1636: Seas of Fortune (43 page)

Lord Matsudaira rolled up the map, and placed it back in its storage cylinder. “So. We have two choices. Start walking, but if we do, we must walk the whole way, mining gear and all. Or trust ourselves to the water once again.”

“Yes, my lord.”

Lord Matsudaira turned to his lieutenant. “Do you have a recommendation?”

“My lord, I do. Let us remember that it does us no good to reach the gold fields, and dig up a bag full of nuggets, if we cannot bring word of our victory back to the shogun. For that we need a ship that can cross the Pacific, and I doubt that this boat the captain has in mind will do. Will it?” The captain waved his hand in front of his face, a sign of negation.

“What I propose is that we send a party overland to Monterey—”

“Enough! I will not go begging to my father-in-law to come and rescue me. That would be a most ignominious end to this adventure; I would sooner commit seppuku here and now!”

The lieutenant kowtowed. “Forgive me for being unclear. I meant that we should split our forces. The miners should be sent by water to the gold fields, as the boat will make it easier to transport the equipment there and the gold back. In the meantime, a land party should be sent to the colony at Monterey, to demand that a new ship be put at your disposal. Didn’t your nephew, the shogun, decree that the grand governor was to give you his full cooperation? You are not begging, you are merely receiving your due.”

“Well.” Lord Matsudaira paused. “Since you put it that way. . . . Yes, that’s reasonable. It will save time if the new ship can be summoned while the miners are en route. How long do you think it will take for the land party to reach Monterey?”

Shigehisa shrugged. “A month? Two months? Three?”

“My lord,” said the captain, “we need to act quickly if we are to salvage as much of the ship’s cargo and timber as we can.”

“Yes, yes, proceed.” The captain hurried off to give orders to the remaining sailors, and Shigehisa summoned the samurai to help with the task.

Lord Matsudaira watched them go. He then went looking for his wife.

* * *

“Iroha-hime, we must talk.”

Iroha and Koya were above the high water mark, collecting wood that was dry enough to burn for the campfires. Some distance above them, two samurai stood guard. So far, no native had been sighted.

“Of course, Husband. How are you feeling? Have you rested at all?”

“My feelings are what you might expect, and I will rest when there is time to do so. Leave us, Koya.” The maid hurried downslope.

“Our party is splitting up. Some to go north to seek out the gold for the shogun, and my true redemption, and some to go south, to Monterey.

“When I invited you to join me on this voyage, I thought that you would have the comforts, albeit limited, of our ship at least until we reached the mouth of the Sacramento, and most likely to where it meets the American River. But now we have no ship, and our largest boat was crushed beyond repair by a falling spar.

“All that the party going to the gold field will have are two small boats. Not even a captain’s launch. There will be no privacy worth mentioning. It is unthinkable for me to permit a woman of your station to travel that way—and my promise to the shogun requires me to lead the party going upriver.”

“But . . . But Tadateru . . . We were separated so long. Are we to be forced apart again? Surely, we have sailcloth to spare; a curtain can be rigged to give Koya and myself what little privacy we need.”

“Privacy is not the only issue . . .” He closed his eyes for a moment. “I am well aware that your father considers my mission to be a challenge to his own authority in New Nippon. I am not confident that your father will send a ship to aid us if you are not present to insist he does. So you must go to Monterey.”

Iroha stood in silence, head downcast. “If I must . . .”

“Iroha-hime, I know I have not always chosen wisely. But a man does not find a place in history by being cautious.

“The wind and wave were not mine to command, and so matters cannot be as either of us would have liked. As your husband, and the commander of this expedition, I could insist you go, but I prefer that you go willingly.”

“I will go. Not willingly, but the padres have taught us that some things are destined to be.”

* * *

Iroha waited until Matsuoka Nagatoki was alone. “Matsuoka-san, may we speak in private, please?”

Iroha had two personal guardsmen; Nagatoki was the older of the two, and thirty years her senior. Seventy years old, he was a veteran of the Wars of Unification. His family had long served the Date clan. When Iroha married Matsudaira Tadateru, he joined that lord’s service. And when Tadateru was disgraced, Nagatoki returned to Date Masamune. He was on board the
Sado Maru
by Date Masamune’s command.

“I am just a poor woman, unschooled in matters of command, but I wonder how, without any beasts of burden, we are to carry all that we will need to reach Monterey safely. Food, water, clothing, weapons, ammunition, and many things I am sure I have not thought of.”

Nagatoki glanced quickly at the dismembered carcass of the
Sado Maru
, then met her gaze. “I do wish we had horses aboard, it would make everything much easier now. But in a ship as small as the
Sado Maru
, it was not possible. And we’d probably have lost them in the shipwreck, anyway.

“Fortunately, this seems to be a bountiful land, and it is not yet winter. With weapons, we can catch fish, and birds, and beasts. And thanks to the advice of our Dutch friends, we have glass beads. They are light and small, and can be traded to the Indians for food.

“But I confess that I am worried about how you and your maid will fare on the journey that faces us. I think we should find a place near here to set up a permanent camp, and just send messengers to Monterey. Perhaps a samurai and a sailor by the coastal route, and two samurai inland.”

Iroha’s eyes widened slightly. “But that would mean splitting our forces further, when we are already weak!”

“Ah, Iroha-hime, you are truly your father’s daughter. Your husband has assigned four of his samurai to stay with us, for your protection; that brings our core fighting force to six. Sending out the messengers would cut our samurai contingent in half. But what else is to be done?”

Iroha brushed back an errant strand of hair. “You know, when I was first married, Lord Matsudaira was named the daimyo of Takada, in Echigo. From time to time, we would visit Niigata, the home of our neighors to the north, the Mizoguchi clan. There, on the great river Shinano, I saw lumbermen steering rafts downstream.”

“I remember the rafts, Iroha-hime.”

“Nagatoki-san, there is plenty of lumber here, at the wreck. Could we build rafts, and pole, or row, or sail them down to the place the map called ‘Alviso,’ at the south end of this San Francisco Bay? It would be warmer there, the messengers going the inland route would only have to travel half as far to reach Monterey, and it would still be accessible by sea. Surely it would be a better place for a permanent camp.”

“That’s . . . that’s an interesting idea. But it was tricky enough getting a small boat around Fort Point. A raft, I fear, would be very difficult to control; even at slack water there could be strong eddies.”

“But if my husband would delay his departure a few days, his boats could be used to ferry the timber and other goods to the shelving beach on the far side of Fort Point, and we could build the rafts there. It is a short distance, perhaps two-tenths of a mile.”

“Yes, I think that’s a good idea. With rafts, we could transport more food, and more goods that could be used for trade, and we would be less tired, too. You should speak to Lord Matsudaira.”

“I was hoping that you would do that. I think he is more likely to accept advice from a warrior of your experience.”

Yerba Buena Cove,

San Francisco Peninsula

Iroha waved goodbye until the two boats carrying Lord Matsudaira Tadateru, his lieutenant Daidoji Shigehisa, Tadateru’s remaining samurai guardsmen, the captain and the first mate of the
Sado Maru
, several sailors, and the miners into the haze that concealed the far shore. Buena Vista Island was visible, at least, and they would keep it on their left side if they could.

She would have been happier if her husband had left her party one of the two surviving ship’s boats. However, he would need to ascend the Sacramento and American rivers to reach the gold fields, and having two boats instead of one might mean the difference between life and death. At least he had allowed those two boats to spend a week ferrying timber and supplies around Fort Point, for use by Iroha’s party, despite his eagerness to head north.

Tadateru had promised to leave a cairn on the Oakland side, to make it clear that he had made the crossing safely. There were several other “checkpoints” where he agreed to leave additional markers, to show his progress. Unless he left a message to the contrary at these sites, Iroha was to ask her father to have a ship waiting for Tadateru at modern Antioch, on Suisun Bay, next summer.

Iroha worried about him. Not just about his body, but his soul. She had heard about his threat to decapitate the captain on the very deck of his ship. And she had seen and heard him threaten others in the days since the shipwreck. A samurai had the right to kill a commoner, of course, but the right was not exercised often.

Iroha had hoped that once they arrived in the New World, the psychic scars of his exile would heal, like a pond thawing out in the spring after being frozen all winter. But now, it seemed that the damage was irreversible, like the charring of a stick of firewood. Iroha prayed that Deusu would relieve his troubled spirit, since he was now beyond Iroha’s reach.

At last, Nagatoki spoke. “I am very sorry, Iroha-hime, but it is time we boarded the rafts.”

South Bay, near modern Alviso, California

There had only been two Dutch-made spyglasses on the
Sado Maru
, Lord Matsudaira’s, and the captain’s. Since the captain had gone with Lord Matsudaira northward, he had—rather grudgingly—given his scope to Hachizaemon, the leader of the sailors who had remained with Iroha-hime.

In due course, Hachizaemon made a discovery. “Matsuoka-san, I think I can see the end of the bay. And there’s an Indian on the shore.”

“Just one?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Armed?”

“He has some kind of bow. But he appears to be watching something. He is not looking our way.”

“He is a hunter perhaps,” Matsuoka suggested. “He waits for some animal to emerge from its burrow. Or to return to it.”

“I will question him!” one of the samurai, Sanada Saburo, announced. “He can tell us where to find food and water.”

How?
Hachizaemon thought.
It’s not as though the Indians speak Japanese.
But since he also thought his head belonged on his shoulders, and not bobbing about in the South Bay, he kept this opinion to himself.

Saburo stepped off the raft and onto what looked like land. It wasn’t land, it wasn’t water; it was something in-between, a mud flat. There were mud flats along much of the shore of San Francisco Bay, but they were especially extensive here. Indeed, the tide was at slack low water, so the real shore was quite far off.

Matsuoka ordered the rafts to hold their position until the samurai reported. Seeing one Indian didn’t mean that in fact there was only one Indian, he told Iroha.

Saburo had made it halfway to shore when he ran into real difficulty. He stepped on a softer patch and suddenly sank several feet. The mud was at waist level and he started flailing about, trying to climb out of this unexpected hole.

That was a bad idea. He found himself several inches deeper in the mud than he had been previously. The mud, in fact, was doing a good imitation of quicksand. The quick movements of his legs and arms created a vacuum in the viscous mud, and the vacuum sucked him down.

Hachizaemon ordered his men to pole the lead raft forward, but they couldn’t move it far enough to reach the encumbered samurai; after a point, given how low the tide was currently, there wasn’t enough water to float the raft.

When the tide rose, that would change, but that would create its own problems. Like drowning Saburo.

From time to time, Hachizaemon looked through his spyglass at the same rocks and trees. Yes, he thought, the water was rising. The question was now whether that rising water would carry the raft within rescue range before it drowned the samurai.

“What is that Indian doing now?” asked Iroha. “Is it some kind of dance?”

Hachizaemon trained the telescope on the native. “I don’t know. He points toward us, he points toward himself, he throws himself flat on his back, and then he moves his arms and legs very slowly.”

“Could he be telling Saburo-san how to save himself from the mud?” She started shouting instructions to the endangered samurai. Whether because her voice was too soft, or because he didn’t trust survival advice from a woman, he ignored her. And sank a few more inches.

Matsuoka had been thinking about Iroha-hime’s interpretation of the Indian’s actions, and at last he decided that she was right. He repeated her advice, but as an order. A stentorian one.

Saburo obeyed, and stopped sinking. Soon, the lead raft was able to draw up to him, and he was pulled on board by his older brother, Jiro.

The sailors, being commoners, did their best to look everywhere except at the bedraggled Saburo. Saburo’s fellow samurai felt no such compunction, and started joking about catching the largest mudfish they had ever seen, a five footer at least.

Oakland, California, and Points North

The crossing of the Bay was uneventful, but when Lord Matsudaira’s party reached the opposite shore, by modern Oakland, they found a vast marsh. They had to proceed some distance inland to find rocks for building the message cairn.

Making their way northward also had its difficulties. Each of the boats carried a single sail, but with the wind coming mostly from the northwest, raising it was fruitless. They had to paddle, and the paddling had to be timed for slack water, or when the tidal currents were in their favor.