The Merchant's Tale

by Simon Partner

  Chūemon ended his letter about the looming confrontation on a surprisingly patriotic note. “In this incident,” he wrote, “truly Japan’s martial prowess is to be feared. Truly, Japan is a first-rate power to be feared for ten thousand years by all the other nations of the world.” This was, in fact, the first time in the surviving letters that Chūemon used the term “Japan” (Nippon). Previously, his references to his “country” (kuni) almost always referred to Kōshū. It is hard to say how aware Chūemon was of the broader currents of nationalism in Japan’s political sphere. Given his education and widespread networks, it is hard to believe that he was not familiar with National Learning ideology and the philosophies of imperial loyalism. But before emperor or nation, Chūemon’s first loyalties were to his family, who depended on him for their livelihood, to his local community of Kōshū, and to the shogunate, which, for him, represented stability and security. There can be no doubt that the growing international confrontation gave Chūemon a stronger sense of Japanese identity—but it is probable that for Chūemon, being “Japanese” meant first and foremost being a loyal subject of the shogun. Chūemon’s defiance of the foreigners was also tempered by his powerful belief in the beneficial wealth-creating opportunities that Yokohama offered. Indeed, Chūemon ended his letter with the reassuring admonition, “There is no need to fear: Yokohama will always be a safe place to live.”133

  Chūemon’s confidence was not shared by the majority of the population. The looming confrontation threw both Edo and Yokohama into a state of panic. In Edo, wrote Chūemon, “it is said that a decision has been made to expel the foreigners on the thirteenth of this month [May 30, 1863]. The warriors are making fierce preparations … The women and children of the warriors have all returned to their fiefs, and those who have no fief have been sent to temples up to ten leagues away from Edo … The townsmen of Edo have nowhere to go. However, it is said that the owners of outbuildings in Kosuge and Ōji are asking high prices for them as places of evacuation.”

  Meanwhile in Yokohama, the May 7 deadline for payment of the indemnity for the Richardson murder approached, spreading panic through the community. Francis Hall wrote in his journal that “the native population are fleeing in the utmost haste … Scarcely a native merchant has the nerve to remain, but all offer their wares at any price they can get.”134 A French priest, Pierre Mounicou, wrote that “there is no food; only a few vegetables are still available and the European butchers have on hand no more than a two-day supply of meat. The merchants are hurriedly putting their goods aboard; hundreds of coolies are milling about the streets.”135 Those Japanese who had unsettled claims against the foreigners resorted to any means available to ensure payment before the expected outbreak of war. One merchant was abducted; another was “surrounded, thrown down, and beaten severely until his native servants interfered for his rescue.” But in other cases, “servants left their masters robbing them as they went.”136

  The shogunal authorities were in complete disarray. The shogun himself was still in Kyoto, as were several of his chief advisers. The authorities in Edo begged for more time, and the British agreed to push the deadline into June. Meanwhile, the war of nerves continued. On May 31, six hundred French and British soldiers paraded in the customs house square. The next day the shogunate sent one thousand extra troops to Yokohama, ostensibly to protect the foreigners from the threat of activist samurai but causing many to fear that the government itself was planning a general massacre of the foreigners.137

  Chūemon, however, stayed put through it all. On May 19 he wrote to his son that

  a market has sprung up for huts [outside the town], and people are bringing their emergency allocations of rice there. On the eleventh of last month, five hundred bales of rice were purchased at the town hall. In addition, many other necessities are being prepared … While we are keeping an eye on the military situation, we hope we can just live peacefully … Naotarō and his wife are working hard at their business and they are making a good living from it, so please be reassured, and tell Mother too. As for me, I am working without taking even half a day of rest. Everyone has fled, but we are prospering. We have sent our belongings to some relatives of Naotarō’s wife, who live in Hoshikawa village, one and a half ri [3.7 miles] from Yokohama toward the Kōshū Kaidō. We are keeping here just our clothes, utensils, and other daily necessities. Inventory for our shop is arriving daily from Edo, and I have taken on two new workers.”138

  Finally, on June 20, 1863, the British chargé d’affaires, Colonel Neale, instructed the British naval fleet in Yokohama, led by Admiral Kuper, to get up steam in preparation for an attack on Edo. Kuper issued a proclamation to the foreign residents of Yokohama that he would wait eight days before attacking. During that time, “I think it necessary to recommend most strongly that all those of the community who have wives and families at Yokohama, should take the earliest opportunity of removing them, at any rate from the scene of danger, should they themselves determine upon awaiting the issue of events.”139

  The shogunal ministers, terrified at the prospect of an attack on Edo by British warships, finally recognized that they had no choice but to pay the enormous indemnity. Their fear was not misplaced. Given the limited state of Japan’s coastal defenses, a single well-armed gunboat could have laid waste to the length of the Japanese coast. Most of Japan’s great cities, with their flammable wooden buildings, were within shelling range of the coast.

  On the night of June 24 a Japanese government steamer arrived in Yokohama with twenty chests of silver coins. As the Illustrated London News reported the event,

  The authorities were exceedingly anxious to discharge their task at once, under the friendly shade of night; but Colonel Neale was firm, and next morning, before break of day, the sleepers of Yokohama were roused by the rattle of carts filled with dollars proceeding from the port towards the English Legation. Again the Japanese tried hard to induce Colonel Neale to accept the bulk as correct in amount and take it from them without further publicity; but this, too, was as firmly declined, and they had to count it out in the presence of the public and the laughing coolies.140

  Ironically, the shogunate’s humiliating and expensive stand-down came just one day before the date by which the shogun had committed to expel the foreigners and close the ports. After delivery of the money, the shogunal ministers formally presented the emperor’s order that the foreigners should now leave Japan. When the foreign envoys reacted indignantly, the ministers apologized and quietly withdrew.

  The next morning, as if to rub salt into the wound, the British forces—which had been building batteries in the hills above Yokohama to fortify it against a possible Japanese attack—mounted a grand parade in the streets of Yokohama, complete with artillery and a full marching band. The parade marched right up to the residence of the Kanagawa commissioners. The Illustrated London News gloated, “The weather was lovely and the music most inspiring. Ready and ingenious as ever, the Japanese had in a few hours spread abroad the report that our imposing visit to the Governor was for the express purpose of acknowledging the condescension of the Japanese Government in paying the compensation-money.”141

  A year earlier the British minister, Sir Rutherford Alcock, had told a shogunal officer in confidence that “Britain considered the Japan trade too small to be worth fighting for.”142 The confrontation in 1863, however, belied his statement. Later, Alcock was to justify Britain’s actions on the ground that a clash between feudalism and Western commercial “civilization” was inevitable: “These two great forces, in their full development with conflicting aims and requirements were unfortunately destined to meet in this last home of feudalism.”143 Historians, however, have viewed the aggressive confrontation between Britain and Japan as a classic case of gunboat diplomacy.144

  Throughout all this strife and high political drama, Chūemon remained stubbornly optimistic. He stayed in place when many others fled, and he continued to express his loyalty to and confidence in the shogunate.
Even the debacle of the indemnity payment and the shogunate’s humiliating stand-down failed to dent his optimism. The shogun returned to Edo on August 2, and Chūemon was convinced that now all would be well. “Nothing untoward has happened in Yokohama. There has been a change in the method of doing things, but it is based on ages past, so there is no need to worry.”145 Perhaps Chūemon was even heartened when the allied fleet, having been ready to attack Edo, turned around and instead steamed to Kagoshima, where on August 15 it sank three Satsuma steamships and shelled Kagoshima city.

  A few weeks later, Chūemon wrote, “People are talking about Yokohama at present. They are saying that the Kantō daimyo are all at their stations ready to close the port. But that is nothing but a rumor. In Yokohama they are inviting bids for the construction of foreigners’ houses as well as official buildings. If you saw that you would not think that the port would easily be closed.”146 And three weeks later, he added, “Here in Yokohama, they are beginning construction of a road to connect Kanagawa with Yokohama. It will all be reclaimed land. In the future, you won’t need to take a boat—there will be a road all the way. They are also building a gun battery … There are all sorts of other construction projects going on, so please be reassured, everything is all right. However, there is major strife in Kyoto, and Edo has hardened its position. But I will write about that in another letter.”147

  FAMILY MATTERS

  Throughout all his struggles, Chūemon continued to rely on his strong network of family members and close associates, who supported him in times of crisis and who shared many of his trials. Chūemon’s son Shōjirō’s participation in the business was crucial, since Shōjirō was not only a producer of many of the products that were to be so important to Chūemon’s business—starting with cotton—but also the hub for Chūemon’s network of local business relationships in Kōshū. It must have been extremely difficult for Shōjirō to manage his father’s frequent—and often insistent—requests for him to initiate new shipments of goods, negotiate with creditors, dispatch buyers to distant parts of the region, and manage a variety of crisis situations while also running the family farm and raising his own family. Shōjirō also had to take care of his younger brother and sisters who remained in Kōshū. And he had to undertake burdensome duties as a village official, many of which he had taken over from Chūemon. It was a lot to ask of a young man still in his mid-twenties, but he seems to have undertaken this broad array of duties uncomplainingly and competently.

  Chūemon’s wife was also closely involved in the family business. After her return to Kōshū following her serious illness in Yokohama in 1860, she lived mostly in their home village, separated from her husband. But it is clear that she was fully engaged in business affairs. She was the manager of the family’s silk-making activities, on which she was the acknowledged expert. But Chūemon also made sure that she was kept apprised of every detail of the family’s business activities. Especially when a business problem involved delicate negotiations with relatives and other investors, Chūemon invariably told Shōjirō to consult carefully with his mother. The Okamura family seem to have been active investors in Chūemon’s business enterprise, so it is possible that Chūemon’s wife (who was from the Okamura family) was also a financial partner—though there is nothing in the correspondence to indicate this directly. In any case, Chūemon’s wife was a trusted partner in his business affairs.

  After his disastrous handling of the charcoal business, Chūemon’s son Naotarō did his best to redeem himself in his father’s eyes. He seems to have been the family’s main contact person with the foreign trading houses, where, according to Chūemon, “Naotarō goes to sell our wares.”148 In January 1862, Naotarō was also given an administrative position in the newly created Merchants’ Association (Shōhō Kaisho). The salary, twelve monme (about $0.35) a day, was small, but the family was expected to provide a representative, and perhaps after the charcoal affair, Chūemon was pleased to find an untaxing job for his son to do. From that point forward, Naotarō seems to have spent at least part of each day at the association.149

  However, even with his new roles as sales agent, association functionary, and husband, Naotarō could not settle down. Perhaps, given the ill will between him and his father over the charcoal affair, he wanted to get away if he possibly could. And there is no doubt that Chūemon worried deeply about his son, who in his eyes was unable to succeed in anything. “Naotarō is very much a worry,” he wrote to his oldest son. “I wish he could complete something successfully, no matter what.” Chūemon added, as though to rub in the contrast, “I also worry about you working so hard.”150

  Throughout 1862 and into 1863, Naotarō continued to help his father in his business. He went on buying trips into the provinces in August and again in September of 1862. Chūemon had secured a fifteen-hundred-ryō investment from his partners in Kōshū to invest in the silk business.151 Naotarō succeeded in purchasing silk at profitable rates, and for the first time since arriving in Yokohama, Chūemon and his family experienced a taste of success.

  On October 1, Chūemon wrote for the first time of his plans to set his son up in his own business: “I would like to … build a shop, seven ken [forty-two feet] deep with three ken [eighteen feet] of frontage, including a reception room. I think the conditions are now right for this. I would like to sell socks [tabi] there, so please order them from Terake Kanpachi of Kōfu city … The socks won’t sell unless they’re dyed with indigo. He should make them in three sizes … He should send an assortment as soon as possible.”152

  For a while, the sock business took second place to other concerns, but in December 1862, Chūemon again started pressing Shōjirō to expedite the dispatch of sock samples to Yokohama: “I would like to start selling them as soon as possible. You need to ask Kanpachi to send me one ryō worth of samples as soon as possible. They should be indigo and include children’s socks.”153

  The samples arrived a few days later, but the quality was not nearly good enough to sell in the competitive Yokohama market. They “are proving difficult to sell … Buyers for them are very scarce. Even those who do buy them, when they see the open seams, don’t come back to buy again. If only the manufacture was of a good quality, then I would have no problem selling them, but these items are unsalable. Please return the previous order and take this letter to Kōfu and show it to them, and get a refund.”154 Instead, Chūemon asked his son to order several lengths of cloth to be sent to Yokohama. If the tailors of Kōfu couldn’t give him what he needed, he would have Naotarō and his wife manufacture the socks themselves.

  By May 1863, in the midst of the crisis over the closing of the port, Chūemon was able to report that “Naotarō and his wife are gradually working at their sock business and they seem to be getting better at it. Wherever they go they will be able to make a living from this, so please be reassured, and tell Mother, too.”155

  However, like so many affairs involving Naotarō, this business seems not to have had a happy ending. The correspondence is silent on the details, but in an undated letter from some time in 1863, Chūemon writes, “According to Naotarō’s plan, we should have made three hundred ryō profit three times over. Clearly this was a miscalculation. I question whether there is any profit at all. Really that was a stupid plan … That fellow’s imprudence is extremely upsetting. He’s as stupid as can be. He needs to be reborn as a new person.”156 After 1863 there is no more mention of socks, and Chūemon once again put Naotarō to work supporting his trading business.

  Naotarō did manage to please his father in at least one thing. On July 17, 1864, his wife, Take, presented Chūemon with a granddaughter. Her name was Asa. Take was to have at least three more children. A son born on September 4, 1865, died soon after his birth (“all of us are feeling the blow”).157 But another son, Kōshirō, born in 1867, survived. An exceptional student, Kōshirō graduated from Tokyo Imperial University, though, sadly, he died in 1892 at the age of only twenty-five.158

  During hi
s early years in Yokohama, Chūemon experienced a variety of challenges that must have tried his faith in the vision that had lured him from a privileged and comfortable life in his small village in Kōshū. Some of these challenges were shared by many or even most of the Japanese merchants in Yokohama. The shortage of capital was a constant theme, harked on repeatedly by both Japanese and foreign observers. Even the largest and most reputable merchants lacked the huge financial resources needed to supply the foreigners’ enormous demand for silk thread, tea, and a few other products. Small scale merchants like Chūemon struggled to finance even a minimal inventory. Meanwhile the deteriorating political situation, the constant threat of violence, and the alarming confrontations between shogunate and foreign powers made life insecure and frightening for the entire population of Yokohama. Other challenges—his family’s battle with skin disease, his difficulties with his disaster-prone son Naotarō, and the fiasco with his charcoal venture—were unique to Chūemon’s situation. We can see from his letters that there were times when Chūemon came close to giving up: “I keep trying at various things to make some money, but nothing seems to work out.”

  And yet, it is also possible to see why Chūemon held onto his faith. Yokohama represented a unique community in Japan, a new and powerful engine driven by the enormous motive force of the global market. Yokohama was a place where people congregated from every part of the world, almost all of them arriving in the hope of material gain. Watching the marshes being filled and the new buildings going up, Chūemon could already see a great city in the making.

  The looming confrontation with the foreign powers over the enormous reparations demanded for the murder of a British citizen forced Chūemon to reassess his optimism, and tested his commitment to his vision. It took real courage for him to stay in Yokohama even as most of the Japanese population fled in the expectation of an outbreak of war. At the same time, the confrontation pushed Chūemon toward a stronger sense of national identity and even defiance. Unlike the Revere the Emperor, Expel the Barbarian movement, however, Chūemon never wavered in his loyalty to the shogunal regime which had offered him so much opportunity, nor in his underlying faith in the promise of Yokohama.