems that Sadaemon in Minobu is the biggest charcoal trader in Kōshū. He sends charcoal to Edo all year long. I would like you to use this man’s price as a reference and talk to Nanbuya in Minobu, as well as others. I would like to send charcoal to Yokohama. If we can negotiate this successfully, then we can buy Minobu charcoal at 6 kan for 200 mon, add 200 mon for transportation, and then sell that same bag for more than 700 mon. That’s the current price among townsmen. The foreigners pay even more.91
Of course, the problem was—as always—lack of funds. After four months of sickness and discomfort, Chūemon’s skin disease had finally improved to the point where “I have been able to sit up for the past four or five days, and Naotarō is almost completely recovered. Seitarō has it on his hands, but he is still able to play on his own. Mother has been able to go to the bathroom on her own these past ten days, and she is eating a little better. At this point there is no worry at all for her life. As I mentioned, my real problem is money.”92 Chūemon was determined to put all his effort into raising money, come what may. “No matter how difficult it may be, you must succeed in raising some money on this occasion and send it to Yokohama. I have put my house and land up as security for a loan, but still I need you to send forty or fifty ryō. If we can just pull through this, we will be safe … The storehouse is now complete—it cost seventy ryō. Then there was the cost of the doctor and medicine and many other expenses. Hence we have come to this situation. Please consult well with our relations and send money.”93
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