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Authors: Giles Milton

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King Foyne was bemused but untroubled by Cocks’s criticism of his draconian rule. The English became regular visitors to his palace, climbing the long stone staircase accompanied by their “boys”—for it was the custom of the country for “any person of quality, from the highest ranking to the lowest, to be accompanied by a lad who takes his [the man’s] sandals at the entrance.”
The palace itself was a fine wooden structure atop the Tomigake, a rocky hill set back from the town. A decorative map of Hirado, drawn some seven years after the
Clove’
s arrival, depicts it as a large, walled complex of buildings with a roofed gatehouse and a huge inner courtyard. In common with all noble buildings, its lacquered interior was sparsely furnished. Sliding doors led onto cedarwood verandas, which had a panoramic view of the deepwater bay and surrounding pine-clad mountains.
On each visit, Cocks and his men were expected to arrive bearing choice and costly gifts. When Saris first met King Foyne, he had given him rich cloths and trinkets. Cocks took rather more unusual items. He discovered that his lordship had developed a taste for traditional English cooking, especially hearty stews in a thick gravy. His favorite was made with salted meats—“a piece of English beefe, and another of porke, sod with onions and turnips.” Thus began a bizarre exchange: Foyne would present Cocks with local fish—yellowtail, red snapper, shellfish, and crabs—and Cocks would hand over chunks of two-year-old meat, some of which had traveled all the way from England.
King Foyne was a devotee of the tea ceremony, a ritual so bizarre—and of such complexity—that it was quite beyond the
comprehension of Cocks and his men. Inspired by the hermit philosophers of Zen Buddhism, it was intended as a means of contemplating the mysteries of the soul. Padre João Rodrigues described it as “a kind of solitary religion,” which necessitated much physical and mental preparation. King Foyne and his guests would change into pristine robes and shave their heads before starting to sip their soupy green tea, which was believed to have powerful medicinal properties. The leaves were ground to powder and a few spoonfuls placed in a porcelain vessel. Hot water was then added and any lumps broken up with a bamboo whisk. The tea was served in special bowls, but before it could be drunk the guests were obliged to rinse their mouths and hands. Cocks and his men tried this unusual drink, and a couple of them found it to their liking. William Eaton grew quite fond of it, while Richard Wickham sent “jarrs of chawe [tea]” to Hirado on several occasions. But they much preferred more intoxicating beverages and spent many of their evenings glugging wine, eau-de-vie, and locally brewed sake.
The men found themselves socializing more and more with their Dutch counterparts, and there were numerous Anglo-Dutch drinking sessions to keep them merry. Captain Specx returned to Hirado shortly after the departure of the
Clove
and quickly formed a deep and lasting friendship with Richard Cocks. The English soon discovered, as William Adams had done many years earlier, that it paid to remain on good terms with these fellow Europeans. Although there was stiff trading competition between the two nations, they were frequent guests at each other’s factories. Their evening drinking sessions were invariably raucous, with numerous toasts and noisy singing that filled the night air. The evening was usually brought to a close with a tremendous burst of cannonfire, which woke the town’s nervous inhabitants with a series of echoing explosions. “Much ordinance was shot off,” wrote Cocks after one particularly drunken evening, “both at the howse and aboard the shipps.” The next morning, with bleary eyes and
throbbing heads, Cocks and Specx would exchange thank-you letters. These grew increasingly effusive in their compliments and were probably written while the men were still intoxicated. On one occasion, a jovial Specx told Cocks that he was “ready to doe ether me or any other of our English nation any service or pleasure he could.” He was genuinely fond of Cocks and added “that the loving kindness he had received from me in espetiall could never be forgotten whiles he lived, knowing well it came from a good hart.”
Although Adams spent much of his time in his lodgings at Yasuemon’s house, he did accompany the men to parties and festivities at the homes of Hirado’s merchants. Some of these were extremely colorful. The annual Bon festival—the feast of the dead—saw the town bedecked with pennants and candles. “All the streets were hanged with lanterns,” wrote Cocks, “and the pagans vizited their
hotoke
[temples] and places of buriall with lanterns and lamps, inviting their dead frendes to come and eat with them.” The townsfolk spilled into the streets, hoping to meet the souls of their departed loved ones. It made for an extraordinary spectacle: they chatted with imaginary specters and placed food offerings on their graves to help the occupants through the following year. “Then, each one retorned to their howses, having left rice, wine and other viandes at the graves, for dead men to banquet off in their absence.” When they reached their homes, some hurled stones onto their roofs, explaining that this was done to drive away any spirits that were still lingering.
Huge quantities of food and wine were consumed on such occasions, and the inhabitants “did eate and drink … with much mirth and jesting, drinking themselves drunken all or the most parte.” Drunkenness—the men discovered—was a way of life in Japan. Many Japanese saw nothing wrong in drinking themselves into oblivion and would continue with their revelries until there was no one left standing. It was one of the few Japanese customs
that was eagerly adopted by the English and the only one at which they truly excelled.
After the first few months in Hirado, Cocks and his men had every reason to feel pleased with themselves. Adams had given them invaluable advice about their new home and had introduced them to many of the local merchants. He had also been instrumental in helping them create handsome living quarters and buy timber and tiling for necessary repairs. The men had acquired mistresses and servants and were enjoying a far more luxurious life than they could possibly have achieved in England. As they prepared to start trading in earnest, their thoughts turned to whether or not Saris had survived the long journey back to England. It was essential that he had, for they were dependent on him for their first shipload of supplies.
CLASH OF THE SAMURAI
W
HILE RICHARD COCKS and his men were settling into their agreeable new life in Japan, the
Clove
was making speedy progress back to England. She had left Hirado in December 1613 and reached Bantam after just four weeks at sea. Captain Saris had no intention of risking his men’s lives by stopping there for long. After being loaded with pepper and spices, the
Clove
left Java almost immediately, heading for southern Africa’s Table Bay, where victuals and water could be easily acquired. Then, with the wind in his favor, Saris headed north into the Atlantic and arrived in Plymouth at the end of September 1614.
It was customary for vessels returning to England after such a long voyage to make a brief pit stop at one of the ports on the south coast. They would take on board fresh water before heading to London, where the cargo would be unloaded. The merchants of the capital soon learned of the
Clove
’s safe arrival in Plymouth and expected her in London within a few days. But their wait
proved in vain. For more than six weeks the ship remained at anchor, delayed—according to Saris—by tremendous storms, “more tempestuous … and our lives more endangered, than upon the whole voyage.” The East India Company directors were suspicious and believed that Saris had put into port only so that he could unload cargo that he intended to sell for private profit. Their suspicions were increased when they intercepted two secret letters, written by Saris to his brother and cousin, in which he asked them to send “two trustie watermen.” These men, it was supposed, would land Saris’s illicit cargo and sell it on the black market.
The company directors were by now convinced that Saris “had used very greate private trade for himself, and purposed to convey away his goods out of the shipp.” Furious with their captain and anxious to prevent any loss of cargo, they sent two of their agents to Plymouth with orders to board the vessel and prevent any unauthorized deals. They sent a third official to the “postmaster’s house” with orders to intercept Saris’s letters, while a fourth was told to take lodgings in the Starre Inn in Bread Street, a favorite watering hole of many mariners, and pick up hearsay.
Not all of the London merchants approved of these steps. Saris had friends as well as enemies in the East India Company, and they argued that it would be fairer to presume him innocent until more evidence had been gathered. They managed to reverse an order to call Saris immediately to London—an action that would have been tantamount to disgrace—and convinced the directors that it was “fitting to have him kindly used untill some ill carriage of his be certainly knowne.”
But the four officials sent to Plymouth were not recalled, and they soon had information to divulge to the London directors—not about Saris, but about events that had taken place in Japan. Among a parcel of letters deposited at the postmaster’s house was one written by William Adams, which revealed that seven men
had been settled in Hirado and that the “emperour,” Ieyasu, had offered generous trading privileges. The letter also said that Japan was every bit as rich as the old fables had suggested, as well as being a perfect place for repairing ships battered by the long sea voyage. “Here is no want of nothing,” wrote Adams, “for carpenters, timber, planking and iron … [are] so good and as good cheep as is in England.”
Captain Saris did not arrive in London until mid-November, “havinge made his jorney overland from Plymouth.” He was given a mixed reception, for there were many who remained suspicious of his six-week sojourn in Plymouth. But they quickly forgave him when he presented his report on Japan. At a great meeting of the assembled merchants, he gave a detailed account of everything that had occurred during the voyage and led a lively discussion on the goods most valued by the Japanese. He painted a wildly optimistic picture of trade with Japan, feeding his audience with information that they wanted to hear. He told them that broadcloth was particularly in demand—especially in bright colors—and added that the Japanese would pay large sums for baize, linen, and Indian cloth.
This was both misleading and wrong. Cocks had found it almost impossible to sell his cargo of colorful broadcloth and had learned to his cost that Japanese noblemen favored “sad colors”—blacks and browns—for the costumes of their retainers. Saris was also mistaken in informing the London merchants that coarse cloth would sell for more than £6 per yard, a wildly optimistic price, while his list of other highly valued commodities—sugar-candy, soap, and lascivious pictures—was as eccentric as it was incorrect.
Saris had good reason to present the London merchants with such an upbeat assessment of trade with Japan. He was in danger of disgrace and hoped that his report would offer a quick route to rehabilitating his reputation. It also vindicated his decision to found a factory in the country. Satisfied that he had won over his
detractors, he now urged the London merchants to “build upone this slender advise … for it is trewe.”
This is exactly what they intended to do. They were overjoyed to learn of the alleged profitability of the Japanese market and listened with interest to news that the Dutch had recently spent
£
1,500 on repairs to their Hirado factory. The Dutch were known to be cautious in matters of trade; if they were investing large sums in Japan, it could only mean there was a spectacular harvest to be reaped.
The company debated Saris’s report in mid-November 1614, and excitement mounted as the meeting drew to a close. “Where-uppon they, havinge weighed all reasouns … were absolutely of opinion that the place is very hopefull.” They acquired two vessels, the
Advice
and the
Attendant
, and began to procure a cargo.
Saris was delighted by the turn of events. Just a few weeks earlier, he had been under a cloud of suspicion and in danger of being censured. Now, he found himself being feted as a hero. His voyage yielded a 200 percent profit—derived almost entirely from his cargo of spices—and his decision to open a factory in Japan was hailed as forward thinking. All criticism of his conduct as a commander was brushed aside, and the merchants showed little interest in the letters written by the men who had remained in Japan. Cocks, Peacock, and Wickham all offered excellent advice, much of which was in direct contradiction to that brought home by Saris. Cocks’s letter was particularly prescient: it warned that the Japanese were “so addicted to silks that they do not enter into consideration of the benefit of wearing cloth.” He added ominously that “time may alter their minds … [but] in the meantime we must seek out other matters.”
Saris’s honeymoon with the company did not last long. Sir Thomas Smythe had lent the captain a room in his house for the storage of his goods and belongings. Shortly before Christmas, he learned that a large part of these consisted of pornographic books and pictures that Saris had acquired during his travels. When
Smythe informed his fellow merchants of this discovery, they were equally horrified and decreed that these “lascivious bookes and pictures … [were] held to be a greate scandall unto this company, and unbeseeminge their gravity to permitte.”
Smythe was prepared to let the matter rest, although he assured the merchants “of his dislike thereof, the rather for that it was in his howse.” But when he discovered that the erotica had become a source of mirth and that prattlers and gossips were making “derogatory speeches” about it in the London Exchange, he decided on more extreme measures. Angry and upset, he vowed to hold a public burning ceremony—with Saris present—which was intended to show Londoners “that such wicked spectacles are not fostered and mayntayned by any of this company.” On January 10, 1615, Saris’s great collection of pornography was set alight. “And thereupon, in open presense, [Smythe] putt them into the fire, where they continued till they were burnt and turned into smoke.”
 
 
While Saris was making his way back to London, William Adams was growing increasingly impatient with life in Hirado. His lodgings were comfortable enough, and the company of his Japanese friends was agreeable, but he was anxious to return to his estate at Hemi and be reunited with his wife and family. He had already lost one family—his wife and daughter in England. Now, stuck in distant Hirado, he was in danger of losing another. He also needed to tend to the management of his estate. There was the rice harvest to be supervised, and constant, if minor, disputes over land and property had to be resolved. It was almost impossible to be a country landlord when living some 600 miles away.
There was another reason why Adams was anxious to return to Hemi. For more than thirteen years he had awaited with great anticipation the arrival of fellow Englishmen in Japan. Now that they had at long last pitched up in Hirado, he was disappointed to
discover that he had very little in common with them. In one respect, Captain Saris had been absolutely right: Adams felt more at home with his local friends.
As soon as the building works were complete, Adams suggested that Cocks and his men turn their thoughts to trade. The repairs had consumed much of the factory’s cash, while the giving of presents had been a further drain on precious resources. Adams knew that if the men did not start trading immediately, there was a very real chance that the factory would become insolvent.
But trade was not as easy or as straightforward as Cocks had hoped. Each time he entered the warehouse, he was reminded of the fact that his goods were “not very vendibel.” There were fifty pieces of broadcloth, some 6,000 Indian cottons, and 124 elephant tusks. He also had large quantities of pepper, tin, and lead, as well as forty-six barrels of gunpowder and six cannon. He had hoped to dispose of these items with ease, but found that the market was flooded with ivory, there was no demand for broadcloth, and tin was as cheap in Japan as in England. Worse still, the Japanese produced their own cotton cloth and showed no interest in buying Indian imports.
Cocks hoped that the problem was unique to Hirado and that the merchants elsewhere in Japan would be keen to acquire his wares. He had been instructed by Captain Saris to spread his trading tentacles far and wide, founding subfactories and depots right across Japan. This was not going to be easy with only seven men at his disposal, but Adams made suggestions as to how Cocks could capitalize on his limited resources and manpower. It was agreed that he should send William Eaton to Osaka, Richard Wickham to Edo, and the youthful Edmund Sayers to the mountainous island of Tsushima in the Korean Straits. Peacock and Carwarden volunteered to strike even further afield—to Cochinchina or south Vietnam—while Adams himself offered to sail to distant Siam. Nealson was to remain in Hirado with Cocks to hold the fort.
Wickham and Eaton were the first to leave Hirado, bidding farewell to their friends in January 1614. Adams accompanied them on their journey, for his presence was necessary to help them find suitable houses in Edo and Osaka. Cocks, who was increasingly worried at the vast sums of money he had spent on dancing girls, servants, and building works, urged them to sell their cargo as quickly as possible. “Turn all into ready money before any other shipping come out of England,” he wrote with a tone of desperation, “[so] that it cannot be said that we lie still and do nothing but eat and drink.”
The three men paused briefly in Osaka to find lodgings for Eaton, before continuing to Edo, a city of such grandeur that all who came here were impressed. Saris had been astonished by the magnificence of its noble mansions. “[They] made a very glorious appearance to us,” he wrote, “the ridge-tiles and corner-tiles richly gilded, the posts of their doors gilded and varnished.” The wide, neatly swept boulevards were “as broad as any of our streets in England” and also a great deal cleaner. One Spanish visitor remarked wryly that they were “kept so clean that you might well think that nobody ever walks along them.”
The city was divided into different quarters, with areas reserved for cobblers, tinkers, blacksmiths, and tailors. There was a special district for shops selling game birds—partridges, geese, wild duck, cranes, and hens—and another that specialized in rabbits, hares, and wild boar. The fish market was so exotic that foreigners were brought on guided tours. “They sell every kind of salt and freshwater fish you could desire,” wrote the Spaniard Rodrigo de Vivero y Velasco. “Many live fish are kept in tubs full of water so you can buy just what you want.” The fruit market was no less colorful: “it is just as interesting … because in addition to the abundance and variety of fruit, the cleanliness with which the goods are displayed gives the customers an appetite.”
BOOK: Samurai William: The Englishman Who Opened Japan
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