INSTEAD OF USING ONE of their permanent buildings, the Japanese erected a temporary wooden structure for their meeting with the Americans. It was located in a small village near Uraga.
At daybreak on Thursday, July 14, the Susquehanna and the Mississippi moved close to land, anchored, and aimed their guns at the shore. The men were prepared for battle in case their landing party was attacked.
Kayama came aboard as official host. He was dressed for the occasion in a costume made of multicolored silk, yellow velvet, and gold lace. Kayama may have looked magnificent by Japanese standards, but the Americans had to suppress their laughter. His trousers were so short and wide that the sailors thought they looked more like a petticoat.
All members of the crew were eager to set foot on Japanese soil, but since the ships had to be manned, they drew lots to determine who would go ashore. Fifteen launches carried about 100 marines, 100 sailors, and 40 musicians. Japanese guard boats flanked the Americans. As was customary, their oarsmen hissed as they rowed.
The American sailors and marines wore blue and white uniforms, officers were in full dress, and all were heavily armed with cutlasses and guns. As for “Admiral” Perry, his heavy uniform was buttoned to the throat despite the hot July weather. Tall and elegant, with sword at his side, he did indeed look like a Lord-High-Everything.
Perry proved to be a first-class showman, for he planned and staged a dramatic entrance. First, the marines formed two lines on the wharf. Then came sailors, marching to the lively music of two bands. Ships’ cannons saluted when Commodore Perry disembarked. Bands played “Hail, Columbia” when he landed. Perry was flanked by two tall handsome black bodyguards, who proved to be sensational. The Japanese had never seen black men before.
The Americans could not have been more startled if they had traveled in a time machine to King Arthur’s kingdom. The shore was a scene of feudal splendor. Thousands of Japanese soldiers encased in armor lined the beach. Some were pikemen. Others were archers, equipped with eight-foot bows. Two-sworded samurai warriors were everywhere. Lines of cavalry were stationed behind foot soldiers. Heraldic banners held high represented the daimyos to whom their soldiers owed allegiance. According to their tradition, warriors’ faces had to look fierce. A few soldiers wore ferocious-looking masks that had been designed to scare enemies. The soldiers glared and glowered as the Americans marched by.
In the background villagers milled about, jumping up and craning their necks to get glimpses of the barbarians. The officers’ uniforms with gleaming buttons and the wide epaulettes amused them. They never dreamed that clothing of this sort existed. Nor had they ever seen men with such long noses or with brown, blond, or red hair. And their size! The aliens were giants compared to Japanese men, who averaged five feet one inch. (Just as medieval European knights were shorter than modern men, nineteenth-century Japanese soldiers were smaller than today’s average Japanese male.)
OVERLEAF: The First Landing of Americans in Japan, July 14, 1853
reproduced from the collections of the Library of Congress
The Audience Hall
The Commodore and his officers entered a canvas tent that served as an anteroom, then walked a carpeted path to the main hall. The walls were draped with huge purple silk banners displaying the imperial coat of arms. The floor was covered with red cloth.
The Americans did not know that ten samurai were underneath, concealed beneath the floor, ready for a signal to rush out and kill Perry and his aides.
As soon as Perry entered, the “princes” Ido and Toda rose from low stools and bowed. The Americans were seated on chairs that had been hastily taken from a nearby temple. Buddhist priests sat on these when they conducted funeral services. Only then did they dangle their legs from chairs, because the Japanese usually kneeled and sat back on their heels—a posture that Westerners still find difficult.
President Fillmore’s letter was encased in a beautiful rose-wood box with locks and hinges made of gold. When the Commodore signaled, two ship’s boys carried the box to his bodyguards, who, in turn, placed the letter in a scarlet container supplied by the Japanese. A letter from Perry with Dutch and Chinese translations was also presented.
Kayama approached Prince Ido, got down on all fours, bowed his head to the floor, then received a Japanese document. He took it to the Commodore, then prostrated himself once again before “His High and Mighty Mysteriousness.”
Perry had not expected any written reply. His Dutch interpreter, Portman, explained that the document was merely an imperial receipt. It stated: “The letter of the President of the United States of North America and a copy are hereby received and will be delivered to the Emperor…. Therefore, as the letter has been received you can depart.”1
The entire procedure lasted about twenty minutes. Ido and Toda never uttered a word, because speaking with foreigners was against the law. A long silence was broken when Perry announced through his interpreters that he expected to leave in two or three days, and that he would return in the spring. “With all four vessels?” the Japanese interpreters asked.
The delivery of President Millard Fillmore’s letter
courtesy of the National Archives
“All of them,” Perry replied, “and probably more, as these are only a portion of the squadron.”2
The fleet departed on July 17, three days after the meeting on shore, nine days after the arrival at Edo Bay.
Before the Americans sailed away, Kayama came on board bearing presents of food, fans, pipes, and soup bowls. In turn, Perry gave him calico, sugar, wine, and books. At first Kayama was reluctant to receive gifts. Owning foreign objects was forbidden. However, he couldn’t resist. He concealed the books and bottles in his capacious gown. After bowing farewell to his American friends, he left with tears in his eyes. Kayama’s mood became less sad after he entered his own boat. He knocked off the neck of a wine bottle and drank its contents.
Poor Kayama was punished. Ido destroyed his gifts and had him demoted because he had been too friendly with the Americans.
Perry was proud of his accomplishment. Nearly sixty years old, he had added to a long and distinguished career. As an officer in the U.S. Navy he had hunted pirates and slave traders. He had successfully commanded the largest American naval force during the Mexican War (1846—1848). He had succeeded in peace talks with Mexican leaders and African chiefs. He modernized the navy by insisting upon steam-powered warships. But he knew that his Japanese encounter was more significant than any of his former achievements. Both Russia and England had attempted to open Japanese ports for foreign ships and failed. Although Perry was unwelcome and overwhelmed in numbers, he had dared to land on the sacred soil of a hermit nation. He was the first Western ambassador to be received in Japan in over 200 years. How proud he was that he did not have to fire one shot!
In a letter to his wife Perry wrote, “This achievement of mine I consider an important event in my life. The Pageant was magnificent, and I am the only Christian that has ever before landed peacefully on this part of Japan or any part without submitting to the most humiliating degradation.”3
The Commodore was referring to the Dutch, who were then being humiliated by the Japanese.