There was a good deal of eating and saké drinking, and the in-kio presented me with a large shallow cup of red lacquer which I had first to empty. My companions left early, while at the in-kio's request I remained behind for some conversation on politics. He began by speaking of Hiôgo, as to which he had expressed his opinion to Sir Harry Parkes in July last. But he was now in favour of opening the place to foreign trade, and so was Shitotsubashi. He had heard that negotiations were proceeding with the French for its being opened next September, but he would prefer that the arrangements should be made with us rather than with the French, whom he did not like. I replied that I believed the French policy was based upon the belief that the country needed a recognized head, and that as they had a treaty with the Shôgun, who apparently was the most powerful political personage, they thought it would be better to strengthen him as far as possible. The English policy was different. We regarded our treaty as having been made with Japan, and not with the Shôgun in particular. If with the latter, then as there was no actual Shôgun at the moment, our treaty would have to be regarded as being in abeyance. We did not wish to interfere, and were quite content that the Japanese should settle their internal disputes among themselves.
"But," said In-kio, "if civil war becomes chronic, your trade will suffer, and you will have to put an end to it for your own sakes."
"No," I replied, "for if we interfered and took a side, matters would become ten times more difficult, and the foreign trade would come altogether to an end."
The in-kio then remarked that his idea was for Japan to become a confederated empire, with the Mikado for its head, and that this idea was favoured by Satsuma and Chôshiû. I said I thought there was no other way out of the difficulty, and I had written an article in a Yokohama newspaper to that effect. "Oh," said the in-kio, "I have read it," meaning the translation which has been already mentioned. At last the ex-prince said, "Let us send for the women and have some music. The captain will be jealous if he hears that I produced them to you after he had left, so don't tell him, but if he hears of it, you may say I was drunk."
Here the conversation was interrupted by the entrance of the ladies of the harem, such a bevy of pretty women, some wives and some not. All the children came in too. I had to drink saké with all of the ladies, till I began to fear my head might give way. Musical instruments were brought in, and a great deal of saké was drunk, greatly to the increase of friendliness and conviviality, but not to the advantage of the interchange of political views. In fact the in-kio gave himself up to enjoyment and would talk no more. He afterwards said in a casual sort of way: "You must not let it appear in the newspapers that I went on board the "Argus," for I have declined attending the meeting at Kiôto on the ground of sickness, and I should not wish the government to hear of it. I should not like to be at Kiôto just now." After the music had begun, I looked round and saw one of the officers of the "Argus," who had come in after the captain's departure, performing a Japanese dance. I proposed to him to dance a hornpipe, which he at once did, and the ex-prince, a man of the sober age of 49, got up, placed himself opposite, and tried to imitate the steps, holding up his loose trousers with both hands. The fun infected two of the ministers, who joined him in a three-handed reel.
After drinking a great deal of saké with the two princes and their ladies, I was carried off—no, led—to his own house by old Matsuné, where more saké was produced, and I was made acquainted with the rest of his family. After about an hour's conversation, I was glad to get to bed, for the fumes of the hot saké were beginning to have some effect on my head. Hayashi, young Matsuné, another Japanese and myself, slept in one room. Next morning I was roused before daylight by the report of a signal gun fired from the "Argus" to announce that she was ready to leave. I dressed hastily and went on board with young Matsuné, to whom I presented my opera glass as a souvenir. Noguchi and my boy Yasu, who had also been sleeping on shore, had not yet made their appearance, but Round refused to wait for them. So I begged Matsuné to send them somehow to Yokohama, and advance them any money which they might ask for, to be repaid to the Uwajima agent in Yedo. At half-past six we weighed anchor, and steamed out of the bay, full of regrets at being obliged to part from our kind, hospitable friends.
We reached Hiôgo about noon on the 11th of January, after visiting one or two unimportant places in the inland sea. I went on shore to inquire whether we could get coals, beef and vegetables. After arranging with the local officials to send some supplies on board, I walked about the town, and found the people quite accustomed to the sight of a foreigner. I met some two-sworded men, who protested that they were determined to prevent the opening of Hiôgo to foreign trade, but they were evidently joking. A Hizen man whom I came across declared that I was an old acquaintance, though I had never set eyes on him before. Afterwards Hayashi Kenzô and I went on board a Satsuma steamer that was lying in port, and made the acquaintance of her captain, Inouyé Shinzayemon. She had brought up from Kagoshima one of the leading Satsuma men named Komatsu Tatéwaki; he had gone up to Ozaka to meet Saigô, the greatest of all the Satsuma leaders. I immediately proposed to go up to Ozaka and see them, and letters were written by Inouyé and Hayashi to Godai Saisuké (our captive of 1863 at Kagoshima) to make the necessary arrangements. Next day, however, I heard that Saigô was himself probably coming to Hiôgo, and in the meantime Hayashi took me ashore to have a hot bath and some luncheon à la Japonaise.
Here for the first time I learnt how to put on a cotton gown (yukata) after the bath, and enjoy the sensation of gradually cooling down. We had just sat down to eat when it was announced that Saigô had arrived, and hastily swallowing our rice, we sallied forth to the other house-of-call of the Satsuma men. Saigô, as I had all along suspected, turned out to be identical with the man introduced to me as Shimadzu Sachiû in November 1865, and he laughed heartily when I reminded him of his alias. After exchanging the usual compliments, I began to feel rather at a loss, the man looked so stolid, and would not make conversation. But he had an eye that sparkled like a big black diamond, and his smile when he spoke was so friendly. I began about the employment of foreigners in Satsuma and the difficulties which might, under certain circumstances, arise from the residence of British subjects outside the treaty limits and beyond the jurisdiction of the consular authorities. But this did not produce much in the way of response. So I bethought myself of another subject which was more likely to draw him, and inquired if Shitotsubashi had not lately received in person a letter addressed to him by the Emperor of the French. He replied "Yes." A short time ago he memorialized the Mikado to the effect that there was a letter from the French Emperor addressed to the Shôgun, the reception of which had been delayed owing to the late Tycoon's detention at Kiôto in connexion with the expedition against Chôshiû; that he now intended to summon all the foreign representatives to Ozaka, and would profit by the occasion to receive the letter in question. Shitotsubashi would accordingly come down to Ozaka on the 17th of the Japanese month (22nd January), and expected the representatives to arrive shortly afterwards. We (the Satsuma people) sent up a copy of the memorial to Sir Harry Parkes by the hands of Yoshii Kôsuké, but he had replied that he was uncertain whether he would accept the Tycoon's invitation, not having yet heard anything direct about the matter.
"But," I asked, "how can Shitotsubashi receive a letter addressed to the Shôgun. He is not Shôgun, is he?"
"Yes; he received his commission the day before yesterday."