| [27] | “M—— Y—— is at Shimoda, and has not forgotten the art of lying.” Townsend Harris to Perry, October 27, 1857. |
CHAPTER XXXI.
PANIC IN YEDO. RECEPTION OF THE PRESIDENT’S LETTER.
Opening upon the beautiful bay (yé), like a door (do), the great city in the Kuantō, or Broad East of Japan, was well-named Bay-door, or Yedo. Founded as a military stronghold tributary to the Shō-gun at Kamakura in the fourteenth century, by Ota Dō Kuan, it was made in 1603 the seat of the government by Iyéyasŭ. This man, mighty both in war and in peace, and probably Japan’s greatest statesman, made the little village a mighty city, and founded the line of Shō-guns of the Tokugawa family, which ruled in the person of fifteen Tycoons until 1868. To the twelfth of the line Iyéyoshi, President Fillmore’s letter was to be delivered, and with the thirteenth, Iyésada, the American treaty made. The Americans dubbed each “Emperor”!
Yedo’s chief history and glory are associated with the fortunes of the Tokugawas. It had reached the zenith of its greatness when Perry’s ships entered the bay. Its palaces, castles, temples, and towers were then in splendor never attained before or beheld in Japan since. It was the centre of wealth, learning, art and gay life. Its population numbered one million two hundred thousand souls, of whom were five hundred thousand of the military class.
Upon this mass of humanity the effect of the news of “black ships” at their very doors was startling. All Yedo was soon in a frightful state of commotion. With alarmed faces the people thronged to the shrines to pray, or hastily packed their valuables, to bury or send off to the houses of distant friends. In the southern suburbs thousands of houses were emptied of their contents and of the sick and aged. Many who could, left their homes to go and dwell with relatives in the country. Couriers on horseback had first brought details of the news by land. Junks and scull-boats from Uraga arrived hourly at Shinagawa, and foot-runners bearing dispatches panted in the government offices. They gave full descriptions of what had been said and done, the number, shape and size of the vessels, and in addition to verbal and written statements, showed drawings of the black ships and of the small boats manned by the sailors. It was no clam’s-breath mirage this time. The rumor so often pooh-poohed had turned to reality.[[28]]
The samurai went to their kura (fire proof storehouses) and unpacked their armor to repair and furbish, and to see if they could breathe, as they certainly could perspire in it, and brandish a sword with both hands, when fully laced up. They scoured the rust off their spears, whetted and feathered their arrows, and restrapped their quivers upon which the moths had long feasted. The women rehemmed or ironed out flags and pennants. Intense activity prevailed on the drill grounds and matchlock ranges. New earth-banks for targets were erected. Vast quantities of powder were burned in practice. It was the harvest time of the priests, the armorers, the sword-makers, and the manufacturers of oiled paper coats, leggings, hats and sandals, so much needed in that rainy climate during camp-life. The drug business boomed with activity, for the hastily gathered and unseasoned soldiers lying under arms in camp suffered from all sorts of maladies arising from exposure.
Hokŭsai, whose merciless caricatures of carpet soldiers once made all Japan laugh, and who had died four years before with the snows of nearly ninety years upon his head, was not there to see the fun. His pupils, however, put the humor of the situation on paper; and caricatures, lampoons and jokes directed against these sons of luxury in camp were numerous, and after the departure of the ships they found ready sale.
One enterprising merchant and ship owner in Yedo had, months before Perry arrived, made a fortune by speculating in oiled paper, buying up all he could lay his hands upon, making water-proof garments and selling at high prices. Indiscreetly exulting over his doings, he gave a feast to his many friends whom his sudden wealth had made. The two proverbs “In vino veritas,” and “Wine in, wit out,” kissed each other. Over his merry cups he declared that “the vessels of the barbarians” had been “the treasure-ships of the seven gods of happiness” to him. The authorities got wind of the boast, and clapped the unlucky wight in prison. He was charged with secretly trading with foreign countries. His riches took wings and flew into the pockets of the yakunin and the informer. While the American ships were at Napa he was beheaded. His fate sobered other adventurous spirits, but did not injure business.
The book-sellers and picture-shop keepers, who had sent artists down to Uraga, also coined kobans by selling “brocade pictures” or broadsides bedizened with illustrations in color, of the floating monsters and the tall man of strange garb, speech, tonsure, hirsute fashion, and shape of eyes. Fans, gaily colored and depicting by text and drawing the wonders that now thrilled the nation, were sent into the interior and sold by thousands. The governor was compelled to issue proclamations to calm the public alarm.
Meanwhile, in the castle, the daimiōs were acquainted with the nature of the despatches and the object of the American envoy. Discussion was invited, but there was nothing to be said. Innumerable pipes were smoked. Long hours were spent on the mats in sedentary recumbence on knees and heels. Uncounted cups of tea were swilled. Incredible indignation, impotent wrath and contempt were poured upon the ugly barbarians, but still an answer to the unanswered question, “what was to be done?” could not be deferred. This was the problem.