by Anthony Grey
At the foot of the bill the track levelled out onto a banked causeway which stretched across a wide expanse of rice fields. The flooded paddies shimmered under the light of the rising moon, and Tokiwa could see that smaller paths diverged from the causeway on both sides, leading to tiny island villages which were surrounded by trees. Each of the villages, she could see, was flanked by its own neat agricultural plot where wheat, beans, onions and other small crops were cultivated. Many of these communities were silent, wrapped in a deep, nighttime stillness, but, here and there, despite the hour, some of the inhabitants had left their cottages to gather in groups along the main track and watch the unfamiliar columns of fighting men march by.
Tokiwa realized that she would find it difficult to hide herself on the exposed causeway if the need arose - or to explain herself if any local people waylaid her or called out. These thoughts alarmed her suddenly and she stopped and peered about, seeking an alternative route.. While standing undecided, she heard the unmistakable tattoo of hoofs growing rapidly louder, as they neared the brow of the hill behind her. She listened long enough to identify two if not three galloping horses, then yanked hard on her own horse’s leading rope.
‘Hayaku! - Quickly!’ she called sharply, trying to drag the animal towards a small grove of trees which sprouted in an arc around the foot of the hill. ‘Hayaku!’
Neighing loudly, the horse shied in resistance to this sudden, unexpected command. Although the animal was old and decrepit, with back legs bowed from carrying too many heavy loads, it still retained a fiercely stubborn temperament. Baring its yellow teeth in sudden anger, it tried to bite through the rope on which Tokiwa was pulling so frantically. The sound of galloping hoofs grew louder as the horsemen reached the brow of the hill, and she knew it would not be long before they caught sight of her below. In desperation she took a firm hold of the horse’s crupper and swung herself up on its back behind the panniers. The bony ridge of its sagging spine felt sharp beneath her, but she leaned forward and grabbed its mane with both hands; digging hard into its flanks with her heels, she startled the animal sufficiently to send it rolling in ungainly fashion towards the grove of trees. As soon as it had entered the shadows, Tokiwa slid to the ground again. Taking the leading rope, she tied it firmly to a low branch, leaving the horse whinnying quietly in corn- plaint, then crouched down to watch from behind one of the broader trunks.
Moments later two mounted warriors appeared, riding hard down the steep hill. Tokiwa recognized at once the distinctive armour and branched helmets worn by all of Prince Tanaka’s samurai, and as they drew nearer she could see the six-pointed heraldic star of the Kago clan emblazoned on the sleeves of their jimbaori. There was sufficient moonlight also for her to identify the leading horseman as Gotaro, the thickset chief guard, and the sight of him caused her to shrink back fearfully behind the tree trunk.
On reaching the start of the causeway, Gotaro suddenly reined in his mount, signalling to his comrade to do the same. They circled and came together, peering across the flat expanse of rice fields ahead; then they began conversing in an urgent undertone.
In her hiding-place Tokiwa held her breath and glanced round at the restive horse behind her, praying that it would not make any sound to betray her presence. It was tossing its head restlessly and still gnawing at the rope but otherwise remained silent. Tokiwa watched Gotaro raise himself from his saddle to look all around, and at one moment she felt certain he was staring straight towards her in the darkness. Despite the warmth of the night she began to shiver, but in the next instant the two horsemen spurred their mounts forward onto the causeway, and, leaning her cheek against the tree trunk, she closed her eyes in relief as the sound of their hoofs faded into the distance.
15
ROBERT EDEN scrambled the last few yards to the cliff top on all fours and raised his head cautiously to peer inland. To his amazement he found himself staring at the silhouette of a massive cannon drawn up close to the cliff edge, only twenty or thirty yards away. Its muzzle jutted seaward through a gap in canvas screens which were ten feet high, and he could see that two or three similar guns had been hauled into position further along the cliff top.
‘We’ve come up close to some important gun emplacements,’ breathed Eden, ducking hurriedly back below the lip of the cliff, to where Sentaro was crouching. ‘But there’s something very strange about them.’
‘What is it, master?’ whispered Sentaro apprehensively. ‘What’s strange?’
‘There are no gun crews. No troops! In fact I can’t see anybody at all.’
The Japanese castaway’s face betrayed the extreme unease he obviously felt. ‘What are we going to do then, master?’
‘We’re going to take a closer look at them!’
Eden scrambled quickly over the edge of the cliff, then leaned back to help the Japanese up in his turn, The cliff top was grassy and Eden mimed a silent instruction for them to ease forward through the darkness on their bellies, using their elbows and knees for propulsion. Eden reached the gun first, and the Japanese heard him let out an exclamation of surprise.
‘What have you found, master?’ asked Sentaro breathlessly, when he arrived at Eden’s side.
‘It’s not real!’ Eden shook his head in disbelief, and reached out again to stroke the gun with one hand. ‘Feel it! It’s made of wood. All these guns could be useless replicas . . . Wait here!’
Bent double, Eden dashed away towards the other guns, while Sentaro remained kneeling nervously beside the first one, watching his every move as best he could in the shadowy darkness. From the ship they had swum for nearly an hour before landing on a deserted beach three miles south-west of Uraga and Eden had led the way cautiously up the steep cliffs, taking no unnecessary risks. He had chosen their landing area with great care and they had eventually stepped ashore a mile from the nearest beacon fire. Its flames provided no more than a faint and distant glow and, because the newly risen crescent moon was not yet shedding much light on the land, they had the protection of near darkness in which to work. Eden was wearing the wide conical hat of woven sedge jammed down over his face, and in the borrowed Japanese cottons and straw sandals, Sentaro was relieved to see that he did not look too much out of place. When they landed he had strapped the pistol belt around his waist inside his shirt, concealing the holstered weapon, and his cutlass was still tied inconspicuously across his back. These precautions freed his limbs effectively for action and Sentaro watched admiringly as the American officer dashed swiftly from gun to gun in a crouching run. When he arrived back by the first gun, Eden’s face was triumphant.
‘I was right, Sentaro. All these guns are fakes! And the screens are not hiding anything except empty spaces. They’re just a cover-up for a severe shortage of weapons...!’
‘Watch out, master!’ Without warning the Japanese suddenly pulled Eden down behind the fake cannon and continued to stare past him, along the cliff.
‘What is it?’ whispered Eden. ‘What did you see?’
‘Sentries - two of them! Patrolling this way.’
Eden peered hard into the darkness and saw two figures silhouetted against the distant beacon fire. Carrying pikes, or perhaps muskets, on their shoulders they were only a hundred yards away, but their leisurely demeanour suggested they had not noticed any suspicious movement around the fake guns.
‘Let’s move quickly!’ commanded Eden, and ducked away in the opposite direction, to drop into a cliff top gully that ran inland. They sprinted hard for a few minutes, then Eden stopped and pulled the Japanese down beside him in a grassy hollow.
‘You did well, Sentaro,’ he gasped, struggling to recover his breath. ‘I was careless. Your alertness saved
The Japanese nodded and grinned shyly but said nothing.
‘But I was forgetting something very important,’ continued Eden in a whisper. ‘You’re on your home soil again now - I want you to know you’re free to return to your village if you wish.’
The Japanese stared
around into the darkness, as though considering for the first time the full implications of being back in the country of his birth. But his apprehensive expression did not change and he shook his head several times in silence.
‘How does it make you feel?’ prompted Eden. ‘Do you want to change your mind?’
‘I will be executed, master, if they find out I was on the black ships! If I return to my home they will kill me for sure..
Eden patted his shoulder reassuringly. ‘Nobody need know you were on our ships. Don’t go home until all this excitement has died down. Find yourself a job as a fisherman for a few months - or work in the fields somewhere.’
Sentaro shook his head. ‘Everybody here is registered; everybody is watched by spies. It’s impossible to hide anywhere, so my safest home now is on the Susquehanna. Please let me stay and serve you, master
- and return to the ships when you do.’
Eden studied the face of the Japanese castaway for several moments, then he nodded emphatically. ‘All right, if you’re sure that’s what you really want.’
‘It is what I want, master!’
‘Good, Then follow me.’
Sentaro grinned with pleasure as they began to rise from the grassy hollow, but the soft shuffle of many marching feet became suddenly audible, and both men froze and dropped down again. The noise of the unseen marchers became louder and on raising his head Eden noticed that a narrow track, which led up the hillside from inland, snaked across the cliff top only a few yards from their hiding place.
As he watched, the heads and shoulders of the leading marchers rose into sight, followed by many others. Moving quietly in soft, thonged zóri, they advanced steadily towards Eden’s hiding place; when they drew nearer he saw that the column was corn- posed of fighting men who were carrying spears, longbows and ancient-looking muskets on their shoulders.
‘What shall we do, master?’ whispered Sentaro frantically. ‘They will pass very close to us.’
‘Lie face downward ordered Eden calmly, stretching himself full-length beside the Japanese in the bottom of the hollow. ‘And wait quietly until they pass.’
Eden pulled the cone-shaped hat down over his face and adjusted it so that the path would be visible through an inch-wide slit. As soon as the marching column came abreast of their hiding place, he held his breath and lay still. The armed men were carrying only a few lanterns, and to Eden’s relief their hollow remained in shadow as the front of the column moved past. Without stirring he found he could see the shuffling feet of the marchers passing a few yards away.
After a while he was emboldened to raise his head, and found he could identify ancient flintlock and matchlock muskets among the mixed batch of arms being carried by the column. He could see too that most of the men were wearing iron helmets and various forms of body armour made from bamboo, chain mail and leather. All the men marched silently in orderly, well-disciplined ranks, keeping in close step and listening carefully for new commands from their two-sworded samurai officers. It took ten minutes for the entire column to march past the hollow, and when at last he lifted himself on his elbows to watch its tail-end disappear into the darkness, Eden realized that the armed force was heading for the fake fort, where it would doubtless bivouac and form a garrison.
‘It’s like stepping backwards in time breathed Eden, half to himself, as he clambered out of the hollow and stood staring after the marchers. ‘Some of those weapons must be hundreds of years old.’
‘We were lucky, master murmured Sentaro, standing up beside him. ‘If they had seen us, we could both have been killed instantly. In peace or war the samurai warrior always follows his first instinct. He draws his sword and kills in a moment. No questions are ever asked . .
‘Then good fortune has presented us with new opportunities,’ said Eden softly, beckoning the Japanese to follow him. ‘Let’s make sure we don’t waste them.’
Sentaro followed Eden in silence as they skirted the makeshift fort and headed north, staying roughly parallel with the shoreline. There was enough light from the rising moon now for them to pick their way quickly through the clumps of scrub and woodland that covered the cliff top, but enough shadow too for them to hide themselves in good time whenever they encountered moving sentries or other soldiers.
After several minutes they came within sight of another fort that was being extended and reinforced. Small groups of bowmen and foot soldiers, clutching long spears and shields, were milling around a central group of flimsy wooden buildings. Other uniformed men were carrying small roundshot and kegs of powder out of the same buildings, and Eden could see that they were supplying half a dozen genuine cannon mounted at embrasures in the seaward earthworks. Similar low ramparts of packed earth surrounded the fort on its three landward sides, and hundreds of civilians - men, women and children dressed in dark cottons - scurried frantically back and forth carrying bouncing shoulder-poles from which baskets of earth were suspended. With unflagging energy they emptied the earth onto the ramparts, before hurrying back to collect more from an excavated gully two hundred yards away.
‘Let’s take a closer look: whispered Eden. ‘Keep low’
Hugging the shadows he led the way to the shelter of a grass hillock close enough to the fort for them to hear the grunting and muttering of the toiling Japanese as they unloaded their heavy burdens. Tugging his tiny, opera-glass binoculars from the pouch at his waist, Eden quickly examined the central buildings and the half-dozen cannons.
‘The magazine and the barracks are built of wood:
he whispered incredulously, ducking down again. ‘One direct hit would finish the entire fort. And their guns are no bigger than nine-pounders. They couldn’t even reach our ships from here.’
‘Our defences have not been well prepared.’ Sentaro nodded towards some nearby pole-carriers. ‘These people are all grumbling. Fishermen, farmers, their wives and children - everybody has been pressed into service to rebuild the fort.’
‘What else are they saying?’ asked Eden, raising his head again to look cautiously over the hillock.
‘They say that for many centuries our ancestral gods protected us from foreign ships. But they think our rulers have now become careless and inefficient.
They say the people of Yedo are terrified that they may starve if the foreign ships block the bay for long...’
‘Look: said Eden, suddenly pointing towards the earthworks. ‘There are some spare carrying-poles lying on the ground. We can join in the work. We’ll be able to learn more.’
‘No, master, that’s too dangerous. . .‘ began Sentaro in alarm, but Eden had already bounded from their hiding place, tugging his conical hat down over his face, and was scrambling over the earth rampart.
Within moments he had snatched up a carrying- pole, untangled its rope-matting baskets, and hoisted it to his shoulder. Without looking back he set off at an easy lope towards the excavation gully where the Japanese civilians were digging for fresh earth. Reluctantly Sentaro hurried after him, gathering up a carrying-pole in his turn. By the time he caught up, the American was staggering slightly under the weight of two huge loads of earth and heading back towards the fort.
‘Follow me,’ hissed Eden in Japanese, nodding towards one of the gun embrasures. ‘There are some officers in conversation over there. Let’s drop our earth nearby.’
Sentaro quickly filled his baskets and hurried after him. When they reached the earthworks facing the sea, Eden edged as close as he dared to the open gun embrasure, beside which five or six red-cloaked samurai officers were arguing heatedly. Struggling to the top of the rampart, he began to unload his first basket slowly with his hands, without appearing to look directly at the group of men below him. At the same time he gestured discreetly for Sentaro to climb up beside him.
‘They seem to be angry,’ murmured Eden after listening to the raised voices for two or three minutes. ‘I think they’ve been ordered by their daimyo not to undertake any aggressive moves for fear of provoking an
invasion.’
‘Yes, master,’ whispered Sentaro. ‘Some of these men are complaining that they have pleaded for permission to attack the barbarian ships. But they have been forbidden to do so. They say the bakufu - the Shogun’s government - is frightened that if they provoke the foreign barbarians, they will invade Nippon and occupy the whole country. They fear we will become colonial slaves, like the Chinese. ..‘
‘What special commands have been issued?’ whispered Eden, as he emptied out his second basket. ‘Did you hear?’
‘The strictest orders forbid all gunfire,’ replied Sentaro. ‘These men have been instructed that no matter how insolent the foreign barbarians become, there must be no use of firearms. “Bloody incidents”, say the orders, are to be avoided at all costs. .
‘I heard them complaining that ammunition is very scarce, too,’ breathed Eden. ‘They do seem very dissatisfied.’
Sentaro nodded, busily spreading the earth from his own baskets along the top of the rampart. ‘They have only ten rounds for each of these cannon. And it is the same at all the other forts. One of them claimed some of his guns are so old he is afraid to fire them.’
‘It’s clear we have nothing to fear from any of their weapons,’ murmured Eden, lifting his carrying- pole and the empty baskets to his shoulder again. Still squatting on top of the earthwork, he glanced cautiously from beneath the brim of his wide hat towards the group of samurai officers below. They were still talking animatedly, and Eden’s eyes narrowed in concentration when he heard another reference to the kurufune - the ‘black ships’ anchored in the bay.
‘I’m told that the barbarians on the black ships made it clear to our officials that they are determined to fight,’ said one officer with explosive vehemence. ‘It’s rumoured that the bakufu are trembling at the knees, and will agree to anything even receiving the barbarian letter to His Imperial Majesty here instead of at Nagasaki. .
‘How soon will we be ready to receive it?’ demanded another officer.
