The Shogun's Daughter

by Robert Ames Bennet

We were now well past Cape Sagami and opposite a bight whose southern shore, lying under the lee of its hill-crowned cliffs, was free of all surf. Leading down through the face of the cliffs from the terraced hillsides above were many wooded ravines, at the foot of which villages nestled upon bits of level ground near the water’s edge. Here was a haven that might possibly be gained by casting the drag adrift and rowing in aslant the wind. But it was below Uraga, Yedo’s port of entry for the native craft, and Yoritomo had impressed upon me the great need to win our way past that nest of government inspectors and spies. The attempt to run under a lee would be no more desperate an undertaking beyond Uraga than here.

I crouched down again beside my friend, and waited anxiously for the next glimpse of the moon. But the weather had suddenly thickened. Gusts of rain began to dash upon us out of the blackening sky. The rifts closed up until there was not even a star visible, and the rain increased until it poured down aslant the gale in torrents. The roar of the pelting deluge drowned the boom of the surf and beat down the wave crests. We had not even the phosphorescent foam of the combers to break the inky darkness about us.

The rain was too warm to chill us, but the down-whirling drops struck upon our bare limbs with the sting of sleet. We crouched together in the sternsheets, peering westward into the thick of the aqueous murk in search for the lights of Uraga. One glimpse would have given us fair warning to prepare for my desperate scheme to work under the lee of the point some two miles beyond.

Death was inevitable should we drive past that point, across the bend of the bay, to the outjutting cape on the east shore. Nor was it enough for us to clear the cape. Even should we escape destruction there, and even should we drift on up into the northeast corner of the bay, across from Yedo, we would no less certainly perish in the surf. On the other hand, could I but win the shelter of the point above Uraga, out of the full sweep of the in-rolling seas, I might be able to sheer over to the west shore and gain the shelter of one of the capes shown on the chart drawn for me by Yoritomo.

Failing to sight the lights of Uraga, I was in a pretty pickle. To cut adrift from our drag was quite sufficiently hazardous without the certainty that if we put in too soon we should go to wreck on the Uraga cape, and if we held on too late, be cast up on the outjutting point of the east coast. We were utterly lost in the dense night of whirling wind and rain and swift-heaving waves. Without means to measure the passage of time, I could not even reckon our position by estimating our rate of drift.

“No use watching, Tomo,” I at last shouted. “We could not see even a lighthouse so thick a night, and we’ve drifted past by now. Hand me your dirk.”

“Aye,” he replied, and I felt him turn about to where his dunnage was lashed down. In a few minutes he turned back and thrust the hilt of his short sword into my hand. He asked no questions, but waited calmly for me to direct him.

With a few touches of the razor-edged blade I cut loose the oars, which had been lashed under the gunwales. As I pressed the dirk hilt back into his hand, I gave him his orders: “Go forward and cut the line when I say; then aft, and stand by to bail.”

Without a word he crept away towards the bows through the down-whirling deluge and blackness. I followed to a seat on the forward thwart, and waited while three of the great billows flung us high and dropped us into the trough behind them. As we sagged down the slope of the third, I dipped my oar-blades and shouted, “Cut!”

The fourth wave shouldered us skyward. As we topped the crest the feel of the wind on my back told me that the gig’s head was falling off to port. A quick stroke brought her back square into the wind. We shot down the watery slope, but before we could climb to another crest Yoritomo had crept past me to his post in the pointed stern.