Samurai William: The Englishman Who Opened Japan (8 page)

BOOK: Samurai William: The Englishman Who Opened Japan
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Adams had learned his trade as a pilot at a time of great change. For too long, English adventurers had dismissed “unsure science and vayne geometry,” preferring to rely upon the ancient lore of the sea. They knew that storms were preceded by a “great noise or rattling” and that catastrophe was written in the waters of the deep: “The porpisses of the sea go leaping,” wrote one, “[and gulls] do leave the sea and go to dry land.” Many of the manuals and sea logs in use remained rooted in the past and harked back to the homespun wisdom of the sea dog. These were satisfactory for coastal-hugging voyages, whose success depended upon a detailed knowledge of coastlines, reefs, and tidal rips. But oceanic voyages into the unknown required a whole new set of skills. Drake himself had been keenly aware of this and urged trainee pilots to study the science of navigation. So, too, did John Dee, who had helped Sir Rowland and Sir George plan their voyage to the East. He said that the master pilot needed to be an expert in “hydrography, astronomy, astrology and horometry” and added that “the base and foundation of all … [is] arithmeticke and geometrie”.
William Adams was one of the first apprentices to have access
to the new science of navigation. William Bourne’s
A Regiment for the Sea
, published in 1577, had broken new ground by tackling the perils of oceanic voyages. Bourne taught English pilots how to find their latitude using a cross-staff and mariner’s ring, and had even designed a sophisticated half-dial which, he claimed, gave a very approximate reading of longitude. Other recently published manuals included the Dutchman Lucas Waghenaer’s brilliant
Spieghel der Zeervaert
—published in English as
The Mariner’s Mirror
—and the magnificent
Art of Navigation
, translated from Martin Cortes’s Spanish original. This advised pilots on how to keep track of their position during the crossing of uncharted oceans, and it reached a most important conclusion. Cortes wrote that a pilot who understood astronomy and mathematics could sail his ship beyond the horizon, even in the black of night, and “by the certaintie of the arte … knoweth the way where she hath gone.”
It was while Adams was undertaking one of his trading voyages to the shores of Barbary that he heard rumors of secret plans afoot in Rotterdam to dispatch a large fleet to the fabled Spice Islands of the East Indies. Five ships had already been acquired and reluctant crews plucked from the town’s taverns and dungeons. What the expedition’s financiers now needed was a skilled pilot to guide their fleet safely across both the Atlantic and Pacific Oceans. The risks were high, but the potential rewards were enormous. The returning pilot would—if all went according to plan—command a vessel stashed with spice and gold.
Adams did not hesitate. He was now thirty-four years old, and was tiring of trading English woollens with Barbary. He knew that his nationality would be no bar to service with the Dutch, for Englishmen often sailed with Dutch fleets. Nor, it would seem, was he unduly bothered by a prolonged absence from Mrs. Adams and his young daughter. Like so many Elizabethan adventurers, he was desperate to grasp the opportunities of the age and so he
signed on for a voyage that held the prospect of plunder and booty.
In the spring of 1598, Adams packed his sea chest and stepped aboard a vessel bound for Rotterdam. The curve of the Thames prevented any lingering farewells and Limehouse slipped rapidly from view. The wharves receded and the tower of St. Dunstan was lost on the skyline. Soon, a new vista emerged: the open expanse of the sea. By nightfall on the following day, Adams’s little ship would be approaching the low-lying coastline of Holland.
ALL AT SEA
W
ILLIAM ADAMS did not travel alone to Rotterdam. His brother Thomas also signed up for the expedition, along with eleven other adventurers. One of these, Timothy Shotten, had already sailed around the globe, having accompanied Thomas Cavendish on his 1586 voyage. He provided a spur to the little band heading to Holland, for he brought a wealth of information about the faraway lands of the East.
The Dutch organizers of the expedition welcomed Adams and company and were more than willing to offer them employment. They were rather less forthcoming when it came to explaining its purpose. Rotterdam was rife with rumors that the fleet’s financiers had little interest in trade with the East and that talk of spices was merely a cover. Instead, these hard-nosed merchants were said to have instructed their captains to emulate Drake’s spectacular successes in the
Golden Hind
, ransacking Spanish settlements in South America and plundering their stockpiles of gold.
The assembled fleet made a most impressive sight as it rode at anchor in Goereesche Gap, a deep channel of water that linked Rotterdam with the North Sea. There were five ships in total—the
Hoop, Geloof, Liefde, Trouw
, and
Blijde Boodschop
—which an English chronicler of the expedition would later translate (not altogether accurately) as the
Hope, Faith, Love, Fidelity
, and
Merry Messenger.
They were singularly inappropriate names: hope and faith were in short supply, love was nonexistent, and fidelity proved elusive. When the surviving crew of the
Merry Messenger
eventually returned home, they brought tales that would provoke tears and sighs rather than chuckles of laughter.
The admiral of the fleet was Jacques Mahu, a bright young bachelor who was noted for his polite manners. He warmed to Adams and asked him to serve as pilot on his flagship, the
Hoop.
Adams’s brother, meanwhile, was placed on the
Trouw
and the other Englishmen were divided among the vessels.
Adams boarded his ship at the end of June 1598, carrying his prized world map, his brass globe, and his astrolabe and compass. These instruments, together with his knowledge of the night sky, were all he would have to pilot the
Hoop
halfway around the world.
from De Ries van Mahu en de Cordes, Lindschoten Society, 1923
.
The five ships of the Dutch trading fleet were bristling with weaponry; many suspected their real mission was plunder and pillage.
Adams was fortunate that Timothy Shotten was able to give him a firsthand account of each of the two possible routes to the East. Both were fraught with danger. The westerly route, around the southernmost tip of America, involved a long and lonely crossing of the Pacific Ocean. The easterly alternative, around Africa’s southern cape, was scarcely more appealing, as it was notorious for its unpredictable weather. When the English adventurer James Lancaster had attempted this route seven years earlier, his ship had been battered by hurricanes and struck by lightning, with devastating consequences for his crew. “Some were striken blind, others were bruised in their legs and armes, and others in their breasts so that they voided blood two dayes after.”
The expedition’s financiers plumped for the first option, reinforcing speculation that their real goal was Spanish treasure. But reaching that treasure was not going to be easy, as Shotten had discovered in 1586. He and his men had suffered terrible hardships as they entered the southern seas, with the worst of the dangers concentrated in the Straits of Magellan, which linked the Atlantic and Pacific Oceans. They had been buffeted with “contrary windes and most vile and filthie fowle weather, with such raine and vehement stormie windes … that hazarded the best cables and anchors that we had.” Revictualing in this barren land had proved almost impossible. The crew had leaped ashore in search of edible plants, but had instead found themselves face to face with a “great store of savages.” It quickly became apparent that these barbarians were looking at the newcomers with hungry eyes. “They were men-eaters,” reads the account of the voyage, “and fed altogether upon rawe flesh and other filthie foode.”
The primitive condition of the hunter-gatherer tribes of Patagonia had appalled Shotten and company. They fought with stone axes, ate rotting fish, and were “as wilde [as] any wilde beast.” Some were giants with lopsided bones, while others had abnormally shaped limbs and feet. “We took the measure of one of their feet,” wrote one, “and it was eighteen inches long.”
Such wonders lay in the distant future for Adams and his men, and there were many dangers between Rotterdam and Patagonia. The Dutch fleet set sail on the morning of June 24, 1598, slipping westward along the English Channel. “We set saile with five ships … ,” wrote a laconic Adams, “and departed from the coast of England the fifth of July.” The fleet was blessed with fair winds, making rapid progress as it entered the Atlantic Ocean and headed southward toward the Bay of Biscay.
The fleet’s vice admiral, Simon de Cordes, had lured his crews aboard by promising that they would be “furnished with all necessarie provision,” and he was true to his word. His captains proved so extraordinarily generous with food supplies that the crews could scarcely believe their good fortune when they saw the size of the portions. They were given “so large stores of bisket … that they could not eat it, but filled their chests and casks with it.” As the ships approached the shores of North Africa, Simon de Cordes realized that he had been far too generous in the early weeks of the voyage. To rectify matters, he instituted a “bread policy”—which meant that rations were decreased when fresh supplies were available. But the amount of food in the ships’ holds was still woefully inadequate. In mid-August—less than two months after setting sail—rations were slashed to a minimum. Henceforth the men were to receive daily just half a pound of bread, three cups of wine, and a little cooked fish when the weather was calm enough to light the stoves. It was a poor diet for hungry men.
Adams, who had been transferred to the
Liefde
, knew it would be impossible to reach the Straits of Magellan without pausing somewhere in Africa to stock up on water, fruit, and salt. He also knew that this would be extremely dangerous, since Portuguese coastal forts posed a serious obstacle to acquiring victuals. But fresh fruit and clean water were increasingly necessary as the equatorial heat beat down on the hungry and dehydrated crew. “Many of our men fell sicke through the unwholsomenesse of the aire,”
wrote Adams, who had learned from Shotten of the perils of tropical waters. Scurvy and dysentery—the dreaded “blody flux”—became life-threatening when they struck men already weakened by poor diet.
The Cape Verde Islands were a frequent stopping point for vessels heading farther south—the last place to replenish victuals before making for the southern Atlantic. But although these “florishing green” islands were blessed with wild lemon groves and orange trees, they were also infamous for their stagnant and malodorous air. The slave trader Sir Richard Hawkins said they were situated “in one of the most unhealthiest climates of the world.” He added that “in two times that I have been in them … [they] cost us the one halff of our people, with fevers and fluxes of sundry kinds; some shaking, some burning, some partaking of both.”
The islands also happened to be under the control of the Portuguese, who were most unlikely to welcome men who, to their eyes, were
piratas
—and Protestant ones at that. When Jacques Mahu sent a message ashore saying that he came in peace, he was curtly informed by the Portuguese that “they could not believe what the fleet said.” They refused to supply him with water and victuals until the governor—who was away—gave them the order to do so.
Captain van Beuningen of the
Liefde
was incensed and rashly suggested an all-out assault on Praya Island. The other captains concurred with his bold proposal and landed 150 soldiers, ordering them to scale the cliffs and capture the castle. “They marched to the fort … with two flying colours.” It was a dangerous operation, for the bastion was situated on a high bluff of rock with an entrance “so steep that six resolute men might defend it against a thousand.” In the event, the battle was over after just nine or ten shots. The Portuguese garrison ran away and van Beuningen’s men entered the fort in triumph. The victorious Dutchmen fortified the place with “benches, trunks, chairs and pieces of wood.”
Then, confident that they were masters of all they surveyed, they wondered what to do next.
It slowly dawned on them that capturing the fort had not been such a good idea after all. They were now holed up on a desolate mountaintop and were still no closer to acquiring any desperately needed supplies. Indeed, all they had achieved was to further antagonize the Portuguese. Van Beuningen began to realize that he had won a hollow victory and that he had little option but to abandon his hilltop position. Sheepishly, and with considerable embarrassment, his men dismantled their barricades and packed up their cannon. According to an expedition journal, “they thought it was better to capitulate and to obtain by fair means what they wanted.”
from De Ries van Mahu en de Cordes, Lindschoten Society, 1923
.
The crew of the Liefde captured Praya’s clifftop fort (top right) after firing just nine or ten shots. But they lacked food and water, and quickly realized it was a hollow victory.
The Portuguese governor was incensed when he learned about the Dutchmen’s conduct and admonished them for acting
like enemies. He said that “if they had behaved themselves as friends, they might have easily obtained what they descried.” Now, in the heat of his anger, he ordered them to leave the Cape Verde Islands immediately and he moved all his cannon to the shoreline in preparation for an attack. With great reluctance, the Dutch accepted they had no option but to continue their voyage with minimal supplies of food and water.
Adams was furious at the turn of events and was clear in his own mind where the blame lay. “We abode foure and twentie dayes,” he later wrote, “[and] the reason that we abode so long at these islands was that one of the captaines of the fleet made our generall beleeve that at these islands we should find great store of refreshing, as goats and other things.” The failure to revictual was a bitter blow to these sick and hungry men, and their morale was soon to be dealt an even greater blow. On September 22, the
Hoop
raised a flag to summon all the captains on board. The news was indeed grim. The expedition commander, Jacques Mahu, had died of a raging fever, leaving the great fleet leaderless. Captains and sea dogs alike were devastated, for Mahu had been extremely popular. “He was of a mild and sweet temper,” wrote one, “honest, careful, diligent and very kind to the seamen.” His funeral was a solemn affair. “The dead body was laid in a coffin half-filled with rocks, covered with a mourning cloth, carried by the captains from the stern of the ship to the bow, and let into the water with the sad sound of drums, trumpets and the wailing of the bagpipes.” His successor—named in sealed papers—was the vice admiral, Simon de Cordes.
BOOK: Samurai William: The Englishman Who Opened Japan
8.88Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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