Samurai William: The Englishman Who Opened Japan (18 page)
Read Samurai William: The Englishman Who Opened Japan Online
Authors: Giles Milton
The
Globe
set sail from England’s south coast in the first week of February 1611 and made rapid progress toward the Cape of Good Hope, where the men dropped anchor and rowed ashore. Although Floris bemoaned the fact that “much refreshing was not here to be had at this time of the yeare,” the men managed to lade the
Globe
with eighty sheep and twenty cattle. This was more than enough to enable them to continue with their onward voyage to India, where they hoped to buy the cottons and chintzes that were so prized in Java and Siam.
Globe
set sail from England’s south coast in the first week of February 1611 and made rapid progress toward the Cape of Good Hope, where the men dropped anchor and rowed ashore. Although Floris bemoaned the fact that “much refreshing was not here to be had at this time of the yeare,” the men managed to lade the
Globe
with eighty sheep and twenty cattle. This was more than enough to enable them to continue with their onward voyage to India, where they hoped to buy the cottons and chintzes that were so prized in Java and Siam.
Floris and Antheunis had already visited the subcontinent and knew that there were three principal entrepôts on India’s eastern coastline—Pulicat, Petapoli, and Masulipatnam. Their attempt to
land in Pulicat, the most southerly port, almost ended in catastrophe when a ferocious storm blew up as they rowed ashore. “We were in greate distresse,” wrote Floris, “especially Mr. Browne, in regard of his sicknesse.” As Browne retched into the warm waters of the Bay of Bengal, the rest pulled on the oars and finally reached land, only to discover that trading prospects were poor. A band of Dutch adventurers had already staked out their claim on these shores, while the local governess—a testy lady of the court—refused to grant the men an interview. As the temperature soared and tempers frayed, Robert Browne took a turn for the worse. He was now vomiting so badly that Captain Hippon had to be brought ashore to care for him, but it was clear that his seasickness was compounded by some nasty tropical disease. Floris grew increasingly disgruntled with the way in which he was being treated and decided to set sail. After petulantly calling the governess an “olde whore,” he led his men back to the
Globe
and headed up the coast for Petapoli.
land in Pulicat, the most southerly port, almost ended in catastrophe when a ferocious storm blew up as they rowed ashore. “We were in greate distresse,” wrote Floris, “especially Mr. Browne, in regard of his sicknesse.” As Browne retched into the warm waters of the Bay of Bengal, the rest pulled on the oars and finally reached land, only to discover that trading prospects were poor. A band of Dutch adventurers had already staked out their claim on these shores, while the local governess—a testy lady of the court—refused to grant the men an interview. As the temperature soared and tempers frayed, Robert Browne took a turn for the worse. He was now vomiting so badly that Captain Hippon had to be brought ashore to care for him, but it was clear that his seasickness was compounded by some nasty tropical disease. Floris grew increasingly disgruntled with the way in which he was being treated and decided to set sail. After petulantly calling the governess an “olde whore,” he led his men back to the
Globe
and headed up the coast for Petapoli.
Trade here proved even less fruitful and Floris ordered the vessel to continue onward to Masulipatnam. Robert Browne was by now so wretched that he asked if he could be landed ashore and make for Masulipatnam overland. But he was too weak to climb into the ship’s pinnace and was therefore obliged to endure yet more pitching and tossing. After a further week of acute sickness, his pallid and mournful features suggested that the end was near. According to the ship’s journal, at “about nine of the clock, at night, deceased Mr Robt Browne … the nexte daye in the morning he was buried on shoare and, for a remembrance to suche as may come after, we erected a tombe for him.”
Masulipatnam presented the last opportunity for trade on this coastline, and Floris was determined to succeed. Although the local governor was a “villaine” and a “knave,” Floris managed to acquire chintzes, wraps, and painted cloth for extremely low prices. He was delighted that he had bought a considerable cargo “withoute having made any penny in badde debts” and was pleased to
note that “our estate is at present in very good being.” He could now steer the
Globe
in the direction of Bantam, where he was assured of acquiring yet more goods that would have a ready market in Pattani, on the Malay Peninsula.
note that “our estate is at present in very good being.” He could now steer the
Globe
in the direction of Bantam, where he was assured of acquiring yet more goods that would have a ready market in Pattani, on the Malay Peninsula.
Floris’s arrival in Bantam was greeted with great cheer by the dwindling band of Englishmen who had the misfortune to be based there. Augustine Spalding bemoaned the dearth of English shipping and told Floris of his difficulties in making money. The paucity of good men was his chief cause for concern; those that had been keenest to search out new markets had proved suspiciously inept at returning a profit. Spalding had only recently dispatched men to the swampy port of Sukadana on Borneo’s west coast, where diamonds were to be had for a song. But although these traders had been given generous supplies of silver, the factory soon found itself threatened with bankruptcy. “Our witts are not able to conceive to whose profite this is done,” wrote a sarcastic Floris, who knew all too well that the traders themselves had stolen the money.
Floris’s stay in Bantam gave him time to sell some of his cottons and plan the next stage of his voyage. Augustine Spalding encouraged him to sail to Japan, informing him that a Dutch ship had recently delivered the letter that William Adams had written the previous year to his “unknown friends and countrymen.”
“Havinge so good occasion by hearinge that certaine English marchauntes do lie in the island of Java … ,” it began, “I have emboldened myselfe to write these few lines.” Floris had already heard rumors that a lone Englishman was living in Japan, but he had no idea of the heights to which Adams had been raised. Spalding’s letter revealed that Adams was an influential member of the shogun’s inner circle, spoke fluent Japanese, and was the lord of a country estate that was close to Ieyasu’s court. It also contained the tantalizing news that Japan was a land of rich natural resources—and that the Japanese had an insatiable demand for imported goods. Floris was keen to head for the Land of the Rising
Sun and told Spalding that he would deliver any correspondence to Adams. But it was not feasible to sail directly to Japan. He first needed to dispose of the cottons that he had bought in India—and that meant heading to Pattani on the Malay Peninsula.
Sun and told Spalding that he would deliver any correspondence to Adams. But it was not feasible to sail directly to Japan. He first needed to dispose of the cottons that he had bought in India—and that meant heading to Pattani on the Malay Peninsula.
The
Globe
left Bantam in May 1612 on the next leg of a voyage that had already lasted fifteen months. So far, only seven men had been lost to sickness, but the curse of Bantam struck soon after they set sail, and the death toll rose alarmingly as they crossed the Java Sea and followed the eastern coastline of Sumatra. “It was the corruption of Bantam which now broke forth dailye,” wrote Floris, as he watched crew weaken and die. “This daye, we loste two men with the fluxe”—amoebic dysentery—while two days later “died Arthur Smith of the fluxe.” Many others were too weak to man the sails and rigging. Men were still falling sick when they arrived in the Gulf of Siam and dropped anchor at the dank and humid port of Pattani.
Globe
left Bantam in May 1612 on the next leg of a voyage that had already lasted fifteen months. So far, only seven men had been lost to sickness, but the curse of Bantam struck soon after they set sail, and the death toll rose alarmingly as they crossed the Java Sea and followed the eastern coastline of Sumatra. “It was the corruption of Bantam which now broke forth dailye,” wrote Floris, as he watched crew weaken and die. “This daye, we loste two men with the fluxe”—amoebic dysentery—while two days later “died Arthur Smith of the fluxe.” Many others were too weak to man the sails and rigging. Men were still falling sick when they arrived in the Gulf of Siam and dropped anchor at the dank and humid port of Pattani.
Situated on the Malay Peninsula, Pattani was still the base for a small group of Dutch traders—led by Victor Sprinckel—who had first turned up there in 1605. Like Bantam, it was a vibrant and cosmopolitan port. Exotically attired merchants from Siam used it as a depot and trading post, and ships irregularly plied their trade between Pattani and Japan. The quayside wharves were often stacked with Siamese sappanwood, which fetched a high price in Japan, while another important commodity was bezoar, a stone that was said to be efficacious against poison.
The Dutch merchants had found that life in Pattani was not al together disagreeable. “Women are commonly offered to strangers to do household service by day,” wrote one, “and other offices at night.” This could prove a most agreeable way to spend the sultry tropical nights, so long as the lady in question was not married. “Adultery is punished with death, inflicted by their parents in what kind themselves choose.”
The Dutch might have been expected to show friendship to Floris and Antheunis, but they did not approve of them working
for the English and offered only “disgust and distaste.” The elderly “queen” of Pattani proved to be a great deal more welcoming. Tall, flamboyant, and as lithe as a young damsel, she made a deep impression on Floris: “[She was] a comely olde woman, now about the age of threescore years.” Her favorite (and energetic) pastime was the “hunting of wilde buffes [buffaloes]” and she was also a keen dancer. She particularly enjoyed watching her courtiers make buffoons of themselves, and when she noticed that Floris and his men were also amused by the native dancing, she hectored them into performing their own little dance, “wherewith the olde queene was muche rejoyced.” She was usually extremely gregarious, but when she wished to terminate a conversation she simply pulled down a curtain between herself and her guests. Floris said that “in all the Indies, [I have] not seene many like unto her.”
for the English and offered only “disgust and distaste.” The elderly “queen” of Pattani proved to be a great deal more welcoming. Tall, flamboyant, and as lithe as a young damsel, she made a deep impression on Floris: “[She was] a comely olde woman, now about the age of threescore years.” Her favorite (and energetic) pastime was the “hunting of wilde buffes [buffaloes]” and she was also a keen dancer. She particularly enjoyed watching her courtiers make buffoons of themselves, and when she noticed that Floris and his men were also amused by the native dancing, she hectored them into performing their own little dance, “wherewith the olde queene was muche rejoyced.” She was usually extremely gregarious, but when she wished to terminate a conversation she simply pulled down a curtain between herself and her guests. Floris said that “in all the Indies, [I have] not seene many like unto her.”
Floris was carrying a letter from King James I to this comely queen and made great play of delivering it with all the pomp and pageantry he could muster. It was “laide in a bason of golde … [and] carried uppon an elephant with minstrells and a good many lances and little flaggs.” The queen was enchanted, giving Floris permission to build a factory there and to begin trade. This was a welcome development, but first he needed to cure his men. Fresh mangoes and pineapples proved of little help to those still suffering from dysentery,”which were in great number, seeming as if the plague had been in the shippe.” The sickness had first afflicted the humble sea dogs, but by the time the
Globe
arrived in Pattani, it had also struck the highest ranks. Captain Hippon was taken ill soon after their arrival and he continued to weaken until it was clear he would not recover. His death was a great loss, both in”the gouvernment of the shippe, as in matters touching the seas.” Next to succumb was the master’s mate, Thomas Smith, “an excellent astronomer and seaman,” who had safely guided the
Globe
through storms and shallows. More losses followed, until a total of nineteen men had perished.
Globe
arrived in Pattani, it had also struck the highest ranks. Captain Hippon was taken ill soon after their arrival and he continued to weaken until it was clear he would not recover. His death was a great loss, both in”the gouvernment of the shippe, as in matters touching the seas.” Next to succumb was the master’s mate, Thomas Smith, “an excellent astronomer and seaman,” who had safely guided the
Globe
through storms and shallows. More losses followed, until a total of nineteen men had perished.
from Johann Theodor de Bry and Johann Israel de Bry’s Indias orientales, 1607
.
.
The queen of Pattani (extreme right, astride an elephant) was a colorful character whose favorite pastime was hunting wild buffalo. “In all the Indies,” wrote Peter Floris, “[I have] not seene many like unto her.”
News of this disaster spread quickly through Pattani. The town’s criminal underclass decided it was time to strike at the English, breaking into their warehouse and stealing their precious Indian cottons. “We had theeves in the howse,” wrote Floris, “and [it] was the strangest robbery.” There were no fewer than fifteen men sleeping in the warehouse, with “Mr Lucas and I in a bedde aparte, lying close together, having a great blacke dogge lying under my cabin.” The gold and the most valuable cottons had been stowed in a huge coffer, and there was “no greater space betweene the bedde and coffer, butt that only the lidde might shutte and open.” Yet the feather-footed thieves managed to enter the room without waking the dog, smash the coffer’s padlock, and steal the money, cottons, and Floris’s rapier. “It is to be wondered that neither I nor nobody else in the house did see or heare anything,” wrote Floris, especially as there was “a burninge lampe hanging in the howse and watche kept in the yarde.”
Despite the setbacks, the men endeavored to sell their remaining cottons and acquire goods for Japan. Floris continued to be shunned by the other Dutchmen in the town, although he managed
to strike up a friendship with one adventurer, Peter Johnsoon, who announced that he was on the point of departing for Japan. When Floris realized that Johnsoon could be trusted, he asked if he would be so kind as to deliver a letter to Adams. Johnsoon said he would be “verye glad” to assist, “having an occasion to do a kindnesse to Mr Adam, to whom he was beholding.”
to strike up a friendship with one adventurer, Peter Johnsoon, who announced that he was on the point of departing for Japan. When Floris realized that Johnsoon could be trusted, he asked if he would be so kind as to deliver a letter to Adams. Johnsoon said he would be “verye glad” to assist, “having an occasion to do a kindnesse to Mr Adam, to whom he was beholding.”
The men on the
Globe
quickly discovered that trade in Pattani had been affected by wars in the surrounding region, and the once-prosperous merchants showed no desire to risk their money on Floris’s Indian luxuries. It was clear to all that they would have to look elsewhere for trade before they could strike out across the East China Sea. This decision was greeted with mixed feelings by the men. Some were more than ready to return home, having seen enough of death and disease, but others were thriving on hardship. One small band of adventurers, led by Lucas Antheunis, proposed an extraordinary expedition into the forested hinterland of Siam, where they believed they would be able to acquire the perfumed woods and exotic skins that were necessary for trade with Japan. Floris agreed to their proposal and helped them build a boat that could carry them to Siam. He promised to follow in the
Globe
as soon as he had exhausted all possibility of trade in Pattani.
Globe
quickly discovered that trade in Pattani had been affected by wars in the surrounding region, and the once-prosperous merchants showed no desire to risk their money on Floris’s Indian luxuries. It was clear to all that they would have to look elsewhere for trade before they could strike out across the East China Sea. This decision was greeted with mixed feelings by the men. Some were more than ready to return home, having seen enough of death and disease, but others were thriving on hardship. One small band of adventurers, led by Lucas Antheunis, proposed an extraordinary expedition into the forested hinterland of Siam, where they believed they would be able to acquire the perfumed woods and exotic skins that were necessary for trade with Japan. Floris agreed to their proposal and helped them build a boat that could carry them to Siam. He promised to follow in the
Globe
as soon as he had exhausted all possibility of trade in Pattani.
Antheunis and his men set off in the third week of July 1612 and reached the Siamese coast just over a week later. They were welcomed by local governors, who informed them that they must travel to inland Ayutthaya, the principal city in this steaming hot land, in order “to carry the newes of our arrivall [to the king].” Such a voyage would lead them into uncharted territory. There were no maps of Siam’s interior, and the English had very little idea as to what kind of people they would meet en route. Only one Englishman had ever visited Siam—an Elizabethan adventurer called Ralph Fitch, who had traveled overland from India almost thirty years earlier. When he eventually returned to England, his overriding memory was not of the trading possibilities, but of the
weird sexual customs of Siamese men. “[They] wear bunches, or little round balles, in their privy members,” he later recalled. “They cut the skin and so put them in, one into one side and another into the other side.” Fitch had been told that this painful custom was devised so “they should not abuse the male sexe,” but his interpreter had added with a wink that “the women do desire them.”
weird sexual customs of Siamese men. “[They] wear bunches, or little round balles, in their privy members,” he later recalled. “They cut the skin and so put them in, one into one side and another into the other side.” Fitch had been told that this painful custom was devised so “they should not abuse the male sexe,” but his interpreter had added with a wink that “the women do desire them.”
Antheunis and his men had little time to dwell upon such sexual customs; they were too busy trying to negotiate a passage up the mighty Chao Phraya River. Helped by a team of musket-wielding “blacks,” they rowed against the rippling current of this mud-filled river, passing through a sleepy little town called Bangkok. Here, they picked up the governor and his sidekick, “[who] received me with all kindness,” and continued their journey toward Ayutthaya. The voyage proved more and more difficult as they headed north, for the country was in an unsettled state and landing was dangerous. It also became increasingly hard to maneuver the heavily laden craft upstream. They passed mildewed temples and dank villages, and cursed the tropical humidity. The weather was atrocious, “now being in the time of raining,” and the men were constantly soaked to the skin. The current of the great river began to quicken and rapidly broke its low-lying banks, spilling muddy water into the thick vegetation. “The countrye being covered with water,” wrote one, “the tide came very fiercely downewards.” It took them more than four weeks to reach Ayutthaya, the ancient royal city that was the principal residence of King Intharaja and his court.
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