The procession entered the pavilion with due pomp. The Japanese officials were all dressed in kami-shimo (high and low) or ceremonial winged dress of gold brocade. Toda, Idzu no kami, and Ito, Iwami no kami, the two commissioners, sat on camp-stools. When all was ready, the two boys advanced and delivered their charge to the blacks. These, opening in succession the scarlet cloth envelope and the gold-hinged rosewood boxes, with true African grace, displayed the letter written on vellum bound in blue velvet, and the gold tasseled seals suspended with silk thread. In perfect silence, they laid the documents on the lacquered box brought from Yedo. It was like Guanzan handling the sacred books.
“The First Counsellor of the Empire,” as the Americans called Toda, acknowledged in perfect silence receipt of the documents. The interpreter who had been authorized by the “Emperor”—according to the foreigners’ ideas—handed the receipt to the Commodore, who sat during the ceremony. What little was spoken was in Dutch, chiefly between Perry and the interpreters. The whole affair was like a “Quaker” meeting of the traditional sort. The official reply read:—
“The letter of the President of the United States of North America and copy are hereby received and delivered to the Emperor. Many times it has been communicated that business relating to foreign countries cannot be transacted here in Uraga, but in Nagasaki. Now it has been observed that the Admiral in his quality of embassador of the President would be insulted by it; the justice of this has been acknowledged, consequently the above mentioned letter is hereby received in opposition to the Japanese law. Because this place is not designed to treat of anything from foreigners, so neither can conference nor entertainment take place. The letter being received, you will leave here.”
The Commodore then gave notice that he would return “in the approaching spring, probably in April or May.” This concluded the ceremonies of reception, which lasted half an hour. With all due care and pomp the Americans returned to their decks. That part of the Bay of Yedo fronting Kurihama was named “Reception Bay,” as a certain headland was dubbed by Perry himself Rubicon Point.
The “black ships” remained in the bay eight days. Their boats were busily employed in surveying the waters. Perry kept his men on ship’s food, holding them all in leash, allowing no insults to the people, receiving no gifts. In no instance was any Japanese molested or injured. The Americans burned no houses, stole no valuables, outraged no women. None was drunk. Not a single native was kicked, beaten, insulted or robbed. One party landed, and actually showed a politeness that impelled the people to set out refreshments of water, tea and peaches. These “hairy” Americans were so kind and polite that they smoked friendly pipes, showed the people their trinkets and watches, and even patiently explained, in strange and unintelligible language, but with pantomimic gesture, the uses of many things which drew forth volleys of naru hodo! kiréi! rippani! médzurashi! so désŭ, né! and many a characteristic grimace, shrug and mutual nod from the light-hearted and impressible people.
All this was strange and unlooked-for. This was not the way the Russians in Saghalin, nor the British sailors at Nagasaki, had acted. The people began to think that probably the foreigners were not devils, but men after all. Eyes were opened on both sides.
More than one American made up his mind that the Japanese were not so treacherous, murderous, or inhospitable as they had heard. The natives began to believe that if the “hairy faces” were devils, they were of an uncommonly fine species, in short as jolly as tengus or spirits of the sky. Strangely enough, the “hairy” foreigners were clean shaven.
One authentic anecdote related by the Japanese is worth mentioning. At the banquet given by the governor of Uraga, Perry tasted the saké served so plentifully at all entertainments, and asked what the cost or price of the beverage might be. On being told, finding it exceedingly cheap, the Commodore with a very serious face remarked to his host that he feared it was highly injurious to the people to have so ridiculously cheap an intoxicant produced in the country. All present were deeply impressed with the Commodore’s remark.
Despite the fact that the decoction of fermented rice, called saké, which contains alcohol enough to easily intoxicate, and fusel oil sufficient to quickly madden, was not relatively as cheap as Perry supposed, yet Japan’s curse for centuries has been cheap liquor.
Another anecdote, less trustworthy, is preserved in a native book. The time suits Shimoda, but other considerations point to Uraga or Yokohama. The subjective element, probably predominates over historical fact. Some enemy of Buddhism or its priests, some wit fond of sharp barbs, from a Shintō quiver, probably, manufactured the story, which runs as follows:—