Adventurous travel from Kaga to Osaka (a further continuation of AB Mitford's memoirs of Japan)

Mitford continued his autobiography by stating that after the delegation returned to Edo, he and others engaged in their everyday duties for a few weeks while cursing the heat and mosquitos. At the end of July both he and Ambassador Parkes then decided that they would journey to Ezo (Hokkaido). Mitford says that he travelled on board the HMS Salamis under the command of Sir Henry Keppel, while Ambassador Parkes travelled on the Basilisk under the command of a Captain Hewett. He said that the trip itself was pleasant, but what fascinated him the most was the opportunity to see members of the Ainu people for the first time.  The purpose of the trip to Ezo was to scout for commercial operations along Japan’s western seaboard, in particular any ports or harbours that would be able to support foreign trade.  He says that on the 7th of August Ernest Satow joined the Basilisk, and they were also met by the survey ship Serpent under the command of Captain Brock.  The three ships later dropped anchor in Nanao Bay on the Noto peninsula. He notes that the province of Kaga, in which Nanao Bay was located, was said to be controlled by the wealthiest aristocrats in all of Japan, the family of the Lord of Kaga. 

Mitford noted that Nanao Bay had a small island in it that covered part of the bay. He wrote that Ambassador Parkes said it was more preferable to coastal ports opened up in Niigata with its treacherous sandbanks and thus had value as a potential port for foreign trade. In order to initiate talks with Kaga province, two senior officials from the provincial capital of Kanazawa came to Nanao Bay for discussions. He said that this occurred a little later than planned, and that the meeting itself didn’t happen until the 9th of August (a Friday).  He wrote that Ambassador Parkes endeavoured to impress on the representative of Lord Kaga that it would create a very favourable impression if, like Satsuma, Tosa, and Uwajima, Kaga chose to engage in friendly relations with foreign nations. However this discussion did little to shift the representatives’ position.

The representatives explained that the reason for not opening up Nanao Bay to foreign trade was that if they did this, then the Shogun’s government would seize it and territory which had belonged to Kaga province since time immemorial would be lost. Both representatives repeated their objections many times over, and the more they resisted, the more resolved Ambassador Parkes became to try and win them over. His speech became ever more heated, demanding that if the representatives were going to be so unfriendly, then he would send two of his underlings, in other words Mitford and Satow, to Kanazawa to negotiate directly with the Lord of Kaga. And so a decision was made whereby Mitford and Satow would travel overland and meet up with Ambassador Parkes in Osaka. This proposal was reluctantly accepted by Mitford and Satow, and the meeting with the Kaga representatives thus (on the surface) concluded with the proper decorum.

When news of this meeting reached representatives of the Shogun who had accompanied Captain Brock in order to assist him on his surveying expedition, they flew into an agitated state, saying that such a thing (travelling overland) was completely out of the question.  The excuses they gave for this was that they could not guarantee Mitford and Satow’s safety if they went by land, and moreover they had responsibility for the British diplomats’ safety as representatives of the Shogun.  They also made it clear that the edict that they had received from the Shogun would not guarantee their passage through Kaga and Echizen. However these arguments did nothing to change Ambassador Parkes’ mind. 

Mitford wrote that Ambassador Parkes wanted to gain some knowledge of the western Japanese coastal region, a region into which no foreigner had ever stepped. To that end he urged Satow and Mitford to try and maintain relations with the provincial officials, although it was clear that Satow and Mitford were somewhat nervous about the whole enterprise. The reason for this is when Mitford and Satow went to give their farewells, Captains Keppel and Hewett told them that they were very worried about the dangers facing the two diplomats, and insisted that the reason the plan had been approved was because the British diplomats were unarmed. In response Mitford and Satow said that it was a question of duty, and while they would rather not obey Ambassador Parkes’ directive, they were not embarking on the journey on a whim.

Both Mitford and Satow made landfall in the afternoon, whereupon the Salamis departed in a haze of smoke followed by the Basilisk. Only the Serpent remained in port at anchor. Mitford says that he spent an evening on shore preparing for departure the next day. He says that the officials sent from the shogunate tried to get Mitford and Satow to abandon their trip, but they steadfastly refused to do so. He wrote that these officials were not only useless, they were an impediment. He writes that they were no more than the most junior officials, and they were no help at all in protecting Mitford and Satow. He said they functioned more like spies, intent on ensuring that Mitford and Satow were not able to form any bonds of friendship with the local people. 

Mitford said that he and Satow pointed out that these officials had a duty to remain on board the Serpent under the command of Captain Brock. Mitford also said that he and Satow agreed with the officials that if something bad were to happen to Satow and Mitford, then the officials would not be held responsible for this. He also said that the British delegation received a formal exchange agreement from officials of Kaga province, which stated that when Mitford and Satow were exchanged that they would be returned in the condition that they departed in, namely in one piece and unharmed. After receiving this agreement, Mitford and Satow returned to the Serpent.    

Mitford and Satow set out on the 10th of August, and said that the officials from Kaga province still hadn’t gotten over the shellacking they had received at the hands of Ambassador Parkes the next before, and so were in a bad mood which showed on their faces. Mitford wrote that ‘needless to say’, this meant that he and Satow did not depart lightheartedly. Mitford then wrote that it was not a characteristic of the Japanese to always have a dour look on their faces, and that Ernest Satow’s jovial nature meant the officials weren’t able to maintain their hostility for very long. Very soon these officials formed good relations with Mitford and Satow as their guides.  

Mitford writes that he and Satow prepared a gorgeous palanquin, while Satow’s Japanese servant, a person by the name of Noguchi, and Mitford’s Chinese servant Lin Fu, travelled in a more ordinary palanquin. He writes that around twenty retainers of the Maeda household, carrying dual swords and spears and with the clan flag, acted as security for the trip. He admits that he was not sure whether the escort was just for show or whether it was genuinely meant to protect the delegation. He does admit that it came in useful in clearing the roads of towns and villages and preventing any ruffians from attempting anything. He writes that the days were hot, and that after heading out of town the palanquin he was travelling in began to show its age. As he couldn’t take the discomfort anymore he decided to exit the palanquin and continue on towards the south west on foot. 

He says the scenery he experienced was beautiful, particularly the view of the mountains of Etchū, some of which rose up to around 10,000 feet in height.  He described being surrounded by the uniquely ‘deep green’ forests and woods of Japan, and asks whether any other country possesses such picturesque forests. He describes walking along a sandy beach, whose waters were as blue as the sky itself, and a scene reminiscent of those described in Japan’s ancient tales. Mitford then proceeds to regale readers with a few stories set on the coastal regions of Japan, including the origins of the Suma ‘lute’ (Biwa).

Mitford writes that the heat was oppressive at that time of year, and so he and his fellow travelers would rest at some small tea houses along the way, where they would satisfy their appetites on watermelon and apples. He writes that many of the taverns they visited were very comfortable and the people were kind and friendly.  He notes that the delegation had nothing to complain about from the reception they received from the people of Kaga.

Mitford also writes that the samurai of Kaga were not impetuous like those of Satsuma or Tosa, but neither were they astute strategists like the leaders of Chōshū. The Kaga samurai that Mitford met appeared to be quiet and reserved, and slightly oafish, but wealthy.  The Lord of Kaga, on the other hand, inclined towards being opportunistic, and not only possessed enormous wealth but ruled over some of the most important territory in the land. Mitford writes that the second day of travelling was blessed with tremendous weather, and after passing Takamatsu, the delegation arrived at Tsubata, a picturesque small fishing village on the coast featuring many lodging houses.  There they spent a night in an upper class ryokan, where they were treated to an excellent Japanese meal. At around 7:45 in the morning on Monday, the 12th of August, the delegation departed on the third day of their journey, this time heading for the capital of Kaga province, the town of Kanazawa.  Mitford writes that as they got closer to the capital their retinue continued to grow in size, while their guides became more and more concerned about whether they would be allowed to enter Kanazawa.

Mitford writes that he could make out the white walls of a castle hidden among a thicket of pine trees about a mile in front of the delegation. He explains that because the party had grown sick of being stared at in places such as Osaka, and because they were wearing rough-hewn travelling clothes, they were in no state to maintain the dignity of their status and so took to their travelling palanquins like reluctant brides.  Mitford writes that once again many spectators lined the roads, and at a beautiful rest station that had been prepared for them, plenty of people rushed to look at them. He writes that the spectators were all of different ages and from every social class.  He saw many young women among the spectators, and remarked that the women of Kaga were renowned for their ‘fine proportions’.  After arriving at their lodgings by following along a series of winding roads, they were met with some traditional Japanese hospitality, although on this occasion the reception was more splendid and carried out with great decorum.

Mitford writes that the main living room featured a velvet rug and some brilliantly lacquered red chairs that had been brought in for their use from a nearby temple. Of course, Mitford does admit that the hosts could not have known that Mitford and his travelling companions, having lived in Japan for some time, had gotten used to sitting on the floor. Soon after a messenger arrived from the Lord of Kaga, with word that the Lord of Kaga was worried about the health of the delegation as they had travelled through some oppressive heat, and explained that as the Lord of Kaga himself was feeling unwell he regretted not being able to meet the delegation in person but wanted to send his greetings. As representatives of Ambassador Parkes, the delegates responded by pledging eternal friendship with Japan, and Kaga province in particular.

The messenger then took on the role of host and brought in some delicious looking food, however because the seats that were brought in were very difficult to sit in, they were taken away and the messenger exchanged sake cups with the delegates in a more Japanese manner. Not long after, in case the delegates needed medical attention, a number of medical practitioners from the province were sent for to attend to the delegates. Mitford explains that in those days, traditional Chinese medicines were the norm, with moxibustion and acupuncture considered to be highly effective (although painful). However Mitford writes that neither he nor his companions were prepared for this kind of treatment. They apologised, and offered the explanation that none of them were in ill health. Discussions then turned to politics. Despite the substance of the talks being of the utmost secrecy, given that they were conducted in a manner in which anybody could listen in on them, there was no expectation that any secrets divulged would remain that way.

Mitford writes, however, that he and his companions were mistaken in their preconceptions. It seems that the shogunal government knew that the delegation was there to demand the opening of Nanao Bay to foreign trade and so the officials had no reason to keep anything hidden. What the officials of Kaga told the delegation were arguments that had been repeated since time immemorial. They were certainly well prepared to allow foreign trade, but could not agree to their bay becoming anything more than a place for offloading cargo. They knew that things would not end there, and so they endlessly repeated their major concern that should this come to pass, then the Shogun would seek to control it.

By the time the officials departed, they had developed a close affinity with the delegation, and Satow promised that he would do all he could to establish contact between Edo and Kanazawa. Kaga province was, as previously mentioned, one of the more receptive regions in Japan (to foreign contact), and so the visit was deemed a great success. Satow even considered bringing two retainers from Kaga province back to Edo with him to work as apprentices. Mitford then says that he had heard that two retainers from the province had already been sent as exchange students to England.

After the meeting ended, the delegation headed out for some sightseeing. However Kanazawa was a large town with many hills, punctuated by beautiful trees whose size was no exaggeration. There were around 50,000 residents in the town, which featured many fine shops selling spun silk, lacquerware, and fans. However these goods were not cheap.  Mitford writes that he finally found two or three pieces of lacquerware of great age, and was able to purchase them.  Those pieces were still in Mitford’s possession at the time he wrote his memoirs.

Mitford continues by writing that Kutani was located close to Kanazawa, and so the delegates made it a matter of course to buy two or three of the famous, unusual red coloured pottery. While in Kutani, they found a number of fabulous bookstores. He says the provincial officials that he and the others met were extremely polite and cordial in their demeanour. When evening came, the head official of Kutani requested that the delegation extend its stay and journey to nearby territories. Mitford writes that it was very hard to refuse such an invitation, and so they decided to acquiesce. The following morning, after engaging in some expensive shopping, a result of being unable to resist the temptation to spend a few more of their shillings, the delegation set out on horseback to their next lodgings, a small town called Kanaiwa located 4 miles from Kutani.  The saddles that were strapped to the horses were of a Western style, consisting of a fake leather made from paper, while the bridle was a shabby substitute that had to be seen to be believed. Since the smaller (Japanese) horses had not been shod they were, as per usual, very uncomfortable to ride on. However given (in Mitford’s opinion) that Japan was not a country that was particularly fond of horses, this was unavoidable.

For a journey of five miles, two rest spots had been established for the delegation, the first of which was at Kanaiwa.  After arriving at their destination, Mitford writes that there wasn’t much to look at, with no more than a beach that opened out onto the sea and a small river that flowed through the sand dunes. Mitford admits that he and his traveling companions were hard pressed to figure out why the affable Lord of Kaga had vigorously insisted on bringing them to such a place. The delegation then returned to Kanazawa before dark.  In the evening, two provincial officials visited the delegation where they engaged in general chit chat. When discussions once again turned to the possibility of Nanao Bay being opened up to foreign trade, the tone of discussions became serious, with the officials explaining that acts which would make it appear as though the province was engaging in secret trade was not ideal, and if the Bay was opened up to trade and anticipations were that large volumes of cargo would be exchanged then it would be best to first discuss this with the Bakufu. The delegation then requested that the Lord of Kaga send a document to Edo with such a proposal.

Mitford writes that the conversation then turned to politics in general. In the opinion of the officials, at present they (in principle) had to support the Bakufu but the Bakufu’s authority was extremely limited. The delegation and the officials discussed this topic late into the night, but what they were able to discern was that Kaga province at that time was not bound to follow any fixed policy. It was also obvious that Kaga did not possess any acquaintances with leadership qualities of the sort found in other provinces. Mitford writes that Satow translated into Japanese a letter of appreciation for the reception the delegation had received, and passed this along to the officials. The officials then gave their very polite farewells and departed.

In the morning of the following day, the 14th of August, the delegation departed from Kanazawa, with people asking when they would visit again and bidding them farewell. The delegation then went on their way.  They dropped by the medicinal store run by the father in law of the owner of their lodgings in Kanazawa, who recommended that they buy an excellent medicine known as Shisetsu made from saltpeter and musk and considered a cure-all.  As per usual there were many onlookers, however amid these were appeared to be a number of refined young couples.   Mitford writes that when the delegation arrived at their first rest stop and gazed back on the town that had so warmly welcomed them, the castle, that symbol of the last vestiges of feudalism, and its brilliant white keep were visible, as were the many residences of the townspeople that spread out from below the castle, punctuated by pine trees every now and then. It was a moving scene almost picturesque in its quality, and provided a fond memory of that time in history.  Indeed, Mitford writes that with the passage of time, that memory’s value has only grown, for time eventually makes everything beautiful.      

Mitford writes that the way back from Kaga was marked by many different events. In much the same manner as the time pleasantly spent in Kanazawa, the delegation was met with kindness and cordiality greater than they could have expected.   Mitford says that he was not able to disguise his astonishment at how wealthy (or abundant) this region of Japan was. He writes that the delegation passed through Matsutō, a town of 2,000 residents, and Komatsu, a town with 2,500 residents, but no matter where they went they were blessed to receive the same sort of hospitality they had experienced elsewhere in Kaga province.  He also writes that he never saw people so happy as those he met in Kaga province.

Mitford writes that on the 15th, the delegation arrived at the border with Echizen province, where they were met by some minor officials from that province (a point which angered the officials that had accompanied them from Kaga). The Kaga officials then had the Echizen officials complete a “letter of guarantee” to receive the delegation into their care. Mitford himself says that he would have liked to have seen this document, as he had suspicions as to what was actually written in it, probably something along the lines of “I hereby receive, without injury to their person, two officials from the Kingdom of Great Britain”. He writes that the Echizen officials made preparations to meet the delegation and had expended quite a bit of their finances in order to do so. However Mitford writes that it soon became evident that the delegates shouldn’t expect any real friendship from such officials.

Mitford writes that the Echizen officials wore smart clothing, of a sort that reminded Mitford of some of the youths depicted in the fable of the Jackdaw (i.e., infant crow) of Rheims (a poem by Richard Harris Barham, i.e Thomas Ingoldsby, a late eighteenth century – early nineteenth century English poet, concerning a crow that steals a ring from the cardinal of Rheims). The officials certainly did their best to help cool the delegation down using fans to ward of the midday heat, but did not show the delegation any further deference. Mitford writes that the capital of Echizen province, Fukui, featured excellent lodgings belonging to the Honganji sect. However Mitford writes that rather than gathering together people of good upbringing to meet them, the halls of the lodgings were filled with gawking spectators who looked upon the delegation as if they were gorillas.

At the time the Lord of Echizen was well known for having a strong aversion to interacting with foreigners, and it appears that such an attitude was reflected in the behavior of the commoners of Echizen province.  On the 17th the delegation crossed the Echizen border, and were glad to be able to farewell the hostile, curmudgeonly people of that province. Very soon they were met by an official send as a representative of Ii Kamon no Kami (Ii Naonori), who received the delegations official letter of guarantee. On the following day the delegation arrived at Nagahama, a location that Ambassador Parkes had visited in May. The effect of that earlier visit meant that the delegates were not looked upon as some sort of curiosity, and there were virtually no restrictions placed on their interaction with residents, something for which Mitford was particularly glad. 
  
18 members of the Betsu-te-gumi had arrived to meet the delegation in order to provide their security detail, the sum effect of which was to rob the journey of most of its enjoyments.  The reason for this was that any friendly interaction that the delegates might have with the local people would be monitored by these Bakufu officials, thus making such interaction out of the question.  At a ‘toll gate’ established at a place called Yanagi-ga-se, which was a fenced-off area on the border, the delegates learned of the odd system that oversaw these toll gates. Apparently any women who did not hold an access pass would not be able to pass through the toll gate. It was as if these women had no rights at all.  

On the 20th of August the delegation arrived at the town of Kusazu, and it was decided that the delegation would rest during the afternoon so that they could compile a report of their journey so far.  Mitford writes that he and Satow had managed to accumulate a large amount of information concerning politics and commerce. This might seem antiquated after the passage of half a century in which so many incidents had taken place, but at the time compiling reports was considered to be fascinating work and so a fair bit of time would be dedicated to putting them together. Mitford writes that he met a few samurai acquaintances of Satow, and after dinner and late into the night, they engaged in the usual discussion of politics.

However the discussions with the Bakufu officials proved dull, and so there was a tendency to discuss more frivolous things.  What was of particular interest, and which later proved to be fortuitous, was the discussion on the road the delegation would take the next day.  The delegation had decided that they would go via a small village on the edge of Lake Biwa, pass through the town of Ōtsu, and then head in the direction of Osaka. However the Japanese officials, after pointing out the difficulties that such a route would encompass, were resolved to prevent the delegation from heading to Ōtsu. It was plainly evident that the reason for this was because that road lay too close to the ‘sacred capital’ of Kyoto. Instead the officials offered to show the delegates the famous temple of Ishiyama-dera, which had previously been excluded even to Ambassador Parkes. 

Mitford says that he and Satow insisted on their plan, with Satow holding many reservations about the enthusiasm the officials displayed for partaking in sight-seeing and sought to discover their true intentions. The owner of the lodging house (another official) that the delegation were in then took them aside and said the following. “If you two are really interested in obtaining trade information, then you should go and look at the famous tea plantations at Uji. I can assure you that you will be more interested in that, for there is nothing to see in Ōtsu”.  However neither Mitford nor Satow would be dissuaded in their plan, and told the officials accompanying them that they would take the shortest route to Osaka via Ōtsu. They said that they knew what the officials were trying to do, and said that they knew that these officials had been sent to try and fool them. They then said that if the officials spoke honestly then Mitford and Satow might understand their reasoning, but as it was they had no choice but to refuse the officials’ advice.  After hearing this the officials appeared to be somewhat downhearted, but soon changed tactics and continued their assault.

Mitford was not to be outdone and changed tactics himself. He suggested to the officials that if they would clearly put down in writing their reasons for wanting to change the route, then he and Satow would go via Uji. However if they didn’t, then they would proceed via Ōtsu despite the dangers it might present.  The officials voiced some objections to this, but in the end agreed to do this and withdrew to a separate room to write the document. The document itself, which was over three pages in length, stated that the delegation's journey had not received permission from the Bakufu. In response Satow and Mitford claimed special privileges as diplomats, and they wanted to avoid the situation where any denial of this would lead to confusion. The letter that eventuated in response to this said that when Ambassador Parkes had travelled through Ōtsu in May this had been done at significant risk, and so this time around the Bakufu wanted the diplomats to consider going via Uji. It was a hard fought battle, but  the delegation was eventually persuaded to change their route.

Mitford writes that in relation to these late night negotiations in Kusazu, when one looks at the conclusion, he would like the reader to understand that although lengthy, he wrote no more than what was necessary to relay the details of the negotiations.  

Two days later, after arriving in Osaka, Satow’s servant Noguchi headed out on the town. After entering a tea house, he overheard a conversation by a group of samurai from Tosa province in the next booth over, who expressed their disappointment that they had missed an opportunity to kill two foreigners who had ‘defiled’ the land close to the ‘sacred capital’ the day before. Apparently samurai from the provinces of Tosa, Satsuma, and Chōshū had gathered together and formed a gang of around 400 in number and had been lying in wait for the delegation. If the delegation had insisted on following their original plan and taken the road through Ōtsu, then they would most certainly have been assassinated.  As such they had “managed to escape a certain fate by a hair’s breadth”.  Mitford writes that the funny thing about all this was that the Bakufu officials, by convincing the delegation to change their route through their tortuous objections, had saved the delegation’s lives but remained completely ignorant of this fact.

A few weeks’ later Mitford writes that he heard a conversation from Goto Zōjirō who backed up Noguchi’s story in full. Goto said that at the time he had been the officer on watch of the Lord of Tosa’s residence in Kyoto and got wind of the plan. He then did everything in his power to prevent it from happening. However the samurai who were planning to attack the delegation burned with a fierce hatred of foreigners and so had left the residence (to carry out their attack). Mitford writes that Goto’s name would hereafter appear more frequently in his memoirs, as he was one of Mitford’s good friends in Japan. In the following year, when a delegation of British diplomats was on its way to an audience with the Emperor, some of the diplomats had come under attack, and it was Goto who risked life and limb to rescue them.

On the 21st of August, Mitford writes that the delegation departed from Kusazu at around 5:45 in the morning after enduring an oppressively hot night.  Mitford writes that either because of the mosquitos or the negotiations that carried on late into the night, he had hardly slept a wink. He also says that for a day or two he had not eaten anything other than O-chazuke (a type of rice soup infused with tea), and so had not been able to eat his full. He goes on to explain that when the Japanese eat rice, they use a type of medicine said to encourage appetite which has a sharp, salty flavour much like brine but which the delegates found totally inedible.   Mitford further explained that during the journey he and Satow sometimes used boats to cross rivers, and walked certain sections, and from time to time stopped to admire the spectacular views of the vast plains area – the area where Kyoto and Fushimi were located, and which held special significance as the scene of civil war - and eventually arrived in Uji at about 4 in the afternoon. He writes that it was an exhausting day made worse by the oppressive heat.

Mitford then writes that in the evening of the previous day, the delegates had been led astray by the words of the Bakufu officials. They found that the famed Ishiyama-dera’s doors (the temple the Bakufu officials had promised was worth detouring from Ōtsu to see) were shut tight and no amount of knocking could prompt a response from those within.  Mitford writes that seven years later while journeying on a steam ship across the Pacific, he met a Japanese citizen who, by complete coincidence, had been in the area at the time and seen the delegation repeat over and over their futile knocking on the temple door.   

Mitford writes that as expected, he bought some of the famous Uji tea. The delegation then boarded a smartly decked out house boat at around 6 in the evening, and proceeded to watch the beautiful scenery drift by while resting on board. Soon afterwards Mitford fell asleep.

When he awoke at around 5:30 in the morning of the 22nd of August, he could see the magnificent keep of Osaka Castle, and made landfall at about 6am.  The delegation then made their way to an old temple in Nakadera-machi, which would serve as their lodging house. It was here that the delegation’s 11 day adventure tour came to an end.  It had certainly been extraordinarily interesting and suspenseful journey, with Mitford admitting that he had no idea what would happen during it.  When going to sleep at night he gave thanks that he had not met any misfortune, and upon waking up in the morning checked that he was in fact still alive. Throughout the nation there were fanatical bands of rōnin that despised foreigners, and Mitford writes that the good friends that they had made while in Kaga province would not have been able to protect them should they come under attack.  However the journey ended without incident, and the Ambassador successfully received all of information that he desired.

Unfortunately a tragedy preceded the delegation's arrived in Osaka. News that two sailors from the HMS Icarus had been butchered reached Ambassador Parkes at around 5pm (presumably on the same day). Apparently they had the misfortune to encounter a gang of hotheaded young samurai, and had been literally cut to pieces. The terrible fate that befell these two unfortunate fellows served as a vivid reminder of the very danger that could have befallen Mitford and Satow.

Mitford writes that as a result of repeated dialogue and conversations in relation to this incident, they realized that they had erred and the situation surrounding the assassination was more complicated than first thought.  At first, suspicion fell on samurai from Tosa province. This particular suspicion stemmed from the fact that the day after the assassination, a small sailing boat and steamer registered to Tosa province had departed from Nagasaki before daylight. Yet it was later determined that the perpetrators were from a completely different province and that thereafter they would receive punishment. By this time the main perpetrator had, however, already committed seppuku and died.  

It was through discussions held at the time that Mitford became well acquainted with Goto Zōjirō, and that his respect for Goto only grew in stature. As a representative of his province, he already possessed first-class capabilities, for which proof was in abundance. In discussions he had shown great forbearance in defending his position while explaining matters to Britain’s difficult and short-tempered ambassador. Goto was certainly one of three, possibly four people of ability who would go on to provide the impetus for the Meiji Restoration. Like the famous Saigo Takamori of Satsuma and leaders from other provinces, he would play a pivotal role in advocating for the formation of a parliamentary system, particularly the upper house, although this process would not take place for another 18 months. 

Mitford writes that one of the fortunate things about Japan was that the role of speaking in public was different to that of other countries. The role of members within the constitutional parliament was not, in fact, detailed in the constitution. As such, rather than being a solemn gathering, meetings of the parliament were more like debating society events at one of England’s private schools.  While members could voice their opinions, they could not propose legislation.  Mitford continues by saying that on the 31st of August (1867), he and Satow were invited by the Lord of Awa to visit his castle in Shikoku. Shikoku at the time was divided up into the four provinces of Awa, Tosa, Sanuki, and Iyo, which is why the Lord of Awa bore that name.  If the journey had originally gone as planned, then Mitford and Satow would have been able to learn about the nature of the other three provinces while exchanging cups of sake with the Lord of Awa while also gathering more details on other leaders within Shikoku. However luck was not with them. Ambassador Parkes, together with other members of the executive, decided that they would go to Awa themselves on board the Salamis and Basilisk, and so any plans of an expedition to Awa went out the window, to be replaced by no more than a form of courtesy visit.

Mitford writes that such visits were replete with old political clichés, with both sides refraining from telling the truth about their situation. As a consequence, discussions would be held for no purpose, which would produce a despondent mood occasionally alleviated by talking about the weather. Mitford writes, however, that the Lord of Awa was an extremely kind and proper gentleman, who prepared quite a spectacular performance for the visiting delegates which was performed to great effect by his retainers. The Lord of Awa himself spent his time in his private residence dressed in his elaborate pleated trousers (hakama), but contrary to the times did not wear an eboshi hat.

The first theatre performance was put on by a troupe of 3 people consisting of a lord, his messenger, and a member of the audience, and was particularly amusing.  The lord orders his messenger to copy his every action, which the messenger dutifully obeys by delivering his lines to the audience member in the same manner as the lord. When the lord grows angry at the messenger for doing this and lightly slaps him on the head, the messenger then directs this anger at the audience member and slaps him on the head.  This pantomime then escalates in ever increasing levels of horseplay, until the finale when the lord, fed up with the whole matter, kicks the messenger off stage.

The next act could be described as an Oriental version of the comic Offenbach opera “The Two Blind Men”.  A certain wealthy man makes it clear that he wants to hire someone who from birth has been blind, deaf, and disabled. In response to this, he receives a visit from a man whose legs are disabled, another man who cannot speak, and a blind man. Mitford writes that these roles were particularly well performed by the Lord of Awa’s retainers. These three men are in fact inveterate gamblers, down on their luck, and so have disguised themselves as beggars. The wealthier man hires all three beggars, and assigns to each one to look after a warehouse each while he is away.  The three beggars, knowing each other’s true identity, then discuss going to the warehouse where the sake is stored to drink their fill, and then going to the warehouse where mountains of gold can be divided up between them.

As expected, once they go to the first warehouse they get absolutely plastered, so much so that when their employer returns they forget which disabilities they were supposed to have. Hence the man who supposedly cannot see suddenly can’t talk, the man who can’t walk suddenly can’t see, and the man who can’t speak suddenly can’t hear.  Mitford found the point in the act where their true identity as fraudsters was revealed to be very amusing.

After the plays finished everyone moved on to dinner, and the more Sake that was passed around the more lively everyone became.  Mitford writes that the Lord of Awa said that he was the son of the previous governor of the province and an ‘elder brother’ (in terms of social relationships in a hierarchical society) to Ambassador Parkes. He also claimed that his eldest son, Awaji no Kami, was good friends with Ernest Satow.  Mitford writes that on the following morning, he and the other delegates conducted an inspection of the provincial guard, who numbered around 500 but dressed in what could only be described as somewhat shabby Western clothes.  Some of the guard wore boots, while others didn’t.  Those wearing boots were terribly proud of themselves, like dandies walking about with wisteria canes while puffing away on amber leaf tobacco.    

That evening Mitford together with the Lord of Awa boarded the Salamis in order to head back to Edo. However in order to investigate the circumstances surrounding the assassination of the two sailors from the Icarus, it had been decided that Ambassador Parkes and Satow would head for Susaki in Tosa province.  Mitford writes that as explained earlier, the people of Tosa had been proven innocent of any complicity in the deaths of the sailors, but were uncompromising in their attitudes. Satow paid a visit to Yamauchi Yōdō (Toyoshige), who despite being retired in name by that time was still very much the ruler of the province. Yamauchi told Satow that if he knew of any Tosa samurai that had been involved in the assassination then he would swiftly punish them, but if they were innocent, then he would not change his mind regarding them no matter what the circumstances were. Goto (Zōjirō) then cautioned Ambassador Parkes that if he threw a tantrum at this point then he (Zōjirō) might take leave of reason (implying he might have to physically restrain Parkes). As a consequence, Parkes was apparently much more subdued.

Mitford writes that the Japanese take it as a matter of course to maintain one’s dignity, and while they might have a number of other faults, they were in essence gentlemen.  Making threats would not, by themselves, result in success. A person of the caliber of Ambassador Parkes had not learned this lesson, and so it proved a weak point at times like this.

Satow thereafter made his way to Nagasaki where he remained until the 7th of November, and so Mitford make his way back to Edo, to a small temple known as Monryōin (門良院), where he spent time living by himself.  In order to take precautions, Mitford writes that he scattered cockle shells on the paths leading through the garden so that if any uninvited guests suddenly turned up in the dead of night, their footsteps would serve as an alarm system. One evening at around 12 midnight, Mitford’s ‘fail-safe’ alarm system proved its worth, and he awoke to the sound of crunching footsteps. Mitford flew out of bed, and after lighting a lamp and candle, woke up his trusted servant Lin Fu and handed him a sword and pistol while Mitford himself grabbed his Spencer pistol. The two of them then made their way to the front entrance and waited. Whomever these rogues were, they soon caught sight of Mitford and Lin Fu’s armed figures and quickly fled. Mitford writes that he later found out that around 5 or 6 persons had made their way into the garden. The reason he knew this is because it had been raining hard the night before and the following morning he was able to discern tracks left by the culprits, some of whom had slipped on the grass on the small hill the temple was located on. They had thus left imprints of their backsides or left deep footprints after skidding to a halt. Mitford found the whole experience unnerving.

Mitford then writes that the house he was living in was located in an area that was well known for fighting among rival families (or gangs), and just like some of the laneways of old Edinburgh, it was located too close to the drinking houses of the ‘notorious’ Shinagawa district. These establishments sometimes served as ‘hideouts’ for gangs made up of violent xenophobes.

Mitford then proceeds to detail an incident that took place near his lodgings. One morning, after exiting his house in order to make his way to the British Embassy, the body of a slain samurai lay in a pool of blood in front of the entrance gate to his residence. A straw mat had been placed over the body, however it was obvious that it was missing its head. Apparently in the course of following some sort of strict precepts on revenge, an acquaintance of someone killed in an earlier fight by the victim now lying in front of Mitford’s gate had dragged the victim’s body there to display it in front of his friend’s grave (noting that Mitford was living in the grounds of a temple at the time).   

The Japanese of Edo, just before the Meiji Restoration and a mere 48 years before Mitford wrote his memoirs, looked upon such events as an everyday occurrence.   

While on the surface there didn’t appear to be any sort of major shift in politics occurring, underneath a silent revolution had begun and was growing in strength. The Shogun would ultimately resign from his position, although the truth was that his position had been abolished.  Nevertheless Yoshinobu continued to exercise his authority with all of its in-built contradictions and would go on to head the Tokugawa household. Rumour had it that the daimyo of Satsuma, Chōshū, and Tosa, after appointing themselves leaders, were preparing for armed insurrection. It was said that they had even established an anti-Bakufu camp in Osaka. 

Retainers from Tosa province said that when the Shogun resigned his authority in October (of 1867), they were doing no more than acting in accordance with a white paper produced by their province. They later showed this paper to Satow. Mitford writes that some of the more outstanding features of this paper was its outline of a bicameral system of government based on upper and lower houses, the creation of schools in major cities to teach science and more general knowledge, and the negotiation of new treaties with foreign countries. Messengers from the daimyo of the above provinces had then been sent to the British Embassy to entreat the diplomats on the process of forming a national parliament (or Diet). They were, in Mitford’s view, clearly prepared to do everything they could to be considered equal to the British.

An audience with the Shogun (a continuation of last week's post on memoirs from A.B Mitford)

Mitford states that the political situation in Japan underwent a profound change at the beginning of 1867. It was clear that some form of activity was going on in the background as factions competed for influence. The death of Shogun Tokugawa Iemochi on the 29th of August brought things to a head, and the seventh son of the Lord of Mito, Tokugawa Yoshinobu, was appointed to that position through the plotting of ministers from than province. Yoshinobu wasted no time in calling for the combined representatives of foreign lands to an audience with him in Osaka. Mitford states that Osaka at the time was a fairly non-descript town with a myriad of rivers and canals, and had previously been an important focal point of trade. He said that it was referred to as “The Venice of the East”, although in reality there was little to lend credence to that title apart from the abundance of water channels around the town. Mitford wrote that he and Satow were dispatched to Osaka by warship in the first week of February in order to make preparations for the reception ceremony and learn what protocols would be used.Mitford and Satow were accompanied on their journey to the West by a Captain Cardway from the 9th Regiment and a Danish Lieutenant by the name of Zalbitser (an approximation of the surname).  They landed at Hyogo, and then made their way to Osaka by horse.  In addition to a large number of guards provided for their security, a number of troops were placed at various points along the route. Every time they passed through a check point, these troops would follow behind them, so that by the time they reached their destination they had around 2 or 3 thousand followers.  Mitford said that this was ‘good evidence’ of how seriously the government took their safety. When they reached Osaka, they learned that the Emperor Kōmei had passed away on the 3rd of February from smallpox.  He had actually died on the 30th of January, yet for some inexplicable reason the date of death had been postponed by four days. Kōmei’s successor, the famous Emperor Mutsuhito (Meiji), was but a youth of fifteen at the time.

Those who knew the young Emperor had deep trust in his abilities, and predicted that an appropriate education and training would result in a person of extraordinary ability, and in that they were absolutely correct. Mitford was convinced that if the Emperor Kōmei had lived, given he was avidly opposed to any interaction with foreigners, the events of the next couple of months would have been completely different.

When they arrived in Osaka, they lodged at a small but comfortable temple located on the Teramachi way.  There they were welcomed and were treated with deference, which made their task easier as their every want and need was met. They also became something of a curiosity, and so the roads around their lodgings were packed with spectators, to the extent that they had trouble passing along the streets. Most of the major merchants in Osaka set up stalls in the roads around the temple and proceeded to sell fruit, confectionary, and cheap knickknacks, and Mitford noted that travelers in the early 20th century found this hard to believe.

Mitford admitted that the principal reason for the visit to Osaka was ostensibly to participate in an audience with the Shogun together with other foreign representatives, however Ambassador Parkes also believed it was a fantastic opportunity to gather information about the political situation in Kyoto.  He says that this trip was where he first met many of those leaders of various provinces who in the future would play such a large role in the formation of the modern Japanese state. 

Mitford mentioned that most Bakufu supporters in Kyoto were from Mito province, and were prepared to sacrifice themselves on behalf of the Shōgun. Their opponents were messengers from Satsuma, Chōshū, Tosa, and Uwajima, all of whom were resolved to bring about the removal of the shōgunate.  Mitford says that the English delegation was kept well informed of plot activity in Kyoto, although most of those who passed information to them had, by the time the memoirs were written, died.  While in Osaka, he met almost daily with Komatsu Tatewaki from Satsuma, Lord Ito from Chōshū, and the most impressive of the bunch, Goto Shōjiro from Tosa province. Each one of these men and others would play pivotal roles in the formation of the Meiji state. Mitford also says that he and others in the delegation had to take every precaution when they went to meet with these men. They would be accompanied by troops who were there ‘for their protection’. However the delegates managed to slip their guards and meet with province representatives on their own (this occurred at least twice).

Mitford said that one of the consequences of these meetings would have a profound effect on what would later occur in Japan’s history.  He said that the goal of the Lord of Satsuma, along with other daimyo, was not to overthrow the shōgunate but to prevent the misuse of its authority.  Satsuma wanted to restore the imperial household to its former glory, as it would contribute to stabilizing the nation. As such, Satsuma’s purpose was not to incite a revolution against the Shogun but to act for the benefit of the nation. The Lord of Satsuma had suggested that should the British ambassador come to Osaka and propose a new treaty directly with the Emperor, all of the daimyo would support the proposal. In order to realise this plan, it would be necessary for everyone to gather in Kyoto. Hence if the ambassador lent the daimyo just a fraction of his authority, the daimyo would take responsibility for everything that happened thereafter.  It was an audacious plan, and if it had occurred just a few months later, it would have been subject to ridicule. 

Mitford writes that while he was in Osaka he and others in the delegation took the opportunity to go shopping, and that he planned to purchase some famous goods and return with them to Yokohama. He mentions that lacquerware was popular, along with pipes of various shapes and sizes, fans, and textiles, all of which were difficult to resist purchasing. He says that wherever he and the other delegates walked, they would be followed by a large crowd. They were accompanied by a minor official with a wakizashi (short sword), who would make a noise like a bird (probably a crow) in order to clear a path for the delegates.  However the curiosity of the crowd was too great and they would continue to follow the delegates and wouldn’t be dispersed so easily.

Mitford then says that after returning to Edo from Osaka, a tragedy unfolded at the mission while they were away.  He says that many of their acquaintances (presumably among the foreign community) were never able to rid themselves of the fear that they would be attacked by some ‘rogues’ as they wandered along the streets of Edo. Many rogues had become more audacious in their provocations at foreigners, and would often make a display of unsheathing their swords and waiving them around, indicating that they could cut someone in half from their shoulder to their waist. The foreign population in Edo knew of this, and so were taught to shoot to kill anyone who approached them with a sword drawn even an inch out of its scabbard. Mitford writes that the interpreting students (presumably from England) at the mission were also frightened both day and night at the thought of meeting an unfortunate end. They would not venture out from the mission, and even though they were protected in the mission by members of the 9th Regiment and a great many other guards, pleaded with the ambassador to have an Armstrong cannon brought out from Britain and placed at the gate of the mission for its protection.  

One evening, one of these youths could no longer handle the strain. After having dinner with some of his friends, he returned to his room, from which two shots were heard. The first shot had apparently failed to hit its mark because the man was shaking so much, and the bullet from that shot was later found in the ceiling of his room.  The second shot, however, proved fatal. Mitford writes that suicide is certainly not a contagious disease, yet in the same week another two such incidents took place in Yokohama. Mitford says that it is difficult for people to understand the type of life he and others had to live during the early days of interaction with Japan, but notes that for four years he kept a loaded pistol on the desk that he used to write at. He also says that he would always have a Spencer revolver in one hand and a bayonet in the other when he returned to his bedroom at night and which would lie close by as he slept. He says the fact that anybody can now walk the streets of Kyoto and Edo (Tokyo) while twirling a cane just like they were walking along Regent Street or Piccadilly is a blessing that owes a debt of gratitude to the law that banned the wearing of swords.

Mitford writes that in May of 1867, Ambassador Parkes and he travelled to Osaka for their first audience with the Shogun. Osaka Castle was, as much as it was in Mitford’s day, and as long as you were looking at it from the outside, a large museum to the feudal age and the crowning glory of the last days of Toyotomi Hideyoshi.  Mitford then goes into a bit of historical detail regarding Hideyoshi, and expresses admiration for the way in which its stone walls had been constructed using massive stones piled on top of one another but without using any sort of adhesive.  He writes that the castle was surrounded by a moat, and protected on two sides by Yodogawa and Kashiwara-gawa. He noted that the stone walls were over 30 feet long and 20 feet high and were beautiful in their simplicity. He said the castle had been attacked by bow and arrow and firearms, but had withstood them all. He then goes into how Hideyori succeeded Hideyoshi, only to be eventually overthrown by Tokugawa Ieyasu.

Mitford writes that the audience with the Shogun took place within Osaka Castle.  It was an event that is likely never to be seen again. The position of Shogun was thereafter abolished and became another part of Japan’s distant past. When Mitford wrote his memoirs, the last Shogun, Yoshinobu, had died some months earlier, and the castle was no longer its former self.  He wrote that the outer walls were the same, but the interior palaces had been burned down by Bakufu forces in the aftermath of the battles of Toba and Fushimi. These underlings had returned to the castle after fighting for the Bakufu only to find that their leader had fled to Edo, and so harboured a deep resentment towards the Shogun thereafter. 

Mitford writes that this must have caused great angst among the retainers and allies of the Tokugawa household. However Mitford then reminds the reader that history does not follow set patterns, and that relying his own memory meant that he was writing things down as he recalled them, zigging and zagging backwards and forwards in time. He writes that the defeated Shogun returned to Edo safely to the castle of his ancestors. One of his younger retainers, Hori Kuranokami, in order to erase the dishonor to the Shogun’s name, suggested that Yoshinobu commit ritual suicide. In order to prove his sincerity, Hori announced that he would commit ritual suicide first.  Yoshinobu’s reaction was unexpected, however. He burst out laughing, saying that such a barbaric practice was outdated. Hori then reluctantly bowed and withdrew to an adjoining room. There he bared his chest down to his abdomen, and proceeded to die ‘like a warrior’ by cutting open his abdomen. Mitford says that Yoshinobu’s error was to assume that the ‘barbaric’ practice of ‘belly cutting’ was outdated. He says that even in the early 20th century, it was used as a way to retain one’s honour.

Mitford says that Saigo Takamori, whom he had known for a long time and was one of the leading figures from Satsuma, had died in such a manner during the rebellion of 1877.  He said another hero of the treaty ports area, his long-time friend Nogi Maresuke, had committed suicide two years earlier in 1913. Nogi was deeply affected by the death of his beloved lord Emperor Mutsuhito, and so together with his loyal wife, chose to follow the Emperor into eternity.  

Mitford then writes that he and Ambassador Parkes had three audiences with the Shogun. The first meeting was private, and as expected, proved to be the most interesting of the meetings. This was not only because it was a new experience, it was also because it allowed for a free exchange of opinions that would not have otherwise happened in a public ceremony. The Bakufu had a number of high officials who had been dispatched for the occasion, while the British delegation had 17 mounted troopers in splendid uniforms from the London Metropolitan Police Force, along with a squad of troops from the 9th Regiment for protection.  They were also protected by a number of Japanese guards. The entire retinue headed by horseback towards the castle. Mitford notes that every Japanese citizen they met along the way, whether of high or low status, got off their horses in deference to the delegation.

The delegation itself did not dismount from their horses until they reached the gates in front of a broad square attached to the inner palace. This building was the same as the outer walls and moats albeit smaller, and had its own moat. They were met by a number of high officials and then taken to a waiting room where they enjoyed tea and light refreshments. Mitford then quotes from a letter he wrote on the 6th of May 1867 which described the audience with the Shogun.  

The interior of the castle was much more gorgeous than any Japanese building he had seen up until that point. The walls were covered in gold-leaf, and featured depictions of trees, flowers, and birds all painted in exquisite detail by a painter of the Kanō school.  Mats weaved from rush reeds were affixed to right-angled hooks plated in gold, and on these large weavings were laid out decorated in orange, red and black silk, similar to a gypsy’s ribbon. The upper section of the room was decorated in the height of Japanese wood carving technology, of a type comparable to Grinling Gibbons (a 17th century British wood sculptor originally from the Netherlands and considered one of the greatest wood sculptors of his age), generously decorated in gold flake, and set within a deeply carved board. Each of these boards had been carved by a different master, and no two boards were alike.  The theme of each of these pictures varied, but were made to emphasize beauty, such as a strutting phoenix, cranes, a softly coloured but gorgeous collection of rhododendrons, bamboo whose leaves were being gently blown by a breeze, and an aged black pine tree. The pillars and sidings in the room were made of unfinished Japanese zelkova, fastened into place using gold plated pegs. The ceiling was divided into square shaped sections, each with its own carvings, and each of these was coloured in a deep gold lacquer. The sections between each square were also lacquered in gold or black. 

Mitford says that while the effect was certainly gorgeous, it wasn’t without its faults. That was because after 200 years the sharpness of the pictures had dulled somewhat.

While waiting in the first room, Mitford and the ambassador spent time with high officials doing what most people do to pass the time – talking about the weather.  After that they were escorted to the meeting room. This room had been laid out in a Western fashion, with 8 seats arranged around a table. At one end of the table was the chair for the Shogun, an impressive lacquered piece of furniture. They were met in that room by senior and junior retainers of the Shogun, where they received word that he would soon come to meet them. Some high sliding doors that divided up the Japanese room they were in silently slid left and right, and an atmosphere of excited tension filled the room, much like an audience waiting for a piano recital to begin. For one or two seconds the Shogun stood like a statue in the space between the sliding doors, presenting a figure of stiff formality. All of the Japanese in the room knelt in a deep bow, except for the senior and junior retainers who remained standing. They probably did this so as not to create any discrimination between themselves and the delegates and so were excused from the usual formalities. 

When the Shogun entered the room, he bowed, and then, to borrow a phrase from Tacitus “in the manner of the barbarians”, shook hands with Ambassador Parkes.  All of the delegates, namely Parkes, Lowcock, Satow, and Mitford himself, then sat on one side of the table while the other featured the Shogun and four of his retainers. The Shogun then majestically stood up and enquired about the health of Queen Victoria.  Ambassador Parkes himself then stood up and asked about the well-being of the Emperor and then proceeded to discuss a range of practical issues. While speaking with the Shogun in private, Yoshinobu revealed that he knew all about recent events that had occurred following the signing of the Elgin Treaty. He spoke plainly in relation to the ‘disturbances’ that the English delegates had recently experienced, and said that he was aggrieved by the many issues preventing the fulfilment of friendly relations between the people of his nation and the delegates. He also revealed his resolve to improve the existing system of government. Mitford writes that the Shogun possessed a personality that was well-suited to drawing people to him.  People would expect, on first meeting him, for him to be overly stiff and somewhat pensive, and given the amount of problems he was dealing with at the time that was to be expected. Yet he was also able, amongst all the formality, to speak and act freely.

Mitford writes that Tokugawa Yoshinobu was an individual who possessed many excellent traits. He was of short stature in comparison to Westerners, but around average for the Japanese of his day.  When he wore more traditional clothes, that difference was not really all that obvious. Mitford wrote that among all of the Japanese that he met during his time in Japan, Yoshinobu’s figure was the one that was the most impressive to Western eyes. He says that he had a bright, healthy olive complexion, with sparkling eyes. While his mouth was stiffly pensive, he had a kind expression when he smiled. He had a strong body, which was very masculine in appearance.  He also practiced horse riding regularly, and in all weather like a famous English huntsman. Forty years after their first meeting, Mitford said that the passage of time had hardly aged Yoshinobu.  His attractive gait had not diminished any, and while he might have had more wrinkles on his face, his character had not changed at all. One of the peculiarities of being born into a famous household is that everything is done according to tradition. Yet Yoshinobu, as an aristocrat, was exceptional. Mitford regretted the fact that Yoshinobu’s position in society was anachronistic, however.     

Mitford then writes that after engaging in friendly conversation for around an hour, Yoshinobu mentioned that he would like to see the guard that the delegation had brought with them, and which had been waiting in the central grounds of the castle. Yoshinobu appeared to be quite impressed by the sword and lance drill conducted by the mounted troops. Yet what impressed him most was the size of the horses they had brought with them, which were a type of Arabian breed they had imported to Japan from India and were quite grand.  Yoshinobu loved horses, and so spread the word that these foreign horses were, when compared to Japan’s own domestically bred horses, so much better in many ways. Japan’s own horses were, it must be said, of an ordinary type that can be found anywhere.

The Shogun then treated the delegation to a splendid dinner. He writes that at the time his diary was completed (in 1915), it was fairly standard to be treated to French cuisine at the residences of Japan’s elite. But the opportunity to dine with the Shogun and his retainers was, for the four delegates from Britain, like something out of a dream.  Yoshinobu functioned as the host, while his retainers made every effort to accommodate the delegates. Mitford also mentions that Yoshinobu, at some stage during proceedings, rose up from his seat in order to propose a toast to the health of Her Majesty the Queen of England. The diplomatic practice of making toasts was not something commonly known in Japan at the time, and it appeared to be an attempt by Yoshinobu to please his guests.  Parkes then returned the gesture by proposing a toast to the health of the Shogun.  After the dinner, the Shogun accompanied his guests to an interior room where they were given pipes and silk tobacco purses woven by the Shogun’s wives.

Mitford also writes that as the delegates were preparing to leave, they ventured down one of the hallways in the residence which was decorated with fabulous prints depicting many famous poets. When Yoshinobu saw how much the delegates appreciated the paintings, he ordered one of them to be removed from the wall and presented to Ambassador Parkes to take back with him to the British mission. Ambassador Parkes was initially reluctant to accept the picture, however Yoshinobu told him that “every time I will look at that spot, I will know that the picture that hung there now decorates the residence of the Ambassador of Britain, and that will bring me great joy”.  Mitford then exclaims “Can you conceive of any greater form of farewell than this?” 

Mitford wrote that the delegates remained in the castle until after 9pm. He said that the delegates were incredibly pleased at the way the meeting had gone, and that the retainers of the Shogun were also happy to have been granted the opportunity to meet with representatives from Britain for the first time.  Mitford later wrote that because of the Shogun’s natural curiosity and affability, there was a strong expectation that the opening of the port of Osaka, which was scheduled to take place in January the following year. He states that he was scheduled to be transferred out of Japan around that time, something that vexed him greatly. He believed that he would be missing out on the last politically important event in Japanese history. However fortunes changed and he ended up staying longer, and would have many other opportunities to experience ‘historically significant’ events.

Memoirs of AB Mitford, Principal Observations – taken from 英国外交官の見た幕末維新:リーズデイル卿回想録、A.Bミットフォード、長岡祥三訳、講談社、2017年9月11日発行

The above memoir concerns the personal experiences of the British diplomat Algernon Bertram Freeman-Mitford (1st Baron Redesdale), who in the Autumn of 1866 (Keiō 2) arrived in the port city of Yokohama to take up a position as a second secretary within the British legation. It was during that first encounter with Japan by Mitford that he came into contact with Ernest Satow, himself a British diplomat, and the two of them would remain life-long friends.  Mitford himself was born in February of 1837 (Tenpō 8), and was six years older that Satow (he was around 28 when he arrived in Japan).  

Mitford himself admitted that his reason for writing a memoir of his experiences in Japan stemmed from the fact that for many years he had not spoken to anyone about what he saw and heard during his residency in Japan, and that after the passage of 50 years many of those whom he knew in Japan, and who had played such a pivotal role in the opening of Japan to foreign influence and in the establishment of Japan as a modern state, were already starting to pass away.  So he endeavoured to write down, in as much detail as he could, his reminiscences of Japan.

Mitford held Ernest Satow in very high regard, and praised Satow as the principal reason why he was able to experience so much of the historical events that punctuated the early years of foreign diplomatic activity in Meiji Japan. 

Mitford arrived in Yokohama by ship in October of 1866, and spent four years at the forefront of Japan’s emergence into the modern world.  His arrival in early October coincided with a cold front over much of north-east Asia, so when his ship set out from Shanghai it met with some rough seas and both crew and passengers were very relieved when they finally dropped anchor just outside the port of Yokohama. At the time of his arrival the port city was being battered by heavy rain and strong winds, and at the customs house on the wharf water ran through the building as though it had been built on a river.  The customs officials themselves wore fairly non-descript clothing (kimono) with two swords at their hip, with lacquered caps and grass mantles.

For the first two to three days, until lodgings were prepared, Mitford stayed at the official residence of Minister (re: Ambassador) Harry Parkes. The residence itself was located near the coast, and was a one-storey building. Mitford wrote that on his first night at the residence, possibly as a reflection of the bad weather that accompanied his arrival, discussions at the dinner table were somewhat gloomy, focusing on the death of ‘Richardson’ (in the Namamugi Incident), the assassinations of Baldwin and Bird (by shishi in the streets of Yokohama), and the attack that occurred against the British legation during the residence of Ambassador Rutherford Alcock and Captain Neale by ‘rōnin’. Mitford wrote that his first nights in Japan were spent listening to the wind howling through the ambassadorial residence, rattling windows and doors, which made him grab a nearby pistol in fear that the residence was under attack. Apparently he wasn’t the only one to think this, and that the hallway of the residence was filled with diplomats bearing arms in anticipation of an assault by ‘rōnin’.

Mitford’s first night in Japan was also accompanied by an earthquake, which added to the fears of the diplomatic staff in the residence. However the danger soon passed, and the following days were blessed by good weather, so much so that he was able to see Mt Fuji capped in snow and in all of its glory. Mitford also spent the first few days in Japan walking around Yokohama, both in and outside the city, with Satow. As it was Autumn, the fields outside the city were brimming with ripened rice plants, along with the hills around the city being dotted with red and gold hues and deep green pine, cypress and bamboo forests at the foot of the hills.

Mitford points out that in 1866, with the political situation in Japan so uncertain, a rivalry broke out between Ambassador Parkes and the French Ambassador Leon Roche. He proceeds to describe the physical characteristics of Parkes, noting that he was a short man, with thinning hair, but of cheerful disposition. He notes he had a large head, with a broad face, so that his body and head “did not appear in proportion to one another”.  He also says Parkes was ‘fearless’ and never showed any sign of weariness, but was excitable and quick to anger. He then goes on to describe Parkes’ time in the East, noting he had been sent out to China at the age of 13 in 1841, had studied Chinese vociferously, and had performed the role of interpreter, embarking on dangerous journeys into the interior of China from time to time.  Parkes was appointed as ambassador to Japan when he was 38, and Mitford met him a year after he had assumed that position. Parkes apparently regretted the fact that his education had been abruptly interrupted in his youth, and so spent much of his life trying to make up for this by engaging in reading in his spare time (which was little, given Parkes was a very active character). Mitford believed that Parkes’ greatest short-coming as a diplomat was the fact that he could not speak French.

Mitford says that Parkes and Roche were deeply jealous of one another, noting that when war broke out between the Bakufu and regional daimyo, they were both backing “the wrong horse”. In Parkes’ case, he had the extraordinary fortune of having Ernest Satow in his employment. Satow had studied the traditions and folk history of Japan in detail, understood the position occupied by the Shogun, and knew that the Emperor was the original head of the nation. Not only this, he possessed fluency in Japanese, was intelligent and able to speak plainly, which enabled him to become an acquaintance to many of the most influential people in Japan. He was also young, which would be a great advantage to the ambassador in forging ties with the Japanese state.

One other person that Mitford praises for his deep knowledge of Japan was Thomas Glover (a merchant residing in Nagasaki, and who provided weaponry to the anti-Bakufu forces). Ambassador Parkes regarded Satow’s advice as exemplary, and his advocacy led weight to Satow’s suggestion that Britain back the daimyo forces absolutely. Roche, on the other hand, was firm in his support for the shogunate, and so continued to provide support to that institution despite the fact it was gradually growing ever weaker.  Parkes was particularly incensed when he found out that Roche had brought out from France army instructors to instruct the shogunal forces, and so resolved to bring British naval officers to Japan to educate the daimyo forces. Mitford therefore believed that the development of the Japanese army and navy came about because of the personal dislike between Parkes and Roche. 

Mitford says that Roche lent his hand to shipbuilding facilities, port facilities, and weapons manufacturing, which were all areas he expected France would have a monopoly. Yet the development of all of these elements depended on the shogunate remaining in power. Roche’s audacious plan led to fierce diplomatic debates, so much so that Ambassador Parkes regarded Roche with a lot of suspicion.   Mitford states that the Tokugawa were to be congratulated on being able to provide some 200 years of stability for Japan, but the rot within the institution of the shogunate started from the third Shogun Iemitsu onward. 

Mitford stated that after a week he was able to move into his own abode, made of plain wood and paper. He (with a great amount of sarcasm) stated that the house itself was ‘a little bigger than a doll’s house’, with a small garden with a number of small trees growing in it. Mitford lived in one of three connected residences, the others being occupied by Ernest Satow and Dr William Willis. The residence was in the foreigner’s quarter, somewhat separated from the city (or town) of Yokohama itself. Willis had some difficulties with his house, given that he was a large man, and his coming and going from such a small abode was a source of constant wonder to Mitford. As a house warming party, the three diplomats invited a number of members of the 9th Regiment and three or four ‘geisha’.  The food supplied was Japanese in origin, and the revelry lasted until midnight.

The Great Fire of Yokohama:

The time spent in the foreigner’s quarter was brief, as on the 26th of November Mitford said he was woken by a sharp gust of wind that blew through one of the doors of the residence. He jumped out of bed without time to dress (mainly because all of his furniture and luggage had only been brought into the residence the night before and remained unpacked). He had enough time to shave before a Chinese servant came in to tell him that a large fire had been spotted some 2/3rds of a mile away.  Mitford believed he had enough time to dress and then venture out to look at the fire, unaware of the sheer speed at which a fire could spread through a town built primarily of wood. 

After shaving and dressing, which consisted of his trousers and a thick overcoat, he went outside, only to discover that a fierce wind had intensified the fire which had spread to the neighbourhood around his residence. Mitford had a pet dog which he attempted to bring outside with him, however spooked by the noise and chaos of people running about, the dog ran back into the building. Mitford discovered the bones of the dog the following day in the ashes of a Western chest of drawers.  In the space of an hour, the neighbourhood that Mitford was in disappeared, with a fierce wind continuing to blow, causing the fire to jump from roof to roof and devouring everything in front of it, leaping hundreds of yards in an instant.

One of the curious things that Mitford noticed about the fire was that unlike fires in London, which were accompanied by sounds of wood cracking, popping and collapsing house frames, this fire just burned everything up, much like the wick of a candle. Houses that had been standing just moments before were reduced to ash in a matter of minutes with nothing but the red glow of heated roof tiles left behind. Such was the ferocity of the fire that no buildings, whether wooden or brick, survived unscathed, and the entire town would have been swallowed up if the wind hadn’t abated around midday. Mitford observed that if a fire such as that in Yokohama started in Edo, it would have raced off in all directions and reduced the city to ruins.

Mitford described a great many lives being lost in the fire, noting that close to his residence bodies had been laid out in rows and which were mostly unidentifiable.  He noted that most of the victims of the fire lived in the area that it started, the Gankirō (岩亀楼) district, famous for its houses of prostitution.  Some of the bodies discovered half burned had been pulled from a well, where a number of women had thrown themselves in a desperate attempt to escape the fire. Mitford was left with only the clothes he had managed to throw on (including his shoes and socks), however those whose homes survived the blaze showed generosity to those left without accommodation. Admiral Sir George King sent Mitford six shirts along with a letter that Mitford treasured for the rest of his life.

Rebuilding and relocating

Mitford writes that a few days before the fire, serious consideration was given by Ambassador Parkes to relocating the British mission to Edo, to the site of the original mission headed by Alcock and Neale on Goden-yama which overlooked the ‘notorious’ Shinagawa village. The location apparently had fine views, but it had been abandoned after being attacked and destroyed by ‘rōnin’. Mitford relates that Itō Hirofumi (whom he calls ‘Lord Itō) was one of the young rōnin allied to those who attacked the mission, and that the British mission was aware of his activities before he became a minister of the state. Itō was a good friend of Britain by the mid-1860s, and so when he was teased about his former life by the British diplomats he didn’t deny it but merely laughed.

Parkes was of the view that since Japan was a nation well disposed towards Britain, and that since Parkes had been sent as the representative of the British government despite not being the actual leader of his nation, the British mission had in all respects abandoned its right to property within Edo, which was in fact the seat of government. The situation was thus an ‘anomaly’ to what should otherwise be the proper state of affairs for diplomatic missions. Mitford agreed, and so the two of them set out for Edo in order to find a building that could function as a permanent site for a mission. 

The site they settled on consisted of two long, single storey buildings (which by the early 20th century were almost falling down), with one of the buildings set aside for official duties and the other for personal use. The site itself was located a little removed from Sengakuji, site of the graves of the 47 retainers. There was a guard house next to the gate entrance, into which would be placed soldiers from the 9th Norfolk Regiment, dispatched from Yokohama.   Mitford wrote that most Japanese he spoke to were surprised to learn that English troops had once protected Yokohama from their camp at Yamate, but this was the reality at the time of the opening of the foreign ports.

The British mission was also protected by a large number of guards, known as the “Betsu-te gumi”, most of whom were drawn from the ranks of lower class samurai and charged with the protection of the mission. However their principle task (according to the British diplomats) appeared to be to spy on the mission. Mitford reasoned that, under the Bakufu rule, no country in the world engaged in spying as much as Japan, and spying was considered to be more of an art than an occupation.  Officials were never allowed to operate by themselves, and would always be shadowed by a “metsuke”, with the same thing going for foreign diplomats.

He also describes a number of small, single storey houses that were built just below Sengakuji, and which he says were poorly constructed. They each featured a number of iron stoves, which were virtually useless as they would glow bright red if fires were lit inside them and fill the room with the smell of burning iron.  As such, it was better to endure the cold from the wind blowing in threw gaps in the windows and doors and down the long corridors than to light any fires. So for the first few nights, Mitford said that he and others tried to endure the cold as best they could, and went to bed early in an effort to try and stay warm, but to no avail. On the first night, Mitford was awakened by the sound of a bugle, and just like his experience in Yokohama jumped up out of bed pistol in hand expecting to have to repel intruders. On making enquiries, Mitford was informed that it was merely the guard making revelry, and so returned to bed to attempt to stay warm. 

Both Mitford and Satow felt that the small housing they were forced to reside in, under the gaze of the Betsu-te-gumi, made it a little like being imprisoned. Hence both of them petitioned the ambassador to give them permission to move to a nearby temple.  The ambassador was all for it, however given their restricted movements, it would take an unusual approach to get the Japanese authorities to agree to the measure. Hence the first thing Mitford and Satow did was to rent a section of a nearly temple known as Monryō-in. It was a small temple located around 100 yards from the mission on top of a hill, and had spectacular views of Edo bay.  Mitford and Satow thus became the first foreigners to be permitted to live in an area outside of a designated zone.  When they went on afternoon walks, even when they went the nearby mission, they were not able to escape the gaze of the Betsu-te-gumi. If they had been allowed to wander freely, they would have been able to interact more with the Japanese townspeople. Every now and then they would hear drunken bugle playing from the barracks attached to the  mission, but it was always a long way off so they didn’t give it much thought.

Years later Mitford paid a visit to the location of the temple, but found that nothing was left of the house that he and Satow lived in, and that the garden was overgrown with weeds and grass, which he said was “disappointing”. 

Mitford and Satow tried to live as frugally as possible, down to the smallest farthing. Instead of hiring an in-house cook and spending money on cooking ware and utensils, they had their meals brought to them from a nearby Japanese kitchen. These meals mostly consisted of rice and fish, occasionally supplemented with either chicken or duck meat.  On days when the weather wasn’t particularly good and fishermen weren’t able to fish, the kitchen owner would come around to apologise, bringing with him bamboo root and seaweed. Both Mitford and Satow would venture out together, although as Mitford was the senior, he was the one who had to write reports about their activities, but in actuality it was Satow who wrote the reports and offered advice. 

Japan, or more specifically western Japan, is currently recovering from the effects of an absolute deluge of water that mainly struck the prefectures of Hiroshima, Ehime, and Okayama over the weekend, with most of the damage to property and loss of life a result of flash flooding which led to river levees collapsing and innumerable landslides. To date, 158 people have been reported dead, with 72 missing and over 10,000 evacuated to temporary shelters. The SDF has been called out to help in recovery operations and to clear debris, along with emergency response organisations from the national and prefectural level.  To add to these woes, western Japan has just emerged from the ‘wet season’ (or tsuyu), meaning that average day temperatures in the disaster-affected zones are reaching in excess of 33 degrees Celsius. This, when combined with the high humidity that accompanies a typical Japanese summer, means that for both evacuees and rescuers alike, there is a risk of dehydration exacerbated by a lack of water supplies given that many water and gas lines have been ruptured (around 250,000 homes are without water in the most heavily affected prefectures). In towns and cities closer to the coastline this is less of a concern given that these areas are more populated, but for towns and villages further inland many of the roads leading into these areas have either been washed away or cut in two by rock and land slides, thus closing off the most convenient evacuation route and forcing residents to wait for helicopters to airlift them to safety. 

Relief efforts have been organised for the affected regions, with PM Abe announcing that he would forego a visit to Europe this week in order to deal with the after-effects of the disaster. Both the LDP and opposition parties have established relief funds for victims of the disaster, with NGOs engaging in fund raising activities and volunteers offering to assist in clean-up and recovery efforts.

While the situation itself is gradually improving, there are literal dark clouds on the horizon. With the most recent rainfall happening right in the middle of summer, further heavy rainfall can be expected to occur over the next few months, particularly when Japan enters its ‘typhoon season’ (usually August through to early October).  This could exacerbate problems as high winds coupled with heavy rains might increase the level of damage to property and lead to further loss of life.

It is in situations like this that Japan’s expertise in disaster response becomes obvious, given the speed at which evacuation centres have been established, rescue efforts coordinated, and temporary facilities installed to provide the essentials for everyday living. What Japan might require for the future, however, is more disaster oriented equipment, such as larger transport aircraft (say, either C-17s or even C-5s) or more All Terrain Vehicles (ATVs). Apparently Japan only possesses a single ExtremV ATV (dubbed the ‘Red Salamander’), which is used by the Aichi Prefecture Okazaki City Fire Brigade. Clearly in areas affected by flooding or landslides, such versatile vehicles could be very effective in transporting rescue crews or evacuating stranded residents, however it does not appear that any further purchases have been organised on a national scale. With predictions that similar disasters may become a regular feature of summer in Japan, it would seem far wiser to begin budgeting for these and other rescue-oriented pieces of equipment than, say, the purchase of further Osprey aircraft (about which many Japanese regional governments still retain serious doubts vis-à-vis safety).   

History, as an old axiom goes, it written by the victors. Through either good fortune, careful planning, meticulous execution (in all meanings of that word) or some other advantage, certain persons are destined to be remembered for their merits while others stand condemned for their sins. Yet the wheel of history sometimes turns in favour of the ‘wicked’, and on occasion reputations can be raised up from the mire of infamy and cast into the light of redemption. Japanese history is no exception to this trend, and recent scholarship has brought about a reinterpretation of the motives and methods used by certain historical individuals in pursuit of their interests. This blog has explored one of those figures, Akechi Mitsuhide, whose name was synonymous with ‘traitor’ for having rebelled against and ultimately caused the death of Oda Nobunaga (who himself might be regarded as a historical ‘villain’), yet many others come to mind – from Fujiwara no Kaneie, to Taira no Masakado, Taira no Kiyomori, Nichiren, Hōjō Masako, Hōjō Takatoki, Kō no Moronao, Ashikaga Takauji, Ashikaga Yoshimitsu, Ashikaga Yoshimasa (noticing a trend here?), Hino Tomiko, Saito Dōsan, Kennyo, Tokugawa Tsunayoshi, the list goes on.

The figures outlined above are notable for the fact that in some way or another they fought against and on occasion prevailed against the perceived wisdom and authority of their day, whether it be the Imperial court, other warrior houses, influential religions, or social mores. In insisting on their rights and views, they collided with other prominent historical figures of their day, and their misfortune was to be on the losing side when the historical record came to be written (or lost).
Take, for example, the case of Hino Tomiko.  Here was a woman born into an aristocratic family tied to the Ashikaga shōgunate, who was married to the 8th Ashikaga Shōgun Yoshimasa at the age of 16. In the early 1460s Tomiko gave birth to a number of girls, but was unable to have any sons. This state of affairs was obviously a concern for the continuation of the Ashikaga household, so much so that Yoshimasa’s brother, originally known by his Buddhist name Gijin (as he had taken the tonsure and retired from public life), was brought back from the monastery, given the name Ashikaga Yoshimi, and was expected to succeed Yoshimasa in the position of shōgun.

However fate can sometimes conspire to play cruel tricks on mere mortals. In 1465 Tomiko gave birth to a son, Yoshihisa, which set off a series of events that would eventually lead to the Ōnin War. You see, Yoshimi had a powerful supporter in the form of Hosokawa Katsumoto, who believed that Yoshimi’s claim to the position of shōgun superseded that of Yoshihisa and so Yoshimi should become the 9th Ashikaga shōgun and was prepared to back him in that claim.

Tomiko had other ideas, however. Having tried for years to have a son, and with one finally available, Tomiko declared that Yoshihisa, as the son of Yoshimasa, had more claim to the shōgunate than Yoshimi. In order to support her claim, she appealed to Hosokawa rival Yamana Sōzen as well as her own Hino aristocratic family. This led to a direct standoff between the Hosokawa and Yamana clans, which in turn branched out to affect relations between other warrior and aristocratic families not only in the capital but also in the provinces, leading in turn to an outbreak of violence between supporters of the Hosokawa and Yamana in Kyoto in 1465.   

This conflict, known as the Ōnin War, would last for approximately 11 years, during which much of Kyoto burnt to the ground, Katsumoto and Sōzen both died, and the power of the central aristocratic and military families waned as regional warlords rose to take their place. Tomiko would survive all of this, and would see Yoshihisa succeed as the 9th shōgun, albeit to a much weakened government and an unstable realm.  Nonetheless, in her capacity as the wife of one shōgun and the mother to another, for which she was normally referred to as the ‘Midai-dokoro’ (御台所), she wielded considerable power for a woman in an age when women were not expected to play a prominent role in political and societal affairs (it certainly helped that she may, or may not, have also been secretly corresponding with Emperor Go-Tsuchimikado and carrying on a relationship with him, thus increasing her authority among the organs of state in the capital).

This in part explains why Tomiko’s reputation underwent such a hammering by later generations of historical scholars. Other causes are related to the fact that in the aftermath of the Ōnin War, Tomiko, as the real source of authority, ordered the installation of toll gates at the seven entrances to Kyoto in order to collect funds for the rebuilding of the Imperial palace – the ‘Dairi’ (内裏) – as well as to celebrate the end of hostilities and the return of peace to the capital. It does appear, however, that the collection of tolls was used to increase Tomiko’s personal fortune, a situation that created resentment and resulted in 1480 in the outbreak of a tokusei ikki (a form of protest which demanded the forgiving of debts and other financial burdens) during which the toll gates were destroyed. Not to be thwarted, Tomiko ordered the toll gates to be re-established at the city entrances, thereby making her a target of anger from not only commoners but also members of the aristocracy.
For a state still recovering from the effects of war and famine, and given the precarious state of the Ashikaga shōgunate at this period in time, it does seem foolish of Tomiko to have provoked popular anger by imposing financial hardship on the residents of the capital (Tomiko was also linked to the decision by Yoshimasa to embark on the construction of the ‘Hana no Gosho’ (Ginkakuji) during the great famine of Chōroku-Kanshō from 1459 to 1461, a move for which Yoshimasa was harshly criticized and admonished by Emperor Go-Hanazono).   On the other hand, the Imperial palace was restored, although it would be another 30 years before any festivals were held in the capital.

It does seem that historical memory has conspired to ensure that Hino Tomiko’s memory remains forever tied to villainy, for her selfishness, her greed, and her indifference to the suffering of the people. Yet for around 40 years she managed to thrive in a society in a state of chaos, at the focal point of political and military power, dominating the shōgunate in a manner never to be repeated by any of the male successors to that position. Her rapacious nature may have been one born of necessity, given that the relative power of the shōgunate was waning in the face of challenges from other military houses which forced her to be ruthless. Yet she was loyal to those who served her interests, and her fortune enabled the Ashikaga shōgunate to continue into the sixteenth century until its eventual demise in the 1570-80s.  As stated at the outset, history is written by the victors, and Tomiko’s misfortune was to be a powerful woman in an era where the instruments of state, overwhelmingly dominated by men, were falling apart. Her like would not be seen again until the emergence of Yodo-dono (also known as Cha-cha, concubine of Toyotomi Hideyoshi, and mother of Toyotomi Hideyori) in the late sixteenth century, whose reputation would be the subject of slander in the same manner as Tomiko.  

I’ve been assiduously trying to avoid writing about this topic for the past two weeks, however the amount of hullabaloo about it in Japan’s domestic media has made me feel that I should jot down my two cents about what really should have been a non-event. Recently, during an American football game between Nihon University and Kwansei Gakuin University, a defensive player for Nihon made what has been described as an “egregious” or “malicious” tackle on the quarterback of the opposing side, ostensibly putting that quarterback out of action for three weeks (although he subsequently returned to play a week later). After the game, the Kwansei Gakuin coaching staff lodged a protest with the Japan American Football Association, pointing out that the quarterback had already thrown the ball and was effectively not involved in the play when he was tackled by the Nihon player from behind, causing the quarterback to tear a knee ligament. Kwansei’s coaching staff thus demanded an apology from Nihon University and the suspension of the player and the Nihon University football team for the remainder of the season.

Then things become murky. Nihon University’s coaching staff, mainly consisting of former head coach Uchida Masahito and coach Inoue Tsutomu, initially denied that they had instructed the player to deliberately perform a dangerous tackle on the opposing quarterback. This did little to placate the coaching staff of Kwansei or the father of the injured quarterback, who held their own press conference in which they voiced their anger at how Nihon University was treating the matter. They were particularly incensed by former coach Uchida’s comments made to sections of the media following the game, in which he said that “if you don’t do that, you won’t win”, thereby admitting some involvement in the decision to make the tackle.  Pressure continued to build on the Nihon University coaching staff, so much so that Uchida was eventually forced to resign from his position not only as a coach but also as a member of the university’s executive committee.   

Yet the matter did not end there. Kwansei Gakuin pointed to a section of a letter received from Nihon University which ostensibly apologised for the incident, but stated that the problem had occurred because there was “a gap in understanding between the directions issued by the coaching staff and the manner in which the player received them”, thereby hoisting the blame for the tackle onto the Nihon player. The injured player’s father also made a reappearance in the media, stating that his son had submitted an aggravated assault complaint against Nihon University with the Osaka Prefectural Police and that he wanted to know whether the Nihon coaching staff had issued a directive for their player to make the dangerous tackle.

The Nihon player then held his own press conference in Tokyo (such was the level of interest in the story from across Japan, as a video of the tackle had been posted to Youtube and had subsequently been picked up by the major news networks), where he apologised to Kwansei Gakuin’s team, the injured player, and revealed that he had been directed by the coaching staff of Nihon to make the tackle after being warned that if he didn’t he would be left out of any subsequent matches.  One day later, Uchida and Inoue fronted the media once more, in which they denied giving any directions to deliberately injure the opposing quarterback, although during the same press conference Inoue did admit that he told the Nihon player to ‘crush the opposing quarterback’. Inoue added a proviso to this, however, saying that his expression had been ‘misinterpreted’ by the Nihon player.   

To cut a long story short, the Kansai Students American Football Association eventually met on the 30th of May, where Uchida and Inoue both had their qualifications as coaches revoked and Nihon University found its football team suspended for the remainder of the season, along with an obligation to reform its internal practices to ensure no repeat of the incident.

Japanese university team clubs generally conform to the ethos of fair play and responsible conduct, and so the this entire episode served as a focal point for (somewhat obsessive) commentary about the perceived decline in morals within Japanese society and a ‘win-at-all-costs’ mentality by which reputation means nothing and victory must come no matter what. It was also used to demonstrate that despite the passing of 70 or more years, Japanese society still possesses a mindset that puts obedience to hierarchy above all else even though it may be against one’s own best interests and/or morals (a topic that segues nicely into the scandals currently plaguing the Abe government). 

That might be reading too much into it, however. What is clear is that the coaching staff of Nihon gave their 19 or 20 something year old player an ultimatum that, given previous comments he presumably received regarding his performance, left him with little choice but to conclude that if he didn’t take out the opposing quarterback he’d be off the team. In hindsight that conclusion appears ironic, but for a young university football player desperate to show his talents and remain on the team, the decision was clear-cut.  Of course, the player could have chosen to just tackle the quarterback in a more conventional style, such as after the snap, but maybe he felt that this wouldn’t be enough to satisfy his coaches.

If there is any fault to be found here, it is in the way Nihon University dealt with the problem. Instead of issuing a blanket apology to Kwansei Gakuin, investigating the incident from all sides, and suspending the coaching staff while the investigation was underway, Nihon preferred to remain silent, then contrite, and then attempted to blame the player for the incident. It was cowardice on the part of Nihon to avoid taking responsibility for its actions, although in the current political climate, perhaps that’s only to be expected.

In the past I’ve written about the apparent apathy displayed by Japanese youth (or should that be ‘young people’) towards politics, but apathy may play less of a role than the relentless progress of population decline, particularly in rural areas. Evidence of the sharp decline in even relatively young people participating in regional politics because of the sheer lack of people of appropriate age to stand as candidates was made all the more evident by this article that appeared in the Nishi Nihon Shimbun on Wednesday.  Gokasechō, located in northern Miyazaki Prefecture, is set to have a town election in order to elect new members, yet as of the 22nd not a single person has put up their hand as a candidate. This is, according to the prefectural electoral office, the first time this has happened since records started to be collected on local elections in 1982, and speaks volumes about the crisis in ageing that affects rural districts across Japan.

In this state of affairs, any incumbents who happen to sit on town or village councils will presumably be re-elected by default, given there are no other candidates standing for election. The current mayor of Gokasechō, Ogasa Mayumi, says that they tried to get some young people and women to stand as candidates, yet were rebuffed with reasons such as not wanting to quit work or that it would be a burden on the family. Another reason highlighted in the article is that the remuneration for sitting on the town council is a mere 188,000 yen a month, which is well below the standard living wage and is the lowest such wage among all councils in the prefecture.

For those younger people living in rural areas, which in the case of Japan is something of a rare phenomenon, politics does not have much of a lure, for unlike city or even prefectural councils the decisions made at the local level are rarely influential and lack any of the ‘glamour’ associated with high-profile councils. Local council members often have to finance their own campaigns, which puts an additional burden on them when, in the case of younger town or village residents, they are still trying to establish their place in society and have other debts to consider.

Demographic squeeze is a problem that Japan has faced for over a decade, but the effects of that have mostly been confined to the welfare and education sectors. The steady regression in political participation in the regions has yet to be replicated in major urban centres, but it is only a matter of time before it does.  When that happens, expect to see a whole lot more advertising from the traditional political parties trying to make up for lost time and depict politics as ‘cool’, but by then the ship will have well and truly sailed. 

In a system dominated by access to party funding and generational politicians, the position of the independent representative will mostly depend on personal wealth and popularity, which is why politics will become a platform for entertainers and high-profile celebrities. This will serve to only emphasise the politics on urban areas and exacerbate the drop in political participation in rural areas. And this trend will continue unabated, for without an influx on new representatives local councils will stagnate and disappear, further marginalising the rural vote to the benefit of an entrenched and aging political class.  

Here’s an idea for a potential thesis. I wonder if anybody has taken the time to track the attitude towards women expressed by members of Japan’s ruling political class (aka, the LDP) and see if they have undergone any sort of progress in the last 30 years, because judging by commentary made this week by (serial gaffe meister) Asō Tarō and Lower House member for Nagasaki Kato Kanji, things don’t appear to have changed much at all. This is, after all, a party whose past members have condoned gang rape, proposed national awards for women who have more than 4 children, said that women were “machines to give birth”, said that women have ‘narrow vision’, said that women who don’t have children shouldn’t receive social welfare benefits, and so on (there are plenty more examples, but time constraints mean only the most recent and prominent could be assembled here).

For a party that has a specific platform to help women play a greater role in society, clearly something is amiss.  It might derive from the fact that Japan has the fourth lowest level of female participation in parliamentary politics among the OECD nations, with it ranked 159 out of 193 countries. A national assembly that has so little female representation is not likely to put much emphasis on issues concerning women, and most of those women in such parliaments find themselves pressured to conform to the views of the majority of their colleagues. 

It may also derive from the fact that a majority of those in the executive of the LDP are from a wealthy, privileged background, and whose privilege means that the women around them are likely to either have no formal employment or income source of their own, and whose only role has been that of mother (and briefly at that, given the prevalence of nannies and maids in these households). Any women they have come into contact with have been junior staff in their parliamentary offices, or general administrative staff in companies they have (briefly) worked for or in the Diet building. Their expectations towards women have been formed by their narrow interactions with them, and so their concept of women’s societal role is confined to ‘baby maker’ and little else.

What would be interesting to compare is whether these kinds of gaffes were as common or more prevalent in the past or whether awareness of them has only increased as a consequence of the spread of social media.  It would also be interesting to compare the type of commentary made to see whether any progress has been made in attitudes, or whether attitudes have remained fixated on certain select topics.  Of course not all members of the LDP share these views, and those comments made by LDP members that discriminate against women appear to be more of a reflection of their individual prejudices than an actual political platform, but their comments do their party no favours.

What a set of circumstances these are. In the wake of the resignation last week of Secretary of the Ministry of Finance Fukuda Junichi following allegations that he had engaged in sexual harassment towards a female journalist (from Asahi Television), the Abe government on Tuesday (24th April) agreed to accept Fukuda’s resignation. The only problem here is that Fukuda has never admitted that he did sexually harass the journalist, which essentially means that he’s escaped any imposition of punishment for his actions (and kept his pension).  In the meantime the opposition parties in the Japanese Diet are clamoring for the head of Finance Minister Aso Tarō, declaring that since Aso was the minister responsible for the ministry under which Fukuda was employed, he must have known of the allegations raised against Fukuda but did nothing to address them. 

The issue of sexual harassment is one that touches a very sensitive nerve in Japanese society, but the reaction to it illustrates the type of social attitudes that are more prevalent than not. While serial linguistic bomb thrower Aso has so far managed to avoid getting himself caught up in any gaffes, the same could not really be said for former Education and Science Minister Shimomura Hirofumi, who said that anyone (from a television station) who secretly records a conversation and then sells that to a weekly tabloid magazine has essentially committed a crime.  Keidanren chairman Sakakibara Sadayuki followed this up on Monday when he questioned the methods used by the female journalist when speaking to Secretary Fukuda (namely an invitation to drinks and a one-on-one interview), saying this could lead to ‘misunderstandings’ and perhaps restrictions should be placed on how journalists are able to conduct such interviews.

While the #Metoo movement had garnered considerable attention abroad, its message of gender equality and respect has yet to permeate the very male dominated social conscience of Japan. It’s not that Japanese women aren’t trying to make changes, it’s just the challenge confronting them is so great that any victories are difficult to notice against the overall size of the problem.   

One female journalist who has experienced the worst of a male-dominated social system and yet has chosen to resist the expectations placed on her (and others like her) in order to speak openly about the issue of rape and harassment in the Japanese workplace is Ito Shiori. Ito wrote about her experience of being drugged and raped by a more senior colleague while working at the Washington branch of TBS Television, and the struggle to get authorities to treat her case with the seriousness that it deserved.  It is an illustrative case of how power and social expectations combine to silence any criticism of the status quo, and how far Japanese women have to go to change social mores that still regard them as an afterthought in comparison to the demands of men.     

There is no doubt that the figure of the ‘ninja’ is one that has permeated popular culture from Japan to all corners of the globe.  The typical depiction of a ninja, or ‘shinobi’ as they were more often called, is one of a black clad figure moving swiftly through a castle scene at night to carry out an assassination or infiltrate an enemy camp to steal information pertinent to victory.  Yet the historical reality of ninja was more complicated, and certainly more diverse, than the image presented to us on the movie screen or in serialized novels.  For instance, the very concept of a ‘ninja’ varies according to both time and place, and Japanese history is replete with examples of individuals who did not identify themselves as ‘ninja’ or belong to a region (such as the two most well-known enclaves of ninjutsu in Iga and Koga) that knowingly practiced ninjutsu.  One such example is that of Saika Magoichi (雑賀孫市), an individual whose origins are surrounded in mystery, but who most certainly existed during the latter stages of the Sengoku era, and whose exploits would make him the stuff of legend.

My first encounter with Magoichi came as a result of study that I undertook at Ōtani Univesity a decade ago when researching the role of regional, lower class samurai (or jizamurai) in the gradual spread of villages affiliated with the Ikkō faith and loyal to the main Ikkō temple of Honganji.  One organization that kept coming up again and again in studies devoted to the rural adoption of Jodō Shinshū and its gradual militarization was the Saika-gun located on the Kii peninsula (modern Wakayama Prefecture). The Saika-gun were somewhat unique among the various militarized groups that existed at the time in that they adopted an entirely foreign weapon, the arquebus, or matchlock musket, as their principle means of offence and defence, and were remarkably successful in both production and application of this technology. 

Magoichi himself, according to this study of individual shinobi during the Era of the Warring States, was ruler of Saika-castle (which sounds ostentatious, but in reality amounted to an earthen fort with wooden walls and some buildings of plaster and stone) and lord over a territory that produced 70,000 koku (the standard definition of wealth for the Sengoku period – essentially 1 koku equaled the amount of rice necessary to feed one retainer for a year). He was the son of Suzuki Satao, and was formally known by the name Suzuki Magoichi Tao Shigetomo. He was never called by his formal name, preferring instead to go by his more casual nomenclature.  According to legend, Magoichi spent his adolescence as a pirate, plundering any vessels that strayed too close to the shoreline of the Saika peninsula.  He was said to have a gregarious, outgoing personality, and, as often accompanies such traits, had a great affinity for women and alcohol.

This personality naturally led people to gravitate towards him, and in time he found himself appointed as the leader of the Saika group of musketeers. His armour was certainly individualistic, punctuated by a helmet resembling an iron pot and a cuirass resembling fish scales and a banner depicting a three legged divine messenger; the Crow of Kumaya Yata. He bore a favourite musket, which he dubbed ‘Aiyama Gohō’, and led a unit of 2,000 musketeers into battle.

The Saika area was a broad expanse of land facing the Waka Bay, and its location made it a favourite for those people returning from journeys to the continent. Many of these travelers possessed knowledge of metal working, and contributed to the development of a local brand of blacksmithing known as the “Kii – Corean Style”.  Many of those blacksmiths had been to Tanegashima to learn both musket technology and tactics, and subsequently brought that knowledge back to the Kii peninsula.  One such smith, known as Tsuda Kenmotsu Kazunaga, the elder brother of the banner man (or leader) of the Negoro temple group, Sugino Bōmeisan, taught the techniques for arms manufacturing and musket tactics to both the Saika and Negoro group of followers, and in the case of the Saika was responsible for organizing them into a coherent, militarized unit. 

The Tsuda school of arms forging derived from the imagination of a master craftsman, however Magoichi was the key person in combining both this technology and the form of ninjutsu practiced by the Saika group to become a master of guerilla warfare.  The Saika group that Magoichi led were not warmongers, and certainly did not seek to become involved in conflict out any desire for thrills or adventure.  The Saika group took as their purpose the creation of a stable, prosperous country, and knew that in order to realise such a vision they would need money. Their involvement in conflict thus stemmed from the fact that they were, in essence, mercenaries, in that they would accept payment from daimyō from across Japan in exchange for providing their services as musketeers in various conflicts throughout the nation.  One unique aspect to the Saika group was that they fought more for ideological reasons that purely fiscal ones, often refusing their services to any force they deemed hostile to their interests or whom they simply didn’t agree with, not matter how great the offer made.

The Saika, and Magoichi in particular, were devoted followers of the Ikkō sect, and fought in battles against Oda Nobunaga under orders from the head of the Hongaji temple, Kennyo, in the latter 16th century.  The first conflict involving Magoichi against the Oda forces took place on the 12th and 13th days of the 9th month of the first year of Genki (1570).   In the 7th month of the same year, the forces of the Miyoshi clan (consisting of three parts, led by Miyoshi Nagayuki, Iwanari Tomomichi, and Miyoshi Masayasu) were expelled from the island of Awa (which lies between the modern prefectures of Osaka and Tokushima-Kagawa) by Oda Nobunaga. In order to exact their revenge, all three forces, with a combined strength of 13,000 troops, landed and made camp at Nakashima Tenma no Mori in Settsu province (now part of Kita-ku in Osaka City).  Magoichi and the Saika group were included in those forces.

The Miyoshi army took up positions within forts belonging to the Honganji temple at Noda and Fukushima in Settsu province.  At the outset of the conflict fortune favoured the Miyoshi, however in the 8th month word reached the Miyoshi that Nobunaga had departed from Gifu (in Owari province) with a force of approximately 40,000 troops.  On the 18th of the 9th month, Nobunaga advanced his main camp to within range of the Miyoshi forces at Tenma no Mori. Prior to this, on the 12th, Nobunaga sent his cannon and musket corps to open up proceedings by shelling and firing upon the Miyoshi camp.  The Miyoshi army, unable to withstand the attacks from the Oda, sued for peace, yet Nobunaga refused to parley and planned to wipe out the entire Miyoshi force.

In the middle of the night on the 12th, the bells of Honganji suddenly began to ring, signaling the beginning of a musket duel at the Oda held forts at Sakura-gishi and Kawaguchi. For Honganji, this was a sudden and unmistakable declaration of war on the forces of the Oda.

One section of the Oda forces was located in marshy land between the rivers of Kanzaki-gawa and Nakatsu-gawa. In the early hours of the morning of the 13th, a group approached this position flying a banner emblazoned with three stars. The banner was without question that of the Oda general Wada Koremasa. Seeing this, members of the Oda forces approached the group, believing that they were about to be reinforced. However the group suddenly halted at the edge of the Nakatsu-gawa river, threw away their three star banners, and raised a banner depicting the three legged Crow of Kumaya Yata.   

The armed group then spread out along the banks of the Nakatsu-gawa and proceeded to open fire on the Oda forces.  For the Oda, there was nowhere to hide, and certainly nowhere to which they could run. The group involved was of course that of the Saika under the leadership of Magoichi, using the ‘abandon banners strategy’. 

However, according to a different historical source, a particularly strong wind was blowing in the early hours of the 13th which was accompanied by heavy rain, causing the Yodo River to back up and overflow. The Oda force, rather than running away, decided that it would attack the force on the opposite side of the Nakatsu-gawa, however by the time they arrived on the far shore the Saika had already dispersed their forces and vanished.  The Oda forces spotted a group of about 10 or so soldiers whom they quickly set upon, only to discover that the soldiers they thrust their spears into and slashed with their swords were in fact dummies made of bamboo and dressed in the armour of ordinary foot soldiers (ashigaru).

Not only this, the Saika group had set up sharpened bamboo stakes in the grass along the river bank, causing many injuries to the Oda force and not a few casualties. 

Eventually news reached the Oda camp that the combined armies of the Asai and Asakura, together with their Ikkō allies, had launched an attack on the western shore of Lake Biwa and threatened to cut the Oda army off from its home base at Gifu. Realising the threat to his rear, Nobunaga raised camp and headed off in the direction of Kyoto, thus bringing his campaign against the Miyoshi to a quick conclusion.

Magoichi practiced a form of ninjutsu techniques known as the ‘five elements’. Among these was a range of guerilla tactics referred to as ‘earthen elements’.  A series of trenches and tunnels would be dug in the form of a maze which would allow the Saika to close the distance with their enemy without being seen. This would then allow the Saika to snipe at their enemy from all directions, thereby ensuring disorder in the enemy camp.  On occasion, a Saika group member would show themselves to their enemy, only to appear as though they had been swallowed up by a forest. An enemy soldier would give chase and rush into the same area, only to literally fall foul of a sharpened bamboo stick placed in a camouflaged pit.  Not only this, the Saika would create muskets out of bamboo and rig them to fire projectiles at random, thereby causing yet more casualties to an enemy force.

In the 5th month of Tenshō 4 (1576), Nobunaga yet again found himself in conflict against the Saika led by Magoichi. In the 7th month, Nobunaga installed a blockade against Honganji, attempting to starve the temple complex into submission.  Unable to achieve this objective, Nobunaga placed his fleet in and around the shores of Izumi province (location of modern Osaka prefecture), however they were set upon by the forces of the Murakami fleet, whose overwhelming numbers (estimated at 800 vessels) forced the Oda to retreat, and many Oda ships were lost to fires started by flaming arrows shot from the Murakami vessels.

In the second month of the following year, Nobunaga again set out to bring down the Honganji complex, but realized that in order to achieve this he would first need to deal with the potential threat presented by the Saika group.  At the outset, Nobunaga forced the surrender of some members of the Saika and Sugi no Bō of the Negoro group.  On the 15th day of the same month, Nobunaga invaded the Saika territory leading generals from fifteen provinces.  When word of this reached the Saika, their forces assembled at the mountain temple of Mirokuji, where Magoichi explained the strategy they would employ against the Oda. Sharpened wooden palisades would be installed along the riverbank of the Saika River, nets would be spread out, traps installed in river beds, and various other devices installed to hamper the progress of the Oda army.

The Oda army marched straight into these traps, resulting in many drownings, while those that survived would be sniped at by Saika musketeers at any opportunity.  However the overwhelming numbers of the Oda soon led to the Saika region being cut off from outside supplies, and on the 2nd day of the 3rd month the Saika forces made a vow to Nobunaga and surrendered.  Magoichi survived the surrender, and would later be involved in the attack on Fushimi Castle by the forces of Ishida Mitsunari in the lead-up to the Battle of Sekigahara.  In his later years he was granted the sum of 3,000 koku by Tokugawa Ieyasu, and would serve in the retinue of the first ruler of Mitō province, Tokugawa Yorifusa.