The Japanese were desirous of knowing from our fleet-captain, whether the English and the French were coming up to Japan, when the American squadron should have left: the answer was, we did not know.
There was something rather mysterious about Yezimon, the little deputy-governor of Uraga. At the time of our first visit, he took quite a conspicuous part in all the intercourse, but on our return, it appears, he had to pale his ineffectual fire before greater luminaries. Very little was seen of him, indeed, if he was seen at all on our return. The great familiarity and sociability that he had displayed when on board of our ships had probably gotten him into trouble. The officials declined saying anything about him; when he was asked for, and one of the officers informed them that he had a Colt’s revolver which he desired to present to Yezimon before leaving, they said they had rather that it should not be done, and added, that they could not speak about him.
On the 4th of April, after an absence from the United States of over four years, the sloop-of-war Saratoga left for home. In her went as passenger Commander H. A. Adams, captain of the fleet—bearing to the United States, by way of the Sandwich Islands and the Californian route, copies of the treaty in English and Japanese, and three copies in Dutch certified to by A. L. C. Portman, Esq., and Moriyama Yenoske, intended to be the first intelligence home of the completion of the treaty. There also went home in her a number of invalid officers who had undergone the enervation and emaciation produced by the heat and diseases of an East India climate. As the Saratoga passed out she fired her parting salute, and was cheered by the remaining ships of the squadron, the bands playing “Home, Sweet Home!” in a manner that caused each heart to heave. Every one who thought of the long while she had been out, wished fair winds to fill her sails, and Heaven speed her!
The interpreter, and others, continued their friendly visits to the ships, wearing when the weather was bad, a singular rain-cloak called meno, made up of a number of tassels of a kind of mountain fern, pendent from the junction of meshes knit from the same material, and having outside a covering of green silk network. They would tell us in answer to the question “Could we now see the emperor?” “No; too young man.” They had told us that it would require some days before they could arrange a bazar at Simoda, where we might be able to procure specimens of their lacquer-ware, porcelain, &c.; and in the meantime our surveying-boats, when the weather would permit, were kept constantly going.
The 10th of April, being the birthday of the commodore, I suppose he wished to signalize it by a nearer approach to the city of Yedo, and accordingly early in the morning a signal was thrown out for the squadron to get under way, which was done, the Mississippi leading up the bay, and the Powhatan and the sailing ships following, with the exception of the Lexington, which got aground just as her anchor was away. This movement being perceived from shore, the Japanese interpreters Moriyama Yenoske, Hernyama, Gohara, and Namura Gohachiro, third interpreter, at once rowed off under much excitement. The latter came aboard of the Mississippi, the others went on board of the flag-ship; where they ascertained the commodore’s intention of going higher up the bay, Yenoske objected most strenuously, urging that the lives of each of the commissioners, and himself, were in danger for not preventing (?) it, or remonstrating against it; or previously advising their government; they said they could not tell but it was not possible to calculate the consequences. In reply, the commodore said that his instructions from the president were to go up to Yedo, and that he would have done so, but for the feelings of friendship that he entertained for the commissioners who preferred Yokohama for holding the conferences. They gave it to be understood that the anchoring of the ships off Yedo, would at once require of them the performance of the “Hari Kari,” or happy despatch—that they would be necessitated to this, according to a custom which it was no use to argue against, to save themselves and those related to them from dishonor; and that such was the case with each of the commissioners.
Hari Kari, meaning “happy despatch,” is the act of disembowelling one’s self with a sword, among the Japanese. The young man, of any family pretensions, is early indoctrinated in the art of self-destruction. He is also instructed as to the occasions and circumstances when this form of suicide is appropriate for a gentleman, either to preserve himself or those connected with him from dishonor. It is given him strictly in charge, to remember that the wearing of the badge of his position—two swords—is also typical of his courage; perhaps as Napoleon said, that he who cares nothing for his own life is master of that of others; and that one of these swords, like the dagger of Brutus, is for himself, when his country shall need his death. He desires that it shall be said of him, what Malcolm says of Cawdor:—
“Nothing in his life
Became him like the leaving it: he died
As one that had been studied in his death,
To throw away the dearest thing he owed,