by Spence, Alan
All of this still had to be negotiated by stealth. In spite of Ito’s increasing influence, Choshu were still regarded with hostility and suspicion, not only by the Shogun and the Satsuma, but by the British Government. Ito and Inoue came to Glover’s house after dark, fearful of their lives, disguised as Satsuma merchants. They talked through the night, drew up plans over a glass or three of sake, blessed the venture further by opening a bottle of Glover’s special reserve of malt whisky. Ito sang his rebel songs; they dreamed of the new Japan.
The battleship would have to be built overseas, brought back. As yet there was no yard in Japan capable of building such a vessel, no workforce with the expertise. Glover had long argued that Japan had to mine its own coal, forge its own steel, build its own ships, bring in specialists to teach the skills.
A first step was to furnish the existing, small, Nagasaki yard with a dry dock, a slipdock, so the bigger ships could be built and launched.
By the time the sky began to lighten, Ito had pledged to gain support for the building of the dock, to raise the money and buy the land. In a moment of absolute clarity, lucidity, Glover saw that the dock, and the battleship, would be built in Aberdeen, at the Hall Russell yard, and that he himself would make a journey home to supervise the work. The thought had a rightness about it, a certainty. He could see himself there, breathing the air, bracing himself against the cold blast off the North Sea.
*
Ito came to the house again, a few days later, after dark as usual, not wanting to draw attention to himself. He also brought with him another young samurai Glover hadn’t met, introduced him as Ryono Sakamoto.
‘From Tosa clan,’ said Sakamoto, bowing.
Glover bowed deep in response. He sensed a strength about him, a clarity. Sakamoto said little, deferring to Ito; he had come to listen, observe.
Ito wanted to discuss the progress of the arms deal, make sure it was all going ahead.
‘Kido very serious,’ he said. ‘Bring in military adviser, organise Choshu as powerful force.’
There was a knock at the door, and Glover tensed, alert; unexpected visitors were rare. The knocking was repeated, three firm, hard raps. Glover nodded to Tsuru, who answered it, told him there were two young men who wanted to see him. He told her to show them in.
One of the men was Glover’s age, the other was only a boy, looked no more than fourteen.
Ito stood up, looked uncomfortable, said he should go. Sakamoto made to follow him but looked regretful about it.
‘Wait,’ said Glover. ‘Please.’
Ito bowed. ‘They are from Satsuma clan. They don’t want me here.’
‘Well, this is my home, and I want you here!’ He couldn’t conceal his impatience. ‘God, and I thought the Scots were bad. Bloody clans!’
The young man bowed to Glover. ‘I am Toamatsu Godai. This is Nagasawa Kanae. And yes, we are Satsuma.’
‘And do you object to Ito-san being here?’
Godai hesitated, but only for a moment. ‘No.’ He left a pause. ‘In fact, may be good thing.’
Glover let this sink in. ‘Ito-san?’
Sakamoto said something quietly to Ito.
Ito nodded, made a gruff noise Glover recognised as reluctant agreement.
‘Good!’ said Glover. ‘Dozo. Please.’ He motioned to the visitors to sit down, asked Tsuru to bring tea.
‘Now.’
The boy sat, straightbacked. Godai took a deep breath. ‘We are from Kagoshima.’
The very name was like a punch to the stomach, the desolation, destruction; the dead. Sono. A wisp of smoke.
‘Yes,’ he said, simply.
‘What happened there,’ said Godai, ‘must not happen again. Not anywhere.’
‘No.’
‘Shimonoseki also was very bad.’ He shot a glance at Ito. ‘Choshu leaders, like Satsuma leaders, get things wrong. Stuck in old ways. Have to change.’
Ito addressed Glover, but for Godai’s benefit. ‘Satsuma attack Choshu. Do Shogun’s dirty work.’
‘I know,’ said Godai. ‘This was very bad. Tell Ito-san I apologise on behalf of my clan.’
He bowed deeply to Ito, who acknowledged the gesture with a nod of the head.
‘Only way forward,’ continued Godai, ‘is to make strong Japan. Have much to learn.’
‘You’re sounding like Ito-san!’ said Glover.
Ito grunted.
‘I know Ito and other Choshu go to the West,’ said Godai. ‘I know you help.’
‘I did my bit,’ said Glover.
‘Now I want to go,’ said Godai, ‘with others from Satsuma.’
Ito took a sharp in-breath, shifted in his seat.
‘How many?’ said Glover.
Godai looked thoughtful. ‘Maybe twenty.’
Ito coughed, almost choked. Glover laughed.
‘The Satsuma Twenty!’ He turned to Ito. ‘Well, Ito-san. What do you think?’
Ito was silent; the matter was weighty, required thought.
Again Sakamoto spoke to him quietly.
Finally Ito breathed out, a long slow exhalation, said, ‘Maybe is time.’
*
Glover had placed armed guards all around the house, by the gates, in the garden.
‘If anyone asks,’ he said, ‘say you’re a shooting party, hunting ducks.’
‘At night?’ said Mackenzie.
‘They’ll just put it down to our strange western ways,’ said Glover. ‘And if not, a loaded rifle carries a certain eloquent authority, an invitation to mind your own business and leave well alone.’
Inside the house, the contingent of Satsuma had assembled, crowding into the front room. Like the Choshu Five before them, they had cut their hair, wore ill-fitting western clothes, dark suits, shirts with over-large collars. The young boy Nagasawa in particular looked uncomfortable, like an overgrown ventriloquist’s dummy in some music-hall routine. And yet, once more there was that dignity, the samurai bearing, so that Glover found himself absurdly moved.
The boy had already seen a bloody battle, stood beside Godai loading Satsuma cannon as Kagoshima was bom barded. And what motivated him, as well as the others, was not revenge, it was the need to emulate, to be as strong as the conqueror. Nagasawa’s parents had visited Glover a few days before, travelled especially from Kagoshima. They were proud of their son but anxious for him, setting off into the unknown, beyond the edge of the world.
Using Godai as an interpreter, Glover had done his best to reassure them, said when the group arrived in Scotland, young Nagasawa would stay in Glover’s family home in Aberdeen, and Glover’s own mother would look after him.
The boy’s mother was overwhelmed at this, sobbed. The father stood stern, taciturn, straightened his back even more, nodded a gruff, curt acknowledgement, the very picture of restraint. And because he had been talking about them, Glover was minded vividly of his own parents, his mother’s blubbing, his father’s few words. Aye, he would say, if the fiend himself were to stand in front of him at the Day of Judgement, Aye, well.
Nagasawa’s father had thanked Glover, shaken his hand, entrusting him with his son’s life.
Now the boy was here, with the rest of them, ready for their momentous journey. Glover did a headcount, ending with the boy, patting him on the shoulder.
‘Nineteen?’ said Glover, counting again. ‘I thought there were twenty?’
‘One got sick,’ explained Godai.
‘Sick at the thought?’ said Glover. ‘Oh well.’ He poured drinks for all of them, in small sake cups, poured for himself and Mackenzie, and for Ito and Sakamoto, who had come along at Glover’s specific request. Glover had the strong sense that Sakamoto’s influence was good, and the fact that he was from the smaller Tosa clan meant he was not bedevilled by the Choshu–Satsuma feud.
‘A toast,’ said Glover, raising his glass. ‘To the Satsuma Nineteen!’
They all drank.
Mackenzie looked ill-at-ease, half-expecting trouble, braced for
a sudden invasion by the Shogun’s guard. Ito was stonefaced, there under sufferance, but Glover thanked him, said his very presence argued commitment, a statesmanlike maturity, said he was an example to the others, a pathfinder, and many would follow in his footsteps. He grunted at that, pleased, and when Glover said there were no poets among the Satsuma Nineteen, asked him to compose a haiku for the occasion, he said he would see what he could do.
A few more cups of sake, a little more encouragement and he got to his feet, cleared his throat, said he had a poem.
‘Is tanka,’ he said, ‘not haiku. Five lines, not three. But spirit is the same.’
And he read his poem, intoned it, sonorous, translated for Glover and Mackenzie.
I led the way
into the dark night,
returned to the rising sun.
Now others awake
and follow.
Glover nodded, put down his glass. ‘Gentlemen,’ he said, ‘the West awaits!’
They left in groups of three or four to arouse less suspicion. Ito, giving truth to his poem, led out the first group. Godai and Nagasawa went last, accompanied by Glover and Mackenzie. This time there was no trouble, no encounters with the Shogun’s militia. Their ship left at first light, at the turning of the tide.
*
Mackenzie had decided to retire, go home to Scotland.
‘Christ, Ken!’ said Glover. ‘Why?’
‘Och,’ said Mackenzie. ‘I’m just getting too old for all this. I can’t keep up wi’ you young fellows any more! And I aye said I’d see out my days in Edinburgh.’
‘I owe you a hell of a lot,’ said Glover.
‘Aye, well, a cheque paid into my bank account will do just fine!’
‘You know,’ said Glover, ‘there is a job you could be doing for me back home.’
‘Oh aye?’ Mackenzie’s wariness was only half feigned.
‘I need somebody to oversee this contract with Hall Russell, get the work started before I go there myself.’
Mackenzie’s brow furrowed. ‘So you’re definitely going ahead with this?’
‘I’m committed,’ said Glover. ‘I’ve given my word.’
‘There’s folk would like to see you committed,’ said Mackenzie. ‘To a madhouse!’
‘Ach!’ said Glover. ‘The whole damn world is bedlam!’ Then he looked at Mackenzie, quizzical. ‘Is there anyone in particular you had in mind?’
‘Sir Harry Parkes is none too pleased with your latest capers. I’m thinking you’ll be persona non grata at the Legation.’
‘If Sir Harry has anything to say to me, I’ll meet him to his beard!’
‘You may get the chance, sooner rather than later.’
‘How’s that?’
‘Folk here are planning a wee shindig to mark my retirement. It’s rumoured Sir Harry may make an appearance.’
‘Good!’ said Glover. ‘I look forward to setting him straight!’
*
Sir Harry Smythe Parkes, KCB, British Minister, Represen tative of Her Majesty’s Government in Japan, expansive after supping brandy, was making a speech in honour of Mackenzie. Parkes gave an impression of compact strength, steadiness. There was an intensity in his gaze, in the steel-blue eyes that nevertheless twinkled from time to time with good humour, fuelled by the liquor. He concluded his speech, proposed a toast.
‘We all owe a huge debt to Ken Mackenzie. He’s been a true pioneer in these parts, a firm hand on the tiller. I wish him bon voyage and a safe return home.’ He raised his glass. ‘Ken Mackenzie!’
He drained the glass, replenished it. Mackenzie approached the platform to cheers and applause, a stamping of feet on the floor from the younger bucks. When the noise died down he cleared his throat, selfconscious, thanked Sir Harry for his tribute.
‘A pioneer, eh? What is it they say about fools rushing in? I have no regrets about my time here. And of course a part of me is sorry to be leaving … Who said Which part? But I have confidence in the younger generation coming up to succeed me, hell, surpass me! And not least of these is young Tom Glover. His too is a firm hand on the tiller, even if he does sometimes sail a bit close to the wind!’
There was more laughter, a spate of hooting in Glover’s direction, before Mackenzie continued.
‘Och, bugger it! I was never much of a one for making speeches, so I’ll get my old arse out the road. Arigato gozaimasu the lot of ye. Sayobloodynara once and for all!’
The assembled company roared, cheered, stamped, fell to drinking once more.
Mackenzie came straight across to Glover.
‘Thanks, Ken. I appreciate the vote of confidence.’
Mackenzie laughed. ‘Do you think I meant one word of it?’
‘Well, maybe one word!’
‘D’ye mind when you first arrived here? I gave you three pieces of advice. Don’t cross the samurai. Keep out of the politics.’
‘And mind where I dipped my wick.’
‘Did you pay any heed?’
‘Not a great deal!’
‘In fact, you set about systematically breaking all three injunctions.’
‘As you knew fine I would!’
‘Aye, well.’
Mackenzie glanced over as Parkes crossed the room towards them.
‘Ken!’ he said, holding out his hand.
‘Thanks again for the eulogy!’ said Mackenzie.
‘All politicians are adept at lying through their teeth!’ said Parkes, laughing.
‘This is Tom Glover,’ said Mackenzie, introducing him.
‘I thought as much,’ said Parkes. ‘So you’re the young hothead I’ve heard so much about!’
The tone was still hectoring, bantering, but that steel was there again in the gaze.
‘Pleased to meet you too, Sir Harry.’
‘Perhaps we could have a word,’ said Parkes. ‘In private.’
‘Maybe this isn’t the time.’
‘I think the sooner the better.’
Glover nodded, led the way to a club room behind the bar.
Walsh passed by, said, ‘Seconds out!’
In the room, all pretence was gone, the pleasantries dropped. Parkes rounded on him.
‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’
‘I thought I was saying goodbye to Ken Mackenzie.’
‘You know what I’m talking about! You’ve smuggled more of these rebels out of the country.’
‘They’re from a different clan this time, to maintain some kind of balance.’
‘Balance!’ Parkes spluttered, his face reddening from more than the brandy. ‘Balance! Have you any idea of the trouble you could cause?’
‘Sometimes a wee bit trouble is what’s needed.’
‘You’re in contravention of the Shogun’s laws. You’re defying your own Government.’
‘The Shogun is on borrowed time, and his laws will soon be obsolete. And I’m sure Her Majesty’s Government will be happy to deal with the new administration, under the Emperor.’
‘Even if that were so, we cannot be seen to side with the rebels.’
‘Sooner or later,’ said Glover, ‘you’ll have to take account of these men.’
‘Men of violence, hotheaded young fools.’
‘They’re intelligent men, visionaries. Today’s revolutionaries are tomorrow’s statesmen. Think of America.’
‘Always a good idea!’ said Walsh, who had come into the room on some pretext or other.
‘Think of France,’ said Glover.
‘I am thinking of France!’ said Parkes, fired up again. ‘They’re solidly behind the Shogun. If we’re seen to be helping overthrow him, we risk another colonial war with the French.’
‘I don’t think it’ll come to that.’
‘You don’t think so?’ Parkes was flummoxed. ‘You don’t think so! On the basis of your vast experience of diplomacy and international affairs? Really, sir, your arrogance beggars belief!’
Mackenzie came into the room, l
ooked anxious to mediate in the exchange. Walsh tapped on his brandy glass, as if ringing a bell.
‘End of round one!’ he said. ‘I think we’re threatening to spoil Ken’s party here. Perhaps we should postpone the rest of the bout to a later date!’
Glover nodded, and after a moment’s hesitation Parkes did the same.
‘In deference to the occasion,’ said Parkes. ‘But I remind Mister Glover that he risks losing his licence to trade, is effectively courting banishment and exile from Japan, while his would-be revolutionaries risk execution.’
‘Low blow,’ said Walsh, ‘after the bell!’
‘Gentlemen,’ said Mackenzie. ‘Shall we go back through, to the body of the kirk?’
*
Parkes left the next day, returned to Edo without resuming his conversation with Glover. But his position had been made clear. Glover had to toe the line.
Mackenzie was also leaving, by clipper to Shanghai then by steamer to Southampton.
‘It’ll be a different place without you,’ said Glover, seeing him off at the dock.
‘Oh aye,’ said Mackenzie. ‘Everybody will miss my crabbit face!’
‘Well, I’ll be seeing it again soon enough.’
‘It’ll be gey strange for the both of us to be back there.’
‘Aye,’ said Glover. ‘It will.’
‘I’m sure Hall and Russell will have reservations about the contract.’
‘That’s why I’m glad you’ll be talking to them before I get there.’
‘Listen, Tom …’
‘I’ve been listening to you for years!’
‘And not taken a blind bit of notice!’
‘Not true.’
‘Seriously …’
‘I know.’
‘Ca canny, Tom. Mind how you go.’
