1636: Seas of Fortune (36 page)

“In sight of land, yes, if there were no fog. Are fogs not common in your northern waters?” The Japanese captain nodded.

“Then you don’t want to be close to land, I assure you. The island-hopping route, also, takes you even farther north than the shortest path route, to sixty degrees north. And part of the way, you’ll be fighting the Alaska current.”

Masamune spread his hands. “Perhaps it would be prudent to defer the island-hopping and shortest path routes to another time, after we have more experience in the waters in question. For now, Captain Tasman is our
sensei
.”

Tasman bowed in polite acknowledgment. “If I may be permitted a question of my own, Great Lord, why Monterey? It is an open roadstead, and the largest harbor in the world is to the north. San Francisco Bay.”

“And perhaps you are also interested in the gold fields of the Sacramento and San Joaquin River valleys that lie beyond that bay, neh?”

Tasman smiled. “Exploration is an expensive pastime. And so is transporting thousands of people across the world’s greatest ocean.”

Masamune cocked his head. “Consider this, Captain. Which power is the greatest threat to the California endeavor?”

“Spain, of course, they are already in what the Americans called Mexico.”

“Indeed. And there are two reasons that the Spanish might send a force to California in the near future. The first is that they learn about our activities from their spies in Asia. That won’t be easy. The Spanish have been banned from Japan since 1624. We seized the Black Ships of the Portuguese at Nagasaki a few months ago, and so they have heard nothing since then. The
kirishitan
only know that they are going to America, not where. If the Spanish learn of our interest in California, it will be because some Dutchman tells them.”

Tasman stiffened. “My lord, we have fought the Spanish for our independence since 1568. While I do not doubt that the Spanish have spies in our ranks—as of course we do in theirs—only a few of us, the participating ship captains, and senior officials in the Dutch East India Company, are aware of your great adventure. And we have kept secrets before.”

“See that you do so here. The other reason for the Spanish to go to California is that they, too, are tantalized by the stories of the California Gold Rush. They could sail north, never suspecting our intentions, and enter the Bay. If they find us there, what would do?”

“They would blockade the Golden Gate, or fortify it, and then hunt down your settlements,” Tasman admitted.

“Exactly. And that would cut our supply line, and doom us, if we were indeed inside San Francisco Bay.” He paused.

“If we were settled, instead, at Monterey, what is the chance that they would discover us while en route to the Golden Gate?”

“Small.” Tasman ran his finger lightly over the globe. “The California Current comes down the coast, as is marked here, and Sir Francis Drake said that the prevailing winds are from the northwest. The Spanish surely know that, too. Knowing the latitude of the Golden Gate—as they would from the up-timers’ maps—the Spanish, coming from Mexico, would swing well out to sea to avoid the California Current, make their easting above the Golden Gate, and reach it from the north.

“But there is always the possibility that some Manila galleon would put into Monterey Bay for shelter and fresh water. Vizcaino explored it in 1602, and he suggested that the Spanish settle there.”

“A suggestion they ignored for 167 years, yes? And don’t forget, we have taken Manila. There isn’t going to be another galleon coming from Manila to Acapulco.”

“And indeed we Dutch hope to catch the Acapulco galleon that even now is en route to Manila.”

“Well, you have my blessing.” Masamune raised his hand in the
karana mudra
, the gesture of removing obstacles. Tasman didn’t dare tell him that in the Netherlands, raising the little and index fingers, and folding down the middle fingers, had a quite different significance.

Tasman rose and backed out, happy to stretch his legs.

It was a pity he hadn’t had the opportunity to study Masamune’s globe more carefully. If he had, he might have wondered about the etymology of the little island off the southeast tip of Australia . . . the island called Tasmania.

Nortbeastern Pacific Ocean

The sea has many dangers, but the
Ieyasu Maru
had not fallen to any of them. It was acting on secret orders; that after they had been at sea for at least two months, and by dead reckoning had traveled at least one thousand
ri
, they were to work their way north, as the winds permitted, to fifty degrees North—the latitude of Vancouver Island.

The
Ieyasu Maru
was crewed entirely by Japanese. Its captain was Yamada Haruno, a veteran of the shogun’s “Red Seal” trading ships, and the first mate was “Tenjiku” (“India”) Tokubei. Tokubei had gone to sea when he was fifteen, and had traveled twice to India, with the Dutch trader Jan Joosten van Lodensteijn. He had a gift for languages, and for adapting to alien cultures.

Jan Joosten himself had taught Tokubei how to use the
hoekboog
, the double triangle. This was a bit like the Davis quadrant of the English, except the sliding vanes traveled along the sides of triangles, rather than the arcs of circles.

Tokubei had been judging the movement of the sun, as the measurement was supposed to be taken when the sun reached the highest point in its trajectory across the sky—local noon. He had adjusted the two sliders to what he guessed, based on yesterday’s measurement and dead reckoning, the latitude would be. That way he would only need to “fine tune” the sliders, speeding up the process. Which was a good thing, since holding the hoekboog in position could be a bit tiring.

He stood with his back to the sun, adjusted the sight hole slider and the shadow-casting slider until he could see both the horizon and the shadow. This was best done at the end of a roll, when the ship’s motion was least. Then he read off the altitude from the scales.

“I get fifty, on the nose,” he announced.

The captain had been making his own reading. “I’m a bit higher, call it fifty and a quarter.”

“What should we put in the log?”

“Fifty makes more sense, given our progress. Call it fifty.” He raised his voice. “Helmsman, take us due east by the compass.”

“Due east, sir,” the helmsman acknowledged.

Under ideal conditions, Tokubei could determine latitude to within a quarter-degree or so. But that assumed a calm sea, and a clear sky at noon. “Noon,” of course, was simply when the sun was highest in the sky, and was a matter of guesswork. If the ship were heaving about, or the sun was shrouded, the navigational measurement became even more of an exercise in what an up-timer would call “guesstimating.”

If the sun could not be seen at all, you had to find the Pole Star at night. Since it didn’t cast a shadow, you had to use the old forestaff, instead, to make the measurement. Its accuracy deteriorated at high latitudes, because the scale gradations had to be placed closer together.

And if it were overcast both day and night, well, you were in trouble.

* * *

The “First Fleet”—the flotilla of Japanese, Chinese, Dutch and captured Spanish and Portuguese ships that was conveying the
kirishitan
, Date Masamune and some of his retainers, and a small number of hired specialists—had set sail at last. Because of the restrictions on overseas travel of the last few years, the Japanese had only a limited number of ocean-worthy ships. They had built more since Iemitsu’s decision to transport the Christians, and more still had been brought up recently from the Philippines. From captured Manila, long a thorn in the shogun’s back.

The
kirishitan
didn’t have the opportunity to wave goodbye to their homeland. By orders of the
bakufu
, the national authorities, they were to be confined and chained belowdecks until Nippon had vanished below the horizon.

Once that milestone had been passed, they were allowed topside. However, precautions were still taken. These were most extreme on the Dutch and Chinese-operated ships; a wood barrier, with loopholes for guns, had been erected amidships, and the
kirishitan
were required to remain forward of this obstacle. If they pressed against it, they would be met by musket and even cannon fire, several pivot guns having been repositioned for this purpose. If weather conditions required that the sailors come forward, the Christians would be forced back down, no matter how long they had patiently waited for exercise.

On the Japanese ships, the
kirishitan
were allowed more freedom. However, all navigational maps and equipment were kept under lock and key, in a fortified cabin, and they and the navigator himself were guarded at all times by samurai.

It was just as well, for the navigators’ peace of mind, that they did not know that the samurai guards were under orders to kill them if the
kirishitan
seemed likely to take over the ship. Or, for that matter, that the Dutch and Japanese warships of the First Fleet, which had plenty of soldiers on board, had orders to recapture or sink any rebel-controlled ship.

June 1634,

Pacific Ocean

Yamaguchi Takuma bowed politely. “Please, most learned brother of the faith, would you please recite to us from the Catechism?” The other Christians on deck murmured in agreement.

Imamura Yajiro wrested his gaze away from the waves. “Surely there is one on board who is more learned in Christian doctrine than I.”

“There is not,” Takuma assured him. “Indeed, we are astonished by your bravery, that you surrendered yourself to the inquisitors so soon after the edict. None of the
padres or
irmaos
, and you may be our only
dojiko
.” That was a lay catechist, one who had taken vows, but was not ordained. “The rest hide, and wait for word from those here, on this ‘First Fleet,’ that the government’s promises can be trusted.”

“I assured myself that it was God’s will that this Edict come, and took it as a Sign.”

“So will you read to us?”

“I suppose. Please, give me time to collect my thoughts.”

Yajiro pondered the irony of life. He had been, for some years, an
onmitsu—
a Tokugawa spy and agent provocateur, moving among the
kirishitan
as if he were indeed one of them. He was, in fact, a faithful Buddhist.

After the Edict of Exile, his superior had summoned him to a secret meeting. There, he was asked to remain among the
kirishitan
even as they went into exile, and to send reports from time to time on whether they, or the grand governor of New Nippon, posed any threat to the homeland.

His family—his true family—would receive many honors and rewards in recognition of his sacrifice.

So here he was. And he was now not merely a spy, but an up-and-coming religious leader of the New Nippon
kirishitan
. How droll.

He addressed his new congregation. “Since we are creating a new community, I will speak of the Creation.”

He paused and scanned his audience. When he was sure he had their undivided attention, he spoke.

“In the beginning Deusu was worshiped as Lord of Heaven and Earth, and Parent of humankind and all creation. Deusu has two hundred ranks and forty-two forms.” The ranking of deities, and their having a proliferation of forms, was a Buddhist concept. This was one of many respects in which the
kirishitan
understanding of scripture had diverged from Catholic orthodoxy.

“Deusu worked for six days. He divided the light that was originally one, and made the Sun Heaven, and twelve other heavens. He also created the sun, the moon, and the stars, and tens of thousands of angels. The chief of these was Jusuheru, and he had one hundred ranks and thirty-two forms. Deusu also made this world, and put his own flesh and bones into all its elements: earth and water, fire and wind, salt and oil.

“On the seventh day, he blew breath into Adan, the first of men, to whom he gave thirty-three forms.” Thus, the seventh day was not a day of rest. “Deusu also made a woman and called her Ewa.” And so, Eve wasn’t made from Adam’s rib. “He married them and gave them the realm called Koroteru, which had a value of one hundred thousand
koku
. There they bore a son and daughter, Chikoro and Tanho, and went every day to Paradise, the adjacent
han
, to worship Deusu . . .”

He continued his sermon, speaking of the temptation of Ewa by Jusuheru, the eating of the Apple, and the loss of Paradise.

“My friends, we seek now an Earthly Paradise . . .” Moses and the Promised Land might have been an apter parallel, but most of the
kirishitan
had never heard of Moses; he wasn’t in the catechism.

* * *

The
Date Ni-Maru
, the flagship of the First Fleet, plowed through the waters of the North Pacific. There had been no sign of land for many days, but occasionally they were saluted by passing dolphins or seabirds.

Date Chiyo-hime turned to her maid, Mika. “I think I have made my peace with the sea-god.” By which she meant, she wasn’t seasick any longer. “Some exercise is in order.”

They returned to their cabin, and Mika helped Chiyo take off her kimono and put on her
keiko-gi
,
obi
and
hakama
—jacket, belt and divided skirt. The front of the black
hakama
had the traditional five pleats, representing the virtues of loyalty, justice, compassion, honor and respect.

They came back on deck, chatting merrily about Teitoku’s poetry. Chiyo had brought along the anthology,
Enokoshu
, he had written the previous year, and she and Mika had resolved to attempt to write a verse each day. The maid carried a cloth-wrapped bundle, and she laid it down with a sigh of relief.

Chiyo bent down and pulled away the cloth, revealing a
naginata—
a polearm. This was a practice weapon, of solid oak. The real weapon, still in her cabin, had a seven-foot shaft and a two-foot blade, fitted with a wood scabbard, the
saya
. The
naginata
blade was made the same way as the samurai longsword, the katana . . . and it was just as wickedly sharp. The butt of her
naginata
had a spiked
ishizuki
, so it was sheathed in leather.