VI.
A Trip to Japan
Departure of the “Flag-Ship” from Manila—A Typhoon in the China Sea—The Inland Sea of the “Rising Sun”—Baseball with the Kobe Country Club—Fujiyama—Yokohama—Tokio, and the Imperial Palace of the Mikado—A French Fleet Celebrates the Taking of the Bastille—Unveiling of Perry’s Monument—A Reception on Board the New York to the Nobility of the “Flowery Kingdom.”
The United States Cruiser New York,—flying the ensign of Rear Admiral Rodgers, commander-in-chief of the Asiatic station, who had received orders to proceed to Yokohama, Japan, to participate in the unveiling of a monument erected by the Japanese government in commemoration of the achievement of Commodore Perry, his grandfather, who anchored there with his fleet in 1854, and, as ambassador sent by President Filmore, succeeded in opening the ports of Japan to foreign commerce,—drew anchor June 25, 1901, and steamed into the China Sea, with the gun-boat Yorktown following in her wake.
The cruise was uneventful for the first few days, when, about 11 A.M. of the third day, the barometer suddenly dropped several degrees and dark, heavy clouds gave evidence that a typhoon was approaching. All sails on board were secured, guns were lashed, hatches battened down, and sou’westers donned by the lookouts. A few minutes later we were being rocked in a heavy sea; a terrible gale of wind, whistling through the ventilators, brought relief to the coal-passers below. Our deep fog-whistle was blown every minute, and the boatswain and his mates were active and constantly on the alert. Our engines were kept going as usual, and by evening the typhoon had broken and we were sailing on a fair sea off the coast of Formosa.
After two days’ more sail, occasionally passing a man-of-war or mail-steamer, we sighted the beautiful islands of the Inland Sea, the land of the Rising Sun, which we entered at sunrise. This land-locked Japanese body of water is a broad lake over two hundred miles long, filled with islands and sheltered by uneven shores. From sunrise to dark, shadowy vistas opened and peaceful shores golden with ripening grain slipped by. There was nothing to disturb the dream-like charm, and yet human life and achievement were constantly in sight. Along the shores stretched chains of villages, with stone walls, castles, and temples soaring above the clustered roofs, or peeping from wooded slopes were terraced fields of rice and grain, ridging every hill to its summit and covering every lower level.
Dotted throughout this fairy-like lake are stone torrils, miniature light-houses, which guide the ships at night. Junks and sampans lie anchored in fleets or creep idly across the water, and small coasting steamers thread their way in and out among the islands. For miles we steamed by what is supposed to be the most picturesque scenery in the world. It was yet twilight when Kobe was seen in the distance at the head of the Inland Sea, sheltered from the land by the range of mountains back of it. We entered the harbor after having been inspected by the Japanese quarantine officials, and anchored astern of the British battleship Aurora. Before the last notes of tattoo were sounded our booms were spread and launches lowered, and the beautifully illuminated city of Kobe lay before us. Kobe means “Gate of God” and is the model foreign settlement of the eastern part of Japan, with a population of 215,000.
A pretty park in the heart of the concession, shaded by camphor trees and ornamented by groups of palms, thatched summer houses, and a bell-tower, was once the execution ground of Hiogo. A line of tea-houses cover the brow of the hill, which is also dotted here and there with orange groves. The streets are lined with curio shops and jinrikshaws drawn by coolies. Here we spent the Fourth of July; the men-of-war lying here all dressed in holiday attire, our flag-ship fired a salute of twenty-one guns. In the afternoon our base-ball team, accompanied by the band and all those eligible for liberty, went ashore, where we crossed bats with the Kobe country club, our band rendering inspiring music during the game. The result was a whitewash for the country club, who entertained us lavishly at their club-house in the evening.
After spending two weeks in this city we set out for Yokohama, making the voyage in thirty hours. After passing the famous light-ship at the entrance to Yokohama harbor, we were met by the quarantine officials. Their usual routine of work completed, we steamed into the harbor, firing a national salute of twenty-one guns, which was returned by the forts and by the British, French, Italian, and Japanese men-of-war, our band playing the national airs of the various countries here represented, the marines presenting arms. Casting anchor near the French cruiser Friant, the usual visits of courtesy were exchanged.
Numerous vessels of the merchant marine of all nations, besides men-of-war, brigs, yachts, barks, sampans, and junks, were scattered profusely over the harbor, coming and going, bells rang in chorus around the anchorage ground, saluting and signal-flags slipped up and down the masts, while the bang and low-rolling echo of the ship’s guns made mimic war. At night the harbor dazzles with various colored lights, while the search-lights of the “men-of-war” illuminate sections of the city on the heights.
Yokohama lies between immense bluffs, on one of which the stars and stripes are seen flying over an American hospital. Beyond the bluff proper stretches the race-course, from which can be seen Fujiyama, or sacred mountain, which is invested with legends; it is said to have risen up in a single night, two thousand years ago, and for centuries pilgrims have toiled up the weary path to pray at the highest shrine and to supplicate the sun at dawn.
Fujiyama, with the circling storks and ascending dragons, symbolizes success in life and triumph over obstacles. Until the year 1500 it was a living volcano. A road leads from “Fuji” to Mississippi Bay, where Commodore Perry’s ships anchored in 1854.
To the port side lies Kanagawa, well fortified; just beyond is the grave of Richardson, the Briton who was killed, by the retainers of the prince of Satsuma in 1862, for deliberately riding into the daimyo’s train. A memorial stone, inscribed with Japanese characters, marks the spot where Richardson fell. This cost the Japs the bombardment of Kagishima and an indemnity of 125,000 pounds.
Near this spot is situated black-eyed Susan’s tea-house, a favorite resort for tourists. According to one version, “Susan’s strand” is where the Rip Van Winkle of Japan (Urashima) sailed on an immense tortoise for the home of the sea king. Yokohama is surrounded by rich silk districts, orchards, and the most beautiful flowers I have ever seen. The villages in the suburbs are very picturesque, with narrow roads and shady paths leading through perpetual scenes of sylvan beauty: bamboo trees, thatched roofs, and gnarled camphor trees everywhere charm the eye.
Tokio, the capital, is but eighteen miles from Yokohama. The city is intensely interesting; Japanese ladies in silk kimonos and straw sandals, fluttering along the streets like butterflies, invariably wearing a red carnation in their neatly dressed coal-black hair, present a pretty sight as they enter and leave their quaint little tea-houses; you are reminded of the scenes in the Mikado, San Toy, and Geisha operas. The jinrickshaw man is everywhere in evidence, ready to convey you to any part of the city; for one yen, or about fifty cents in American gold, he will haul you around for an entire morning.
The coolies of Japan are superior to those of Ceylon and Singapore in the power of endurance and intelligence, the former being full of spirit and animation, while the latter possess that languorous indifference characteristic of the Straits Settlements native.
The Imperial Palace, the abode of the Mikado, is a magnificent edifice surrounded by the Imperial Gardens, which cover a vast area of ground; a short distance beyond, with no less ostentation, stands the palatial residence of the Empress Dowager. My “rickshaw coolie” having taken me into this Imperial Park, I was admiring the beauty thereof, when we were approached by a sentry who admonished the coolie to proceed no farther; when I urged him to continue, he informed me he was afraid of being shot, whereupon we returned to the more peaceable surroundings along the studios of the “geishas.”
The police register the arrival of all strangers, keeping a record of their movements and admonishing them as to their behavior. The temples are of great interest; in one I was shown the tomb of Buddha, whose final interment, like the disposition of the bones of Columbus and John Paul Jones, has been based on presumptive evidence.
Besides the diplomatic corps, there are a great many missionaries in Tokio, while the army is everywhere in evidence.
July the 14th, the day set for the unveiling of Commodore Perry’s monument at Uraga, dawned with a heavy fog hanging over the harbor. Coincident with this event was the anniversary of the destruction of the “Bastille,” which the flag-ship of the French fleet, the cruiser Friant, had prepared to celebrate.
About 7.45 A.M. quarters sounded: the marines formed an alignment on the starboard side of the quarter-deck, attired in full dress; saluting gun crews fell to the forward six-pounders, and blue-jackets formed an alignment on the port side. Everything ready, my annunciator rang, and I reported to Admiral Rodgers, eight bells and under way. As we steamed by the British, French, German, Italian, and Japanese war-vessels, followed by the American fleet, the various bands played “The Star-Spangled Banner,” the marines presenting arms, while the American band played the Japanese national air, and in turn the “Marseillaise,” the national air of the French republic. In less than an hour we had entered the harbor of Kurahama, near Uraga, firing a salute of twenty-one guns, our ships dressed in holiday attire from bow to stern, with the Japanese ensign flying at the main. Our salute was returned by the Japanese, and we anchored near the spot where Commodore Perry’s ships anchored in 1854.
The Japanese fleet represented ancient, medieval, and modern warfare, and included two of the most modern battleships afloat at that time,—namely, the Shikishima and Hatsuse, both of which figured prominently in the bombardment of the Liaotung Peninsula and the terrible slaughter of the Russians in the Straits of Korea.
The Yokohama Yacht Club was well represented in the harbor, and every craft and packet, down to the odd-looking sampan, endeavored to appear festive and holiday like.
The terrible weather prevented what was to have been a very imposing ceremony. Thousands of Japanese from Tokio, Yokohama, Hakodate, Kioto, Kobe, Osaka, Nagasaki, and the interior villages, had congregated to witness the unveiling. A guard of five hundred marines from the fleet, with the naval band of the Hatsuse, landed and were stationed in front of the monument. The officers of the ships and government officials were stationed on stands erected.
About twelve o’clock the ceremonies commenced with the band rendering the Japanese national air, Admiral Rodgers broke the cords that held the veil, and the monument was put in view. The United States minister, Colonel A. E. Buck, being ill, an address was made by J. M. Ferguson, secretary of the legation, who dwelt on the progress of Japan and the friendship existing between her and America since the opening of her ports to foreign commerce, and other beneficent consequences that have followed Commodore Perry’s visit.
This was followed by a speech in Japanese by Premier Viscount Kasura, after which Admiral Rodgers addressed the assemblage. Governor Sufu also spoke in Japanese, and this was followed by the last address, made by Rear Admiral Beardsley (retired), who was a midshipman on Commodore Perry’s flag-ship over half a century ago.
After several appropriate selections by the band, during which courtesies and greetings were exchanged, this military and civic pageant, drenched by the rain that continually fell, dispersed to their respective vessels and returned to Yokohama.
The monument consists of an immense slab of granite, resting on a large granite foundation, on which the inscription, in Japanese characters, translated is: “This monument marks the landing-place of Commodore Perry, of the United States of America”; on the reverse side, “Landed on the 14th July, 6th year Kayai; constructed on the 1st July, 34th year Meiji.” It is thirty-four feet high and weighs nineteen tons.
It was about five o’clock when the anchors of the New York were again hauled, and before supper was over we had again entered Yokohama Bay, where the Friant lay beautifully dressed in various-colored flags, and literally covered with incandescent lights, the name Friant shining over the mizzen-top.
As the guns of the American war-ship belched forth a national salute, in honor of the day that changed the current of events in France, the American band struck up the “Marseillaise” (Chant de Guerre de l’Armee du Rhin), and as the ship cast her anchors off the port bow of the British commerce-destroyer Terrible, rapturous enthusiasm was exhibited by the sailors. The festivities on board the French flag-ship were joined in the evening by the officers of the various fleets represented, and this ended a day of pleasure and events.
The following day a reception was tendered by the Americans, on board the New York, to representatives of the nobility, officers of the army and navy of Japan, members of the legation, civilian representatives, and officers of the various fleets. The ship was dressed in her best holiday attire for this occasion, and it was a gala day for all on board. Ladies of various nations vied with one another for beauty and effect. Japanese attired in European dress, many of whom had been educated in the United States and Europe and spoke Anglo-Saxon fluently, were there with sparkling vivacity. Lunch was served on board by Japanese waiters, who could carry eighteen goblets of champagne on one tray without spilling a drop. Music and dancing were the chief features of the day.
The ship remained in Yokohama two weeks on this trip, steaming from here to the famous dry-dock at Kure on the Island of Hondo. Here the cruise was curtailed, owing to American interests requiring pressure along the Chinese coast, where piracy in various forms was found flourishing brazenly red-handed. After remaining two weeks in the harbor of Amoy, the cruiser New York steamed off in the darkness for the Malay Peninsula.