A Diplomat in Japan / The inner history of the critical years in the evolution of Japan when the ports were opened and the monarchy restored, recorded by a diplomatist who took an active part in the events of the time, with an account of his personal experiences during that period

by Ernest Mason Satow

In pursuance of instructions from the chief, I proceeded to Yedo the day after my return to find out if possible what had been the popular feeling about our doings at Hiôgo, but did not succeed in discovering anything of importance. A general curiosity prevailed, and the result of the negotiations was yet unknown. A meeting of the daimiôs' agents had been held on the receipt of the news that two of the council had been dismissed, and it was rumoured that the Tycoon had asked to be allowed to retire, but that his petition had been rejected. I stopped at the monastery of Dai-chiû-ji, which had been temporarily lent to Sir Harry for a residence. It was in a convenient position, nearer to the centre of the city than our former location at Tô-zen-ji, but the rooms were dark and scarcely numerous enough for the accommodation of the staff in addition to the minister and his family. A new building had therefore been already commenced in front of Sen-gaku-ji, about half-way between the two, and, instead of being called the British Legation, was to be named the setsu-gu-jo or "place for meeting (sc. foreigners)," in order to avoid the risk of its being burnt down by the anti-foreign party. Report said that the Prince of Sendai, offended at not having been consulted on this matter, had retired to his castle in great dudgeon. Sen-gaku-ji is a well-known monastery containing the tombs and effigies of the celebrated "Forty-seven faithful retainers." After a couple of days' stay at the capital, I returned to my duties at the consulate in Yokohama, where I now held the post of interpreter.

I was beginning to become known among the Japanese as a foreigner who could speak their language correctly, and my circle of acquaintance rapidly extended. Men used to come down from Yedo on purpose to talk to me, moved as much by mere curiosity as by a desire to find out what foreign policy towards their country was likely to be. Owing to my name being a common Japanese surname, it was easily passed on from one to another, and I was talked about by people whom I had never met. The two-sworded men were always happy to get a glass of wine or liqueur and a foreign cigar, and they were fond of discussion. They would sit for hours if the subject interested them. Politics afforded the principal material of our debates, which sometimes became rather warm. I used to attack the abuses of the existing régime, and then explain that I liked them very much, but hated despotic institutions. Many of the men who visited me were retainers of daimiôs, from whom I gained every day a firmer conviction that the Tycoon ought not to be regarded by foreigners as the sovereign of the country, and that sooner or later we must enter into direct relations with the Mikado. And the state papers, of which copies came into my hands through these men, proved that the Tycoon regarded himself as nothing more than the Mikado's principal vassal. At the same time the Tycoon's ministers still persevered in their endeavour to keep the conduct of foreign affairs in their own hands, and had succeeded in persuading Mr. Winchester that this was an ancient and indefeasible prerogative of the Tokugawa family. Sir Harry Parkes, however, from the first, with clearer insight, held that this was untenable, and resolved to press matters to a definite solution, which should bring the sovereign face to face with foreign Powers.

Sir Harry had gone over to Shanghai to meet Lady Parkes and his children, and immediately after his return set to work at the revision of the tariff on the basis agreed to at Hiôgo. The negotiations, which began about January 1866, took much less time than is usual in these days, and the new convention was signed in June. I had little to do with it beyond assisting in its translation into Japanese. In February he began to make use of me as a translator, in addition to my work at the consulate.

My salary as interpreter at the Yokohama consulate, which I had joined in April 1865, was only £400 a year, and after the Hiôgo business, where I had demonstrated my knowledge of the Japanese language, I began to think my services worth quite as much as those of the Dutch interpreters, who received £500. At an interview with the Japanese ministers they used to translate into Dutch what the minister said, and the native Dutch interpreters translated this again into Japanese. The reply had in the same way to go through two men. But when Siebold or I interpreted, the work was performed much more quickly and accurately, because we translated direct into Japanese. It was the same with the official correspondence, for I was able, with the assistance of a native writer, and sometimes without, to put an official note directly into Japanese. Then I was able to read and translate into English all sorts of confidential political papers, which the Dutch interpreters could make nothing of. We took a bold resolution, and in August 1866, Sir Harry having given me a quantity of political documents to translate, we addressed letters to him asking that he would recommend us to the Foreign Office for an additional £100 a year. This brought down his wrath upon our heads, and I became convinced that my application would be refused. Under these circumstances I wrote to my father that the service was not worth remaining in. At that time the telegraph reached only to Ceylon, but in as short a time as possible I received a telegram from him telling me to come home at once, and that I should have an allowance sufficient to enable me to go to the university and afterwards to the bar. Armed with this, I approached Sir Harry again, and asked him to accept my resignation. I had received a telegram from home which necessitated my immediate return to England. After a little humming and hawing, he finally produced from a drawer a despatch from Lord Clarendon, which had been lying there for several days, granting the applications of both Siebold and myself, and I consequently abandoned my intention of quitting the service.

About March 6, 1866, a review and sham fight were held of the English garrison in combination with the Japanese drilled troops commanded by Kubota Sentarô on the dry rice fields between Jiû-ni-ten and Hommoku. The enemy was entirely imaginary, his place being taken by a crowd of spectators. The marching of the Japanese was very good, and received all the greater praise because they had received no practical instruction. Their officers had got it up from books, the difficult passages being explained to them by ours. The English soldiers looked magnificent by the side of the rather dwarfish Japanese. The bluejackets from the fleet were very amusing; one or two got drunk and danced a hornpipe in the face of the supposed enemy, to the great wrath and disgust of their commander, a young lieutenant. There was the usual amount of firing with blank cartridge, which, when it comes from one side only, renders every one so plucky and desirous of charging the foe. It was a wonder that no ramrods were fired away, nor was any one hit by a wad. The day was universally voted a great success.

The 2/xx regiment was despatched to Hongkong about March 20, and replaced by the 2/ix.

The danger to foreigners had so much abated since the execution of the murderers of Bird and Baldwin, and the ratification of the treaties by the Mikado that we began freely to make excursions into the surrounding country.

On one occasion I went away for a few days with Charles Rickerby of the "Japan Times," and having thus become intimate with him, was permitted to try my inexperienced pen in the columns of his paper. My first attempt was an article upon travelling in Japan, but before long an incident occurred which tempted me to write on politics. It was doubtless very irregular, very wrong, and altogether contrary to the rules of the service, but I thought little of that. A Satsuma trading steamer had come into the bay, and was ordered by the authorities to anchor far away on the Kanagawa side, so that there might be no communication between the foreign community and the people on board. Taking this for my text, I descanted on the insufficiency of the treaties concluded with the Tycoon, which confined us to commercial intercourse with the inhabitants of his dominions, and thus cut us off from relations with a good half of the country. I called therefore for a revision of the treaties, and for a remodelling of the constitution of the Japanese government. My proposal was that the Tycoon should descend to his proper position as a great territorial noble, and that a confederation of daimiôs under the headship of the Mikado should take his place as the ruling power. And then I proceeded to make various suggestions for the improvement and modification of the existing treaties. With the aid of my teacher, Numata Torasaburô, a retainer of the Prince of Awa, who knew some English, I put them into Japanese in the form of a pamphlet for the perusal of his prince, but copies got into circulation, and in the following year I found myself to be favourably known through this means to all the daimiôs retainers whom I met in the course of my journeys. In the end the translation was printed and sold in all the bookshops at Ozaka and Kiôto under the title of "Ei-koku Saku-ron," English policy, by the Englishman Satow, and was assumed by both parties to represent the views of the British Legation. With this of course I had nothing to do. As far as I know it never came to the ears of my chief, but it may fairly be supposed to have been not without its influence upon the relations between the English Legation and the new government afterwards established in the beginning of 1868. At the same time, it doubtless rendered us more or less "suspect" to the Tycoon's government while the latter lasted.

During Sir Harry's absence in July on a visit to the daimiôs of Satsuma and Uwajima after the signature of the tariff convention, some of us at the legation made up a party with three or four officers of the ix regiment, and went for a trip to Hachiôji and Atsugi. In those days all the high roads were intersected at certain points by strictly guarded barriers, where all travellers had to show their passports. Beyond Hachiôji a few miles to the west was one of these, just at the foot of a hill known as Takao-zan, about 1600 feet high, with a good road to the top. Up this we rode on our sure-footed ponies, and after lunching under the shade of the lofty cryptomerias, descended to the high road again, but unintentionally reached it beyond the barrier. The guards, who were inclined to interpret their duties rather too strictly than otherwise, shut the gates and refused to let us pass. It was in vain that we explained our mistake; they had orders not to let foreigners through. One would have thought that as we were on the side where we had no business to be, and were desirous of getting back to the right side, the officers in command would have facilitated our wishes to repair our error. But nothing would move them. At last Willis, who stood 6 feet 8 inches in his stockings and weighed then about 20 stone, made as if he would charge the gate on his pony, and seriously alarmed lest he should batter the whole thing down in a rush, they prudently flung it open, and we rode through triumphantly.

A similar incident occurred on another occasion when I was out with Francis Myburgh, Captain W. G. Jones, R.N., of the flagship, and Charles Wirgman. The limit of excursions from Yokohama in the direction of the capital was formed by the Tama-gawa, which in the treaties is called the Logo river (a corruption of Rokugô). We had slept at Mizoguchi, and ascended the right bank on horseback to Sekido, where without difficulty we induced the ferryman to put us across, and rode into the town of Fuchiû to visit a well-known Shintô temple. We were bound for a monastery on the other side of the river, where we had planned to spend the night, and to do this it was necessary to recross further up to the Buddhist monastery of Ren-kô-ji. But on arriving there, and shouting to the ferryman, we got a blank refusal, accompanied by the information that we had no business to be where we were. "We know that we are, and want to get back where we ought to be." Ferryman: "Can't help that. Our orders are not to ferry any foreigner over." It was impossible to convince him that though he would be right in refusing to facilitate a breach of the law, he was bound to assist the repentant and contrite offenders in repairing such a breach, and we saw ourselves menaced with separation from our baggage and perhaps a cold night on the stones. Just above the ferry was a shallower spot, too deep to cross on ponies without getting rather wet. Charles Wirgman and I therefore took off our trousers, and tucking our shirts up as high as possible waded to the other bank, walked down to the ferry house, jumped into the boat before the ferrymen had time to recover from their surprise at our audacity, poled it across to our friends amid cries of Koré wa rambô-rôzeki (about equivalent to "Robbery and murder") from the guardians of the posts, and so got the whole party across.