All of it was his and he was home at last.
Tōru clambered over the edge of Takamori’s ship, the Kagoshima Maru, which served as the Satsuma flagship for Satsuma’s nascent fleet of five airships. He leapt onto the deck and greeted Takamori. The two friends spoke little, for nothing needed be said. This was it. All their work of the last year and more had prepared them for this day. They were ready to defend their homeland.
Tōru wished that Jiro and Masuyo could have taken time and figured out ship-to-ship communications without wires. Among the books in his collection was one on theories of electro-magnetism, but there had not been time to sort out anything in the lab. In the meantime, the captains had worked out a cumbersome system of flag signaling, ship-to-ship and shore-to-ship. In the heat of the battle, though, maintaining communications would be difficult. They were on their own. The politicians and the generals had no way to reach them. Only their fleet stood between Edo and the vile Commodore with his kurofune black ships of evil mien.
The airship captains knew the stakes.
No matter how angry they were at the Commodore’s arrogance — and each one was filled with a cold implacable rage, once the story of the white flags passed to every ear — they understood their first priority was to drive the American ships from Japanese waters without bloodshed or sinking the ships.
As the Shogun’s general had told them in their final briefing, “We are communicating with the American President, not his swaggering ill-bred servant. Our message is our strength and our demand for respect for our ancient laws, not our anger. Ignore his monkey slave, and conduct yourselves as ambassadors for our Emperor and Shogun. And drive his ships from our shores.”
Each captain was acutely aware that mistakes—too much aggression, too much passivity, too little strength, unclear messages—could lead to disaster for their homeland.
Takamori’s crew maneuvered the Kagoshima Maru into her position in the formation while he and Tōru conferred at the prow. The wind was gusty and strong today, blowing against them as they fought their way north, but the engines shuddered and persevered, driving the fleet up the coast to converge above the black ships. Soon they were pacing them, flying in an ever more even and perfect formation high above the American fleet. The two friends peered through their spyglasses, Tanaka the watchmaker’s latest contribution to the cause, at the black ships steaming north.
Evil pitch-black smoke billowed from the American ships’ smokestacks against the otherwise pristine sky, the sailing ships in tow, as they headed toward Edo and a million vulnerable Edoites.
Tōru could see the Americans pointing up at the airships and peering back at them through their own spyglasses. He saw officers shout commands, and sailors and soldiers jump to haul out shot and aim cannons. He laughed as he saw the crew attempt to point the cannons directly upward and fail. They were fastened in place, able to aim high but land their shot on land or ships on their same level, not to aim into the sky. He stopped laughing when he saw soldiers aim their rifles toward them. Takamori saw it too, and shouted to his men to take them up, up, up, out of range, and for the flag signal officer to get the message to Admiral Jiro’s ship.
His message crossed another, coming from Admiral Jiro.
“All ships. Overtake them. Defensive formation between Edo and the black ships.”
Takamori and his crew pushed the Kagoshima Maru to the limits of her superb engineering. The other airship captains did likewise as they received the order. Never before, even in a drill, had the engines worked so hard, fighting such a strong wind. They shuddered and throbbed and complained, but they held, and drove the giant propulsion devices. The airships churned forward swiftly now, leaving behind the black ships. A few shots were fired from the kurofune, but all fell harmlessly in the sea.
The airships reached their defensive positions. They aimed their guns toward the black ships steaming toward them. The winds were strong. The engines fought hard just to hold position, but hold they did. Tōru was pleased to see even the inexperienced pilots nudging their way into near perfect formation. Looking good matters, both in war and love. We win if we drive them away without battle. We win if we frighten them enough.
Tōru and Takamori watched the ships. The other captains did the same, as did the commanders on shore, peering at them through spyglasses, watching to see what the pugnacious American would do. His mighty steamships were under double strain, with both the heavy wind against them and the burden of towing the sailing ships. Tōru noted with satisfaction that the sailing ships would be nearly useless in a battle with the wind so strong against them.
Perry was no longer pretending to survey the coast and sound the water’s depths. His guns were trained on the shore and his marines were in battle dress and armed, lined up along the gunwales of his ships. He steamed full speed toward Edo. He was less than an hour away from reaching bombardment range of the great city.
No one feared that he could take the city or even damage her much. Perry had at most 1,600 men, including his cooks and ships boys, on all four of his ships. Though his guns did have a marvelous and unmatched long range, and heavier caliber shot than anything the rebel lords had yet developed, whatever damage he could inflict on Edo before Tōru’s underwater ships sank him was limited. Great Edo could be wounded but not killed by the crude American.
No, the danger was not to Edo herself but to the vision of a prosperous and free Japan. If Perry managed to provoke hostilities, he would succeed at creating a terrible war between both sides, dragging in the friendly Americans and forcing Japan to arm herself instead of building prosperity. The enemy was not the Americans, but Perry himself. Tōru had to find a way to send a message to the American President through the unwilling messenger of Perry.
“Saigo!” Tōru shouted to his friend Takamori, who was across the deck speaking with his pilot. “Can you get me directly above the Susquehanna?”
Takamori didn’t bother to remind him that doing so would defy their orders. “Sure, but what do you want to do that for? Don’t you see his guns?”
“Perry’s trying to force us to fire on him. He’ll go so close to Edo that we’ll have to. He’ll neglect to mention to his President that he sailed up to Edo with his guns hanging out. He wants to lose a ship or three, leaving him with one to escape and tell the American people we attacked him, unprovoked, so he can throw us into war. We need to show his thousand men, a thousand witnesses, that we can blow him out of the water effortlessly but choose not to do so. We must send a message that will reach his President, through the mouths of his men. ‘Don’t mess with Yamato.’”
“And you are going to do that exactly how?”
“I’m going to tell him. And you, and the Hakudo Maru, the Yakaze Maru and the Toranosuke Maru are going to show him. Message to shore—we need a dozen fishing boats we can blow up, to meet us here below the fleet. But you have to drop me on to the Susquehanna so I can explain the nuance to him.”
Takamori now took the time to explain that Tōru’s idea was entirely against orders. “We’re not supposed to do any diplomacy or negotiations. You were there—the whole roomful of lords, ours, the Shogun’s, all were dead set against any negotiating. Just accept the letter and begone, that’s our stance. You don’t get to go against all that. Even your father will be against you.”
Tōru stiffened at the mention of his father.
All this time there had still been no direct message from Lord Shimazu, who knew by now in a thousand ways that Tōru had returned. He trusted his father’s judgment and final order when last Tōru saw him, as he left Tōru on a piece of wreckage in the path of the American trading ship so many years ago, that their relationship must remain secret beyond Satsuma’s borders. His father’s support had touched Tōru through his many unusual gestures. His request to Lord Aya to make Tōru a samurai. The fine horse. The exquisite daishō swords. The land grant. Saigo Takamori by his side.
Still, it stung.
“Fair enough, but wha
t do you think?”
Takamori folded his strong arms across his massive chest and pondered the matter. “You are right. Let’s do it. What can they do, kill us? Technically we are already condemned to death.” He grinned and shouted orders to his pilot and flag messenger.
Within minutes a dozen fishing boats were heading out from the shore to cluster on the sea below the dirigibles. The boats were filled with samurai wearing the Shogun’s crest, not empty to be used as targets as Tōru had intended.
“They sent soldiers,” Takamori pointed out to Tōru. The message had not been clear. The courageous men below thought they were being sent out to attempt to board the black ships.
Tōru sighed. “Get them up here. Leave a couple on each boat to maneuver into position, and then pull them off.”
The captains had to send down nimble crewmen on the swaying rope ladders to convince the Shogun’s samurai on each fishing boat to join them above. They were eager to board and fight the Americans, as pointless an action as that would have been. Only when promised they could board more easily from above did they consent to abandon the fishing vessels.
The better news was that someone had ordered a dozen underwater ships to accompany the fishing boats. They were hidden behind them, on the side away from the black ships. They floated near the surface, so orders could be shouted to their crews. The crewmen tasked with convincing the Shogun’s samurai to climb the ladders spoke to the crews of the underwater ships directly and arranged for them to fire on the fishing boats upon a signal from above. Or on the American ships. If it came to that.
Asano, Masuyo and Jiro had pulled their ships out of formation and brought them alongside the Kagoshima. The V closed ranks behind them, holding formation. Tōru tried shouting, but even so close, the roar of the wind and the engines was too much. They had to spell out the plan with flags, painfully slowly, as the black ships relentlessly pulled closer and closer to the capital.
“Take me in.” Takamori nodded and gave the order to his pilot. Leaving behind the main V formation, the Kagoshima turned away from Edo and headed straight for the black ships. The Hakudo Maru, the Yakaze Maru and the Toranosuke Maru escorted the Kagoshima Maru, trailing a little behind her.
“How are you going to keep them from shooting you?”
“I’ll just have to risk it.” Tōru tightened the straps on his back, where the hated white flags wrapped around their poles hung like a quiver across his back, still tied with the silk ribbons the general had fastened around them.
Trailed by her escort of the three dirigibles, the small fleet of fishing boats and the hidden underwater boats, the Kagoshima approached the Susquehanna.
Seeing this, the black ships finally slowed their pace.
Tōru had hoped this would happen. He was pleased to see the Susquehanna’s engines reversing their direction to glide to a stop. The sailing ships were throwing anchors.
He hoped his other assumption would also hold true, that they would not fire on a lone man climbing down a ladder. Perry might, but Tōru didn’t think he would dare in front of his officers. Tōru had liked the American military leaders he met on his travels, mostly men of honor and courage. Most would consider firing on a helpless man dangling on a ladder unsporting and dishonorable.
Tōru turned around once more to look at the capital, safe for the moment behind his fleet of dirigibles and underwater ships. The vast city was a beautiful jewel, spread out for miles along the coast, bustling with a million inhabitants, commoners and lords and warriors alike, all watching and waiting in fear of the Kurofune, the Black Ships.
Takamori called the halt. His pilot throttled down the engines to just enough to hold their position.
They were now directly above the Susquehanna.
The Americans aimed their rifles skyward, but otherwise held their positions and their fire.
“Ganbatte, na. Do your best.” Takamori saluted Tōru formally.
“Itte kuru yo. I’ll be back.” Tōru tossed the ladder over the gunwale and checked the straps on the hateful white flags one last time. He saluted Takamori and then climbed over the gunwale and down the ladder to the waiting American flagship.
A pair of officers, who had been among the senior officers who attended the reception ceremony, held the swaying tail of the ladder and assisted Tōru in stepping onto the deck.
A hundred pairs of eyes and a hundred guns were aimed at Tōru as he stood and got his bearings. But for the keening wind and the call of the gulls and the lapping of the sea on the hull, all was silent.
“Get the translators up here, on the double!” shouted an officer.
“That will not be necessary,” said Tōru, in clear and nearly unaccented American English, unless the slightest hint of a New England drawl, picked up from the whaling crew that rescued him, counted as an accent. “I am here to speak with Commodore Perry.” He ignored the astonishment on the Americans’ faces at his perfect English after all the suffering of the morning’s translations.
They whispered among themselves as they recognized him from the morning’s ceremony.
The Commodore, as was his custom, had scuttled below decks to his stateroom as Tōru came aboard lest his dignity be bruised by encountering anyone ranked lower than a prince.
“I am the highest ranking officer here,” said the American. “I can take your message to the Commodore.”
“I’m afraid that will be impossible. I need to speak with the Commodore in person.” Tōru took the most imperious tone he could manage, and stood erect, fighting the urge to bow, a custom the Americans found servile.
“The Commodore can only meet with—“
“Yes, yes, I know, with princes and high ranking representatives of the Emperor. You may tell your Commodore it will be considered a grave insult to the Emperor and his Shogun if he does not meet with me. Now.”
“He will not come out unless—“
“Perhaps…I can convince you…in another way.” Tōru turned up to face Takamori, watching him from above the swaying ladder. Tōru motioned thrice with his arms in the pre-arranged signal.
“See those fishing boats?” Tōru indicated a trio floating nearest the American ship. They were empty now of their samurai passengers, who were gathered above on the airship or on a few of the other fishing boats, watching intently.
The American officers nodded.
“If your Commodore does not come up to speak with me, now, it will be considered a grave insult to the Emperor and his Government and the peace loving people of Japan. It would be a terrible shame if a lack of courtesy were to lead to conflict between our peoples.” Here Tōru did bow deeply, putting into the gesture all the grace and strength of his people, and sending a signal to the fighters above in the dirigible. He briefly remembered Takamori’s protest that any sort of diplomacy or negotiating with the foreigners was strictly forbidden.
Too late.
“I humbly request that the Commodore join us on deck, now, or I will be forced to avenge his insult to my Emperor in this manner upon your fleet.” Tōru gestured with a graceful outstretched hand to the three fishing boats, as though he were pointing out a lovely water feature in a garden.
Instantly from the three escort dirigibles fell half a dozen bombs, five of which hit their three targets dead center. Two ships instantly exploded into splinters and sank while the third flamed on one side but continued to float. Tōru thought someone may have packed a few extra explosives into the fishing boats’ holds for effect, for the result was far better than anything achieved in tests with just aerial bombs. The third ship then exploded, in a deeply satisfying delayed reaction, as one of the underwater boats surfaced, fired its single heavy gun, and blew the remaining fishing boat from the water before vanishing once more beneath the waves.
Several of the American officers with better vantage points had seen the underwater vessel surface and fire its weapon. With shouts they ran to the side of their ship, attempting to get a better look.
The demo
nstration had the desired effect on the American officer.
“I’ll-I’ll get the Commodore for you. May I tell him who you are, sir?”
Tōru smiled and bowed. Graciousness in victory is not servility but good manners.
He drew himself up and said, “You may tell Commodore Perry the eldest son of Lord Shimazu, leader of the Satsuma domain and liege lord of the King of the Ryukyu Kingdoms, is here as special emissary from the His Grace the Emperor Komei, heir to the Chrysanthemum Throne, and his Most High General Shogun Tokugawa Ieyoshi, military leader of the Hundred Armies.”
The officer bowed awkwardly, bobbing his head like a duck plucking weeds. “So you are a prince and a high-ranking official.”
“We do not think of princes in the same way you do, but yes, I meet regularly with the Shogun in his Council chamber.” Mostly to be condemned to death, but he didn’t ask what we meet about.
“I’ll be right back, Your Excellency.”
The officer dashed off to fetch the Commodore.
Tōru held his face impassive and cold, resisting the urge to smile at his self-chosen titles. Perry had invented some of his orders and documents as well, figuring his President would never know about such things as his white flags and unscripted explorations around Edo. Tōru figured it would be at least a year before anyone on shore learned he had announced himself as the Emperor’s and Shogun’s emissary, let alone Lord Shimazu’s son. If a touch of exaggeration and theater achieved the goal without bloodshed, so be it.
Toru: Wayfarer Returns (Sakura Steam Series Book 1) Page 26
