Although any historian of the American Navy must be almost exclusively occupied with the deeds of men whose chief business it was to secure and promote the peace of the nation, one chapter of this work must be devoted to achievements which, though bloodless and in no sense spectacular, were of great importance not only to the American people but to the whole world.

A most interesting and valuable work might be written on the doings of the American Navy in times of peace. It would be especially valuable, for it would demonstrate beyond question that the Yankee seamen have at the least earned what they have cost during the years when short-sighted legislators have argued that a navy was on the whole a useless expense, or at best a school of preparation for a war not likely to come.

The truth is that only one of the navy’s achievements in times of peace has ever been fully appreciated by the American people, and that was the expedition to Japan, in the early fifties, under Captain Matthew Calbraith Perry. This Captain Perry, it is worth noting, was a younger brother of Oliver H. Perry, the hero of Lake Erie. He was made a lieutenant in 1813, but, like many others at that time, did not make a great name simply because he lacked opportunity. He never had a separate command where the qualities that give a naval officer fame might have sway. However, in the Gulf squadron during the war with Mexico, he found some work to do, and he had previously identified himself with the progressive work of the Navy by services in connection with the early use of steam, something of which will be told in the last volume of this work.

After the Mexican war, came the tremendous developments on the Pacific coast, and the wide expansion of commerce that gave the American clipper ship an imperishable fame—an expansion of commerce that reached out to every nation of the globe but one. That one was the rich island-empire of Japan. A most remarkable and a most interesting people were the Japanese. In the sixteenth century, a band of Christian missionaries penetrated the empire, and found there a civilization really far higher than that they had left in Europe. With wondrous zeal and self-sacrifice, and arrogant confidence in their own superiority, these missionaries set about converting this people to the Christian faith and subverting the government to their own ends. They succeeded in proselyting and in politics just far enough to throw the whole empire into a turmoil that ended at last in much bloodshed and the total expulsion of all the devotees of the Christian religion.

TRANSLATION OF THE POEM

So painful had been the experience of the Japanese that they determined that thereafter no Christian should ever have a foothold in their country; and for nearly three hundred years they were very nearly faithful to this resolve.

The Dutch did, indeed, manage to establish something of a trading station at Nagasaki. The Dutch were from the early days adroit and enterprising traders, but the conditions to which they submitted were so humiliating that the Japanese held them in the heartiest contempt. In fact, the Japanese during the nineteenth century had come to believe that the Christian world had really no thought unconnected with the greed of material gain; and when the clear-eyed historian looks over that world as a whole he cannot escape the feeling that the Japanese were almost justified in their faith. A people who worship Beauty and Art are justified in their contempt for those who worship the twin gods of Utility and Profit.

Nevertheless it is certain that with the introduction of Western civilization wrought by the American fleet the Japanese standards of Liberty and Justice have been immeasurably raised. And that is to say that the Japanese people have gained in happiness more than greedy Western traders have gained in material profits, while the result of spreading the knowledge of Japanese art over the rest of the civilized world needs nothing more than mere mention here. It is with good reason that the American people recall the work under Commodore Matthew Calbraith Perry with hearty pride.

It is a matter of interest to note that Perry was advocating an expedition to peacefully open the ports of Japan to American commerce, when so wise a statesman as Webster viewed the matter with indifference, for that was not the only occasion in the history of the country when the people might well have given a quick ear to the advice of naval officers in the matter of the nation’s foreign policy. As a matter of fact, the officers of the Navy, with their knowledge of the world and their sturdy patriotism, are the safest and in every way the best judges of what the foreign policy of the nation should be.

The advance upon Japan was slow. President Jackson sent a man to the East in 1831 with that project, among others, in view. In 1845 Commodore Biddle was sent with the big ship-of-the-line Columbus and the Vincennes to negotiate a treaty, but he was hampered by orders “not to do anything to excite” either hostile feelings toward or distrust of the United States, and nothing was accomplished. Another expedition planned in 1851 failed even to reach the Japanese coast because the commander, Captain James Aulick, of the Susquehanna, was recalled, when en route, to face a charge based on a false report regarding his conduct as a gentleman and an officer.

Finally, on March 24, 1852, Commodore Perry having been appointed to the mission, he sailed from Norfolk in the steamer Mississippi, and after touching at the Madeiras, St. Helena, the Cape of Good Hope, and elsewhere en route he arrived at Hong Kong, on the southeast corner of China, on April 6, 1853. The American squadron on the China station included the steamer Susquehanna and the sailing-ships Saratoga and the Plymouth. These were added to the expedition, with the Susquehanna as flagship, and on July 8th the squadron was in the Bay of Yeddo and at anchor off Uraga.

As it happened, there was a fog on the sea that morning, and no steamship had ever entered the harbor before that day. This combination of circumstances—the sudden appearance of two big ships propelled out of the fog, with two others in tow, by a power they had never seen, made a profound impression on the people. Yet it was not the impression that an ignorant people would have received, for the authorities were expecting the fleet, having heard of it through the Dutch, and they had read about and had seen pictures of steamships and steam-cars as well.

But while the fleet was well adapted to excite the respect as well as the admiration of the people, they still had but one idea of the white race, and that was that it was animated by greed only, and so would submit, as the Dutch had done, to every indignity to accomplish their ends. And it was the not unnatural pleasure of this curious people to inflict indignities on traders.

It was therefore with astonishment mixed with rapidly growing respect that they became acquainted with the envoy of the American nation. For it was a curious fact (curious to us) that this representative of a people who believe all men born free and equal was the first to insist on the Japanese recognizing distinctions in rank among Americans. The representative of a people who believe in observing no other forms than those that preserve the rights and comforts of the individual, and despise formalities exacted for form’s sake, compelled the Japanese to the observance of the most respectful formalities in their intercourse with him.

As the squadron steamed up the bay, boat after boat bearing official flags put out from the shore, but they were wholly ignored by the Yankee commodore. And when the ships had come to anchor and the little officials from the shore came alongside, the lines of their boats were cut as fast as the crews tried to make fast to the war-ships, and the officials themselves, who were so bold as to try climbing on board, were driven back—in some cases knocked back—into their boats, while an interpreter informed them that only the very highest official would be admitted.

Then came one who was manifestly of no little importance, though not of the highest rank. By motions he let it be known that he wanted a gangway lowered. He was ignored until he showed an order for the ships to leave the harbor immediately, when the interpreter informed him that no communication could be held with such a low-grade fellow as he was. At that, somewhat humbled, he asked that someone of a rank corresponding to him might be delegated to receive him, and after a delay that was long enough to make him think no one cared very much for the matter, a lieutenant was assigned to listen to him and he was permitted to come on board.

On his reaching the deck of the flagship the Americans found they were dealing with the Vice-Governor of the district. He said the Japanese law provided for communicating with foreigners at Nagasaki only, where the Dutch came to trade. The American representative (Lieutenant John Contee) informed him that the Americans considered any such proposition to be in the highest degree disrespectful. Further, they had come to Japan with a message from their President to the ruler of Japan, and that that message should be delivered only to a prince of the highest rank, who especially represented the Japanese ruler. Moreover, it would be delivered only on the shores of the bay where the squadron was now lying, and at a point very near the capital.

Then pointing to the armed boats that swarmed around the Susquehanna, Lieutenant Contee, in an indignant manner, informed the official that the presence of those boats was an insult, and that if the boats did not go away quickly the insult would be resented with violence—even with the cannon.

At that the official ordered the boats away, and the upshot of the visit was that the governor himself came next day on board to negotiate. He was received by two captains—Buchanan and Adams—with Lieutenant Contee, but he was informed that no third-rank official like himself could see the American commodore.

After some little palaver the governor conceded that the Americans might deliver their message there, but insisted that the answer of the Emperor must be sent to Nagasaki. Immediately the watchful Americans noted, although they did not understand the language, that the governor used one term when he spoke of the Emperor and a different one when he spoke of the American President. Assuming that he was less respectful in speaking of the President, they demanded that he use the same term for each ruler, and he apologized. Then they told him that the answer to the message would be received only where the message was delivered.

Finding the Americans fully determined, the governor said he would have to appeal to the throne for instructions. This seemed reasonable, but when he said it would take four days to get his instructions back, although the capital was but a few hours away, the Americans said that if the Emperor did not send the order in three days the ships would steam up to the capital to learn the cause of the delay, and in that event the American commodore would go ashore and himself call for the answer to the President’s message to the Emperor.

“I will wait until Tuesday, the 12th day of July, and no longer,” was the emphatic message which Commodore Perry sent to the governor, and that brought the governor to the American terms.

It may be worth noting here, as indicating the character of the Japanese, that when the Governor of Uraga came on board he was accompanied by three reporters, who not only wrote down everything that was said, but asked many questions, wrote the answers carefully, and added descriptions of everything they saw about the ships. Like good reporters everywhere, they were careful, in matters of importance, to get everything down in their notebooks, and then verify their notes. They are called Metsko Devantigers—i. e., men who look in all directions.

On Tuesday, July 12th, came word permitting the message to be delivered in a house to be erected for the purpose on the shore of the bay and promising an answer in due time at the same place. An official of the highest rank was assigned to receive the message. The Thursday following was the day set for delivering the message. So Commodore Perry ordered out his barge with fourteen others to carry guards of honor. The boats formed in line and the advance guard-boat, with an American captain in command, was accompanied by two Japanese boats containing, as a mark of honor, the Governor and Vice-governor of Uraga. There was a band of music, and to the blare of brazen instruments was added the roar of a thirteen-gun salute.

On reaching the shore the American guard, consisting of four hundred marines and sailors, lined up to salute the commodore. Then a procession was formed, with the commodore in a sedan-chair borne by Chinese members of the crew, while the letter of the President and the credentials of the commodore were borne by two negroes selected for their size and bearing. These documents, by the way, were written on vellum of folio size, the big seals were enclosed in solid gold boxes, and the documents were enclosed in gold-mounted caskets.

The commodore’s sedan was flanked by two immense negroes in gorgeous uniform and armed like pirates.

There was no great ceremony in the house of reception. The dignitaries took seats, a box that had been prepared for the occasion was pointed out as the receptacle of the message, and into it the message was placed. There was, of course, plenty of bowing and rising up in the presence of the great men of both nations. But after the big ceremony was over the princes went on board ship and had a sail around the bay. There was also an exchange of presents, the Japanese being somewhat surprised to find the Americans refusing to accept presents without returning something of equal value.

In February the commodore returned for the Emperor’s reply to the President’s message requiring a commercial treaty. He came with the steamers Powhatan, Mississippi, and Susquehanna, with the Lexington, Vandalia, and Macedonian in tow. They insisted on anchoring farther up the bay than before—at Yokohama, within nine miles of the capital. Here the commodore continued the practices of the former visit, and the business of the expedition was concluded in the signing of a treaty which granted everything that the Americans could reasonably demand—a treaty, it is worth noting, that has been of greater benefit to Japan than to the nation that insisted on making it.

And to the very great honor of the American Navy it was made without bloodshed as well as without a single humiliating concession. In fact, the Japan expedition emphasizes the assertion that whenever matters of foreign diplomacy have been left to the discretion of the officers of the Navy both the honor of the nation and justice have been carefully guarded.

An amusing feature of the history of this expedition is found in the periodicals of the day, where it is said that the Japanese idea of entertaining their guests was a “disgusting exhibition” of the skill of their wrestlers, while the American idea of a return entertainment was a “brilliant” negro minstrel show in which the seamen of the fleet performed as well as the professional talent at “Christy’s” on Broadway might have done.

No elaborate résumé of the doings of the scientific explorers of the Navy can be given here. The exploring expedition of Lieutenant Charles Wilkes, with the sloops Vincennes and Peacock, the brig Porpoise, the store-ship Relief, and the tenders Sea-gull and Flying Fish, was the most pretentious. It was authorized in 1836, and was directed chiefly to the extreme South, but some work was done among the islands of the Pacific. A number of thick quarto volumes give the reports of officers and specialists, but only people engaged in a scientific study of nature ever fully appreciated the great value of the work done. Lieutenant J. M. Gilliss, assisted by Lieutenant Archibald MacRea, Acting-Master S. L. Phelps, and Captain’s Clerk E. R. Smith, were members of a “United States Astronomical Expedition to the Southern Hemisphere” in 1849–52. There was an exploring expedition in the Parana in the steamer Water Witch, which was fired on by the Paraguyan dictator, and the event compelled a show of force, later on, in order to teach the people there to respect the flag. An exploration of the Dead Sea was made by Lieutenant William Francis Lynch, in 1848. In 1850 Lieutenant Edwin J. De Haven sailed from New York with the brigs Rescue and Advance, in search of the remains of Sir John Franklin, the Arctic explorer. A proper relation of what was accomplished by these and other expeditions of the kind would fill a large and most interesting work. But it may be said here that only a cursory examination of the reports of the officers making them is needed to show not only that the naval officers were fitted for the work in hand, but that the work accomplished was in its influence upon humanity in general, as well as upon the American nation, well worth its cost.