The Mississippi touching at Napa, found there the Supply, and met the Vandalia on the way to Hong Kong, where the Commodore arrived on the 7th of August. The Powhatan returned from a futile visit to Riu Kiu on the 25th. To protect American lives and property against the imminent dangers of the Tai-ping rebellion, the Supply was sent to Canton and the Mississippi anchored off Whampoa. The remainder of the squadron was ordered to Cum-sing-moon, between Macao and Hong Kong, where the machinery which sadly needed repair was refitted.

Having thus disposed of his force, the Commodore, in order to arrange the accumulated results of his voyage to Japan, took a house at Macao for his own accommodation and that of the artists and surveying party. A hospital, which was also established in the town, under the care of the fleet surgeon, was soon full of fever patients; and an annex, in the form of a cemetery, was found necessary. The Japan expedition left American graves at Macao, Napa, Uraga, Yokohama, Shimoda, and Hakodaté. Among the officers lost, was Lieutenant John Matthews drowned at the Bonin islands. His name was given by Perry to a bay near Napa, which he surveyed. His monument in Vale Cemetery at Schenectady, N. Y. was erected by his fellow-officers of the Asiatic Squadron.

The Commodore himself, worn-out by heavy and multifarious duties, was finally prostrated by an attack of illness. Nevertheless the work of the expedition suffered no remission. The making of charts, and the completion of nearly two-hundred sketches and drawings, and the arrangement and testing of the scientific apparatus which was to be proved before the Japanese, were perfected. The daguerreotype, talbotype, and magnetic telegraphic apparatus were especially kept in working order. The Japanese from the first, as it proved, were mightily impressed by these “spirit pictures,” into which as they believed, went emitted particles of their actual souls.

The lengthened stay of the Commodore at Macao enabled him to see the places of interest and to study life in this old city, once so prosperous; whence had sailed, three centuries before, in the Portuguese galleons explorers, traffickers and missionaries to Japan. The opulent American merchants of Canton made Macao their place of summer sojourn, so that elegant society was not lacking. With the French commodore, Montravel, whose fleet lay at anchor in the roadstead, and with Portuguese whom he had met in Africa, his intercourse was especially pleasant. It had been the intention of the Commodore to wait until spring before sailing north, but the suspicious movements of the French and Russians, spoken of below, induced him to alter his plans.

Towards the end of November, the French naval commander suddenly left port under sealed orders. About the same time the Russian Admiral Pontiatine in the Pallas and with three other vessels lay at Shanghai, having returned from Nagasaki. Suspecting that either or both the Russians and French contemplated a visit to Yedo Bay, Perry became very anxious for the arrival of the Lexington, which had more presents for the Japanese on board. Rather than allow others to get advantage and reap where he had sown, before he himself had thrust in the sickle, Perry resolved to risk the exposure and inconvenience of a mid-winter cruise to Japan, despite the stories told of fogs and storms on the Japanese coast. The dangers of a winter sea-journey between the two countries are portrayed, even in very ancient Chinese poetry.

The object of the American mission had been reported at Kiōto, where it created a profound impression and intense excitement. The first thing done, and that within four days after Perry left, was to despatch a messenger to the Shintō priests at the shrines of Isé to offer up prayers for the peace of the Empire, and for the divine breath to sweep away “the barbarians.” One week later, the Shō-gun Iyéyoshi died. He was buried in Shiba in Yedo in a superb mausoleum among his ancestors, but not until the 7th of September.

At Yedo, the question of acceeding to the demand of the barbarians was hotly debated. The daimiōs “nearly lost their hearts in consultation that lasted day and night.” The Prince of Mito wanted to fight them. “The officials knew it would be madness to resist an enemy with myriads of men-of-war who could capture all their junks and blockade their coasts.” The Shō-gun’s minister was Abé, Isé no Kami, the daimiō of Bizen, who had married the adopted daughter of Echizen. He it was who inspired the arguments of the government. He believed that as Japan was behind the world in mechanical arts, it would be better to have intercourse with foreigners, learn their drill and tactics, and thus fight them with their own weapons. If the Japanese pleased, they might then shut up their country or even go abroad to conquer other nations. Others doubted the ability or willingness of many of the disaffected class to fight for Tokugawa.

The native historians tell us that “the Shō-gun Iyéyoshi, who had been ill since the beginning of the summer, was rendered very anxious about this sudden and pressing affair of the outer barbarians;” and, soon after sickened and died. He was the father of twenty-five children, all but four of whom had died in infancy. One of his daughters had married. His death at this alarming crisis plunged his retainers in the deepest grief. Iyésada, his seventh child, succeeded him as the thirteenth Shō-gun of the Tokugawa line.

Of this fact, Perry had received official notice from the Japanese through the Dutch authorities. As the communication hinted that delay was necessary on account of official mourning, Perry, instead of cock-billing his yards, thought it a ruse, and delayed not a moment.

Accordingly, on the 14th of January 1854, in the Susquehanna, with the Powhatan and Mississippi towing the stores ships Lexington and Southampton, the Commodore left for Riu Kiu; the Macedonian and Supply having gone on a few days before to join the Vandalia. The Plymouth and Saratoga were to come later. The steamers arrived at Napa, January 20th, and the Commodore thus paid his fourth visit to Riu Kiu.

The slow sailers were to be sent ahead to Yedo Bay, with one week’s start. Captain Abbot in the Macedonian, in company with the Vandalia, Lexington, and Southampton set out northward on the 1st of February. The Commodore followed on the 7th with the three steamers, meeting the Saratoga just outside. The Supply with coal and live stock from Shanghai, was to join the squadron in Yedo Bay. The promise of an “imposing squadron of twelve vessels,” seemed about to be fulfilled.

In Yedo, the new Shō-gun Iyésada and his advisers had felt that something must be done both in peaceful and warlike preparations. The ex-daimiō of Mito, released from confinement, was appointed commissioner of maritime defences. A series of forts was built on the shallow part of the bay in front of Yedo, off Shinagawa its southern suburb. Thousands of laborers were paid isshiu (6¼ cts.) per day, and the coins minted for that purpose are still called dai-ba (fort, or fort money) by the people around Shinagawa. They were creditably built of earth, and faced with stone; but having no casements, would have illy defended the wooden city from bombardment by Perry’s columbiads. A great number of cannon were cast, and military preparations continued unceasingly. The expenses were met by a levy on the people of Yedo and vicinity, and on the rich merchants of Ozaka.

The old edict of Iyéyasŭ concerning naval architecture was rescinded, and permission was given to the daimiōs, to build large ships of war. Their distinguishing flag was a red ball representing the sun on a white ground. This was the origin of the present flag of Japan. The law of 1609 had commanded vessels of over five hundred koku (2,500 bushels, or 30,000 cubic feet capacity) to be burned, and none but small coasting junks built. Orders were given to the Dutch to build a man-of-war, and to import books on modern military science. A native who had learned artillery from the Dutchmen at Nagasaki, was now released from the prison, and was made musketry instructor. His method soon became fashionable and he thus became the introducer of the European system of warfare into Japan. Drilling, cannon-casting and fort-building were now the rage.

Yet in all this fuss and preparation, wise men saw only the fulfilment on a national scale of their own old proverb. “On seeing the enemy, to begin to whet arrows.” Belated war-preparations, when the enemy was at their gates, seemed futile. On the 1st day of the 11th month (December 2d) a notification was issued, that “owing to want of military efficiency, the Americans would, on their return, be dealt with peaceably.” The salary of the governor of Uraga was raised. Very significantly, at the end of the year, the old practice of Fumi-yé, or trampling on the cross and Christian emblems, so long practiced at Nagasaki, was abolished. Perry’s way was now clear, though he knew it not.

There was a native scholar in Yedo, a typical progressive Japanese of this period, a student, through the medium of the Dutch language, of European literature. Hearing of the order for a man-of-war and books from Holland, he petitioned the government rather to send Japanese to Europe to study the most important arts, and to assist in building and working the ship. They would thus learn the art of navigation on the voyage, and see the foreign countries. The authorities did not favor his proposition. Yoshida Shoin, one of his former pupils, heard of his old master’s plan, and resolved himself to make a sea-voyage.

When Admiral Pontiatine with the Russian ships put in at Nagasaki in September “to discuss the question of the northern boundary of the two nations in Saghalin,” Yoshida bade his master good-bye, merely saying that he was going on a visit to Nagasaki, but secretly intending to go abroad.

Sakuma, who divined his plan, gave him money for his expenses; and, according to the custom of polite farewells, composed a stanza of Chinese poetry in which he wished him a safe and pleasant journey. On his arrival at Nagasaki, the ship had gone. He then returned to Yedo, and Sakuma secretly told him how to set about getting passage on the American vessels. We shall hear of Yoshida again. He and Sakuma were typical men in a small, but soon to be triumphant, majority.

As the time for Perry’s return was near at hand, the Bakafu chose Hayashi, the chief Professor of the Chinese language and literature in the Dai Gakkō (Great School, or University) to treat with Perry. As the American interpreters were Chinese scholars, the documents, besides those in the Dutch and English language for the benefit of Americans, would be in the Chinese character for the benefit of the Japanese. Hayashi was a man profoundly versed in Chinese learning, a pedant, and a stickler for exact terms. He was also a most devotedly loyal retainer of the house of Tokugawa. His rank was that of a Hatamoto (flag-bearer), and his title Dai Gaku no Kami, or Regent of the University, (not “Prince” of Dai Gaku.) He was of benevolent countenance, and courtly manners, dignified presence. He had lived the life of a scholar, expounding the classics of Confucius and Mencius, and was highly respected at court for his vast learning. In brief, he was a typical product, and one of the best specimens of Yedo culture in the later days of the Tokugawas. The Hayashi family was noted for the many scholars in Chinese literature that adorned the country and the name. He was carefully instructed by his superior officers as how he should deal with Perry. He made his preparations so as to leave the academic groves of Séido for the treaty-house at Uraga; for there, it was decreed in Yedo that the treaty was to be made.

Fortunately for the Japanese, they had a first-rate interpreter of English, though Perry knew it not. His name was Nakahama Manjiro. With his two companions, he had been picked up at sea in 1841, by an American captain, J. H. Whitfield, and brought by way of Honolulu to the United States, where he obtained a good school education. Returning to Hawaii in 1850, he resolved with his two companions to return to Japan. Furnished with a duly attested certificate of his American citizenship by the United States consul, Elisha Allen, afterwards minister to Washington, he built a whale-boat named The Adventurer, sailed to Riu Kiu in the Sarah Boyd, Captain Whitmore, and in January, 1851, landed. The three men proved their nationality to the natives of Riu Kiu not by their language, which they had forgotten, but by their deft manipulation of chopsticks, the use of which a Japanese baby learns before he can talk.

After six months in Riu Kiu and thirty months in Nagasaki, the waifs reached their homes. On being brought to Yedo with his boat, Manjiro was made a samurai or wearer of two swords. As an official translator, he wrestled with Bowditch and logarithms, even to the partial bleaching of his hair. After several years of severe work, twenty manuscript copies of his book were made. His boat, now come to honor, was used as a model for others. The original was placed in a fire-proof storehouse as an honorable relic.

On Saturday, the 11th of February, 1854 three days after the Russians had left Nagasaki, and on the ninth day of the Japanese New Year, the watchers on the hills of Idzu descried the American squadron approaching. The Macedonian had grounded on the rocks a few miles from Kamakura, the medieval capital of the Minamoto Shō-guns, and near the spot over which Nitta Yoshisada, three hundred and twenty years before, had led his victorious hosts to overthrow the Hōjō usurpers. The powerful Mississippi, which had extricated and saved from utter loss during the Mexican war, the fine old frigate Germantown from a similar peril, easily drew off the Macedonian on Sunday, the 12th. On Monday, the 13th, amid all the lavish splendors of nature, for which the scenery of Adzuma, as poets call eastern Japan, is noted, the stately line of ships, the sailers towed by the steamers, moved up the bay,

The superb panorama that unfolded before the eyes from the decks charmed all eyes. Significant and portentous seemed the position of the lights of heaven on that eventful day. To the west of the peerless mountain Fuji, “the moon was setting sharply defining one side with its chill cold rays.”^[29] In the orient, the sun arising in cloudless radiance burnished with brilliant glory the lordly cone as it swelled to the sky. Did the natives recall their poet’s comparison and contrast of “the old sage, grown sad and slow,” and “the youth” who “new systems, laws and fashions frames?” The moon typified Old Japan ready to pass away, the the sun heralded the New Japan that was to be. Matthew Perry was set for the rising and fall of many in the then hermit land.

Passing Uraga and Perry Island, the seven vessels dropped anchor at the “American anchorage,” not far from Yokosŭka, and off the place, called in Japanese, Koshiba-ōki, (the little grass-plot looking out on the far-off sea). Unconsciously, the officers paced their decks beneath the shadows of the twin tombs of Will Adams^[30] and his Japanese wife. From these very headlands, over which the English exile, who may have seen Shakespeare, took his evening walks two centuries before, he had perhaps seen in prophetic vision a sight like that below. Happy coincidence, that Perry’s right-hand man, bore the same name, Adams!

The Commodore, still mysterious, invisible and inapproachable, had again out-flanked the wily orientals with their own weapons and turned their heavy guns against themselves. The mystery-play was kept up in a style that exceeded that of either Kiōto or Yedo. The naval generalissimo remained in the Forbidden Interior of his cabin as if behind bamboo curtains.

Kurokawa Kahéi and his two interpreters were received with excruciating politeness by Captain Adams, assisted by Messrs. Portman, Williams and the Commodore’s son. In the delegation of official men were ométsŭkes (censors, spies, or checks). They were well named “eye-appliers” (to holes usually made noiselessly, with moistened finger-tips, in the paper screens of the houses). These suggested that the negotiations should be carried on at Kamakura or Uraga. The programme, foreshadowed by answers to their questions, was an American advance on that of the previous year. The “Admiral” would do no such thing. It must be near the present safe anchorage. All the visits, conferences, discussions, presents, bonbons, oranges and confectionery, offers of eggs, fish and vegetables were impotent to alter the fiat of the Invisible Power in the cabin.

For the benefit of the United States and the civilized world, the survey boats were out daily making a map of the bottom of the bay. No boats’ crews were allowed to land. No native was in any way injured in person or property. The visitors received on deck refreshments, champagne, sugared brandy, port, and politeness in profusion. Of information concerning the invisible “Admiral’s” policy, save as His Invisibility allowed it, they received not a word.

Several days passed, the broad pennant was transferred to the Powhatan, and the Japanese were given till the 21st to make up their mind. Captain Adams was sent to Uraga to inspect the proposed place of anchorage and the new building specially erected for treaty making. There an incident occurred which afforded more fun to the Japanese than to the Americans. On the 22nd of February, while the guns of the Vandalia were thundering a salute in honor of Washington, Captain Adams with fourteen officers and attendants entered the hall of reception. Here were gathered a formidable array of dignitaries, retainers and no less than fifty soldiers. A suspicion of treachery dawned on the Americans. Was this to be a Golownin affair?

Perhaps Izawa, the daimiō in charge, was fond of a joke. He was, in fact, in favor of foreign intercourse, but more noted for high living and gay sport than for dignity of word and mien, withal a lively and popular fellow. After preliminaries, Captain Adams handed him the Commodore’s note. Preparatory to getting out his goggle-spectacles, he folded his fan with a tremendous snap. Instantly the American officers, alarmed and exchanging glances of concern, clapped hands to their revolvers.^[31] All the more amused, Izawa most deliberately and with scarcely repressed inward merriment, adjusted his goggles, and read the document, finding it in good form. After decoctions of rice and tea, with sponge-cake and oranges (saké, cha, Castile, mikan) had been served, the officers returned to their ships at the 8th hour, Japanese time, the Hour of the Ape, or about 3 p. m. Captain Adams decided that the building proposed for treaty negotiations was “for simple talk large enough, but not for the display of presents.” Kurihama was then suggested. “No, the Admiral would rather go to Yedo,” “No, no! better go to Kanagawa, but do please, please go back to Uraga.” This was the simple substance of much conversation carried on in Japanese, Dutch and English, with not a little consumption of paper, India ink and Chinese characters. The one word of Perry and Adams was “Yedo.” The tongues of the interpreters, or in Japanese “word-passers,” grew weary, yet no backward step was taken.

Meanwhile on the 24th, Perry moved his six ships forward up the bay ten miles, anchoring beyond Kanagawa. From the masthead the huge temple-gables, castle-towers, fire-lookouts and pagodas of Yedo could be easily seen, and the bells of Shiba and Asakŭsa heard. More exactly, the anchorage was off Dai-shi-ga-wara, a lovely meadow (wara) named in honor of Japan’s greatest medieval scholar, His Most Exalted Reverence, Kōbō, the inventor of the Japanese alphabets, learned in Chinese and Sanskrit, and the Philo of the Land of the Gods. He it was who absorbed Shintō, the primitive religion, into the gorgeous cult of India, and made Buddhism triumphant in all Japan. Another happy omen for Perry!

The Vandalia’s boats now brought Hayashi’s letter to Perry, and Yezaémon the interpreter came nominally to plead again for Uraga, but in reality to accede to the American’s decision. A fleet messenger, riding hard on relays of horses, had brought the word to Hayashi—“If the American ships come to Yedo, it will be a national disgrace. Stop them, and make the treaty at Kanagawa.”^[32] As Perry writes, “Finding the Commodore immovable in his purpose, the pretended ultimatum of the Japanese commissioners was suddenly abandoned, and a place directly opposite, at Yokohama, was suggested as the place of treaty.”

The official buildings and enclosure finished March 9th, were erected on the ground now covered by the British consulate, the Custom House, the American Union Church and two streets of the modern city. They were guarded on the left, right and rear by the retainers of Ogasawara, a high officer in the Tycoon’s palace, and Sanada, lord of Shinano; and on the water side by Matsudaira, lord of Sagami, who had hundreds of boats and their crews under his command. Against possible fanatics and assassins who might attack, or the too progressive spirits who would communicate with the Americans, the precautions were not wholly in vain. The writer has heard Japanese officers, now in high rank but enlightened, declare that they had devoted themselves by vows to the gods to kill Perry, the arch-defiler of the Holy Country. Only the strong hand of government held them back.

Further than this, the Japanese did not know how the Americans would act. Either from malice intent or provoked by unruly natives, they might begin war. Every one of Sanada’s and Ogasawara’s retainers were sworn^[33] to ask no quarter, but fight till the last man was slain.

The morning of March 8th, 1854, dawned clear and beautiful. The bay was alive with gorgeous state barges, swift punts, and junks with tasseled prows. On land, in the foreground were a few hundred feudal retainers in gay costumes, while on the bluffs beyond stood dense masses of spectators. These were kept back with rope-barriers, and by petty officials of prodigious self-importance. The sunbeams glittered on the bare heads and freshly-pomatumed top-knots of country folk, and was reflected dazzlingly from lacquered hats and burnished weapons. In the variegated paraphernalia of feudalism,—then of such vast importance, but now as cast off trumpery transmigrating through the parlors and museums to dusty nirvana in the garrets of christendom,—could be distinguished the insignia of the commissioners and feudal lords, whose troops darkened the hill tops as spectators. The striped oval figure of Hayashi; the five disks surrounding a smaller central dot like satellites about Jupiter, belonging to Ito; the feminine millinery, three curved women’s hats, of Isawa; the revolving disks suggesting a wind-mill, of Tsudzuki; the three Euclid-recalling cubes of Udono; the ring-enclosed goggle-spectacles of Takénouchi; appeared and reappeared on banner, umbrella, hat, coat, and cover of dignitaries and retainers. Many and various were the explanations offered by the Americans as to the cabalistic meaning of these crests of Japanese heraldry. One in particular, which looked like three commas in perpetual revolution, but prevented from flying off into a nebular hypothesis by a tire, attracted special attention.

Only the stern discipline to which they were accustomed, and the suspicion of possible need for powder and ball, in case of treachery, kept grim the faces of marines and sailors. The whole tableau seemed to the officers a well-sustained joke from the pages of Gulliver’s Travels. To Jack Tar, it looked as if a pack of euchre-cards had come to enlarged life. The gay-costumed figures and bronze visages moved before him like the flesh-and-blood originals of the kings, jacks, and knaves on his favorite pasteboards. Can we doubt but that more than one Japanese now saw himself in a new light?

With five hundred men landed in twenty-seven boats, each one, including musicians, thoroughly well-armed, the marines forming a hollow square, the three bands discoursing music, the Paixhans on the Macedonian, and the howitzers in the boats, making fire, flame, thunder, and echoes; with all possible fuss, parade, shine and glitter, the sailor-diplomatist made disembarkation at noon, in his white gig from the Powhatan. With due deliberation and stately march, he entered the treaty-house, where negotiations began. The Commodore knew as he confesses, “the importance and moral influence of such show upon so ceremonious and artificial a people as the Japanese.” Without being at all anxious to imitate or copy them, he yet impressed them amazingly. How he came to know so much about etiquette and propriety, without having lived in Kiōto, or studied Confucius or Ogasawara (the Chesterfield of Japan) strained their wits to discover. Perhaps they noticed that while “the emperor,” that is the chief daimiō of Yedo, and the Mikado’s lieutenant styled “Tycoon,” (as Koku-O, king of a country) received a salute of twenty-one guns, and his hatamoto Hayashi, officer of the sixth rank seventeen guns, the first salute was from the heavy ordnance on the Macedonian, while the others were from boat-howitzers. The Powhatan hoisted at the masthead the striped pennant, which the Americans innocently supposed was the national emblem.

The tedious business of diplomacy began by interchange of notes and answers. Then Hayashi remarked that attention would be given to the supply of wood, coal, and water for needy ships, and to the care of shipwrecked sailors, but that no proposition for trade could be allowed. To this Perry made no reply, but spoke up suddenly upon the question of burial. A marine on the Mississippi named Williams, had died two days previously, and it was proposed to bury him on Matsu-shima (Pine Isle) or Webster’s Island. After private conferences by the Japanese in another room, exchange of much sentiment on both sides, and an exposition of Japanese law and custom by Hayashi—during which Perry intimated his readiness to stay in the bay a year or two if necessary—permission was granted to bury in one of the temple-grounds at Yokohama. Thus began with Christian ceremonies, under the very shadow of the edicts promulgated centuries before, denouncing “the Christian criminal God,” with offer of gold to informers against the “outlawed sect,” that God’s acre now so beautiful. Its slope was to fatten with many a victim by the assassin’s sword before Japan should become a Land of Great Peace either to the alien or the Christian.

The native scribe adds in a note to his Record, “This subject was brought up suddenly, as if the American wished to find out how quickly we were in the habit of deciding questions. Hence the commissioners made their decision promptly. Thereupon Perry seemed to be very glad and almost to shed tears.” In response to the Commodore’s assertion that to esteem human life as very precious was the first principle of the United States government, while the contrary was the case with that of Japan, Hayashi answered, warmly defending his countrymen and superiors against intentional cruelty, but denouncing the lawless character of many of the foreign sailors. Like all Japanese of his school and age, he wound up with a panegyric of the pre-eminence of Japan above all nations in virtue and humanity, and the glory and goodness of the great Tokugawa family which had given peace to the land during two centuries or more.

“The frog in the well knows not the great ocean,” say his countrymen of to-day.

In the further negotiations, the Japanese official account of which agrees with the details given in Perry’s own narrative, the Commodore made wholesome use of the fears of the islanders. The reputation of American ships, ordnance, and armies had preceded him. The invaders of Mexico were believed fully when the wealth, power, and rapidity of movement possessed by the United States were dilated upon. Perry threatened to make use of “the resources of civilization,” if the plain demands of humanity were ignored. It is more than probable that cold statistics would not have justified his glowing vision of fifty or a hundred war steamers, full of soldiers, coming from California to make war on Japan, in case her government refused to help shipwrecked Americans. Yet, of his patience, persistency, and resolve neither to provoke nor to take an insult, there can be no question. Perry, in person, impressed the Japanese commissioners as much as by the fleet itself. They noted, as the Record declares, that Captains Adams, Abbot, and Buchanan, as shown by their uniform and epaulettes, were of the same rank, “so that if Perry were killed, either of the others could command,” and continue the matter in hand.

The Record also reflects the character of Perry as a man of kindly consideration. His friendly regard for and sympathy with a people of high and sensitive spirit, which had been weakened by centuries of enforced isolation, is also witnessed to. In one sense the Japanese feel, to this day, proud to have been put under pressure by so true a soldier, and so genuine a friend.

Between ship and shore, during the blustery March weather, the Commodore made many trips in his barge, accompanied by chosen officers. One day, with Pay-director J. G. Harris, who relates the incident, Perry and his companions entered the treaty-house. Their boat-cloaks, which they had worn to protect the “bright-work” of epaulettes, buttons and belts from the salt spray, were still over their shoulders. One of the first questions asked the Japanese commissioners was, whether they had favorably considered the proposition of the day before, that certain ports should be opened.

Hayashi replied that they had pondered the matter, and had concluded that Shimoda and Hakodaté should be opened; provided that Americans would not travel into the interior further than they could go and return the same day; and provided, further, that no American women should be brought to Japan.

When the translation of Hayashi’s reply was announced, the Commodore straightened up, threw back his boat-cloak, and excitedly exclaimed: “Great Heavens, if I were to permit any such stipulation as that in the treaty, when I got home the women would pull out all the hair out of my head.”

The Japanese fairly trembled at the Commodore’s apparent excitement, supposing they had grossly offended him. When, however, explanation was made by the interpreters, they all laughed right heartily, and the business continued.

The Ninth Article, or the “favored nation” clause was introduced at the suggestion of Dr. S. Wells Williams.^[34]

Unknown to any of the Americans, Nakahama Manjiro, who had received a good common school education in the United States, sat in an adjoining room, unseen but active, as the American interpreter for the Japanese. All the documents in English and Chinese were submitted to him for correction and approval.^[35] He was afterwards made curator of the scientific and mechanical apparatus brought by Perry and presented by the United States government, and in 1860, he navigated the first Japanese steamer, commanded by Katsŭ Awa, to Hawaii and California. Katsŭ Awa was one of the captains commanding the troops detailed to watch carefully “the American barbarians, lest they should proceed to acts of violence.”

While the negotiations were progressing, the other ships arrived, making ten in all. Presents and bouquets were exchanged, and guests and hosts amused each other. American palates were tickled with castira (Castile) or sponge-cake, rice beer, candied walnuts, Suruga tea, pickled plums, sugared fruits, sea-weed jelly, luscious crabs and prawns, dried persimmons, boiled eggs, fish soups, broiled tai, koi and karei fresh from the nets of the Yokohama fisherman. They essayed or avoided the impossible dishes of cuttle and sliced raw fish. All was served in the baby-house china and lacquered ware of the country. Some of the officers were vividly reminded of their infantile days.

The Japanese were regaled with viands that were master-pieces of American cookery. To the intense amusement of the “children of the gods,” the lords of the kitchen were kurumbō (blacks), a color and a creature such they had seen only in their own theatres when candle-holders with lamp-blacked faces illuminated the facial performances of actors. Save the dignified professor, Hayashi, they became over-flowingly merry over champagne and the national mixed drinks of the Great Republic. They learned the mysteries of mint-juleps and brandy-smashes. They lost their center of gravity over puddings and potations, and then laughed themselves sober at the sailors’ exhibition of negro minstrelsy. They were shown the discipline and drill of the ships, and the evolution of the marines. They were delighted with presents which revealed the secrets of the foreigners’ power. Rifles and gunpowder, the electric telegraph, the steam locomotive and train, life-boats, stoves, clocks, sewing-machines, agricultural implements and machinery, standard scales, weights, measures, maps and charts, the works of Audubon and other American authors were presented, most improperly labeled or engraved “To the Emperor of Japan.” The Mikado, Japan’s only emperor, never saw them, though the writer did in the storerooms of the exiled Tycoon at Shidzŭoka in 1872. The American may proudly note how very large a share his countrymen have had in inventions and in applications of the great natural forces that have revolutionized modern society. That one mile of telegraph wire has now become thousands; and that tiny railway, with toy locomotive and one car able to hold only a child, was the germ of the railway system in the Mikado’s empire. Historic truth compels us to add that among the presents there were one hundred barrels of whiskey, a good supply of cherry cordial, and champagne. Thus did the new civilization with its good and evil confront the old. New Japan was to be born in the age of steam, electricity, the photograph, the newspaper and the printing-press; yet in the train of the culture of the West was to follow its curses and enemies. With the sons of God came Satan also.

In return, the Japanese presented the delicate specialties of the artisans of their country, in bronze, lacquer, porcelain, bamboo, ivory, silk and paper; with coins, match-locks and swords, which now rest in the Smithsonian Institute. For the squadron, one hundred kokŭ (five hundred bushels) of rice and three hundred chickens were provided. They entertained their guests with wrestling matches between the prize bipeds whose diet includes the entire fauna of Japan. Strangely enough, they did not play dakiu or polo, their national game on horseback, in which so many of their riders excel. All the presents were duly wrapped in paper, with a symbolic folded paper and dried fish skin.

During the two months and more of the presence of the ships in the bay, the Japanese cruisers and spy-boats kept watch and ward in cordon, though at a distance from the Americans. This was to prevent political enemies and too eager students from getting aboard in order to leave Japan. Again and again did Yoshida Shoin and his companion attempt to break the blockade, but in vain. The pair then set off overland to Shimoda.

When the telegraph poles and rails for the locomotive had been made ready, the news of the exhibition about to be given fired the samurai of Yedo with consuming curiosity to see. All sorts of pretexts were made to obtain permission to be on the spot. Egawa, a noted flag-supporter whose yashiki or feudal palace lay near Shiba in Yedo, insisted on coming to Yokohama on the pretext of guarding the treaty building. He was ordered back, and it was hinted that Sanada’s men at arms could perform worthily the coveted duty. If the Americans made war and proceeded to Yedo, Egawa’s picked men could die more nobly “under the Shō-gun’s knee.” As the Japanese narrator learned afterwards, Egawa’s real purpose was to learn telegraphy and the secrets of steam engineering. It is not at all improbable that among his band of well-dressed gentlemen were expert mechanics as well as students who had from the Dutch at Nagasaki obtained their first knowledge of western inventions.

The treaty was signed March 31st, 1854. Its provisions are thus given by a Japanese author^[36]:—

“The Bakafu promised to accord kind treatment to shipwrecked sailors, permission to obtain wood, water, coal, provisions and other stores needed by ships at sea, with leave also to anchor in the ports of Shimoda in Idzu and Hakodaté in Matsumaé.” Trade or residence was not yet secured. “The hermit” was as yet unwilling to enter “the market-place.” The gains by treaty did not seem great, but Perry knew then, as we know more fully now, that the thin end of a great wedge had been inserted in the right place. He had made a beginning which was half the end, as we shall see farther on.

The sleeping princess had received her first kiss, and the gates of Thornrose castle would soon fly open. They were now ajar. More than one native of this “Princess Country” recalled the hiding of the Sun-goddess in the cave, and how with music and dance, feast and frolic, and show of cunning inventions exciting her curiosity, she was lured to peep out, so that the strong-handed god could open the door fully and all faces become light with joy.^[37]

Moving his steamers up the bay to within sight of Yedo, the Commodore left on the 18th of April for Shimoda, having sent the sailing ships ahead for survey. For nine weeks he had held in leash his two thousand or more ship’s people, and had impressed the Japanese with the decency and dignity of the American sailor’s behavior. Grand as was the triumph he accomplished in diplomacy, his victory in discipline seems equally praiseworthy and remarkable.

At Shimoda (now noted chiefly for the quarries which furnish stone for the modern government buildings in Tōkiō) the squadron remained until the end of the first week in May. One day late in April as Dr. S. Wells Williams and clerk J. W. Spalding were botanizing on land, Yoshida Shoin and his devoted companion, Ichiji Koda met them, and pressed into the clerk’s bosom a letter.^[38] On the appearance of Japanese officers, they disappeared. Somewhat after midnight of the 25th the watch-officer on the Mississippi heard the cry of “American, American!” With their delicate and blistered hands they implored in the language of gesture to be taken on board, that their boats be cast adrift, and they be secreted aboard. Their clothing was stuffed full of writing-paper and materials, on which they expected to note down what they saw in foreign countries. They were sent to the flag ship, and Perry, as he felt in honor and in conscience bound, despite his own sympathies and desires and their piteous appeals, sent them ashore. Further than this, he was unable to get at the real motive of the suppliants. “It might have been a stratagem to test American honor, and some believed it so to be,” yet Perry wrote in addition, with the prophecy of hope, “In this disposition of the people in Japan, what a field of speculation, and it may be added, what a prospect full of hope opens for the future of that interesting country.”

The prisoners sent to Chôshiu, were kept incarcerated within the limits of their own clan for five years. Sakuma was punished as an accomplice, because his stanza of poetry was discovered in Yoshida’s baggage. Active in those events leading to the revolution of 1868, Yoshida (who altered the name to Toraijiro) suffered decapitation and political martyrdom in Yedo January 31st, 1859. He died thinking it