Tokyo Bay (44 page)

l
braith Perry however, barely disturbed the elegant gold tassels of his chapeau, as he lowered his chin a mere few inches in response.
A flurry of hostile whispering broke out among the watching Japanese and there were murmured comments too among the American officers as they moved to take up their places. At Armstrong’s side the Japanese interpreter had prostrated himself in the fashion of his superior and the missionary had to wait until he had risen before moving forward alongside him again.
‘Is the
daimyo
you spoke of present, Haniwara
-
san?’ he asked quietly, casting his eye quickly over the groups of nobles now assembled along one side of the pavilion.
‘Yes replied the interpreter in a frightened whisper, staring again at the floor. ‘But you can say nothing of this. He has taken my wife and children hostage, to ensure my compliance with his orders... They will be killed if I don’t obey him. ..‘
All the Japanese nobles were staring grimly at the arriving foreigners but Armstrong encountered for a fleeting moment the deeply malevolent individual gaze of Lord Daizo, who was standing apart from the others close to the entrance of the pavilion. His narrow eyes were focused chillingly on the two of them, and Armstrong knew that he had instinctively identified Haniwara’s tormentor.
‘What are your orders?’ asked Armstrong in a frantic last whisper, as they mounted the steps to the inner chamber and prepared to separate to their respective sides. ‘What must you do?’
‘For defensive reasons armed warriors are stationed in hiding here: murmured the interpreter. ‘To save the lives of my family I must give them a secret signal to attack. .
He broke off abruptly on seeing that the American officers in front, who had been shielding them from the gaze of the imperial delegates, were moving aside. Proceeding more briskly, they took up position behind their commander-in-chief, who was already seated regally on one of the carved thrones. Commodore Perry’s back was ramrod straight, one hand rested significantly on his gilded sword-hilt, and his eyes were fixed haughtily on his hosts. Left with no alternative, Armstrong reluctantly parted company with the interpreter and turned aside to assume his own place, standing a respectful pace or two behind the commodore’s seat. He watched Haniwara Tokuma kneel down beside the governor, wondering desperately about the man’s unfinished words and when an awkward silence fell in the chamber, he looked about himself anxiously, trying without success to discern where armed warriors might be hidden behind the sumptuous wall coverings. He felt a strong urge to lean towards the commodore and whisper a warning about the danger they faced
-
but at the last moment his promise to respect the confidences of the terrified Japanese interpreter stopped him. Waiting and watching in an agony of suspense, he tried to think how he might otherwise help; but no obvious course of action suggested itself, and he resorted again to a fierce, silent prayer.
‘Toda-Idzu-no-kami to Ido-Iwami-no-kami deguzaimasu
said the governor suddenly, bowing towards the seated Americans.
‘Toda-Idzu-no-kami wa dai-rochu deguzaimasu.’
‘Toda, Prince of Idzu, and Ido, Prince of Iwami, are your hosts,’ said Haniwara Tokuma, translating the governor’s words into Dutch in an unsteady voice, ‘Prince Toda, on the left, is the honoured First Counsellor of the Empire.’
In the curious, strained silence that again followed Armstrong’s further translation into English, nobody else attempted to speak. The two imperial delegates, both grave-faced men in their late fifties or early sixties, continued to sit unmoving on their stools and, directly opposite them, Commodore Perry and his two senior commanders had become equally immobile. No vestige of expression appeared on the faces of the two Japanese dignitaries but, after scrutinizing them carefully, Armstrong felt that in their remote manner there was more than a hint of apprehension.
At the foot of the red-carpeted steps in the outer vestibule, the two young sailors from the
Susquehanna
stood as still as they were able, holding in both arms the pouches of scarlet baize which contained the boxed letters from the President of the United States. Beside these diminutive messengers, the two black bodyguards flanking them appeared taller than ever. With their revolving rifles slung about their shoulders, they too stared ahead expressionlessly, dwarfing everybody else in the pavilion. Beyond them, among the nobles grouped by the entrance, Armstrong again picked out the squat, fierce-eyed
daimyo
whom he had noticed watching Haniwara Tokuma earlier. Lord Daizo’s scowl had not changed and the missionary noticed that his eyes rarely shifted from the figure of the kneeling interpreter. From time to time, however, he cocked his head as though listening intently for some sound from outside the pavilion and, on noticing this, Armstrong knew beyond any shadow of doubt that the Japanese interpreter had been telling the truth.
‘Are your official letters and the translations and copies now ready for delivery?’ asked Haniwara Tokuma suddenly in Dutch, after whispered prompting from the governor at his side. ‘If so, Prince Toda is prepared to receive them.’
The interpreter avoided Armstrong’s eyes as he spoke, but the missionary could see that the tension inside him was increasing. Feeling his own sense of helplessness grow, Armstrong made the translation quickly and watched Commodore Perry signal with one white-gloved hand for the young American bearers and the black bodyguards to stand by.
‘We wish to make it clear that Prince Toda will not touch the letters: added the Japanese interpreter hastily, rising to his feet and gesturing to the cloth- covered tray laid out on the lacquered chest. ‘Prince Toda should not be approached... Your letters are to be placed here after your bearers have knelt to show their respect.’
‘In our country we show our respect by standing,’ snapped the commodore, on hearing Armstrong’s translation. ‘There will be no kneeling here
-
by me or any of my men!’
After listening to Perry’s reply, the governor rose slowly from his knees and took up a position beside his interpreter, leaving clear the approach to the lacquered chest. A moment later the commodore beckoned for the bearers of the letters to advance into the inner chamber. Followed closely by their tall escorts, the boy sailors marched proudly forward in silence. Their faces shone with the excitement of the moment and inside their minds as they moved they could st
i
ll hear the commodore’s ringing words addressed to them earlier that morning:
‘You will have the honour of bearing the President’s letter ashore. You will carry the very key that will
open
Japan.’
On reaching the scarlet chest the boy sailors halted, turned smartly and passed their ornate packages reluctantly into the hands of the two black bodyguards who had moved up beside them. Removing the gold-encrusted rosewood boxes from their pouches of scarlet baize, the bodyguards opened them for all to see. Taking out the President’s letter to the Emperor, and the commodore’s letter of credence, they held them aloft for a moment so that the watching Japanese could see that they were beautifully written on vellum, and bound in blue silk velvet.
Each of the presidential seals, attached to the letters by cords of interwoven silks, was encased in a large, finely wrought, circular box of pure gold fully six inches in diameter, and a buzz of subdued comment rose from the watching Japanese as the bodyguards leaned forward to place the ornamented letters and their containers in the tray. From the baize pouches they then extracted two further letters, from the commodore to the Emperor, as well as copies and translations of each co
m
mu
ni
cation, and positioned them with equal care on the lid of the chest. Having completed their task, the bodyguards drew themselves up to their full height and saluted the documents with great solemnity. Then, after glancing enquiringly towards their commander-in-chief, and receiving his curt nod of approval, they turned and marched briskly back to the outer chamber to resume their places beside the boy sailors.
‘Inform His Highness Prince Toda that the communications from the President of the United States and myself are duly delivered,’ said the commodore grandly, rising from his seat and
n
odding in Samuel Armstrong’s direction. ‘Ensure also that His Highness understands that copies and translations into both the Dutch and Chinese languages have been provided for his convenience.’
Armstrong complied, and they watched Haniwara bow low to the governor before murmuring his translation in a halting voice. In his turn the governor prostrated himself in front of Prince Toda, to whisper an account of what had been said. But the imperial delegate made no gesture of acknowledgement and, in the silence that followed, Armstrong heard the first sounds of a distant commotion beyond the pavilion’s canvas walls. Several voices were shouting and chanting angrily in unison, and the noise grew in volume as the voices drew nearer. If Commodore Perry heard them, however, he gave no outward sign and he again gesticulated for Armstrong to translate.
‘Inform His Highness further that in summary the President’s letter expresses our wish that the United States and Japan should trade with each other for mutual benefit,’ declared the commodore ringingly. ‘And that coal and provisions should be commercially supplied to all our passing steamships whenever required. And that civilized protection should invariably be granted to any Americans shipwrecked on Japan’s shores. .?
Perry paused for the two sets of translations to be made, then straightened his shoulders a further fraction, to lend additional emphasis to his words.
‘In addition, my own letters to the Emperor reiterate that we wish to live in peace and friendship with Japan
-
but they also point out clearly that no friendship can long exist unless Japan ceases to act towards American citizens as if they were her worst enemies! No more shipwrecked American seamen shall be publicly exhibited in cages! No
m
ore visiting US ships should be forced back to sea! Tell His Highness my letters state that, as evidence of our friendly intentions, we have come this time with only four of our smaller warship
s
-- but, should
it
become necessary, we can return very soon to Yedo Bay with a much larger force!’
While he was translating this declaration, Armstrong was aware that the commotion from outside was increasing. Haniwara Tokuma clearly noticed this too and in his distraction he stumbled several times over his translation. Around the pavilion, many seated Japanese and some of the American officers were beginning to listen frowningly to the noise, although the imperial delegates themselves remained unmoving and statue-like on their stools. From the corner of his eye Armstrong noticed a sudden flurry of movement by the entrance to the pavilion and, looking up, he noticed that the sco
w
ling face of Lord Daizo had disappeared.
‘We should like you next to read to the imperial delegates the full texts of the letters: whispered Lieutenant Rice at the missionary’s shoulder, while the governor was completing the translation to his superior. ‘And don’t pay any attention to the noise outside, whatever it may be. It’s the commodore’s wish that we should all continue to preserve an appearance of absolute imperturbability So take all the time you need. There’s no hurry.’
Riding at full gallop through the outer ranks of archers and pikemen drawn up
to
the rear of the pavilion, Lord Daizo grunted with satisfaction when he caught sight of moving pennants bearing his own insignia. They fluttered above a long line of samurai cavalrymen descending through the dunes at the foot of the hills, and he recognized i
mm
ediately the erect figure of his son riding at their head. In the same moment he saw too the black
n
o
rimono
bobbing down the broad path fifty yards or so behind Yakamochi, carried on the shoulders of the turbaned bearers. A growing crowd was gathering on the beach to watch the column approach, and chanting civilians were already running downhill alongside the
norimono
and its escort.
The chanting, which had prompted him to rush from the ceremony and mount his horse at the rear of the pavilion, was swelling in volume and as he drew nearer, a smile of grim satisfaction spread slowly across Daizo’s face. He had given his son instructions to encourage the shouting of anti
-
barbarian slogans as his column approached the beach, and now he could hear angry voices ye
ll
ing, over and over again,
‘Son no Jo-i! Son no Jo-i!’
-
‘Revere the Emperor! Expel the hideous aliens!’
Spurring his horse forward, Lord Daizo entered the dunes, followed closely by three personal bodyguards. When they met and halted, his son bowed dutifully from the saddle in greeting, as did Sawara, hi new guard captain, who was riding at his side. On catching sight of the
daimyo
of the Makabe clan arrayed in his finest formal silks and brocades, the chanting spectators who had been escorting the column fell silent and gathered in awe around the stationary
norimono.
‘You’ve done well, Yakamochi,’ said Lord Daizo, nodding approvingly. ‘You’ve arrived just at the necessary moment.’
‘Thank you,
O
Kami-san,’ Yakamochi bowed low in acknowledgement of the compliment. ‘I’m glad to have carried out your esteemed instructions successfully.’
‘Have you already displayed the barbarian prisoner to the people?’ enquired Daizo, glancing calculatingly at the throng pressing curiously all around them. ‘Have they had their first glimpse of him?’
‘Not yet,
O
Kami-san!’ replied Yakamochi deferentially. ‘But they are aware that we have a treacherous foreign barbarian inside and you’ve already heard the angry outcry which greeted this!’
‘Let those inside the pavilion hear more of Nippon’s anger this very moment!’ commanded Daizo fiercely. ‘Show him to them now!’
Yakamochi nodded to Sawara who dismounted and strode purposefully to the standing