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  ‘Before Jehovah’s awful throne

  Ye nations bow with sacred joy,

  Know that the Lord is God alone

  He can create, He can destroy .

  Samuel Armstrong, who was s at the rear of the group of officers, turned us head from his hymnal as he sang, and saw a column of dark smoke rising above a headland half a mile higher up the bay. The purpose of the distant cannon shot remained obscure but because it presented no immediate danger he turned his attention discreetly to the nearer cliffs, where he could see long files of straining figures hauling additional guns into place in the open embrasures of the forts. Other fighting groups armed with shields and lances were being marched to new guard positions among the fortifications, and some beacon fires which had burned throughout another long night were still blazing in the mist which obscured the hills and mountains beyond the cliffs.

  ‘I think a lot of new guns are being trained on the squadron from south of Uraga, Lieutenant: said Armstrong, speaking in an undertone to John Rice who was standing stiffly at his side, hymnal in hand. ‘There’s more activity than before around the forts

  The flag lieutenant did not pause in his hymn- singing; he had been responsible earlier for making it known throughout the ship that the commodore wished the weekly Christian ritual to be seen onshore as a forceful display of American power and confidence. Hymns considered to have a particular potency for the occasion had been chosen, and all ranks had been instructed to take special care with their dress uniforms and their deportment. Lieutenant Rice’s demeanour, therefore, like that of all his brother officers, bristled with the determination to carry this task through. As he continued his spirited singing of the hymn, the lieutenant glanced briefly towards the cliff top Armstrong had indicated; but his gaze did not linger and he volunteered no comment before returning his fl.ill attention to the last verse.

  As its final notes died away and the squadron chaplain stepped up to the flag-covered capstan to read the lesson of the day, Armstrong glanced towards Matthew Perry and noticed that the commodore’s bearing, from which all his subordinates were consciously or subconsciously taking their lead, had become straighter and more determined than ever.

  Beneath his tasselled cocked hat, thick hair bushed out strikingly around his broad face; his expression was both fierce and composed, and his leonine head and bull neck jutted aggressively above shoulders made broader and more imposing by his gilded commodore’s epaulettes. A double row of gold buttons sparkled on the dark blue cloth of his coat and the continuous, mountain-like swell of his chest, which merged with the muscular paunch beneath it, gave his figure a powerful, oak-like solidity In the manner of Napoleon, he held his right hand across his chest, tucking its thumb between the coat buttons, thereby signifying silently to the world at large that he was a man of force and unshakable convictions.

  ‘We shall now ask our Heavenly Father for the strength to carry through our mission successfully in these waters,’ intoned the chaplain, after finishing his reading of the lesson. ‘And Commodore Perry; our squadron commander, will first lead us briefly with his own supplication.’

  Armstrong watched Matthew Perry close his eyes and incline his head a fraction, standing motionless before the quarterdeck rail. Even in prayer his massive bulk continued to exert its powerful influence, and Armstrong saw a number of seamen and marines on the deck below lift their heads surreptitiously to catch a glimpse of his awesome figure in a rare moment of repose, before he spoke.

  ‘We pray God said the commodore in a slow, booming voice that carried easily throughout the ship, ‘that our present attempt to bring a singular and isolated people into the family of civilized nations may succeed without resort to bloodshed. And we ask His blessing also on all our thoughts and deeds at this time of difficulty and danger.. . Amen!’

  A hearty roar of ‘Amen!’ rose loudly from the upper deck in response, before the men settled themselves again to follow a longer prayer read by the chaplain; but as he spoke, many raised their heads briefly to snatch a further glimpse of their imposing commander-in-chief in his finest array.

  Among the listening crewmen, the deeds and achievements of Perry’s extraordinary career were already 1egendary At the age of fourteen he had been the youngest midshipman ever commissioned into the American Navy; in the War of 1812 he had fought gallantly as a young officer; and in the more recent Mexican war he had, with resounding success, commanded the largest American fleet ever sent to sea. He had personally supervised the building of the American Navy’s first ocean-going steamers, the Mississippi and the Missouri, and confounded sceptics who predicted that they would be lost in their first ocean storms - by triumphantly circumnavigating the globe in the Mississippi. For those deeds he had become widely celebrated as ‘the father of the American steam navy’ which had added a unique dimension to his growing stature.

  Having seen vast tracts of Asia fall under the domination of Europe’s imperial powers during his lifetime, however, it had become the crowning ambition of his career to place American power on at least an equal footing with the Europeans throughout the Orient. To expand American trade, he had proposed that a chain of coaling ports and naval bases should be established across the Far East. His detailed proposals had been received with such enthusiasm in Washington that he had effectively written his own orders for the mission to open up an enigmatic and mysterious Japan that had deliberately secluded itself from the predatory outside world for two centuries

  - and these orders, at his own insistence, specifically allowed him to use force of arms if he judged it necessary

  All these diverse strands of his life, Samuel Armstrong reflected, were inherently visible in the pugnacious Sunday-morning stance of the commodore on the misty quarterdeck of his own flagship. His commitment to his own personal goal, which he had astutely turned into a national crusade, was total; more importantly it was backed by a powerful modern naval squadron spread threateningly across the bay, which he could deploy however he wished. No matter what happens now, his silent bulk seemed to declare, American pride, and if necessary American force of arms will prevail.

  As he continued to gaze at the imperious figure of the commodore, Armstrong realized too, with a sudden rush of clarity why the youthful figure of Robert Eden was no longer standing among the group of dutiful, straight-backed officers flanking their commander on the quarterdeck. Eden’s birth, his mixed blood, his fierce sense of justice and his instinctive sympathy for a proud people overpowered in their own land by more forceful, better-armed strangers, had made it impossible for him to continue standing unthinkingly shoulder-to-shoulder with the men around him. Only such fierce idealism, given a reckless edge by his own private agonies, could have forced him to dive off the side of the ship in the darkness of Friday night and strike out heedlessly for the shore. The mental turmoil he faced in the moments leading up to that rash decision would doubtless have been painful and, understanding all this fully for the first time, the veteran missionary was no longer surprised. In his own heart, where fading embers of his youthful Christian zeal still glowed faintly, Samuel Armstrong suddenly felt something approaching envy for the young officer’s courage and singleness of mind.

  ‘Perhaps it’s a pity no Japanese have yet caught sight of our distinguished commander-in-chief,’ he murmured at last, leaning close to Lieutenant Rice as the prayer ended. ‘If they had seen the jut of his jaw and the glint in his eye, they would surely never have considered resisting delivery of the President’s letter.’

  The band was launching itself boisterously into the opening bars of another hymn, and again Lieutenant Rice did not immediately reply. Armstrong noticed that his expression was abstracted, and he was looking past him towards the shore. Turning to follow the direction of the officer’s gaze, he saw that a Japanese longboat covered with a striped canopy was heading purposefully out of the harbour towards the Susquehanna. Rowed swiftly by standing oarsmen, it appeared to be carrying a number of silk-gowned officials.
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  ‘The commodore has no intention of changing his policy for the time being,’ said Rice shortly. ‘He will continue to hold himself aloof from all contact with the Japanese?

  ‘And what are we to tell the officials who seem to be heading towards us now?’ asked Armstrong, watching the canopied boat drawing nearer. ‘Am I to talk with them?’

  ‘The commodore has expressly ordered that, out of reverence for the Lord’s Day, there be no communication whatsoever with the Japanese authorities until tomorrow;’ said Rice quietly. ‘No visitors are to be received on any of our four ships. You may go and tell them that - and make it clear they are refused permission to board for the rest of the day.’

  Hurrying from the quarterdeck, as the voices of the three hundred seamen and officers bellowed out the verses of another hymn, Armstrong climbed half.vay down the port gangway, and waited for the official Japanese boat to come alongside. Four officials wearing black-lacquered caps and embroidered gowns of silk were seated gravely beneath the canopy, flapping their fans slowly before them. But none of their faces was familiar to Armstrong, except that of the scholarly looking interpreter, Haniwara Tokuma, who rose and hurried towards the bows of the boat when he saw Armstrong hold up a hand indicating they were not welcome.

  ‘Why have you come today, Haniwara-san?’ called Armstrong in Dutch. ‘What is the purpose of your visit?’

  ‘My superiors wish to come aboard to discover how your admiral intends to deploy his warships in the coming hours,’ replied the interpreter. ‘In particular they wish to know whether he intends to continue the dangerous practice of sending out armed survey boats.’

  One of the oarsmen tossed a rope to Armstrong, who looped it once around a rail of the gangway to make it clear that the craft would be secured there only temporarily. Then he stood up straight and addressed its occupants in a formal tone: ‘I am instructed to advise you that no visitors will be allowed to board any ship of the American Navy here today. No communication of any kind will be received by our admiral until tomorrow morning.’

  ‘What are the reasons for that?’ demanded Haniwara, clearly puzzled.

  ‘Each week we set this whole day aside for the worship of our God. As you can perhaps see and hear, a service of worship is taking place at this very moment on our upper deck.’

  The interpreter explained this answer to the seated officials then turned to face Armstrong again, his expression grave. ‘My superiors say that they have come to warn your admiral. They say fighting will certainly break out if your survey boats approach too close to our shore.’

  ‘I can only repeat,’ said Armstrong slowly, ‘that our admiral wishes to have no communication with your superiors on this important day of worship.’

  Haniwara looked at Armstrong steadily. ‘My superiors are very disappointed with this response. They wished to receive assurances about your activities.’

  ‘I am unable to go beyond my strict instructions that there should be no communication with you today,’ said Armstrong, allowing a note of apology to show in his voice. ‘But for myself I would like to enquire whether you have yet received any reply from Yedo about the delivery of our President’s letter to a high official of His Imperial Majesty the Emperor?’

  ‘There has been no reply yet,’ said the interpreter, beginning to turn away. ‘There has not been enough

  ‘Wait!’ called Armstrong in an urgent voice. ‘I would like to raise one further question.’

  ‘What is that?’ enquired the interpreter curtly.

  ‘Whether you have any news of our missing officer?’ Armstrong bent nearer, keeping his voice low, to prevent others on the ship above overhearing his words. ‘Has he been found yet?’

  Haniwara Tokuma moved back to the gangway again, and eyed Armstrong searchingly for a moment; then he too lowered his voice. ‘It is very unfortunate. Your officer was discovered spying on fortifications above Uraga. There was fighting and some bloodshed.’

  ‘Was he killed?’ demanded Armstrong anxiously.

  ‘No, he managed to escape: said the interpreter stonily. ‘Later he was discovered further inland. Again there was fighting, but again he was not recaptured..

  Armstrong took a deep breath. ‘And what’s happening now?’

  ‘He is still being pursued,’ said Haniwara sharply. ‘He is being hunted by many fighting men. It is impossible to say what the consequences may be.’

  In a reflex action Armstrong raised his eyes and looked towards the shore. But, above the cliffs, the landscape was still shrouded in an impenetrable white mist that obscured all the distant hills and mountains beyond.

  ‘Thank you, Haniwara-san,’ said Armstrong quietly, unwinding the rope from the gangway and casting the boat off. ‘Thank you very much for that information

  The interpreter, his face a mask of inexpression, bowed perfunctorily before returning to his seat beside the four officials and Armstrong watched the near-naked Japanese oarsmen send their boat scudding back towards the shore with powerful, rhythmic strokes. Above his head he heard a new chanted supplication rising from the upper deck and he stared again into the white mists onshore, trying to imagine where Robert Eden might be at that moment. Then, with Eden’s name silently on his lips, he closed his eyes and joined the rest of the crew in prayer where he stood, halfway up the rungs of the gangway.

  27

  ‘THIS MIST IS VERY eerie, Sentaro. Do you think we are still going in the right direction?’

  As he spoke, Robert Eden leaned low over his horse’s neck and peered vainly ahead into the grey- white murk which enclosed the morning all around them. He had tied his hat tight beneath his chin to hide his face, and although there was no other living soul in sight he was still hunching himself unnaturally in the saddle in an effort to disguise the fact that he was more than six feet tall.

  ‘Yes, master, I’m sure we’re still going the right way.

  Sentaro, cantering steadily at his side, also screwed up his eyes to peer ahead; but he could distinguish nothing more than a few stunted trees struggling up from the surface of the desolate, rolling moorland, across which they were riding on a track of black shale. The hoofs of the horses crunched loudly on the friable, cinder-like surface of the rising track which wound gently upward in long zigzags, and even on the moorland to either side, patches of the same black volcanic ash were visible here and there among the tufts of sour grass.

  ‘We haven’t seen Fuji-san since sunset last night,’ said Eden in a subdued voice. ‘It seems to have disappeared without trace.’

  Somewhere high above their heads they heard the piping song of a rising lark. The tiny bird, however, remained invisible and no sound other than the passage of their horses could be heard in the strange white stillness. They had ridden hard through the night, and when day dawned under its unrelieved cloak of mist they had first found themselves passing through terraced rice fields where indistinct hatted figures wielding sickles were beginning to harvest the grain. Then they had entered a chain of forests, ducking beneath spreading boughs of oak, larch and pine, as they continued to follow the narrow, rising path northward. In between these forests they had encountered scattered groups of high-roofed, thatched peasant houses, from which ghostly family groups were emerging into the grey morning gloom. But they had never slackened their pace and had swept past with heads held low, their broad hats always covering their faces.

  ‘Whenever Sentaro risked stopping to seek directions or buy food for them, Eden had either hung back or ridden on quickly ahead, so as to arouse as little suspicion as possible. On these occasions he had turned to peer round cautiously behind them, checking for signs of pursuit. They had rested their horses regularly and when they rode on, their path had continued to rise steadily over the undulating terrain; but because the whole landscape was shrouded by the mist, they had seen nothing in the surrounding highlands which confirmed their bearings. A drizzling rain had also been falling intermittently since daybreak and their thin cottons were damp and splas
hed with mud.

  ‘We must try to obtain some warmer clothing, master: said Sentaro, shivering suddenly in his saddle. ‘A couple of padded kimonos and some warm tabi for our feet. The air up here is colder. I think we are already about four thousand feet above the sea. And at the top of Fuji-san, remember, it is still like mid-winter.’

  Shuddering himself, Eden nodded in agreement. ‘But where will we find such garments?’

  ‘In this region there are several inns and rest- houses for pilgrims.

  As they rode on in silence the mist before them began to thin, and Eden found hinse1f looking ahead at what he assumed were patches of storm-dark sky becoming visible above the moorland horizon. He was puzzled at first by the absence of any high contours in these leaden heavens until he realized with a shock that he was looking not at empty sky but at one gigantic flank of Mount Fuji rising up steeply above their heads. It blotted everything from view in front of them and the gentle violet hues of the volcanic cone, which had seduced his senses so completely from a distance, had changed at close quarters to an ominous, dark, primeval colour which made its massive bulk seem overpowering and hostile.

  ‘You see, master, we are still going in the right direction: said Sentaro quietly. ‘Fuji-san herself has drawn back the curtain to show us the way.’

  Eden nodded, but made no reply. The first harsh glimpse of Fuji close up had brought his shipboard dream images flashing back into his mind: although both brilliant and enthralling, the dream had also possessed a disturbing dimension which had now been echoed in reality for the first time. Furthermore the mist, far from clearing, was closing down rapidly again, like a Curtain being deliberately redrawn for reasons of concealment. Eden just had time to catch a glimpse of the snow-covered peak rearing up with threatening suddenness above them; a few moments later the whole mountain was obscured once more by the shroud of impenetrable whiteness, and he was left with a vague and unidentifiable feeling of foreboding.