by Shusaku Endo
The sparkle of the dazzling ocean before his eyes. The blue sky, swept clear by the strong winds. Right now Hondō was completely detached from the bleakness, the incurable sorrow, the cowardice, the baseness, the impurity of heart that defined lives like that of Itō. As a result, it was just as Petitjean had said: Hondō had no need of God. He was able to steep himself in the optimism of the modern age, so fully removed from God.
This industrious man wasted not a moment of time. He tirelessly roamed the foreign ship, recording everything there was to learn, everything there was to know in his diary:
The twenty-first of the eleventh month is January 1, 1872, by the Western calendar. So last night the European and American passengers all got together. Champagne and brandy were brought out on silver trays, and several other liquors were mixed together in something they called “punch,” which they drank as they talked with one another late into the night. The skirts of the women’s dresses are very long, and they wear a wiry lantern-shaped contraption they call a “corset,” while they puff out their hips with a hoop made of something like thin strips of bamboo. The husbands have to lift up the skirts of their wives who wear these peculiar costumes so they don’t step on them.2
As he wrote this, Hondō was gripped by an emotion approaching fear as he wondered whether someday Japanese men would have to do this for their wives. But he resigned himself to the likelihood that such practices would have to be adopted if they were a product of Western civilization and the custom observed in Europe and the United States.
After an ocean voyage of nearly a month, the ship finally docked in San Francisco. Hondō recorded his impressions of seeing a foreign land for the first time that day in a letter addressed to Oyō:
A thick fog early in the morning. The deck was soaked. They finally made the ship heave to and waited for the dawn. As the dawn broke and the fog lifted, the mountains of Karihorunia (California) appeared before us. Two mountain peaks parted to form a gateway, while the bay beyond was filled with seawater. We could see smoke rising from the steamers that came in and out of the bay. This was the fabled “Golden Gate.” We had journeyed across the ocean for twenty-two days, and since this was the first landscape we had seen east of Japan, our joy was indescribable.
More than one hundred Japanese lined the deck, enjoying the picturesque view of the Golden Gate. The members of the Iwakura Mission were particularly nervous about the upcoming treaty revision negotiations, but they were confident about their prospects for success.
They had given scarcely any thought to what sort of obstacles might arise in their negotiations in this country because of the policy of suppression that the Japanese government had adopted toward the Urakami Kirishitans.
Once they made land in the United States, everything the members of the delegation experienced in the great city of San Francisco was a source of astonishment to them. For instance, Shuntarō wrote candidly in his diary and in his letters to Oyō about his experience of riding for the first time on a hotel elevator:
A boy led me into a tiny room occupied by two or three Americans. Suddenly the little room was hoisted up with a loud noise. Then it came to a stop, and at the boy’s insistence, I was driven out of the room, where I stood in a daze for a few moments. It’s called an “elevator,” and it’s a useless contraption that goes up and down the stairs.
Everything they saw and heard amazed and stupefied them. Amid their amazement and stupefaction, the members of the Japanese delegation made modest efforts to stroke their own pride by noting that America knew nothing of the Way of Confucius and Mencius and that its people were lacking in decorum.
When the group bound for Washington, D.C., left San Francisco and stopped off in Salt Lake City, they learned from a local newspaper that another group of Kirishitans had been arrested in Japan. Hondō translated the article for them.
Another group of hidden Kirishitans had been discovered in Takashima, Iōjima, Shitsu, and Kurosaki in Imari Prefecture (present-day Saga Prefecture), and sixty-seven of them had been jailed in the courthouse.
Hondō finally came to the realization that this incident, combined with the earlier imprisonments of all the Kirishitans in Urakami, was going to have a profound impact on the treaty negotiations. He reached this conclusion after reading about the public’s response in the newspapers and from the reactions of the dignitaries they met in Salt Lake City. He expressed his concerns to his superiors, and some in the delegation began to fear what might lie ahead.
Those fears took tangible form when the New Year arrived and they had an audience with President Grant in Washington.
Ambassador Iwakura and his four deputy delegates, clad in traditional court dress and ceremonial robes, called on the White House, and in a state room they listened to a speech from President Grant in which he declared:
“The reason that we in the United States have been able to enjoy prosperity and happiness is because we have placed no limits on freedom of association with foreign lands, on freedom of the press, freedom of religious conscience, and freedom of worship for all our citizens and for every foreigner residing in our country.”
His implied exhortation was that in order for Japan to become a modern nation, it would have to open its doors to the world and grant its citizens freedoms of the press, of thought, and of religion; it was in essence a demand that the Japanese release the Urakami Kirishitans.
Two weeks later, the delegation’s conversations with the U.S. Secretary of State, Hamilton Fish, even more concretely backed the president’s remarks. Fish declared that any treaty revision would have to be predicated on guarantees that Japan would grant freedom of religion to its people.
By now the delegation had gotten the message that recognition of the freedoms of religion and thought was going to be a significant issue as they attempted to achieve revisions in the unequal treaties. They had no choice but to acknowledge that the events in the little village of Urakami in Kyushu, events that they had essentially forgotten all about, were going to play a major role in the treaty revision negotiations between Japan and various foreign powers.
In addition, although the Iwakura Mission had traveled to the United States in order to negotiate for treaty revision, the Japanese government had not granted them full authority to sign any treaty drafts on their behalf.
The delegation, thrown into disarray because the United States had detected their inexperience and ineptitude, sent Itō Hirobumi, a member of their entourage, and Mori Arinori,3 who was already living in the United States as chargé d’affaires, back to Japan to solicit credentials granting them full diplomatic powers.
The negotiations ran into rough waters. With no resolution to the outstanding issues, the delegation left the United States and sailed across the Atlantic Ocean, but in England, too, they encountered many who were critical of the persecution of Kirishitans in Japan.
It is no longer wise policy to prohibit the practice of the Kirishitan faith. Hondō Shuntarō gradually arrived at that conclusion. Throughout the United States and Europe, Hondō saw majestic church steeples piercing the skies. On Sundays, the bells in those steeples would ring out like undulating waves. He witnessed multitudes of people who dressed up in formal clothes and climbed into horse-drawn carriages to attend those churches. These observations persuaded Hondō of the necessity of allowing religious freedom in Japan, even if only superficially, while still rejecting the Kirishitan faith behind the scenes. His experiences abroad planted in his already pragmatic mind the belief that Japan must make these changes or face the prospect that treaty revisions and modernization would run into a dead end.
Every member of the delegation agreed with this conclusion. They sent numerous letters back to Japan, in which they began to urge the abolition of the placards proclaiming the ban on the Kirishitan faith.
As a result—
In the second month of 1873, the government agreed to the delegation’s request and ordered all of the prohibition placards removed.
In Tsuwano there was a complete reversal in the treatment of the prisoners. Following the investigation by Kusumoto and Katō, the daily ration of less than six ounces of rice was increased to almost sixteen ounces, and the tortures were eliminated. After the placards were taken down, the men were granted considerably more freedom in their daily activities. The officers and police no longer watched them with piercing eyes, and at times they even tried to go out of their way to humor the prisoners.
Some officers went so far as to admit, “Well … you men certainly endured it all very bravely. From our standpoint, it’s true that you were stubborn, but I was honestly impressed by your courage in not caving in, even though you’re nothing but peasants!”
A full five years had elapsed since Sen’emon and the rest of the first group of exiles had come to Tsuwano, and forty-one of their number (among them five who apostatized) had died from hunger and cold and torture. Those who abandoned their faith, unable to bear the extreme suffering, numbered fifty-four, while sixty-eight men and women clung to their beliefs to the very end.
But the remaining sixty-eight had absolutely no way of knowing why their situation suddenly changed so dramatically. They had been utterly cut off from the outside world in this prison, their internments ranging from three to five years.
“We defeated them by our stubbornness!” Sen’emon muttered with a sly grin.
They did not know. They had no idea that they had become a great stumbling block in Japan’s interactions with foreign nations. They did not know. They were not aware that their situation had been discussed by people in the United States and Europe in conversations regarding Japan’s modernization. They did not know. They could not have known that even the president of the United States had warned a delegation from Japan to put an end to the persecution they were enduring….
We might return to Urakami alive—
A muted hope began to rise in each of their hearts at this time. That hope was as tiny and wispy as the cirrus clouds of spring, but gradually it began to swell in their hearts. Seikichi was among the hopeful.
If I’m able to go back to Urakami—When Seikichi thought of those long-unseen hills and trees and the smell of the earth in Nakano, he also thought of Kiku. During the long years of his painful incarceration, at some point in his mind Kiku had developed into a song of comfort, a wellspring of solace, and an object of love.
These long months and years, during which he had been forsaken by everyone. Of late, he had had no word from her, but there was no way to describe what a tremendous support it had been, not only to him, but to all the prisoners, to receive through Itō the food and the bleached cotton material and the medicines that Kiku alone had sent. There was even one old woman who clasped her hands in a prayer of thanksgiving for a tiny rice cake. Kiku’s gifts became a matchless testament of love to Seikichi….
No matter what it takes … I’ve got to see her again. He wanted to see her, he had to see her. That was the most earnest desire of his heart now. The image of Kiku’s almond-shaped eyes and the lively expression of her face were constantly before him.
I … I think I may be in love with her! Even as his face flushed, he could not help but affirm what his heart felt.
In the spring of 1873, he began to feel as though his wish might be fulfilled.
“They’re saying that those who were exiled to Wakayama are returning to Urakami.” Someone who heard this barely credible news from one of the officers came racing back to their cell to tell everybody.
“From Wakayama …?”
“Yes!”
A shout of joy rose from all sixty-eight throats. The women covered their faces with both hands and wept aloud. The end to their very long, very painful life in prison was at last approaching. Kanzaburō asked one of the officers, “Then will we be going home soon, too?” The officer merely shook his head, “I don’t know.” But it was clear from the expression on his face that he was concealing something.
In the fifth month, when young leaves flourished in the mountains of Tsuwano and fluttered in the wind as a balmy breeze blew fragrantly by, Sen’emon received a summons after breakfast one day.
“Sen’emon. It’s been a long and painful time for you,” the officer Chiba said consolingly to Sen’emon, who sat in a respectful posture. “The authorities out of their exceptional benevolence have notified us that all sixty-eight of you will be permitted to return to Urakami Village.”
“Yes, sir.” Sen’emon stared at the ground as he listened to the words, pushing back the warm emotions welling in his breast.
“Make your preparations and clean your cells so that you can leave here on the ninth.”
“Yes, sir.” He stood up, but Sen’emon’s legs faltered because of his excitement.
The instant he returned to the cell, Sen’emon repeated the officer’s words to the other sixty-seven men and women. When he finished speaking, the group maintained their silence for a few moments. Not one of them gave a cry of joy or wept from emotion. Although it was something they had anticipated, when they were notified that they would in fact be set free, they could say nothing.
A short time passed before the room rippled with sobs. The men, too, wept, their shoulders quivering.
“Listen, everyone,” Sen’emon sniffled and encouraged the group, “let’s kneel. We need to pray.”
All sixty-eight crossed themselves and in one voice intoned the Lord’s Prayer and the Hail Mary.
As they prayed, the faces and forms of relatives who had died in this prison passed through each of their minds. They would now finally be able to take back to Urakami the locks of hair they had collected from the deceased.
Even after night fell, there was no one who went right to sleep. All were in high spirits, and some even sang, but on this night no policeman or officer came to chastise them.
I’ll be able to see Kiku now. Seikichi thought as he clapped his hands along with the others. The joy of being able to return to Urakami and the delight at being able to see Kiku again surged up in equal measures in his heart.
“Back in Urakami,” someone muttered, “can you imagine how beautiful the mountains and the new leaves are right now? But the fields are probably a disaster.”
Because they were farmers, it was only natural that they were most worried about their fields. Over the course of these many years, the neglected plots of land had most likely fallen into ruin and were buried in weeds. They would soon need to commence the labors of tilling, digging, and planting crops there.
They were freed from prison on the ninth day of the fifth month. At the time of their release, it was decided that for each person, the government office in Tsuwano would ship eighty-eight pounds of their possessions back to Urakami, with any remainder to be carried individually. It was an unimaginably generous arrangement.
Before their departure, the officers invited five of the men—Sen’emon, Tomohachi, Kanzaburō, Sōichi, and Seikichi—to have a drink with them. It seemed to be an attempt at an apology for the way they had been treated all this time.
“You men are samurai. Because you maintained your honor right up to the end.” The officers were united in their praise for these men who had not abandoned their beliefs.
The sky was clear on the ninth. On the previous day, the sixty-eight men and women had taken the ashes of the forty-one who had died and buried them at Senninzuka—the “Graves of a Thousand”—at the pass atop Mount Kabusaka. On the ninth they set out from Tsuwano, planning to cover eighteen miles a day.
From Shimonoseki to Kokura, then by steamship from there to Ōmura …
Their elation expanded with each passing day. Their irrepressible joy made them want to break into dance. They could now live their Kirishitan faith without anyone pointing fingers at them. That was thrilling.
We … we won!
Mocked as shit-kickers, as Kuros, they had won out over the authorities not through uprising or rebellion but merely by the power of their faith, Sen’emon thought. By nothing other
than their fragile faith …
1. By the Western calendar, the date was December 23, 1871.
2. This and subsequent passages from “Hondō’s diary” are actual descriptions from the official travel journal of the mission kept by Kume Kunitake (1839–1931).
3. Mori Arinori (1847–1889) studied in London and later became the first Japanese ambassador to the United States. He also served as ambassador to England and as Minister of Education during Itō Hirobumi’s term as prime minster. Although scholars doubt rumors that he was a Christian himself, Mori argued for religious freedom in his homeland. Largely because of his pro-Western attitudes, he was assassinated by an ultranationalist on the day the Meiji Constitution was promulgated.
EPILOGUE
TODAY, URAKAMI VILLAGE looks nothing like it did when the captives finally returned to it. The village is now a part of Nagasaki City, and hills have been leveled and trees in the groves felled to make way for residential neighborhoods.
But the Urakami they came home to was in utter disarray. In one of his letters, Father Laucaigne wrote:
Sadly, during the time of their exile, their lands had passed into the hands of others. Their homes had been torn down, or other people had moved into them. No matter which direction they turned, all was misery and deprivation. The Nagasaki Prefectural Office quickly built temporary shanties to protect them from the rain.
Almost every day, Kirishitan peasants who had been sent off to Tsuwano or to several other locations returned home on steamships. When they arrived in Nagasaki, the bell of the Nambanji at Ōura rang out loudly, celebrating their return. When they made land, they lined up and, before doing anything else, went to the Nambanji and knelt in prayer. The missionaries buttressed their prayers by playing the organ.
Once they returned to their neighborhoods, however, their lives were harsh. Without fields or homes to call their own, they suffered from hunger just as much as they had during their imprisonment. With the meager cash they received from the prefectural office, they were able to stave off starvation by buying dried potato strips in Sotome. One of them reported that the potato strips were infested with bugs and they had no pans or kettles to cook them in, so they just soaked them in water and drank the broth. “We ate them, bugs and all. Didn’t have any bowls either, so I just used a chipped one I picked up somewhere.”
