The Susquehanna was a steam-powered sailing ship.
courtesy of the National Archives
FOUR SHIPS AND 560 MEN of the U.S. Navy had created this furor. The Mississippi and the Susquehanna were steam-powered. The Plymouth and the Saratoga were three-masted sailing ships in tow behind the steamers. The Japanese referred to these four vessels as “The Black Ships of the Evil Men.”
Commodore Matthew Calbraith Perry was in command of the squadron. He had not come to invade. He hoped to be a peacemaker who would make the isolated Empire of Japan a member of “the family of civilized nations”1 of the world. His mission was to unlock Japan’s door. It had been slammed shut against all but a few Dutch and Chinese traders, the only ones officially allowed in for over 200 years.
Perry expected to deliver a letter from President Millard Fillmore to the Emperor of Japan, proposing “that the United States and Japan should live in friendship and have commercial intercourse with each other.”2 The letter requested that ports be opened so that American ships could obtain coal and provisions. (See Appendix A.)
America had invested seventeen million dollars in the Pacific whaling industry, and it needed Japanese ports to replenish coal and provisions for the whalers. Whale oil was essential for lighting and for lubricating machinery.
President Fillmore’s letter also asked that men who had been shipwrecked on Japanese shores be treated with kindness. This point was emphasized because many American whaling ships had been wrecked off Japan’s coast by violent storms, and their castaways had been jailed and abused.3
Perry intended to deliver the letter and sail away peacefully. He would winter in Hong Kong. With only four ships and supplies that could last no more than one month, he would not attempt to wait for the Emperor’s reply, but he planned to return in the spring—when he would have more supplies and a larger fleet.
The Commodore was determined not to use force unless attacked. But he felt that he could not trust the actions of unknown Orientals. He dared not take chances, for he remembered the Morrison, an American ship that had sailed into Edo Bay on a peaceful mission in 1837. Its intent was to return seven Japanese castaways to their homeland. The Japanese had opened fire and forced the ship to leave.
Commodore Matthew C. Perry
reproduced from the collections of the Library of Congress
As a precaution, Perry’s squadron anchored in battle formation facing the shore. Cannons and guns were loaded. All hands took up their battle stations.
Japanese guard boats approached the moored American ships. Each vessel, propelled by six to eight standing oarsmen, was filled with about thirty soldiers. Fastening ropes to the ships, they tried to climb on board. Commodore Perry ordered his sailors to cut the guard boats’ ropes and use pikes and cutlasses to keep the Japanese away. A few tried to climb the Mississippi’s anchor chain. A rap on the knuckles sent one soldier into the water. All of the Japanese soldiers howled and shouted angrily.
Perry’s stubborn refusal to allow them on board was based on the terrible experience of another American commodore. Seven years before, in 1846, Commodore James Biddle had anchored at Edo Bay, hoping to deliver a letter to the Emperor from the United States government. The letter requested trade relations between the two countries. As a friendly gesture, Biddle allowed swarms of Japanese soldiers to come aboard. A rude soldier gave Biddle a shove that knocked him off his feet. Anxious to keep peace, Biddle graciously accepted an apology, which was interpreted as weakness and cowardice. Japanese officials mocked him, refused to deliver documents, and ordered him to leave at once. Because his orders were not to create an incident, Biddle immediately sailed away.
Perry resolved that until negotiations were successful, he would not allow more than three officials on board at a time.
A Japanese guard boat rowed close to the Commodore’s flagship, the Susquehanna. Its men held up a scroll, written in large letters, in French, that said, “Go away! Do not dare to anchor!” Then one of the Japanese shouted in English, “I can speak Dutch.”4 He asked to come aboard. AntÓn Portman, Perry’s Dutch-Japanese interpreter, came on deck. He explained that the Commodore would only allow the highest officials on his ship. When told that there was an important person in the guard boat, he lowered a gangway ladder.
Interpreter AntÓn Portman, drawn by an unknown Japanese artist
courtesy of the Chrysler Museum
Nakajima, introduced as vice-governor of the small nearby village of Uraga, climbed up. In fact, Nakajima was not a vice-governor but merely a minor official. He was accompanied by a Dutch-speaking interpreter.
Commodore Perry secluded himself in his cabin. He refused to be seen by a vice-governor or, indeed, by any but the most important emissaries of the Emperor. Lieutenant John Contee was told to speak with Nakajima. Contee explained that the Commodore’s intentions were friendly. Perry merely wished to present a letter from the President of the United States to the Emperor of Japan. Nakajima replied that the American ships must go to the port of Nagasaki, where there was a Dutch trading post so that the Dutch could act as go-betweens.
Through his lieutenant, Perry let it be known that he would never go to Nagasaki and if all guard boats didn’t disperse immediately there would be trouble. Nakajima went to the gangway, shouted an order, waved his fan, and all guard boats except his own departed at once. When Nakajima took his leave he promised that a higher official would see Perry the next day, Saturday, July 9.
That night, when the meteor streaked across the sky, Perry noted in his journal that this was a favorable omen: “…we pray God that our present attempt to bring a singular and isolated people into the family of civilized nations may succeed without resort to bloodshed.”5