The Opening Of Japan

On the 8th of July, 1853, the Japanese were treated to a genuine

surprise. Off Cape Idsu, the outer extremity of the Bay of Yedo,

appeared a squadron of war-vessels bound inward under full sail, in bold

disregard of the lines of prohibition which Japan had drawn across the

entrance of all her ports. Rounding the high mountains of the promontory

of Idsu, by noon the fleet reached Cape Sagami, which forms the dividing

li e between the outer and inner sections of the Bay of Yedo. Here the

shores rose in abrupt bluffs, furrowed by green dells, while in the

distance could be seen groves and cultivated fields. From the cape a

number of vessels put out to intercept the squadron, but, heedless of

these, it kept on through the narrow part of the bay--from five to eight

miles wide--and entered the inner bay, which expands to a width of more

than fifteen miles. Here the ships dropped anchor within full view of

the town of Uragawa, having broken through the invisible bonds which

Japan had so long drawn around her coasts.



During the period between the release of the Russian captives and the

date of this visit various foreign vessels had appeared on the coast of

Japan, each with some special excuse for its presence, yet each

arbitrarily ordered to leave. One of these, an American trading vessel,

the Morrison, had been driven off with musketry and artillery, although

she had come to return a number of shipwrecked Japanese. Some naval

vessels had entered the Bay of Yedo, but had been met with such vigorous

opposition that they made their visits very short, and as late as 1850

the Japanese notified foreign nations that they proposed to maintain

their rigorous system of exclusion. No dream came to them of the

remarkable change in their policy which a few decades were to bring

forth.



They did not know that they were seeking to maintain an impossible

situation. China had adopted a similar policy, but already the

cannon-balls of foreign powers had produced a change of view. If Japan

had not peaceably yielded, the hard hand of war must soon have broken

down her bars. For in addition to Russia there was now another civilized

power with ports on the Pacific, the United States. And the fleets of

the European powers were making their way in growing numbers to those

waters. In a period when all the earth was being opened to commercial

intercourse, Japan could not hope long to remain a little world in

herself, like a separate planet in space.



It was the settlement of California, and the increase of American

interests on the Pacific, that induced the United States to make a

vigorous effort to open the ports of Japan. Hitherto all nations had

yielded to the resolute policy of the islanders; now it was determined

to send an expedition with instructions not to take no for an answer,

but to insist on the Japanese adopting the policy of civilized nations

in general. It was with this purpose that the fleet in question had

entered the Bay of Yedo. It was under command of Commodore Matthew C.

Perry, who bore a letter from the President of the United States to the

Emperor of Japan, suggesting the desirability of commercial relations

between the two countries, requesting the supply of American vessels

with coal and provisions, and demanding the kind treatment and prompt

return of shipwrecked mariners. This letter, splendidly engrossed, was

enclosed in a golden box of a thousand dollars in value, and was

accompanied by numerous presents. The fleet consisted of the

steam-frigates Susquehanna and Mississippi and the sloops-of-war

Plymouth and Saratoga, being the most imposing armament that had ever

entered a Japanese port. Perry was determined to maintain his dignity as

a representative of the United States, and to demand as a right, instead

of soliciting as a favor, the courtesies due from one civilized nation

to another.



The ships had no sooner dropped anchor in the bay than several guns were

fired from a neighboring point and a number of boats put off from the

shore. In the stern of each were a small flag and several men wearing

two swords, evidently persons in authority. These boats were stopped at

the ships' sides, and their inmates told that no person could be

admitted on board except the principal official of the town, the high

rank of the commodore forbidding him to meet any lesser dignitary. As

one of the visitors represented that he was second in rank in the town,

he was finally received on board the flag-ship, but the commodore

declined to see him, turning him over to Mr. Contee, the flag

lieutenant.



A long interview followed, in which the official was made to understand

that the expedition bore a letter from the President of the United

States to the emperor, a message of such importance that it could be

delivered only to an officer of high rank. He was also told, through the

interpreters, that the squadron would not submit to be placed under

guard, and that all the guard-boats must withdraw. The official

displayed much of the inquisitive curiosity for which the Japanese had

made themselves notable on former occasions, and asked a variety of

unimportant questions which the lieutenant refused to answer, saying

that they were impertinent.



The Japanese officer had brought with him the ordinary notifications,

warning all ships against entering their ports, but these the lieutenant

refused to receive. Returning to the shore, in about an hour the officer

came back, saying that his superior could not receive the letter

addressed to the emperor, and stating that Nagasaki was the proper place

for foreign ships to stop. As for the letter, he doubted if it would be

received and answered. He was at once given to understand that if the

governor of the town did not send for the letter, the ships would

proceed up the bay to Yedo and deliver it themselves. At this he

withdrew in a state of great agitation, asking permission to return in

the morning.



During the night watch-fires blazed at points along the coast, and bells

sounded the hours. The watch-boats remained around the fleet, but kept

at a respectful distance from the perilous intruders. The next morning

the highest official of the town came on board, but did his utmost to

avoid receiving the letter. In the end he offered to send to Yedo for

permission, and was granted three days for this purpose.



While awaiting an answer the ships were not idle. Surveying parties were

sent four miles up the bay, sounding, and finding everywhere a depth of

from thirty to forty fathoms. As they approached the forts armed

soldiers came out, but retired again when the boats drew nearer. The

forts, five in number, were very feeble, their total armament consisting

of fourteen guns, none larger than nine-pounders. Many of the soldiers

were armed with spears. Canvas screens were stretched from tree to tree,

as if with the idea that these would keep back cannon-balls. In truth,

the means of defence were so slight that Yedo lay at the mercy of the

American fleet.



Villages seemed to line the shores in an unbroken series, and numerous

small craft lay in the harbor, while trading vessels came in and out

with little regard to the presence of the foreign ships. Every day there

passed up and down the bay nearly a hundred large junks and a great

number of fishing and other boats.



Yezaimon, the governor of the town, protested earnestly against the

survey of the waters by the ships, saying that it was against the laws

of Japan. He was told that it was commanded by the laws of America, and

the soundings went steadily on. On the second day the surveying party

proceeded some ten miles up the bay, the Mississippi steaming in their

wake. This roused new agitation in the Japanese, government boats

meeting them at every point and making earnest signs to them to return.

But no notice was taken of these gestures, and the survey was continued,

deep soundings and soft bottom being found throughout.



In the evening Yezaimon came on board with a cheerful countenance,

saying that he expected good news from Yedo, though he protested still

against the doings of the boats. One of the officers speaks of him as a

"gentleman, clever, polished, well informed, a fine, large man, about

thirty-four, of most excellent countenance, taking his wine freely, and

a boon companion."



On the 12th word came that the emperor would send a high officer to

receive the letter. No immediate answer would be given, but one would be

forwarded through the Dutch or the Chinese. This offer the commodore

rejected as insulting. But, fearing that he might be detained by useless

delay, he agreed to withdraw for a proper interval, at the end of which

he would return to receive the answer.



On the 14th the reception of the letter took place, the occasion being

made one of much ceremony. The commodore landed with due formality,

through a line of Japanese boats, and with a following of three hundred

and twenty officers and sailors from the fleet. Passing through a large

body of soldiers, behind whom stood a crowd of spectators, the building

prepared for the reception was reached. It was a temporary structure,

the reception-room of which was hung with fine cloth, stamped with the

imperial symbols in white on a violet background. The princes of Idsu

and Iwami awaited as the envoys of the shogun, both of them splendidly

attired in richly embroidered robes of silk.



A large scarlet-lacquered box, on gilded feet, stood ready to receive

the letter, which, after being shown in its rich receptacle, was placed

on the scarlet box, with translations in Dutch and Chinese. A formal

receipt was given, ending with the following words: "Because the place

is not designed to treat of anything from foreigners, so neither can

conference nor entertainment take place. The letter being received, you

will leave here."



"I shall return again, probably in April or May, for an answer," said

the commodore, on receiving the receipt.



"With all the ships?" asked the interpreter.



"Yes, and probably with more," was the reply.



This said, the commodore rose and departed, the commissioners standing,

but not another word being uttered on either side. As if to indicate to

his hosts how little he regarded the curt order to leave, the commodore

proceeded in the Susquehanna up the bay to the point the Mississippi had

reached. Here he dropped anchor, the spot being afterwards known as the

"American anchorage." On the following day he sent the Mississippi ten

miles higher up, a point being reached within eight or ten miles of the

capital. Three or four miles in advance a crowded mass of shipping was

seen, supposed to lie at Sinagawa, the southern suburb of Yedo. On the

16th the vessels moved down the bay, and on the following day they stood

out to sea, no doubt greatly to the relief of the Japanese officials.



In consequence of the death of the shogun, which took place soon after,

Perry did not return for his answer until the following year, casting

anchor again in the Bay of Yedo on February 12, 1854. He had now a

larger fleet, consisting of three steam-frigates, four sloops-of-war,

and two store-ships. Entering the bay, they came to anchor at the point

known as the "American anchorage."



And now a debate arose as to where the ceremonies of reception should

take place. The Japanese wished the commodore to withdraw to a point

down the bay, some twenty miles below Uragawa. He, on the contrary,

insisted on going to Yedo, and sent boats up to within four miles of

that city to sound the channel. Finally the village of Yokohama,

opposite the anchorage of the ships, was fixed upon.



On the 8th of March the first reception took place, great formality

being observed, though this time light refreshments were offered. Two

audiences a week were subsequently held, at one of which, on March 13,

the American presents were delivered. They consisted of cloths,

agricultural implements, fire-arms, and other articles, the most

valuable being a small locomotive, tender, and car, which were set in

motion on a circular track. A mile of telegraph wire was also set up and

operated, this interesting the Japanese more than anything else. They

had the art, however, of concealing their feelings, and took care to

show no wonder at anything displayed.



In the letter of reply from the shogun it was conceded that the demands

in relation to shipwrecked sailors, coal, provisions, water, etc., were

just, and there was shown a willingness to add a new harbor to that of

Nagasaki, but five years' delay in its opening were asked. To this the

commodore would not accede, nor would he consent to be bound by the

restrictions placed on the Dutch and Chinese. He demanded three harbors,

one each in Hondo, Yezo, and the Loochoo Islands, but finally agreed to

accept two, the port of Simoda in Hondo and that of Hakodate in Yezo. An

agreement being at length reached, three copies of the treaty were

exchanged, and this was followed by an entertainment on the fleet to the

Japanese officials, in which they did full justice to American fare, and

seemed to be particularly fond of champagne. One of them became so merry

and familiar under the influence of this beverage that he vigorously

embraced the commodore, who bore the infliction with good-humored

patience.



At the new treaty ports the restrictions which had been thrown around

the Dutch at Nagasaki were removed, citizens of the United States being

free to go where they pleased within a limit of several miles around the

towns.



The success of the Americans in this negotiation stimulated the other

maritime nations, and in the same year a British fleet visited Nagasaki

and obtained commercial concessions. In 1858 the treaties were extended,

the port of Yokohama replacing that of Simoda, and the treaty ports

being opened to American, British, French, and Dutch traders.

Subsequently the same privileges were granted to the other commercial

nations, the country was made free to travellers, and the long-continued

isolation of Japan was completely broken down. A brief experience of the

advantages of commerce and foreign intercourse convinced the

quick-witted islanders of the folly of their ancient isolation, and they

threw open their country without restriction to all the good the world

had to offer and to the fullest inflow of modern ideas.