Ball listened to Wickham’s criticisms of Cocks with a mixture of disgust and delight and compiled a blistering diatribe on his methods, character, competence, and honesty. One copy of his report was dispatched to Hirado; the other was sent to Sir Thomas Smythe in London. Cocks read the letter with horror and disbelief. It began with the usual “hartey commendations” and salutations, but quickly descended into spiteful invective. Ball told Cocks that he had long suspected him of being “extreme hot in passion, and most miserabell cold in reason.” Now, having had a chance to hear from Wickham about Cocks’s ineptitude, Ball declared that his worst fears were confirmed. He criticized the accounts for being filled with trivia and gossip instead of numbers, and said that Cocks’s conduct as chief factor bordered on the incompetent. He accused him of being “starke blind in promoting the unworthy” and mocked him for accepting advice from those “readiest to cut your throtte.” But his most vicious attack was on Cocks’s handling of the China trade. Ball informed Cocks that he had been duped by Li Tan, the “father of deceit,” and berated him for lining the pockets of a corrupt trickster.
Ball was even more damning in his letter to Sir Thomas Smythe, suggesting that Cocks had lost all grip on reality. “Having
his imaginations levelled beyond the moone,” he wrote “[he] hath the eyes of his understanding so blinded with the expectacion of incredible wanders that it is to be feared he will feele the losse before he will be made to see his error.”
Ball’s letter was unfair, but not altogether inaccurate. His censure of the
Clove
’s account book was spurious, for Cocks had already given good reason as to why the ship’s log was incomplete. His attack on the promotion of Eaton was also unfair. Cocks had just seven men to choose from, and Eaton was without doubt one of the more competent. But Ball’s most damning charge—that Cocks had been too gullible in his dealings with Li Tan—contained more than a degree of truth. Cocks was far too trusting of Li, who was rather better at making promises than producing profits. The Englishman poured money and gifts into the Chinese man’s bottomless pockets, yet failed to realize that it was not at all in Li’s interest for the English to gain a foothold in China, since it would break his own monopoly. Even when it became abundantly clear that Li was a trickster, Cocks remained convinced that he offered the only hope of entering the China trade—the one “which we all sweat for.”
When Cocks had digested Ball’s letter, he composed a long reply to Sir Thomas Smythe. He rebutted all the charges laid against him and warned Smythe not to believe everything written by Ball. “I have ill-willers,” he wrote, “which go about to bring me in disgrace with your worships, as Mr Ball by name.” He said that Ball’s accusations were pure “spleene” and added that he was tempted to return to England to answer the charges against him. “My best way will be to come answer for myselfe if God will permit me life to see my cuntry of England.” In the event, the storm temporarily blew over and Cocks remained in Hirado. But Ball’s attack had a grain of truth and sowed the seeds of doubt in the minds of the London directors. It also left Cocks with the difficult problem of deciding how to deal with Wickham on his return to Japan.
A RUPTURED FRIENDSHIP
R
ICHARD WICKHAM arrived back in Hirado with one last surprise for Cocks. He announced that he was weary of Japan and, after spending almost five years in the country, he was ready to bid farewell to his erstwhile colleagues.
He could have left several years earlier, for Captain Saris had granted him permission to return to England whenever he chose. But Wickham had first wanted to feather his nest, and it was not until 1618 that he had amassed a sufficient fortune to make his return a comfortable one. In a letter to his mother, he claimed that he was leaving Japan because of “some wronges and crosses sustained by some enemies.” He added—more out of duty than sincerity—that “my promise [was] made unto you, most kinde mother, to return … within three yeares.” This deadline had expired long ago, yet Wickham had shown no interest in leaving on earlier vessels. It was only after his brief stay in Bantam that he had a sudden longing for home.
Wickham wrote several other letters to his family informing them of his decision. He had never been a master of tact and his correspondence was characterized by an unpleasant bitterness. He chided them for not having written a single letter during the entire time he had been away and said that he was “much marvailing that parents and allied friendes can so much forget me.” He added that while he did not wish to “tax so kinde and loving a mother,” he was nevertheless appalled that “not once in seven yeares” had he received a letter from her.
In a note to his aunt, he was even more forthright, castigating her family for not having written a single line in all the time that he had been in Japan, “which makes me think they all suppose me dead, or else I am hardly induced to beleeve I can be so forgotten.” He asked for his best wishes to be passed to his sisters, pointedly adding, “if they be living.”
Wickham’s imminent return to London was a cause of deep concern to Cocks. He had already suffered once from Wickham’s mean-spiritedness and feared that Wickham would now repeat his accusations to his friend Sir Thomas Smythe. This is exactly what Wickham intended to do. He promised to inform the London merchants of the “many disorders and wrongs offered by many within these few years, to the great hindrance of the East Indies trade and dishonour of our nation.”
Coming from Wickham, any such criticism of Cocks was grossly hypocritical. Wickham had displayed little enthusiasm in working for the East India Company, and his own private trading had done much harm to the running of the factory. Yet his voice was certain to be heard in London, and it was quite possible that Cocks and the others would be recalled to England in disgrace. The company had poured large sums of money into the Hirado factory and was sure to want scapegoats for its failings. But for once in his life, Cocks was blessed with good fortune. As soon as Wickham arrived in Bantam—the first stage in his long voyage home—the sickly air took its toll. He weakened, trembled with
tropical fever, and was forced to take to his bed. After years of healthy living in Japan, he was prey to typhoid, malaria, and the “blody flux.” Wickham soon breathed his last and took his accusations against Cocks to the grave.
When his executors finally came to count his money and assess his estates, they found him to be worth a staggering £1,400. His grieving mother, the elderly Mrs. Wickham, was amazed to learn the size of her late son’s fortune and quickly dried her tears when she discovered that she was the chief beneficiary. She went straight to the offices of the East India Company and petitioned the directors to relinquish the cash. But they argued that Wickham had made his money through private trade and refused to release a single penny. The elderly Mrs. Wickham fought her corner for more than six years and even took her case to Chancery. Her persistence paid off, for the company finally capitulated and handed over the money After a long wait, Mrs. Wickham became a very wealthy woman.
Wickham’s departure—first from Hirado and then from the world—enabled Cocks to pursue his hectic social life without fear of being reported. Adams had returned to his country estate in order to spend time with his family. Then, after much planning, he set off on two privately financed voyages to Cochinchina and Tonkin (modern Vietnam). Cocks, meanwhile, continued to host frequent dinner parties and invited many of Hirado’s noblemen to banquets at the English factory. These had always been lively affairs, but became even more raucous when Cocks began distilling his own “very good strong annis water”—a powerful poteen that assured a speedy path to drunkenness. Dancing girls were hired in ever greater numbers, and there was usually “a blinde fiddler to singe.” Cocks’s aim was to ensure that his guests were “entertained to theire own content.”
Although his dinner parties were an extravagance, they served a useful purpose. They enabled him to garner news and gossip and to piece together events that were happening elsewhere in the
East. At one of his soirees, Cocks learned that an English factor in Siam had been so addled by loneliness that he had quite lost his mind. He had attacked a Dutch merchant, bound him with cord, and declared him to be his very own private prisoner. In Cambodia, one of the traders had grown so sick of the tropical heat and perpetual boredom that he had suffered a complete mental collapse. “[He] fell into a mad humour,” wrote Cocks, “and meant to have kild himselfe with a pistoll charged with two bullettes.” He proved a poor shot, for the bullets missed his vital organs, but the excruciating pain did at least shake him from his torpor.
Information from England—which was carried to Hirado by Portuguese or Dutch merchants—was both unreliable and bizarre. Cocks was told that “in England, [there] appeared in the firmament a very greate cross, with the crowne of thorne and nailes.” Such a sign had been greeted with alarm by King James and his court, who “fell downe and worshipped it.” A Catholic priest who mocked them for their devotions suffered a terrible fate. “Both the priest’s eyes flew out of his head, and he died imediatly in the sight of all men.”
News from Java and the Spice Islands was less sensational but a great deal more worrying. The Dutch were pursuing their trading agenda with increasing aggressiveness, targeting not only native chieftains but also their trading rivals, the English. On the cloverich island of Amboyna, they had expelled English traders and built a string of fortifications to prevent any interloper from acquiring spices. On nearby Ceram, they vowed to sink English ships if they attempted trade. Elsewhere in the Moluccas, they forbade the chieftains from selling their spices to anyone except themselves and “threatened [them] with the loss of their heads if they dealt with the English.” The situation was even more alarming in the richest of all the “spiceries,” the nutmeg-producing Banda archipelago. This fragrant group of islands had been first visited by English adventurers in 1603, and they had quickly forged friendship treaties with the native islanders. Now, the
Dutch were attempting to expel the English forever, building bastions and bulwarks and forcing the chieftains to sign away all rights to their nutmeg.
A small group of adventurers led by the plucky Nathaniel Courthope had vowed to make a stand on the Banda Islands, but his troop of men soon found themselves battling against a terrifying new weapon. The Dutch, who had long admired the fighting prowess of the Japanese, had started paying them to wage war on their behalf.
One Englishman, John Alexander, had the misfortune to be captured and abducted by a band of these mercenaries. He was “carried … into the mountaines … with his hands bound with four Japanese after him with their swords drawne.” He quickly discovered that they were fearless and chillingly efficient. They never failed to follow orders and killed with impunity. Poor Alexander trembled in his jerkin when he saw their scimitars and prepared himself for a violent death in the sweet-scented mountains of the Banda Islands. It was his good fortune that the mercenaries were ambushed by a large group of natives, who marched them back to the shore. But the Japanese refused to surrender their English captive graciously, even though they were outnumbered and outgunned. “They threw him into their boate bound hand and foote, treading on him in their boat’s hold, having taken from him his cloathes from his back.” Alexander was freed only after lengthy negotiations.
English vessels had been left unmolested during this troublesome period, for the Dutch had concentrated their energies on attacking Portuguese and Spanish ships. But events in the Banda Islands had increased tensions throughout the East and in 1617 a Dutch vessel had stormed an English ship, the
Swan
, in the waters around the Bandas. A ferocious sea battle ensued, and dozens of the English crew were mutilated in the ensuing fusillade of fire. Some were peppered with shot and bled to death. Others “lost legs and arms, and [were] almost without all hope of life, if not
dead already.” Once the
Swan
was captured, her surviving crewmen were manacled, taken to the Banda Islands, and incarcerated in dungeons. Cocks had been told by his Spanish interpreter, Harnando Ximenes, that “the Hollanders misuse our Englishmen in vile sort.” The truth was far worse. The English prisoners were tortured, starved, and chained under Dutch sewer outlets, “where their ordures and pisse fell upon them in the night.”
from Arnoldus Montanus’s Atlas Japannensis, 1670
.
The Dutch admired the fighting qualities of the Japanese samurai and hired them as mercenaries to fight the English ill the Spice Islands. Tliese fearsome warriors killed with impunity and were chillingly efficient.
Cocks was indignant at these attacks, yet remained confident that they would not be replicated in Hirado. He continued to be on good terms with the Dutchman Specx and found it inconceivable that the two factories—which stood just a few hundred feet apart—would ever find themselves at war. His confidence was partly due to the fact that the shogun forbade any fighting on
Japanese soil, on pain of death. But it also had much to do with the depth of friendship between Cocks and Specx. They had always enjoyed cordial relations and continued to wine and dine each other in considerable style. Both were cheery and easygoing, and neither had any interest in conflict. Indeed, they derived great pleasure from reciprocating favors. They forwarded letters to Bantam, passed on news, and blasted their cannon in honor of each other. On one occasion, Cocks had even allowed Specx to ship a large quantity of ebony wood to Java aboard the returning
Hosiander
.
News of this spirit of cooperation soon reached Bantam, where the English had a very different experience of their Dutch neighbors. The acerbic chief factor, George Ball, condemned Cocks’s collaboration as a “heinous offence” and viewed it as yet another example of his ineptitude. But Ball had never visited Japan and had no idea how important it was for the English and Dutch to maintain cordial relations. He did not realize that Hirado was a small and isolated port, quite unlike Bantam, and that the men relied upon each other for news and information. Nor did he understand another, less tangible reason why the English and Dutch in Japan needed to stay on good terms. They were living on the edge of the world—isolated, lonely, and almost totally cut off from their respective countries. Homesickness was a very real problem, and it was vital for their sanity that they forged friendships with their respective neighbors.
When Specx learned that Cocks had been reprimanded for his cooperative manner, he took the extraordinary step of writing to John Jourdain, the newly appointed “president” of the English in the East, defending his colleague. “I was sorry to understand that in your letter to Captain Richard Cocks you appeared to be dissatisfied with the friendship and assistance given to us,” he wrote. He added that he was not trying to trick the English, nor spoil their trade, and assured Jourdain that he had “the honest intention of being of service in similar cases, and not troublesome to your
Honour.” His letter ended with a salient and important piece of advice: “As neighbours and mutual friends, we should not refuse to help each other.”