Chapter VI: Part 6

The Pacific coast was very far away from the rest of the United States in that day. News usually traveled by ship, and sailors brought the report of the discovery of gold to Honolulu, to Oregon City, and to the ports at Victoria and Vancouver. Letters carried the first tidings to the people in the East, and by the middle of the summer Washington and New York had learned what was happening in California, and adventurers along the Atlantic coast were beginning to turn their faces westward. The letters often greatly exaggerated the truth. A New York paper printed reports which stated that men were picking gold out of the earth as easily as hogs could root up groundnuts in a forest. One man, who employed sixty Indians, was said to be making a dollar a minute. Small holes along the banks of streams were stated to yield many pounds of gold. But even allowing for much exaggeration it was evident that men were making fortunes in that country.

Colonel Mason, in charge at San Francisco, sent Lieutenant Loeser with his report to Washington. The lieutenant had to take a roundabout route. He went from Monterey to Peru, from there to Panama, across the Isthmus, took boat to Jamaica, and from there he sailed to New Orleans. When he reached the capital he delivered his message, and showed a small tea chest which held three thousand dollars' worth of gold in lumps and flakes. This chest was placed on exhibition, and served to convince those who saw it that California must possess more gold than any other country yet discovered. President Taylor announced the news in an official message. He said that the mineral had been found in such quantities as could hardly be believed, except on the word of government officers in the field. During the winter of 1848-49 thousands of men in the East planned to start for this El Dorado as soon as they could get their outfits together, and spring should open the roads.

The overland route to the West was long and very difficult. At that time, though the voyage by sea was longer, it was easier for men who lived on the Atlantic coast. They might sail around Cape Horn, or to the Isthmus of Panama, or to Vera Cruz, and in the two latter cases cross land, and hope to find some ship in the western ocean that would take them to San Francisco. Business men in the East seized the opportunity to advertise tents, beds, blankets, and all manner of camp equipment, as well as pans, rockers, and every kind of implement for washing gold from the gravel. The owners of ships of every description, many of them unseaworthy, fitted up their craft, and advertised them as ready to sail for San Francisco. The ports of Boston, Salem, Newburyport, New York, Baltimore, and New Orleans were crowded with brigs and schooners loading for the Pacific. A newspaper in New York stated that ten thousand people would leave for the gold country within a month.

All sorts of schemes were tried. Companies were formed, each member of which paid one hundred dollars or more to charter a ship to take them around the Horn. Almost every town in the East had its California Association, made up of adventurers who wanted to make their fortunes rapidly. By the end of January, 1849, eighty vessels had sailed by way of Cape Horn, and many others were heading for Vera Cruz, and for ports on the Isthmus of Panama. The newspapers went on printing fabulous stories of the discoveries. One had a letter stating that lumps of gold weighing a pound had been found in several places. Another printed a letter from a man who said he would return in a few months with a fortune of half a million dollars in gold. A miner was said to have arrived in Pittsburgh with eighty thousand dollars in gold-dust that he had gathered in a few weeks. Whenever men met they discussed eagerly the one absorbing topic of the fortunes waiting on the coast.

The adventurers who sailed around Cape Horn had in most cases the easiest voyages. There were plenty of veteran sea-captains ready to command the ships. A Boston merchant organized "The Mining and Trading Company," bought a full-rigged vessel, sold places in it to one hundred and fifty men, and sailed from Boston early in January, 1849. The first place at which she touched was Tierra del Fuego, and she reached Valparaiso late in April. There she found two ships from Baltimore, and in two days four more arrived from New York, and one from Boston. July 6th she entered the Golden Gate of San Francisco, and found it crowded with vessels from every port. The ships were all deserted, and within an hour all this ship's crew were on shore. The town itself was filled with bustle and noise. Gambling was practically the only business carried on, and the stores were jammed with men paying any price for outfits for the gold country. This company chose a place on the Mokelumne River, and hastened there, but they found it difficult to work on a company basis. The men soon scattered and drifted to other camps; some of them found gold, others in time made their way east poorer than when they came.

Those who went by the Isthmus had many adventures. Two hundred young men sailed to Vera Cruz, and landed at that quaint old Mexican city. There they were told that bands of robbers were prowling all through the country, that their horses would die of starvation in the mountains, and that they would probably be killed, or lose themselves on the wild trail. Fifty of them decided not to go farther, and sailed back in a homeward-bound ship to New York. Those who went on were attacked by a mob at the town of Jalapa, and had to fight their way through at the point of revolvers. In several wild passes bandits tried to hold them up, but the Easterners put them to flight and pushed on their way. All through the country they found relics and wreckage of the recent days when General Scott had marched an army into Mexico.

There was more trouble at Mexico City. A religious procession was passing along the plaza, and the Americans did not fall upon their knees. The crowd set upon them, and they had to form a square for their protection, and hold the mob at bay until Mexican officers came to their rescue. Only after fighting a path through other towns and a long march did they reach the seaport of San Blas. One hundred and twenty of them took ship from there to San Francisco. Thirty, however, had left the others at Mexico City, thinking they could reach the sea-coast more quickly by another route. The ship they caught could get no farther than San Diego. From there they had to march on foot across a blazing desert country. Their food gave out, and they lived on lizards, birds, rattlesnakes, and even buzzards, anything they could find. Worn and almost starving they reached San Francisco, ten months after they had left New York. Such adventures were common to the American Argonauts of 1849.

Those gold-seekers who went by the Isthmus of Panama had to stop at the little settlement of Chagres, where one hundred huts of bamboo stood on the ruins of the old Spanish fort of San Lorenzo. The natives, lazy and half-clad, gazed in astonishment at the scores of men from the eastern United States, who suddenly began to hurry through their town. Here the gold-hunters bargained for river boats, which were usually rude dugouts, with roofs made of palmetto branches and leaves, and rowed by natives. It was impossible with such rowers to make much speed against the strong current of the Chagres River. Three days were required to make the journey to Gorgona, where the travelers usually landed. At this place they had to bargain afresh for pack-mules to carry them the twenty-four miles that lay between Gorgona and Panama. Many men, who could not find any mules left in the town, deserted their baggage and started for the Pacific coast on foot. The chances were that no ship would be waiting for them there, and they would have to warm their heels in idleness for days.

General Persifor F. Smith, who had been ordered to take command of the United States troops at San Francisco, was one of those who had to wait for a ship at Panama. Here he heard reports that a good deal of the new-found gold was being sent to foreign countries. Some said that the British Consul had forwarded fifteen thousand ounces of California gold to England, and that more than nine million francs' worth of the mineral had been received in the South American ports of Lima and Valparaiso. As a result hundreds of men from those ports were taking ship to California. General Smith did not like the idea of foreigners profiting by the discovery of gold in California, and issued an order that only citizens of the United States should be allowed to enter the public lands where the diggings were located. When the _California_, a steamship from New York, reached Panama in January, 1849, with seventy-five Peruvians on board, General Smith warned them that they would not be allowed to go to the mines, and sent word of this order to consuls along the Pacific coast of South America. In spite of his efforts, however, foreigners would go to Upper California, and the American prospectors were too busy with their own searches to prevent the strangers from taking what gold they could find.

When the _California_ arrived at Panama she was already well filled with passengers, but there were so many men waiting for her that the captain had to give in to their demands, and crowd his vessel with several hundred more gold-seekers. Loaded with impatient voyagers, the steamship sailed up the coast, and reached San Francisco about the end of February. Immediately every one on board, except the captain, the mate, and the purser, deserted the ship, and dashed for the gold fields. The next steamer to reach Panama, the _Oregon_, found an even larger crowd waiting at that port. She took more passengers on board than she was intended to carry, but fortune favored the gold-seekers, and the _Oregon_, like the _California_, discharged her adventurous cargo in safety at San Francisco. Hundreds of others who could not board either of these steamers ventured on the Pacific in small sailing vessels, or any manner of ship that would put out from Panama bound north.

It is interesting to know the story of some of these pilgrimages. One of the Argonauts has told how he organized, in a little New England town, a company of twenty men. Each man subscribed a certain sum of money in return for a share in any profits, and in this way ten thousand dollars was raised. The men who were to go on the expedition signed a paper agreeing to work at least two years in the gold fields for the company. The band went from the New England town to New York, where they found the harbor filled with ships that were advertised to sail for Nicaragua, Vera Cruz, or Chagres. The leader of the company chose a little brig bound for the latter port, and in this the party, with some twenty-five other passengers, set sail in March. They ran into a heavy storm, but in three weeks reached the port on the Isthmus. There they had to wait some days, as all the river boats had gone up to Gorgona. When the boats were ready, thirty natives poled ten dugouts up the river. When the men landed they were told that there was no ship at Panama; that half the gold-seekers in that town were ill, and that there was no use in pushing on. So the party built tents on the bank of the river, and stayed there until the rainy season drove them to the coast. There they camped again, and waited for a ship to arrive. There was one vessel anchored in the harbor, but the owner was under a bond to keep it there as a coal-ship. The leader of the company, however, persuaded the owner to forfeit this bond, and four hundred waiting passengers paid two hundred dollars apiece to be conveyed to California. The ship was hardly seaworthy, and took seven weeks of sailing and floating to reach the harbor of Acapulco. There the vessel was greeted by a band of twenty Americans, ragged and penniless, who had come on foot from the City of Mexico. They had waited so long for a ship that twenty of the passengers agreed to give them their tickets, and take their places to wait until the next vessel should arrive. It was almost seven months after that New England party had left New York before they arrived at the Golden Gate of San Francisco.

There was very little choice between the Panama and the Nicaragua routes to the West. Among those who tried the latter road were a number of young men who had just graduated from Yale College. They boarded a ship in New York that was advertised to sail during the first week in February, and expected to land in San Francisco in sixty days. It was March, however, before the ship, crowded with voyagers, set sail south from Sandy Hook. Three weeks brought her to the mouth of the San Juan River. The ship's company was landed at the little tropical town of San Juan de Nicaragua. A small steamboat had been brought along to take them up the river, but when the machinery was put together the boat was found to be worthless. Like the voyagers by Panama, these men then had to trust to native dugouts, and in this way they finally got up the river to San Carlos. Had it not been for their eagerness to reach California such a trip would have been a delight to men who had never seen the tropics before. The San Juan River flowed through forests of strange and beautiful trees. Tamarind and dyewood trees, tall palms, and giant cacti, festooned with bright-colored vines, made a background for the brilliant birds that flew through the woods. Fruit was to be had for the taking, and the weather at that time of the year was delightful. But the thought of the fortunes waiting to be picked up in California filled the minds of most of the travelers.

After leaving the boats this party traveled by mule to Leon. Nicaragua was in the midst of a revolution, and the Americans acted as a guard to the President on the road to Leon. Near the end of July the company separated. Some finally sailed from the port of Realejo, and after many dangers and a voyage of almost five months succeeded in reaching San Francisco. Others reached Panama, set sail in a small boat, and were never heard from again; while yet a third party boarded a vessel at a Nicaraguan port, and managed to reach California after almost perishing from hunger and thirst.

Such were the adventures of some of those who tried to reach the gold fields of the West by sea. Hundreds of men made the trip by one of these routes, and as soon as spring arrived thousands set out overland. It was understood that large parties would leave from western Missouri early in March, and as a result many men, some alone, some in bands of twenty or thirty, gathered there from all parts of the East. Sometimes they formed military companies, wore uniforms, and carried rifles. The main place of gathering was the town of Independence, which grew to the size of a large city in a few weeks. Men came on foot and on horseback; some with canvas-covered wagons, prairie schooners, and pack-mules; some with herds of cattle; some bringing with them all their household goods. All the Middle West seemed to be in motion. In a single week in March, 1849, hundreds of wagons drove through Burlington, Iowa. Two hundred from Memphis went along the Arkansas River, and hundreds more from Michigan, Wisconsin, Illinois, and Pennsylvania crossed the border of Iowa.

The spring was late, and as the overland trip could not be taken until the grass was high enough to feed the cattle, the great company had to wait along the frontiers from Independence to Council Bluffs. As men gathered at these towns they would form into companies, and then move on to a more distant point, in order to make room for later arrivals. Twenty thousand gathered along these frontiers before the signal was given to start westward. The march began about May 1st, and from then on, day and night, scores of wagons crossed the Missouri River, and the country looked like a field of tents.

From Independence most of the emigrants crossed rolling prairies for fifteen days to the Platte River at Grand Island. The route then wound up the valley of the Platte to the South Fork, and from there to the North Fork, where a rude post-office had been built, at which letters might be left to be carried back east by any travelers who were going in that direction. From here the emigrants journeyed to the mountain passes. They usually stopped at Laramie, which was the farthest western fort of the United States. By this time the long journey would be telling on many of the companies, and the road be strewn with all sorts of household goods, thrown away in order to lighten the burden on the horses.

At the South Pass, midway of the Rocky Mountains, two roads divided; those who took the southern road traveled by the Great Salt Lake to the Sierra Nevada Mountains, and so into California. The northern road lay partly along the course of the Snake River to the headwaters of the Humboldt, and from there the emigrants might choose a path still farther to the north toward the Columbia River, or westward to the Sacramento. Many went by the trail along the Humboldt, although this route was one of the most difficult. "The river had no current," said one of the gold-hunters. "No fish could live in its waters, which wound through a desert, and there was not enough wood in the whole valley to make a snuff-box, nor vegetation enough on its banks to shelter a rabbit. The stream flowed through desert sands, which the summer heat made almost unbearable for men and horses." Following its course the travelers came to a lake of mud, surrounded for miles by a sandy plain. Across this they had to march for thirty-four hours to reach the Carson River. Along the trail lay the bodies of horses, mules, and oxen, and broken wagons parched and dried out in the blazing sun.

The first of the overland travelers who crossed the mountains late in the summer brought such reports to the officers at the Pacific posts that the latter decided that relief parties must be sent back to help those who were still toiling in the desert. It was known that some had been attacked by Indians, and obliged to leave their covered wagons; that some had lost all their cattle, and were almost without food. Therefore relief parties were hurried into the mountains from the western side. They found the overland trail crowded with men on foot and in wagons. Many were sick, and almost all were hungry. One man carried a child in his arms, while a little boy trudged by his side, and his invalid wife rode on a mule. The soldiers gave food to all who needed it, and urged them to push on to the army posts. Day after day they met the same stream of emigrants, all bent on reaching the golden fields of California.

Late in the autumn, with winter almost at hand, the voyagers were still crossing the deserts and mountains. The soldiers could not induce many of them to throw away any of their goods. They crept along slowly, their wagons loaded from baseboard to roof. The teams, gradually exhausted, began to fall, and progress was almost impossible. Then the rescuers hurried the women to near-by settlements, and forced the men to abandon some of their baggage in an effort to reach shelter before the winter storms should come. By the end of November almost all the overland emigrants had crossed the mountains.

The city of San Francisco had sprung up almost overnight. In 1835 a Captain Richardson had landed on the shore of Yerba Buena Cove, and built a hut of four redwood posts, covered by a sail. Five years afterward this village of Yerba Buena contained about fifty people and a dozen houses. In 1846 the American war-ship _Portsmouth_ anchored there, and her captain raised the "Stars and Stripes" on the Plaza. At that time there were not more than fifty houses and two hundred people. When the town became American the Plaza was renamed Portsmouth Square, and a year later the settlement was christened San Francisco. That was in January, 1847; and by midsummer of 1849 the town had become a city. It was an odd place to look at. The houses were made of rough unpainted boards, with cotton nailed across the walls and ceiling in place of plaster; and many a thriving business was carried on in canvas tents. There were few homes. The city was crowded; but most of the population did not intend to stay. They came to buy what they needed, or sell what they brought with them, and then hasten away to the mines. So many eager strangers naturally drove the prices up enormously, especially when it seemed as though gold could be had for the taking. The restaurants charged three dollars for a cup of coffee, a slice of ham, and two eggs. Houses and lots sold for from ten thousand to seventy-five thousand dollars each, and everything else was in proportion. What happened in San Francisco also happened in many other California towns. Sacramento was the result of the gold-craze. Speculators bought large tracts of land in any attractive place, gave it a high-sounding name, and sold city lots. Many of these so-called cities, however, shriveled up within a year or two. The seaports flourished because they were the gateways through which the newcomers passed in their rush to locate in the gold country.

These seaports became the goal of merchants everywhere. Necessary articles were so scarce that they were shipped long distances. Flour was brought from Australia and Chili, rice and sugar from China, and the cities along the Atlantic provided the dry-goods, the tools, and the furniture. At one time a cotton shirt would sell for forty dollars, a tin pan for nine, and a candle for three. But on the other hand cargoes of goods that were not needed, silks and satins, costly house-furnishings, were left on the beaches and finally sold for a song.

From the seaports the new arrivals hurried either up the Sacramento and the Feather Rivers to the northern gold fields, or up the San Joaquin to the southern country. Usually they were guided by the latest story of a rich find, and went where the chances seemed best. Several men would join forces and pitch their tents together, naming their camp Rat-trap Slide, Rough and Ready Camp, Slap-jack Bar, Mad Mule Gulch, Git-up-and-Git, You Bet, or any other name that struck their fancy. There were no laws to govern these little settlements, and the men adopted a rough system of justice that suited themselves. But as the numbers increased it was evident that California must have a better form of government, and steps were taken to have that rich stretch of land along the Pacific admitted as a state to the United States.

In three years California had grown from the home of about two thousand people to the home of eighty thousand. The finding of gold had changed that almost unknown wilderness into a thriving land in the twinkling of an eye. Railroads were built to reach it, and more and more men poured west. Some men made great fortunes, but more in a few months abandoned their claims and drifted to the cities, or made their way slowly back to the eastern farms and villages from which they had set out. The Forty-niners, as the gold-seekers were called, found plenty of adventure in California, even if they did not all find a short-cut to wealth.

IX

HOW THE UNITED STATES MADE FRIENDS WITH JAPAN

One of the beautiful names that the Japanese have given to their country is "Land of Great Peace," and at no time was this name more appropriate than in the middle of the nineteenth century. Two hundred years before the last of the civil wars of Japan had come to an end, and the people, weary of years of bloodshed, had turned delightedly to peaceful ways. The rice-fields were replanted, artisans returned to their crafts, shops opened again, and poets and painters followed the call of their arts. The samurai, or warriors, sheathed their swords, though they still regarded them as their very souls. They hung their armor in their ancestral halls, and spent their time in sport or idleness. The daimios, or nobles of Japan, lived either in the city of Yedo or at their country houses, taking their ease, and gradually forgetting the arts of war on which their power had been founded. All the people were quite contented, and had no desire to trade with the rest of the world. As a matter of fact they knew almost nothing about other countries, except through English or Russian sailors who occasionally landed on their coasts. Japan was satisfied to be a hermit nation.

On the afternoon of the seventh day of July, 1853, or the third day of the sixth month of Kayéi, in the reign of the Emperor Koméi, the farmers working in the muddy rice-fields near the village of Uraga saw a strange sight. It was a clear summer afternoon, and the beautiful mountain Fuji, its cone wreathed in white clouds, could be seen from sea and shore. What startled the men in the fields, the people in the village, and the boatmen in the harbor, was a fleet of vessels coming to anchor in the bay of Yedo. These monsters, with their sails furled, although they were heading against the wind, were shooting tongues of smoke from their great black throats. "See the fire-vessels!" cried the Japanese to each other. When the peasants asked the priests where the monsters came from the wise men answered that they were the fire-vessels of the barbarians who lived in the West.

The monsters were four ships of the United States navy, the _Mississippi_, _Susquehanna_, _Plymouth_, and _Saratoga_, all under command of Commodore Matthew Calbraith Perry. The fleet dropped anchor in the wide bay, forming a line broadside to the shore. The gun-ports were opened, and sentries set to guard against attack by pirates, or by fire-junks. As the anchors splashed in the water rockets shot up from one of the forts on shore signaling to the court at Yedo that the barbarians had reached Japan.

The town of Uraga was usually not a very busy place, and the government officers spent their time drinking tea, smoking, and lounging in the sun, and occasionally collecting custom duties from junks bound to other harbors. But there was a great bustle on the day the strange ships arrived. The chief magistrate, or buni[=o], his interpreter, and suite of attendants, put on their formal dress of hempen cloth, and fastened their lacquered ornamented hats to their heads; with two swords in each belt, the party marched to the shore and boarded their state barge. Twelve oarsmen rowed it to the nearest foreign ship, but when they tried to fasten ropes to the vessel so that they might go on board, the barbarians threw off the ropes, and gestured to them to keep away.

The Japanese officer was surprised to find that, although he was gorgeously robed, and his companions carried spears and the Tokugawa trefoil flag, the barbarians were not at all impressed. They told him, through an interpreter, that their commander wished to confer with the governor himself. The officer answered that the governor was not allowed to board foreign ships. After some further discussion the surprised Japanese was permitted to climb the gangway ladder and meet the barbarians on the deck of their vessel.

Commodore Perry knew that the Japanese loved mystery, high-sounding names, and ceremonies, and so he stayed in his cabin and would not show himself to the visitors. A secretary carried his messages, and explained that the mysterious commodore had come on a friendly mission and bore a letter from the President of the United States to the Emperor of Japan, which he wished to present with all proper ceremony. He declined to go to Nagasaki, and insisted that he should remain in Yedo Bay, and added that although his visit was entirely friendly, he would not allow any inquisitive sightseers to prowl about his fleet. Very much impressed with the power of this hidden barbarian, the Japanese officer immediately ordered all the small boats, the punts and sampans that had gathered about the fleet, to row away.

The officer and his body-guard returned to shore, and told the villagers that the visitors were very remarkable men, who were not at all impressed by their costumes or weapons. The Japanese had no such title as commodore in their language, and they referred to Perry as Admiral, and credited him with almost as much majesty as their own hidden Mikado, or as the mighty Shogun.

The western coast of Japan was much excited that night. Rockets from the forts, and huge watch-fires on the cliffs, told the whole country that a most unusual event had happened. The peasants set out their sacred images, and prayed to them as they had not done in years. It was evident that the gods of Japan were punishing the people for their neglect by sending these great fire-vessels to disturb the coast. To add to the general excitement a wonderful light appeared in the sky about midnight, spreading a pale red and blue path across the heavens, as though a dragon were flying through space. Priests and soothsayers made the most of this display of Northern Lights, and pointed out that the fire-vessels, clearly revealed in the harbor, must have something to do with the strange omen.

The governor of Uraga himself, with a retinue of servants, all clad in embroidered gowns and lacquered helmets, and each carrying two swords, went out to the flag-ship next morning. He had evidently overlooked the fact that the barbarians had been told on the day before that the governor could not pay such a visit to their fleet. The governor was used to being received with a great deal of attention, and to having people bow to the ground as he went by; but on the deck of the _Susquehanna_ the sailors looked at him with simple curiosity, and when he asked to speak with the mysterious admiral, he was told that he would only be allowed to speak with the captains. These men said that their commander would only wait three days for an answer from Yedo as to whether the Mikado would receive the letter of the President. They showed him the magnificent box that held the letter, and the governor's curiosity grew even greater. When he left the flag-ship he had promised to urge the Americans' cause.

Next day, the men dressed in silk and brocade, painted helmets, and gleaming sashes, eager to visit the ships again, were surprised to learn that the barbarian prince would transact no business. His interpreter declared that it was a day of religious observance, known as Sunday. The people on shore heard the sailors of the fleet singing hymns, a strange sound in those waters. Hastily the Japanese offered new presents at the shrines of their own gods to ensure protection from the barbarians. 8 By now the hermit people thought they might have to guard themselves, and began to build earthworks along the shore. Farmers, fishermen, shopkeepers, women, and children were pressed into service. Rude embankments were thrown up, and enormously heavy brass cannon were placed at openings. The old samurai, who had almost forgotten warfare, sought out their weapons, and gathered their troops. Their armor consisted of jackets of silk, iron and paper. Their arms were old matchlocks and spears. They could have fought each other, but they were several hundred years behind the barbarians in military matters. On the hills they set up canvas tents, with flags bearing flaming dragons and the other emblems of their clans. In the days of their civil wars bright-colored trappings had played an important part.

Yedo was then the chief city of Japan. When Perry arrived in 1853 it was the home of the Shogun Iyéyoshi, who was the real ruler of the land, although the Mikado was called the sovereign. Yedo had been the home of a long line of Shoguns of the Tokugawa family who had ruled the country, calling themselves "Tycoons." They had built up the city, and filled it with palaces and temples that had never been equaled in magnificence. The people of Yedo, numbering over a million, were greatly excited when they heard of the fleet of war-ships lying in their great bay. The Shogun, his courtiers and his warriors bestirred themselves at once. Soldiers were summoned, armor polished, swords unsheathed, castles repaired, and everything possible done to make an impression on the strangers.

The chief men knew that they could not oppose this foreign admiral. Once they had had war-vessels of their own, but years of peace had reduced their navy, and they could not defend their coasts. The Shogun was afraid that the admiral might insist upon seeing the Mikado at Ki[=o]to, and that would be a great blow to his own dignity. After hours of debate and discussion he chose two daimios to receive the letter of the American President, Millard Fillmore, and sent word to all coast towns to man their forts.

Perry had played the game well, and so far had allowed no Japanese to see him. He wanted to make a treaty with Japan, and he knew that to succeed he must impress this Oriental people with his dignity. He allowed his captains and two daimios to arrange a meeting to be held at a little town called Kurihâma, near the port of Uraga. Each side had tried to outdo the other in politeness. The American captains had received the Japanese officers with great respect, had served them wines, and seated them in upholstered armchairs. The Japanese regretted that they could not provide their guests with armchairs or with wine on shore, but the visitors assured them that they would be willing to adopt Japanese customs.

By July 13th the scene for the meeting was ready. Hundreds of yards of canvas, with the Tokugawa trefoil, had been stretched along the road to Kurihâma. Hundreds of retainers, clad in all the colors of their feudal days, were gathered about the tents, and on the beach stood as many soldiers, glittering in their lacquered armor. The American officers were almost as brilliantly dressed as the Japanese. They wore coats with a great many bright brass buttons, and curious shaped hats cocked on their heads. They brought musicians with them who played on cornets and drums, and the music was quite unlike anything the natives had ever heard before. Three hundred of the barbarians landed and marched from the beach to the main tent, while the eager-eyed people lined the road and wondered at their strange appearance.

Two or three big sailors carried the American flag, and back of them came two boys with the mysterious red box that had been shown to the officers of the port. Back of them marched the great commodore, clad in full uniform, and on either side of him strode a black man armed with a large sabre. Many of the Japanese had never seen a white man before, and still fewer had ever looked upon a negro. They were therefore very much impressed by the procession.

The officers of the Shogun received their magnificent visitor at the door of the pavilion. After greetings the two boys handed the box to the negro guards, who opened the scarlet cloth envelope and the gold-hinged rosewood cases, and laid the President's letter on a lacquered stand brought from Yedo. A receipt for the President's letter was then handed to the commodore, who said that he would return to Japan the next spring, probably in April or May. The meeting lasted half an hour, and then, with the same pomp and ceremony, the Americans returned to their ships.

For eight days the fleet remained in the bay. One party of sailors landed, but made no trouble, and was actually so polite that the people offered them refreshments of tea and fruit. At close range the barbarians were not so terrifying as the natives had thought them at first, and when they embarked for their fleet the people urged them to come back again. On July 17th the war-ships steamed away, leaving the cliffs covered with people, who gazed in astonishment at vessels that had no canvas spread, but were driven entirely by fire.

Perry's object in visiting Japan was to obtain a treaty that would allow trade relations between the United States and this hermit nation. He wanted to give the Japanese people time to consider President Fillmore's letter, and so he planned to keep his squadron in Eastern waters until the following spring, when he would return to learn the result of his mission at Yedo. There was much of interest to him in China, and he spent the autumn and part of the winter making charts of that coast, and visiting ports where American merchants were already established.

Meantime the letter of the American President had caused great excitement in Japan. Almost as soon as Perry left a messenger was sent to the Shinto priests at the shrines of Isé to offer prayers for the peace of the empire, and to urge that the barbarians be swept away. A week later the Shogun Iyéyoshi died, and left the government at odds as to what to do.

Some of the daimios remembered the military ardor of their ancestors, and wanted to fight the barbarians, rather than make a treaty with them. Others thought that it would be madness to oppose an enemy who had such powerful ships that they could capture all the Japanese junks, and destroy the coast cities. One powerful nobleman declared that it would be well for Japan to meet the barbarians, and learn from them how to build ships and lead armies, so that they would be able in time to defeat them at their own arts. The Mikado had little to do in the discussion. The actual ruler was the new Shogun Iyésada, son of the former Shogun.

While Commodore Perry was cruising along the coast of China he heard that French and Russian merchants were planning to visit Japan. He was afraid that his country might lose the benefits of his visit unless he could obtain a treaty before these other countries did. Therefore, although a midwinter cruise to Japan was difficult and dangerous, he determined to risk this and return at once. Four ships set sail for Yedo Bay February 1, 1854, and a week later the commodore followed with three others.

In the city of Yedo the new Shogun was very busy preparing either for peace or war. A long line of forts was hurriedly built on the edge of the bay in front of the city. Thousands of laborers were kept at work there, a great number of cannon were cast, and shops worked day and night turning out guns and ammunition. An old law had directed that all vessels of a certain size were to be burned, and only small coasting junks built. This law was repealed, and all the rich daimios hurriedly built war-ships. These ships flew a flag representing a red sun on a white background, and this later became the national flag of Japan. A native who had learned artillery from the Dutch was put in charge of the soldiers; old mediæval methods of fighting were abandoned, and artillery that was somewhat like that of European countries was adopted.

In spite of all this bustle and preparation, however, the Shogun and his advisers thought it would be wisest for them to agree to a treaty with the United States. Therefore a notice was issued on December 2, 1853, which stated that "owing to want of military efficiency, the Americans would, on their return, be dealt with peaceably." At the same time the old practice of Fumi-yé, which consisted in trampling on the cross and other emblems of Christianity, and which had been long practiced in the city of Nagasaki, was abolished.

Some men in the country were insisting that the time had come for the Japanese to visit the West, and learn the new arts and trades. One of these was a scholar, Sakuma, who urged the government to send Japanese youths to Europe to learn shipbuilding and navigation. The Shogun did not approve of this idea; but a pupil of the scholar, named Yoshida Shoin, heard of it, and decided to go abroad by himself. Sakuma gave him money for his expenses, and advised him how he might get passage on one of the American ships, when the fleet should return to Japan.

As soon as the Shogun learned that Commodore Perry was about to return he chose Hayâshi, the chief professor of Chinese in the university, to serve as interpreter. The Americans had used Chinese scholars in their communications with the Japanese, and Hayâshi was a man of great learning and courtly manners. The Shogun also found a native who understood English, although the Americans did not know this. This man, Nakahama Manjiro, with two companions, had been picked up at sea by an American captain, and taken to the United States, where he obtained a good education. He and his two mates then decided that they would return to their native land, and went to Hawaii, where they built a whale-boat, and then sailed for the coast of China on board an American merchantman. In time the wanderers reached home, and when the Shogun heard of Manjiro's travels he made him a samurai, or wearer of two swords. The whale-boat that he had built was used as a model for others, and the traveler taught his friends some of the knowledge of the Western people.

On February 11, 1854, the watchmen on the hills of Idzu saw the American fleet approaching. Two days later the great war-ships of the barbarians steamed up the bay. The seven vessels dropped anchor not far from Yokos[)u]ka, and the captain of the flag-ship received visits from the governor and his interpreters. Again the same exaggerated forms of politeness were observed, and presents of many kinds, fruits, wines, and confectionery, were exchanged. The Japanese suggested that Perry should land and meet them at Kamakura or Uraga, but the commodore replied, through his captain, that he should stay where he was until the Japanese had decided what they would do. He gave them until February 21st to decide about the treaty.

Boats were sent out from the fleet daily to make surveys of the bay, but none of the crews were allowed to land. At length the Japanese stated that they were ready to treat with the American officers, and Captain Adams was sent to Uraga to inspect the place where the fleet was to anchor, and the new building in which the treaty was to be signed. The captain, with his aides, entered the hall of reception, and was met by a daimio named Izawa. The daimio was fond of joking. After many polite greetings Captain Adams handed the nobleman a note from Commodore Perry. Izawa took out his great spectacles, but before he put them on he folded up his large fan with a loud snap. The Americans, alarmed at the noise, clapped their hands to their revolvers. Izawa could not help laughing at their confusion, but quickly adjusted his spectacles, and after reading the note, said that he was much gratified at the commodore's greeting. Rice and tea, cake and oranges were served the guests. A long argument followed. Captain Adams said that the building was large enough for simple talking, but not for the display of presents; and that Commodore Perry would much rather go to the city of Yedo. The Japanese answered that they much preferred that the meeting should take place at Uraga or Kanagawa. The debate, carried on through Chinese interpreters, was a lengthy one.

Two days later the commodore moved his fleet ten miles farther up the bay. From here his crews could see the great temple-roofs, castles, and pagodas of Yedo itself, and could hear the bells in the city towers. This advance of the fleet convinced the Shogun that Perry meant to go to Yedo. Some of his court had thought that it would be a national disgrace if the barbarians were permitted to enter that city, but the government now decided to yield the point, and suggested a place directly opposite, at Yokohama, for the place of treaty.

No such scene had ever been witnessed in the hermit land of Japan as the one that took place there on the morning of March 8, 1854. The bay of Yedo was covered with great state barges and junks with many-colored sails. On shore were hundreds of soldiers, the servants of the great daimios, dressed in the gorgeous costumes of earlier centuries. Held back by ropes were thousands of country people who had gathered from all over that part of Japan to see the strange men from the West. Everywhere was color. Tents, banners, houses, and the costumes of men, women and children blazed with it. The American sailors in all their voyages in the East had never seen such a brilliant picture.

Perry was not to be outdone. His men left the ships to the noise of cannon that echoed and re-echoed along the shore. Twenty-seven boats brought five hundred men, and as soon as they landed the marines formed a hollow square, while three bands played martial music. The great commodore, now looked upon by the Japanese with awe, embarked from the _Powhatan_ in his white gig; more guns were fired; more flags waved; and with great pomp, Perry landed on the beach. His object was to impress the hermit people with the dignity of his nation.

A number of meetings followed before the treaty was completed. The Americans insisted that vessels in need of wood, coal, water, or provisions should be allowed to get them from shore, and that the Japanese should care for shipwrecked sailors. They also wanted the two ports, Shimoda and Hakodate, opened to them. The Japanese were willing, provided they would not travel inland farther than they could return the same day, and that no American women should be brought into the country. But when the Japanese objected to the arrival of women, Commodore Perry threw back his cloak and 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 hairs of my head!" The Japanese were surprised at Perry's excitement, thinking that they must have offended him greatly. When the interpreters explained what he had actually said, however, both sides laughed and continued peacefully. They grew more and more friendly as the meetings progressed. They dined together and exchanged gifts. The Americans liked the sugared fruits, candied nuts, crabs, prawns, and fish that the Japanese served in different forms, while the hermit people developed a great fondness for the puddings and champagne the Americans offered them. When it came to gifts, the eyes of the Japanese opened wide at the many surprising things the barbarians had invented. They were delighted with the rifles, the clocks, the stoves, the sewing-machines, the model of a steam locomotive, and the agricultural tools, scales, maps, and charts that Perry had brought to the Mikado. These presents were to open the minds of the Japanese to the march of progress in the rest of the world; and to teach them the uses of steam and electricity, the printing-press, newspapers, and all the other inventions that were products of Europe and America.

In exchange, the art-loving people of Japan gave their visitors beautiful works in bronze, lacquer, porcelain, bamboo, ivory, silk, and paper, and great swords, spears and shields, wonderfully inlaid and decorated, that were handed down from their feudal days.

While the fleet stayed Japanese spy-boats kept watch in the bay, to see that their young men did not board the foreign ships in their desire to see something of the world. Time and again the young Yoshida Shoin and a friend tried to break through the blockade, but every time they were sent back to shore. At last the two left Yedo for the port of Shimoda.

The Americans set up telegraph poles, and laid rails to show the working of the model locomotive. They gave an exhibition of the steam-engine. This caused great excitement in the country near Yedo, and every one who could went to see the strange performance. Already there was a struggle between those who were eager to learn the inventions of the Americans, and those who were afraid that the new ideas would spoil old Japan. Many an ambitious youth stared at the Mikado's presents, and tried to learn more of their secrets from the sailors on their way to or from the fleet.

The treaty was signed on March 31, 1854, and agreed that shipwrecked sailors should be cared for, provisions needed by ships should be obtained in the ports, and American vessels allowed to anchor in the two harbors of Shimoda and Hakodate. Actual trade was not yet allowed, nor were Americans to be permitted to reside in Japan. The hermit nation was not at all eager to enter into competition with other countries, nor to allow foreigners to trade with her. Commodore Perry knew, however, that even the slight terms he had gained would prove the beginning of the opening up of Japan to the rest of the world.

April 18, 1854, Perry left the bay of Yedo for Shimoda, and there the fleet stayed until early in May. While the squadron was there two Americans, who were botanizing on land, met the youth Yoshida Shoin and his friend. The young Japanese gave the Americans a letter, but seeing some native officers approaching, he and his friend stole away. A few nights later the watch on the war-ship _Mississippi_ heard voices calling, "Americans, Americans!" They found the two Japanese youths in a small boat, and took them on board. Paper and writing materials were found hidden in their clothes, and they explained that they wanted to go with the fleet to America, and write down what they saw there. The commodore, however, felt that he was in honor bound to send the two young men back to their homes; and did so. Yoshida later came to be one of the leaders of the new Japan that ended the long line of Shogun rulers, and made the Mikado the actual emperor.

The fleet cruised from one port to another, now well received by the people, who had forgotten their fear of the barbarians' fire-vessels. The governors of the different provinces gave presents to Perry, among them blocks of native stone to be used in building the great obelisk that was rising on the banks of the Potomac River in memory of Washington. On July 17th the last of the squadron left Napa for Hong Kong.

The Americans had shown the Japanese that they were a friendly people, with no desire to harm them. A race that had lived shut off from the rest of the world for so many centuries was naturally timid and fearful of strange people. From time to time European ships had landed in Japan, and almost every time the sailors had done injury to the natives. Perry, however, convinced them that the United States was a friend, and the treaty, slight though its terms were, marked the dawn of a new era in Japan. Like the sleeping princess, she woke at the touch of a stranger from overseas.

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THE PIG THAT ALMOST CAUSED A WAR