Tokyo Bay

by Anthony Grey

  When Armstrong took his place at the table beside Flag Lieutenant Rice, the tableau of that morning’s tense meeting had re-formed itself exactly as before: the demeanour of the governor was as grave and impassive as ever, and at his side the face of Haniwara Tokuma was composed in a similarly expressionless mask. Each member of the uncomfortably seated Japanese delegation also stared blankly ahead, but Armstrong felt he could detect an underlying tenseness in each of them that had not been apparent in the morning.

  After the flag lieutenant had said a few words of welcome which Armstrong translated, the Japanese governor again launched into a slow, convoluted speech which he delivered without looking directly at his American counterparts. Haniwara Tokuma also avoided Armstrong’s eyes when delivering the translation and, just before he finished speaking, the mystifying noise of hammer blows became audible again, ringing loudly in the distance.

  ‘I’m afraid the governor is still repeating what he said this morning,’ murmured Armstrong, leaning towards Rice. ‘He says it will take a great deal of time to send the copies of the letters to Yedo and to send the originals afterwards. He therefore proposes that the originals and copies be delivered together to a very high official.’

  ‘Tell His Excellency this can’t be done,’ replied Rice, bristling in his chair. ‘Tell him that our admiral wishes the copies to be sent to the Emperor along with his own personal letter that you have translated today. This will inform the Emperor that the admiral is empowered to deliver the President’s letter either to the Emperor in person or to a properly accredited official of his own rank. Tell him all that in no uncertain terms!’

  As Rice spoke Armstrong watched the governor’s face closely; his features had stiffened into an expression that was a mixture of defiance and apprehension, and he was growing noticeably pale. The features of the other Japanese officials had also become taut and strained and, even though they had not understood Rice’s meaning fully, it was clear that the manner of his speech had alarmed all of them.

  ‘Lieutenant, before I translate your remarks, I’d like your permission to put a few questions directly to their interpreter,’ said Armstrong ‘Do you agree?’

  ‘What purpose will that serve?’

  ‘I sense that some common ground might be found if we were to go more lightly: replied Armstrong. ‘I believe they’re frightened, but like us they have a fierce pride. Also, like us, they’re determined not to allow themselves to be humiliated.’

  ‘The commodore’s orders are clear,’ said Rice briskly. ‘We are to be uncompromising.’

  ‘Let me just try’ insisted Armstrong. ‘If they leave again it may be impossible to avoid hostilities.’

  The flag lieutenant hesitated for a moment, then nodded. ‘Very well, but keep me informed of all that’s said.’

  Armstrong smiled his thanks and addressed Haniwara Tokuma in Dutch. ‘His Excellency the Governor said some moments ago that a very high official is prepared to receive our President’s letter, along with copies, and another letter from our admiral. Is that correct?’

  ‘Yes, that is correct,’ replied Haniwara guardedly. ‘A high official representing the Emperor is already on his way here to receive the letters - but he is authorized only to accept the originals and the copies at the same time, not separately’

  ‘Will the high official bring written proof to show that he is properly authorized by the Emperor to receive these letters?’ asked Armstrong in the same confiding tone.

  The Japanese interpreter nodded again and raised one arm to show that he carried a small sealed scroll inside one of his loose sleeves. ‘We already have in our possession this letter bearing the Emperor’s seal, proving that he is properly authorized.’

  ‘And will that high official come here to the ship to receive the letters?’

  ‘No, he will not come on board. He will receive the letters on the shore.’

  “Where exactly on the shore do you propose the meeting shall take place?’ asked Armstrong. ‘It’s important that we know in advance.’

  ‘A special ceremonial pavilion is at present being built close to the beach a short way from here.’ Haniwara paused and lifted his head, listening to the noise of hammering. ‘You have perhaps already heard the sounds of our carpenters hard at work on the pavilion.’

  ‘Indeed we have: said Armstrong, feeling a curious sense of relief flood through him. ‘Indeed we have.’

  ‘At the pavilion our high official will be able to give the admiral a suitable reception: added Haniwara, still avoiding the eyes of the missionary. ‘But because Nagasaki is the proper place to receive all missives from foreign nations, he will not be able to converse or enter into any negotiations with the admiral after the ceremony.’

  ‘I see: said Armstrong, nodding. ‘I will explain all that now. Thank you for the clarity of your answers.’

  Turning back to the American officer, the missionary quickly outlined what had been said. But, as he listened, the face of the flag lieutenant clouded with suspicion.

  ‘Their pavilion may be a clever trap,’ he snapped. ‘They may be trying to lure us ashore so as to attack us. Before agreeing, we need more information about where it’s being built.’

  ‘But at least they’ve conceded to the commodore’s demand for a ceremonial reception of the President’s letter,’ insisted Armstrong. ‘Wouldn’t it be worth finding out how the commodore sees this? While you’re talking with him, we could seek more information.’

  The flag lieutenant considered the question in silence, then stood up suddenly. ‘We need to discover the exact location of the pavilion, Mr. Armstrong,’ he said very quietly, ‘so that we can send a cutter to make a survey. When you’ve established that, Mr. Harris is to take the information to the commander of the Susquehanna. It’s vital to find out if we can anchor close enough to cover the pavilion with our guns. I shall go now and confer with the commodore

  When the flag lieutenant had bustled out, Armstrong again addressed Haniwara Tokuma in Dutch. ‘I am hoping our admiral will react favourably to what you’ve already told me. But first we should like you to give us the exact location of the pavilion.’

  ‘It’s being constructed south of Uraga,’ said the interpreter, after a whispered exchange with the governor. ‘Before the village of Kurihama

  ‘Why has that site been chosen?’ enquired Armstrong. ‘Why couldn’t you have built the pavilion here at Uraga?’

  ‘Because foreign ships are not normally allowed to proceed beyond Kurihama replied the interpreter, keeping his eyes averted.

  ‘How far from this ship is it?’

  ‘It is not far - less than one Japanese mile. You can’t see it from here because it lies between two small headlands.’

  Armstrong broke off to pass this information to Midshipman Harris, and waited while he hurried off to find the commander of the flagship. When the cabin was quiet again he turned to Haniwara Tokuma once more. ‘May I ask you which high official is coming to receive our President’s letter? Can you give me a name?’

  ‘His name is Prince Toda of Idzu.’

  ‘And what is his rank?’ asked Armstrong, making a written note. ‘What position does he hold?’

  ‘Prince Toda is First Counsellor of the Empire. He will be accompanied by Prince Ido of Iwami.’

  ‘When will Prince Toda be available to receive the letters?’

  ‘I’m not entirely certain. Possibly tomorrow or the day after...’

  The sound of hurrying footsteps broke in on the exchanges, and Flag Lieutenant Rice reappeared and seated himself once more at the table, looking directly towards the governor.

  ‘Please tell His Excellency that I had a conversation with the admiral,’ he said firmly, glancing at Armstrong. ‘And the admiral has said that His Excellency appears to have wholly misunderstood the matter of receiving the original letter and copies. But if written proof can be provided that a high officer of the Emperor has now been appointed to come here and receive them, the admiral i
s prepared to waive the matters in dispute, and deliver on the same occasion the President’s original letter along with its translated copies and a letter from himself. .

  ‘Does this mean the commodore is prepared to abandon his hope of delivering the original letter personally in Yedo?’ asked Armstrong in a surprised whisper.

  ‘Quite so replied Rice. ‘But simply translate what the commodore directed me to say’

  Armstrong nodded quickly and complied, conveying the information in a neutral tone. On hearing the translation into Japanese, an expression of relief appeared fleetingly in the eyes of the governor; then, almost immediately his face became impassive again and he inclined his head to acknowledge what had been said.

  ‘Before the letters can be delivered ashore,’ continued Rice briskly, ‘the credentials of the Emperor’s high officer must be translated into Dutch, signed with the proper signatures, and sent on board for our inspection - is that clear?’

  The governor again inclined his head in acknowledgement.

  ‘At the meeting itself, the admiral asks me to say that there will be no need for any discussion whatsoever. Only civilities and compliments will be exchanged. And, despite what was said earlier, the admiral will not now insist upon waiting here for an immediate response to the original letter of the President. He will require only some form of receipt and will return later to receive the Emperor’s full answer.’

  ‘When will the admiral come back?’ asked the interpreter anxiously after a prolonged discussion with the governor. ‘How Soon?’

  ‘He has asked me to say he will return after a few months,’ replied Rice, ‘And next tune he will bring with him a bigger fleet of warships -‘

  A new flurry of uneasy discussion amongst the Japanese greeted the translation of this response and, while the whispering continued, the flag lieutenant touched Armstrong’s sleeve lightly to gain his attention.

  ‘The commodore has decided not to wait for an answer, because it would give them another chance to delay and deceive us while our supplies run low’ he murmured. ‘So tell them that if we approve of the meeting place, after making a survey of the site, we will anchor both steamships close to the ceremonial pavilion. Although you won’t say so, this will allow us to bring our heavy guns to bear on the pavilion during the ceremony But you can say that the admiral will land and march formally to the meeting with his retinue and a large armed escort. All this is to take place no later than the day after tomorrow’

  Armstrong nodded, and waited until the Japanese whispering died away before making his announcement. On hearing of the commodore’s intention to land with a large escort under the cover of his warships’ guns, the governor and Haniwara conferred again with other members of the entourage, speaking at length in anxious undertones.

  ‘It only remains to be decided when the Emperor’s representative will receive the admiral,’ prompted Armstrong gently. ‘Will the day after tomorrow be suitable?’

  ‘Yes, the First Counsellor of the Empire will be prepared to receive the President’s letter the day after tomorrow: said Haniwara after more whispered consultation. ‘At eight o’clock in the morning. As soon as we see your flag hoisted, the governor will come aboard to guide you to the ceremony.’

  ‘Excellent: exclaimed the flag lieutenant, rising to his feet. ‘Then this meeting is successfully concluded. I should like to thank His Excellency and his companions for their kind attendance here on our ship.’

  The governor, his face still expressionless, bowed in response, then turned and led his delegation from the cabin, escorted by the remaining midshipmen. Samuel Armstrong, determined not to delay too long this time, hurried after them and caught up with Haniwara Tokuma as he approached the companion- ladder leading to the upper deck.

  ‘Have you received any news at all of Lieutenant Eden?’ murmured the missionary, keeping his voice low to avoid the risk of being overheard by the other Japanese. ‘Rest assured I’ll treat anything you say in the strictest confidence.’

  ‘You must not try to speak to me like this!’ hissed the interpreter, turning his back pointedly on the missionary and trying to push past him. ‘Please leave me alone.’

  ‘I’m sorry, I must press you: whispered Armstrong, blocking the way forward. ‘It’s three whole days now Surely there’s been some new word of him?’

  Unable to proceed, the interpreter raised his head to look directly at Armstrong for the first time. His face had become very pale and the missionary was shocked by the depth of fear that he saw suddenly in his dark, narrow eyes.

  ‘By trying to make me talk to you privately, you’re threatening the lives of my wife and children,’ muttered Haniwara in a desperate voice. ‘You should stop. There’s greater danger than you realize . . . But you must speak to nobody of this!’

  With a sudden lunge, the interpreter forced his way past the astonished missionary and clambered onto the rungs of the companion-ladder. The other members of the governor’s retinue had already reached the upper deck and he scrambled frantically after them without looking back, his expression strained and all trace of his normal, scholarly composure gone.

  39

  FROM A DENSE FOG of unconscious silence the indistinct murmur of human voices materialized only very slowly. Because he heard them through a returning haze of pain, Robert Eden could not be sure whether the voices were coming from outside his head or inside. Unrelieved darkness surrounded him but he gradually became convinced he could also hear the subdued clop of horses’ hoofs moving steadily at walking pace across soft ground. The horses snorted quietly from time to time and their harness jingled as they moved, but something elusive prevented him from establishing beyond any shadow of doubt whether the noises were real or imaginary

  The pain he felt was flaring back into existence with a surprising swiftness both inside his skull and below his waist. He could smell dried blood, he realized suddenly, and a dusty, acrid odour also filled his nostrils. His whole body, if it existed at all, was cramped in a near-horizontal position as though it had been tortuously confined. He was being shaken and jolted constantly and every movement sent a new wave of pain coursing through him. In the blackness of the void in which he seemed to exist, he wondered whether he might already be dead or dying. His memory was frighteningly blank and he scoured its smooth, featureless surfaces in vain for some recollection of the immediate past.

  An all-engulfing numbness gripped him and he knew instinctively he was not capable of independent movement. He was not even sure he could feel his arms or legs; his body seemed to consist of an inert trunk, an immobile head and nothing more, all swathed in a cloak of the deepest blackness. He could hear the faint sound of someone breathing slowly and rhythmically far off, and somehow knew that it was his disembodied self. In this state of utter helplessness and passivity he strained all his five senses to their limits in an effort to establish his whereabouts; but no matter how hard he tried to penetrate the darkness, success eluded him and, after what seemed like an eternity he stopped trying and allowed himself to drift downward again into that deep, dense fog of unconsciousness.

  The moment he released himself from the act of attempting to understand, vivid images swept into his mind, momentarily dazzling him. At first he was not sure what he was seeing; then he recognized that he was surrounded by Indian teepees made from animal skins, and smoke was curling from their open vents. The sounds of horses’ hoofs that he could hear were bringing old squaws and younger women running from their shelters to watch the passing procession of ponies and mounted Iroquois braves. The braves wore feathers in their hair, their faces and bodies were daubed with brilliant war paints and they carried lances, tomahawks and bows in their hands. Quivers filled with arrows were slung around their naked shoulders and they wore broad-bladed knives tucked into their belts.

  In the same instant that his senses ceased their desperate search for evidence in his surroundings, Eden became aware of who and where he was: struck down in a battle with the white ma
rauders who had come to rob the Iroquois of their lands, his dead body was being solemnly transported to the tribe’s ancient burial grounds. Bumping unceremoniously over the rough ground, he was being dragged behind an ageing horse on a rough litter of birch branches. The voices he could hear were subdued and indistinct because a tangible atmosphere of shame and dishonour hung over the funeral procession.

  From the wizened faces of the old squaws and the dismayed stares of the younger Iroquois women who carried their babies strapped to their backs, he knew immediately that his corpse was the cause of their shame. They were looking, without doubt, at the passing body of a traitor who had been killed by his own tribe for consorting with their direst enemies. He had been killed because he had seen that the great tide of white settlers would soon inevitably overrun the Iroquois lands and change them forever. He had been killed because he had seen before anybody else that his tribe could not save themselves by fighting the intruders. He had met secretly in the forest with a soft-spoken white settler who had quietly laid his weapon aside after they first surprised each other beside a pool where they had gone to water their horses. He had continued to meet the white settler secretly, because he wanted to find a way to stop the senseless killing and try to understand how their two peoples might live in peace - and for doing that he had been killed by warriors of his own tribe.