Samurai William: The Englishman Who Opened Japan (19 page)
Read Samurai William: The Englishman Who Opened Japan Online
Authors: Giles Milton
The king was delighted—if a little surprised—by the arrival of his uninvited guests, asking “how long we had been from home, and, after that, bidde us welcome and promised us free trade.” He listened attentively to their explanation of how they wished to acquire supplies for Japan and, marveling at the bravado of these Englishmen, presented everyone with “a little golden cuppe and a little piece of clothing.” He soon proved even more generous, providing
the English with a “faire howse”—made of brick—“which may yett serve many yeares.” The “howse” proved too comfortable for a few of Antheunis’s adventurers, who began to harbor wild and foolhardy dreams of pushing even farther north, into Siam’s tropical hinterland. They hoped to reach the fabled city of Luang Prabang, which was deep in the wooded mountains of what is today the northernmost province of Laos. This oriental backwater was accessible only by rowing for many weeks up steaming, fast-flowing rivers whose dripping banks were lined with dense monsoon forests. These concealed any number of dangers, as well as an array of weird animals: langurs, gibbons, monkeys, and flying squirrels. The inhabitants were said to be ferocious and savage. The Dutchman John Huyghen van Lindschoten, who had spent many years in Goa gathering information on the East, said they “live like wild men and eat men’s flesh, and marke all their bodies with hot iron, which they esteeme a freedome.”
the English with a “faire howse”—made of brick—“which may yett serve many yeares.” The “howse” proved too comfortable for a few of Antheunis’s adventurers, who began to harbor wild and foolhardy dreams of pushing even farther north, into Siam’s tropical hinterland. They hoped to reach the fabled city of Luang Prabang, which was deep in the wooded mountains of what is today the northernmost province of Laos. This oriental backwater was accessible only by rowing for many weeks up steaming, fast-flowing rivers whose dripping banks were lined with dense monsoon forests. These concealed any number of dangers, as well as an array of weird animals: langurs, gibbons, monkeys, and flying squirrels. The inhabitants were said to be ferocious and savage. The Dutchman John Huyghen van Lindschoten, who had spent many years in Goa gathering information on the East, said they “live like wild men and eat men’s flesh, and marke all their bodies with hot iron, which they esteeme a freedome.”
Undaunted by the prospect of being eaten, a few men headed north in early 1613, hoping “to discover the trade of that country.” They took with them a large quantity of red gingham, cotton yarn, and painted linen, and began rowing up the Chao Phraya River, passing mighty teak trees and huge jungles of bamboo. It soon became apparent that trade was impossible, for war had displaced many of the merchants, and they returned with a small quantity of “gold, badly conditioned.”
Antheunis had not been idle while his men ventured into northern Siam. Learning from Ayutthaya’s merchants that the Japanese had an insatiable appetite for sappanwood, he watched in amazement as two Japanese junks moored at the city’s riverside quay and filled their holds with a huge and expensive cargo. He was even more surprised to discover a Dutchman among their crew. His name was Jan Joosten van Lodensteijn, one of the survivors of the
Liefde
, who told Antheunis how he had begun trading with Indo-China and expected to reap “good profite.” Soon after, Antheunis encountered another of the
Liefde
’s survivors,
Melchior van Santvoort, who had already made himself a fortune from the Indo-China trade. Antheunis quizzed Santvoort about William Adams and asked if he would deliver King James I’s letter to the shogun. Santvoort graciously agreed, paving the way for the
Globe
’s arrival in Japan.
Liefde
, who told Antheunis how he had begun trading with Indo-China and expected to reap “good profite.” Soon after, Antheunis encountered another of the
Liefde
’s survivors,
Melchior van Santvoort, who had already made himself a fortune from the Indo-China trade. Antheunis quizzed Santvoort about William Adams and asked if he would deliver King James I’s letter to the shogun. Santvoort graciously agreed, paving the way for the
Globe
’s arrival in Japan.
While Antheunis and his men were busy in Ayutthaya, Floris had sailed the
Globe
from Pattani to Siam. As he anchored the vessel at the mouth of the Chao Phraya River, a huge bank of black clouds announced the imminent arrival of a tremendous tropical storm. Inland Ayutthaya was its first victim. Severe winds struck the town on October 24, 1612, and caused instant and devastating destruction. “[There] arose suche a suddayne storme and running aire,” wrote one of the Englishmen, “that olde folkes had never seen the like in that country; the trees were blowne oute of the grounde.”
Globe
from Pattani to Siam. As he anchored the vessel at the mouth of the Chao Phraya River, a huge bank of black clouds announced the imminent arrival of a tremendous tropical storm. Inland Ayutthaya was its first victim. Severe winds struck the town on October 24, 1612, and caused instant and devastating destruction. “[There] arose suche a suddayne storme and running aire,” wrote one of the Englishmen, “that olde folkes had never seen the like in that country; the trees were blowne oute of the grounde.”
It was not long before the storm slammed into the
Globe
. Two of her anchor cables snapped and she began to drift toward “very sharpe rockes,” which threatened to crush her to splinters. It was fortunate that the crew on board were able to maneuver her into deeper water. Eight of their companions were not so lucky. They had the misfortune to be manning the pinnace when the storm struck. “Before they could gette aboard, they sawe the shippe go away”—blown beyond their reach by the hurricane-force wind. They rowed toward her with all their strength, but monstrous waves were now racing in from the sea, engulfing their fragile craft. “The boate was beate to the grounde,” wrote Floris later, “and four men drowned.” The boatswain, George Ponder, had a most unpleasant death. He was “devoured of a whale”—swallowed whole like Jonah—which circled the ship as it slowly digested its meal.
Globe
. Two of her anchor cables snapped and she began to drift toward “very sharpe rockes,” which threatened to crush her to splinters. It was fortunate that the crew on board were able to maneuver her into deeper water. Eight of their companions were not so lucky. They had the misfortune to be manning the pinnace when the storm struck. “Before they could gette aboard, they sawe the shippe go away”—blown beyond their reach by the hurricane-force wind. They rowed toward her with all their strength, but monstrous waves were now racing in from the sea, engulfing their fragile craft. “The boate was beate to the grounde,” wrote Floris later, “and four men drowned.” The boatswain, George Ponder, had a most unpleasant death. He was “devoured of a whale”—swallowed whole like Jonah—which circled the ship as it slowly digested its meal.
The accident had a profound effect on the survivors. Alone in tropical waters and stricken with fear, they bickered with each other and made “injurious speeches to the captain.” Drink was the easiest way for them to forget their predicament. John Johnson,
the master, was so drunk and disorderly that he attacked his captain “very scornefull and injuriously, calling him rogue, rascall, dogge, and other such-like vile woords.” He shouted, screamed, and, “rising at laste, stroke at him.” Floris fought back and the two “were wrestling together till some came to parte them.” Johnson was locked in a cabin to calm down, but he proved so uncontrollable that Floris “caused him to be nailed up.” Even this precaution was inadequate. Johnson smashed down the door and stumbled on deck with “a naked dagger in his codpisse.” This time he was seized and locked up in a more secure cabin from which he was unable to break free.
the master, was so drunk and disorderly that he attacked his captain “very scornefull and injuriously, calling him rogue, rascall, dogge, and other such-like vile woords.” He shouted, screamed, and, “rising at laste, stroke at him.” Floris fought back and the two “were wrestling together till some came to parte them.” Johnson was locked in a cabin to calm down, but he proved so uncontrollable that Floris “caused him to be nailed up.” Even this precaution was inadequate. Johnson smashed down the door and stumbled on deck with “a naked dagger in his codpisse.” This time he was seized and locked up in a more secure cabin from which he was unable to break free.
The men’s appalling behavior broke Floris’s adventurous spirit. He was still toying with the idea of sailing the
Globe
over to Japan, but Pattani’s merchants warned him that “those of Japan are at enimitie with this place, and have burned Pattani twice in these five or six yeares.” He was also faced with an increasingly unruly crew, who were in no mood for any more adventure. The oppressive climate of Pattani sapped their spirits and tropical diseases broke their bodies. Many were “inclined to druncke drincking” and refused to be parted from their beloved liquor. “It is hard,” concluded a weary Floris, “for a leopard to alter his spots.” He continued in his attempt to sell cottons, but even his enthusiasm was dented when Pattani caught fire and was largely destroyed. In October 1613, he weighed anchor and set sail for India, leaving a handful of men in the charred remains of Pattani. A few more chose to stay in their lonely Siamese outpost at Ayutthaya, where they were led by the dauntless Lucas Antheunis. Isolated from the outside world, yet hopeful that English shipping would return to Siam, Antheunis began stockpiling the sappanwood that commanded such high prices in Japan.
Globe
over to Japan, but Pattani’s merchants warned him that “those of Japan are at enimitie with this place, and have burned Pattani twice in these five or six yeares.” He was also faced with an increasingly unruly crew, who were in no mood for any more adventure. The oppressive climate of Pattani sapped their spirits and tropical diseases broke their bodies. Many were “inclined to druncke drincking” and refused to be parted from their beloved liquor. “It is hard,” concluded a weary Floris, “for a leopard to alter his spots.” He continued in his attempt to sell cottons, but even his enthusiasm was dented when Pattani caught fire and was largely destroyed. In October 1613, he weighed anchor and set sail for India, leaving a handful of men in the charred remains of Pattani. A few more chose to stay in their lonely Siamese outpost at Ayutthaya, where they were led by the dauntless Lucas Antheunis. Isolated from the outside world, yet hopeful that English shipping would return to Siam, Antheunis began stockpiling the sappanwood that commanded such high prices in Japan.
While Floris and his crew were suffering in Pattani, Bantam was hosting a new band of English adventurers. These were led by the
irrepressible Captain John Saris, who had already visited the port more than three years earlier. Now, in October 1612, he sighted Bantam for a second time and nudged his ship, the
Clove
, into the harbor. He was not pleased to be back. The weather was insufferably hot and the plague of mosquitoes made the twilight hours a misery. “The place here is so unhealthfull,” he wrote, and bemoaned the fact that his men were “dangerously disordering themselves with drinke and whores ashoare.” Whoring in Bantam was indeed a dangerous pastime, for the town’s prostitutes were riddled with syphilis. The boatswain’s mate, John Scott, was the first to die, “his gutts eaten with the pox.” Saris added: “God help the rest; many of them [are] infected, by the report of the surgion.”
irrepressible Captain John Saris, who had already visited the port more than three years earlier. Now, in October 1612, he sighted Bantam for a second time and nudged his ship, the
Clove
, into the harbor. He was not pleased to be back. The weather was insufferably hot and the plague of mosquitoes made the twilight hours a misery. “The place here is so unhealthfull,” he wrote, and bemoaned the fact that his men were “dangerously disordering themselves with drinke and whores ashoare.” Whoring in Bantam was indeed a dangerous pastime, for the town’s prostitutes were riddled with syphilis. The boatswain’s mate, John Scott, was the first to die, “his gutts eaten with the pox.” Saris added: “God help the rest; many of them [are] infected, by the report of the surgion.”
Saris had long dreamed of sailing to Japan. On his previous voyage to Bantam, he had researched the possibilities of trade with this unknown realm and concluded that luxury goods could reap spectacular profits. He envisaged making his fortune from silks and satins, “sugar-candie,” and sandalwood, and he learned from Bantam’s merchants that the Japanese had a passion for “lascivious stories [paintings] of warres, by sea and land.” He took his report back to Sir Thomas Smythe in London, who was more than willing to let Saris pursue his dream. Although the captain was reminded that India was “the maine and principall scope of this our voyadge,” Saris was given free rein to push even farther east. “We wishe you, Captain John Saris, to proceed with the
Clove
and, with all possible speede that you may, endevor your course for Japan.”
Clove
and, with all possible speede that you may, endevor your course for Japan.”
John Saris was a curious choice of commander for such a delicate mission. He was both a martinet and an eccentric—a tough disciplinarian who had an unusually colorful streak. He had a passion for pornography and erotica, and his cabin was decorated with an array of plump and buxom nudes. The glory of his collection was a large canvas of a naked and plump-breasted Venus, “very lasiviously set out,” but he had many other items—he coyly
referred to them as his “bookes and pictures”—which he would show to honored guests in the privacy of his own cabin.
referred to them as his “bookes and pictures”—which he would show to honored guests in the privacy of his own cabin.
from Miyako meisho zu byobu, Tokyo
.
.
Captain Saris’s research into Eastern trade had revealed that the Japanese were avid consumers, as this Kyoto street scene suggests. Saris hoped to make his fortune from silks, satins, “sugar-candie,” and sandalwood.
Saris’s pornographic peccadilloes were unknown to the directors of the East India Company in the spring of 1611. In their eyes, this straight-talking young man was the perfect choice of commander. He was a younger son, like so many company servants, who had turned to the sea when he realized that he stood to inherit none of the family patrimony. His flamboyant streak
suited Smythe admirably; he could play the English ambassador with some skill—and would have to, for he was carrying yet more letters written by King James I—but he could also be the gruff, sharp-talking sea dog. His men would later complain that he had an “ill carriage” and a “tyrannicall manner,” but they probably accepted that tongue-lashings and floggings were necessary for discipline.
suited Smythe admirably; he could play the English ambassador with some skill—and would have to, for he was carrying yet more letters written by King James I—but he could also be the gruff, sharp-talking sea dog. His men would later complain that he had an “ill carriage” and a “tyrannicall manner,” but they probably accepted that tongue-lashings and floggings were necessary for discipline.
Under Saris’s capable command, the
Clove
made swift progress around the Cape of Good Hope and on to the Comoros Islands, off the coast of Madagascar, where the captain had his first opportunity to practice his ambassadorial charms on a native ruler. He ordered his men to give a fanfare of trumpets for the exotic King Booboocaree, then invited His Majesty to a banquet. Apart from the fact that it was Ramadan and the king was fasting, the meeting was a triumph. Saris performed even better when he reached the dusty shores of Arabia and so charmed the governor of Mocha with his pleasantries and frothy chat that, before he knew it, he had been whisked into a private chamber, where the governor kept “his buggering boyes.” Saris was horrified, quickly made his excuses, and left, but not before the governor had helped him slip into a smart new costume—his present—which included a vest of gold, a sash, and a flamboyantly striped turban.
Clove
made swift progress around the Cape of Good Hope and on to the Comoros Islands, off the coast of Madagascar, where the captain had his first opportunity to practice his ambassadorial charms on a native ruler. He ordered his men to give a fanfare of trumpets for the exotic King Booboocaree, then invited His Majesty to a banquet. Apart from the fact that it was Ramadan and the king was fasting, the meeting was a triumph. Saris performed even better when he reached the dusty shores of Arabia and so charmed the governor of Mocha with his pleasantries and frothy chat that, before he knew it, he had been whisked into a private chamber, where the governor kept “his buggering boyes.” Saris was horrified, quickly made his excuses, and left, but not before the governor had helped him slip into a smart new costume—his present—which included a vest of gold, a sash, and a flamboyantly striped turban.
Saris finally reached Bantam at the end of October 1612 and began preparing for the onward voyage to Japan. He knew that he would be totally dependent on William Adams when it came to establishing relations with the Japanese court and hoped that he would be able to make contact with him soon after arriving. Aware that language was going to be his greatest problem—especially when he first stepped ashore—he hired an interpreter, nicknamed John Japan, who was fluent in Japanese and Malay. His next task was to find a Malay speaker who also knew English. This proved surprisingly easy. Saris was told of a Spaniard called Harnando Ximenes who spoke the “Mallay tongue very perfect.” Ximenes agreed to his terms of employment and boarded the
Clove
. By the first week of January 1613, Saris was able to make the final preparations for his voyage. He bought victuals and some spices, and purloined a viol, tabor, and pipe in order to provide some merriment for his men. Then, on January 14, he ordered his pox-ridden crew aboard and let off a spectacular blast of cannon-fire. As the noise echoed around the bay, the
Clove
slipped away from the shore and headed into unknown waters.
Clove
. By the first week of January 1613, Saris was able to make the final preparations for his voyage. He bought victuals and some spices, and purloined a viol, tabor, and pipe in order to provide some merriment for his men. Then, on January 14, he ordered his pox-ridden crew aboard and let off a spectacular blast of cannon-fire. As the noise echoed around the bay, the
Clove
slipped away from the shore and headed into unknown waters.
The voyage to Japan got off to a poor start. Scarcely had the vessel left Bantam than she sprang a leak and for twelve hours everyone on board had to man the pumps. Soon after, the curse of Bantam struck again. Two of the crew dropped dead of a tropical sickness. One was Saris’s favorite trumpeter, David Usher, who could blast out any tune that was requested, and Saris bemoaned the loss of “a most excellent man in his profession.”
Saris had intended to follow a route that would take him through the watery heart of the “spiceries,” halting at the cloverich Spice Islands of Tidore and Ternate. But local Dutch traders were most unhappy at his arrival in waters that they claimed for themselves. They asked who was piloting his ship and, when Saris refused to tell them, they threatened to “cut him in peeces before our faces.” The native chieftains proved even more cause for alarm. The
Clove’s
crew were appalled to watch the king of Tidore return from battle with a hundred severed heads, and trembled with fear when they learned that he was keen to acquire some English heads as well. “I ordered double-watch to be kept,” wrote Saris, “match in cock, and all things in readines, douting trechery.” These precautions deterred the native king and the men set sail with heads intact. They soon proved rather more adept at killing themselves. John Meridith “beate out his braines” by standing in the path of a falling tree, whilst his fellow shipmate James Miles was also “dangerouslye wounded” by a tree. But there were a few light-hearted moments. One island chieftain gave the crew 200 coconuts in exchange for a few loincloths, and when the Clove dropped anchor at Butung Island on the southeastern tip of
Celebes, they were amazed to discover that the headhunting king’s ambassador was an Englishman—Mr. Welden—who had fallen in love with a local girl. Saris offered to take him on board, but Welden was happy with his lot and said that to head for Japan “would be his undoing.”
Clove’s
crew were appalled to watch the king of Tidore return from battle with a hundred severed heads, and trembled with fear when they learned that he was keen to acquire some English heads as well. “I ordered double-watch to be kept,” wrote Saris, “match in cock, and all things in readines, douting trechery.” These precautions deterred the native king and the men set sail with heads intact. They soon proved rather more adept at killing themselves. John Meridith “beate out his braines” by standing in the path of a falling tree, whilst his fellow shipmate James Miles was also “dangerouslye wounded” by a tree. But there were a few light-hearted moments. One island chieftain gave the crew 200 coconuts in exchange for a few loincloths, and when the Clove dropped anchor at Butung Island on the southeastern tip of
Celebes, they were amazed to discover that the headhunting king’s ambassador was an Englishman—Mr. Welden—who had fallen in love with a local girl. Saris offered to take him on board, but Welden was happy with his lot and said that to head for Japan “would be his undoing.”
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