A banquet was spread as before, and as each guest left the building, an attendant functionary at the door handed him a red slip of paper written on in the mandarin character, which proved to be kind of hospitality shares, and on their presentation at the city of Napa, entitled the holder to a “cumshaw” of a pipe and pouch, and bundle of paper.
On the 7th of February the three steamers left Loo-Choo for Japan. On getting outside of the harbor a sail hove in sight, which proved to be the sloop-of-war Saratoga from Shanghae. We lay to for an hour and a half, getting from her in boats, bullocks and provisions that she had brought. At five in the evening we were off the northern part of Loo-Choo island—“Mellville,” which had been surveyed by Captain Beechy, R. N., and resurveyed by boats from our squadron.
We got, after leaving Loo-Choo, what the sailors call a good “slant” of wind, and ran free under canvass as well as steam. On the night of the 11th it came on thick and chilly, and found us groping our way among the chain of islands just southward of Ohosima. One steamer was unable to discern the lights of another, and the midnight navigation was not rendered any more pleasurable by the corybantic sea, or the reflection that during the day we had discovered dangerous rocks poking their points above the water, not laid down upon the charts, which would punch a hole in the bottom of a ship with no compunction. But it is remarkable what indifference or philosophy takes possession of those, who are accustomed to plough the great deep, upon such occasions. They may know the peril of the locality in which they are sailing, yet they turn in as usual; sleep and snore, and reck not of what may come.
The next morning was Sunday: we had left Japan on that day, and we were now returning to it. The sun came up bright and clear, but the air had become very cold, and penetrated the ear painfully as we stood upon deck, because of the transition from the more genial temperature of Loo-Choo, which we had left a few days before. On our right hand was Ohosima—the smoke slowly ascending from its volcano like incense from nature’s altar, while right ahead of us were the mountain ranges of the shore of Japan wrapped in snow—yes snow, a thing we had not laid eyes on for many a month before:—
And as springs in deserts found, seem sweet,
“All brackish though they be,”
so this even chilling remembrance, brought up a warmth of recollection of our own country.
Having drifted a good deal during the night, daylight found us opposite the wrong bay—that of Kawatsoo, instead of Yedo. But lucky so it was, for on approaching, two ships were descried in under the land. On reaching signal distance we made out the numbers, flying at their mast-heads, to be those of the Macedonian and Vandalia. The latter vessel, being the nearest, soon telegraphed the flag-ship “ashore is the Macedonian,” this vessel the night before, when thick and hazy, having gotten on a reef. When we came up she had thrown over a number of things to lighten her, and had slung and buoyed her guns too, to let them go, if necessary. Signal was made for the three ships to come to anchor. In the afternoon, the sea being smoother, the Mississippi was directed to pull the Macedonian off the reef, which she did finely, parting one hawser in the undertaking. The ships remained at this anchorage for the night. Before sundown, most opportunely, the Lexington hove in sight. The Southampton, more lucky than the other sailing-vessels, had made the bay of Yedo, and her true, old sailor-commander had run up it, as far as the sailing-chart furnished him, laid down. The Japanese on shore, who knew of the grounding of the Macedonian, had gone up to where the Southampton lay, and informed them of an American ship with a white streak around her, being ashore, and with a native chart, they pointed out the spot, where she was. Captain Boyle despatched a launch with an officer to her assistance, though the arrival of the steamers, rendered it unnecessary.
No sight could have exceeded in magnificence the one presented by Foogee Yama at daylight, the next morning. The clouds that had obscured it the evening before had disappeared with the night. The air was clear; the mountain seemed to have moved nearer during darkness; its mantle of snow, divided by rugged ravines, was more plain; and when the moon was setting, and sharply defining one side with its chill, cold rays, the sun, in all his state, came up upon the other, and burnished with brilliant glory the huge cone as it swelled up into the sky.
We entered the bay of Yedo in the morning of the 13th of February, the Susquehanna towing the Vandalia; the Powhatan, the Lexington; and the Mississippi, having more towing-power from greater face of wheel and immersion of paddle, the Macedonian. As before, the batteries were ready, and guns shotted; but instead of proceeding cautiously, as on the occasion of our former visit, the line of ships ran directly past their forts and into their inner bay, not stopping until reaching what had been called “American anchorage,” on our first reconnoissance, about ten miles above the port of Uraga, off the island of Natse. The storeship Southampton had arrived there some days before. We had scarcely anchored when some Japanese officials came off to the flag-ship to welcome the commodore and officers back to Japan. They verified the intelligence we had received through the Russians before leaving China—that of the death of the emperor Minamoto Jyekosi, and the accession to the throne of his son, with the title Minamoto Yosisaki-sei-tai-seogun. It was very soon discovered from them, to our surprise, that their government was prepared to return an affirmative response to the demands and requests contained in the letter of our president. They informed the commodore that a building had been erected, and preparations made to receive him at Uraga, where they said was a high functionary who would deliver to him the imperial answer to the president’s letter, and begged that he would move his squadron down to that place.