The men were granted the honor of being allowed to visit the sepulchre of Ieyasu, which was guarded by a phalanx of monks. “[They] used us very kindly,” wrote Cocks, “and opened the doores of the monument, and let us enter in.” It was one of the most splendid tombs he had ever seen—“a wonderfull peece of work”—and alongside there was a shrine to the two noblemen “which kild themselves to accompany Ieyasu in another world.” Cocks was even allowed into the inner sanctum, “the secret place where the idol of the dececed was placed, whereat all the Japans fell prostrate and adored it.”
from Arnoldus Montanus’s Atlas Japannensis, 1670
.
Edo was a magnificent city; the largest complex of bllildings was the shogun’s palace (above), but there were also scores of temples and pleasure gardens, At festival times these were thronged with nobles and their retainers
.
Every morning Adams went to the court in the hope of talking with Hidetada. But every morning the shogun was busy—indulging in festivities or hawking for wild swans. Hidetada had lost his patience with Cocks, and Adams—the factory’s reluctant intermediary—was refused an audience. The futility of the mission soon sapped both his and Cocks’s patience. “Captain Adams went againe to court to get our despatch,” wrote Cocks, “but retorned only with a nod from the counsellors.”
He was concerned that Adams might never be granted an audience, and his fears seemed confirmed when, on November 7, the heavens added their own portentous sign: “There was a comett (or blazsing star) which hath appeared this five or six days some hour before day.” So wrote Cocks, who observed that “it is so near the sunne that we could see nothing but the tail, it being of a hudge length.”
No less spectacular, but a great deal more terrifying, was another earthquake that struck the city at midmorning on the same day. It caused widespread panic, and the inhabitants fled into the streets to escape falling timbers. Cocks had by now experienced several earthquakes and devised a theory to explain their cause. Noting that they usually occurred at high tide, he reasoned that “[there] is much wind blowen into hollow caves undergrownd at a loe water.” This wind was blocked in by the sea, which “stopping the passage out, causeth these earthquakes to find passage or vent for the wind shut up.”
The earthquake was followed by a devastating fire, which threatened to destroy the buildings that remained standing. Nealson, who was suffering from consumption, was nevertheless so
excited at the prospect of watching the city burn to ashes that he clambered onto the roof of his lodging, “sitting in his shirt and a gowne two or three hours together.” He paid a high price for his curiosity, for he “fell sick on a sudden of a fever with a bloody flux, in great extremity.” The shogun’s physicians were called, but there was little they could do to reduce his temperature or stop his uncontrollable shaking. Nor could they say if Nealson’s alcohol-weakened body would recover from yet another “excesse of fever.”
The turmoil in Edo, coupled with the temple celebrations, conspired against Cocks and Adams. They were refused an audience with Hidetada, who showed no interest in Anglo-Dutch rivalry and washed his hands of the whole affair. He said that it was up to the pox-ridden King Figen “[to] see justis performed.” It was much as Adams had warned. He was vindicated in his criticism of Cocks’s mission, while Cocks himself was mortified to discover that he no longer had the protection of the shogun. When the Dutch learned of Hidetada’s lack of interest they were jubilant. They now knew that the English could be attacked with impunity—and with no risk to themselves.
Cocks returned to Hirado to be told that there had been a dramatic downturn in relations between the English and Dutch in the East, and that there was now a state of virtual war between the two nations. Tensions had been heightened by the dispatch of a large and heavily armed fleet from London with orders to forcibly protect English trade. It was under the command of Sir Thomas Dale, “a heroike lion,” who had acquired a reputation for ruthlessness and brutality while serving in the Netherlands and Virginia. Dale, relishing the opportunity to do battle with the Dutch, sailed his armada directly to Java. The Dutch were outnumbered and outgunned, for many of their vessels were on duty in the “spiceries,” and Sir Thomas decided to capitalize on their weakness. He commenced battle on January 2, 1619, with a tremendous
burst of cannonfire. One Englishman on board remarked that they had given the Dutch “such a breakfast that they will not abide a second, but fly before us.”
The Dutch had indeed fled the battle, but not through fear of the English guns. They headed east to make contact with the rest of their fleet, then returned to the fray with renewed confidence. This time they proved rather more effective. They picked off English stragglers, hounded the weaker ships, and dispersed the great fleet. Dale’s stately armada was soon scattered far and wide, and his strategy lay in ruins. Broken and humiliated, he sailed his remaining ships to India, where, in the summer of 1619, he contracted malaria and died. A second, breakaway squadron fared no better. John Jourdain, president of the English in the East, led his vessels to Pattani, where they were attacked by waiting Dutch warships. Jourdain himself was shot dead by a sniper.
Cocks and his dwindling band first learned news of the catastrophe in August 1619 when the Dutch ship
Angell
sailed in triumph into Hirado harbor. She was carrying additional staff for the Dutch factory as well as three English prisoners. This was an extremely alarming development. The Dutch treated their English captives with appalling brutality, shackling them together and subjecting them to beatings and torture. Elsewhere in the East, they had paraded their captured seamen through streets and ports to demonstrate to native populations the extent to which they dominated the high seas. It was quite possible that they would do the same in Japan, where such a display would be guaranteed to make a deep impression on the local authorities.
Cocks and his men believed that there was little they could do to rescue the English captives aboard the
Angell
, for the vessel lay at anchor in the middle of the bay. But Adams was determined to act. Although he was suffering from a tropical disease and was “sickly” and “minded to take physic,” he raised himself from his sickbed and began masterminding an audacious rescue mission. His plan was kept totally secret, and he left no clues as to how he
managed to sail across the bay and clamber onto the
Angell.
Nor did he explain how he freed the prisoners from their shackles. But somehow he smuggled himself aboard the Dutch vessel, freed two of the three English captives, and brought them back in safety to the English factory.
When Cocks heard of Adams’s triumph, he was embarrassed that he had made no efforts to rescue the men. In a letter to Sir Thomas Smythe, he described the incident with an uncharacteristic terseness, recording only that “William Gourden and Michael Payne escaped ashore by the assistance of Mr William Adams.” He was even less forthcoming about the events of the following night, when Adams scored a second coup by managing to secure the release of the third captive—a Welshman called Hugh Williams—who had not been freed in the first attempt. It was a typically understated act of heroism on the part of Adams and even more remarkable given that he was jeopardizing any future employment from Specx and his men.
The Dutch were furious to learn of their prisoners’ escape and demanded their immediate return. But the English were delighted to hold the upper hand for once and steadfastly refused to hand them over. This infuriated the Dutch still further; they vowed to recover their captives in whatever way they could. “When they saw they could not by any meanes get back the Englishmen,” wrote Cocks, “ … they laid secrett ambushes ashore to have taken them.” But their strategy failed, for the men remained safely behind the locked and bolted doors of the English factory gates.
Specx’s men now decided on a show of force outside the factory, hoping to intimidate Cocks and his men into submission. “They came to outbrave us in the streets before our own doors,” wrote a worried Cocks, “urging us with vile speeches.” Their numbers were swelled by scores of unruly mariners from the
Angell
, who tried their utmost to provoke a fight, aware that they far outnumbered the little band of Englishmen. Cocks steadfastly refused to open the factory gates, much to the chagrin of the rabble
outside. They grew “so mad that they came on shore by multitudes, thinking by force to have entered into our howse and cut all our throates.” Wave after wave of attackers advanced on the English factory, watched by an increasingly alarmed Cocks, whose men were soon outnumbered a hundred to one. It was fortunate that the building was surrounded by a strong perimeter fence that was relatively easy to defend and almost impossible to scale. But as ever-greater numbers of Dutchmen came ashore, their bravado fueled by alcohol, the Englishmen feared that the end was near. They were exhausted—both physically and mentally—and knew that it was only a matter of time before the sheer weight of men told against them.
But luck, for once, was on their side. The Japanese authorities were horrified to see such unruly behavior on their streets and dispatched a detachment of Japanese troops to defend the English against the Dutch mob. “[They] took our partes,” wrote Cocks, who watched with relief as the Japanese dispersed the crowd and restored order. The Dutch had no option but to beat a hasty retreat.
Cocks assumed that the intervention of the Japanese would be the end of the matter and went to bed that night safe in the knowledge that Dutch violence was now at an end. But his wishful thinking had been premature. A troop of Dutch mariners crept ashore at dawn the following morning and took the English by surprise, forcing their way through the main gates and inside the factory. “A company of ten entered our howse armed with pikes, swordes and cattans [swords] … ,” wrote a terrified Cocks, “[and] wounded John Coaker and another, thinking that they had kild one of them.” The intruders soon broke into the living quarters of the factory building where Cocks and his men were still asleep. Awakened by the terrifying clatter of swords and muskets, they immediately saw the gravity of the situation.
It was now—in their moment of crisis—that Adams’s good relations with the local Japanese in Hirado paid the richest dividend.
Cocks raised the alarm and, within minutes, a platoon of Japanese soldiers came rushing to his aid, storming into the factory and evicting the Dutch interlopers. “Had it not been for the assistance of the Japanese, our neighbours, which tooke our partes, they [would have] kild us all.” The Dutch intruders were forced off the premises, leaving a weary and terrified band of Englishmen.
Cocks was now so fearful for his men’s safety that he was “constrained to keepe in our howse a guard of Japanese night and day, armed, at meate, drink and wages, to Your Worships greate charge.” He was reassured to learn that King Figen was so alarmed by the disorder that he warned the Dutch that any future disturbance would be crushed with the utmost severity. Yet Specx’s mob broke King Figen’s command almost immediately, and Cocks wrote a desperate letter to Sir Thomas Smythe, informing him that the Dutch had “proclaimed open warrs against our English nation, both by sea and land, with fire and sworde.” They threatened “to take our shipps and goodes and destroy our persons to the uttermost of their power, as to their mortall enemies.”
This volatile situation was inflamed still further by the arrival of a large Dutch fleet whose bellicose commander vowed to murder Cocks and his men. Aware that this would not be easy, for they were still protected by Japanese guards, he put a price on their heads, promising a financial reward to anyone who managed to kill them. “[He] sett my life at sale,” wrote a terrified Cocks, “offering 50-reals-of-eight to anyone would kill me, and 30 reals of same for each other Englishman they could kill.”
In the space of just two years, the Dutch had gone from being the closest of friends to the bitterest of foes. Cocks and his men could no longer leave their factory compound without fear of being assassinated.
LAST ORDERS
R
ICHARD COCKS feared that London’s merchants would not believe the seriousness of his predicament and decided to send news of his plight to his old friend Sir Thomas Wilson. He informed Wilson that his men were surrounded by an angry and baying mob—“an unthankfull and theevishe rabble … who make a daily pracktis to rob and spoile all.” The behavior of these unruly Dutch mariners was so menacing that Cocks begged Hidetada to come to his aid. But the shogun dismissed his pleas for help and refused to intervene. Although he gave “good words and promise that we should have justice,” he was not interested in domestic squabbles and insisted that it was for the lord of Hirado to enforce the law. Nor did he show any sympathy when a Portuguese delegation arrived at court in order to protest. Hidetada bluntly informed them that “he would not make nor meddell in other men’s matters,” arguing that the capturing of their ships had occurred outside Japanese waters.
The shogun was far more disturbed by news filtering out of Nagasaki. He had heard rumors that a number of expelled Jesuit priests had secretly slipped back into Japan and were being cared for by local communities of covert Christians. It was not long before the rumors were confirmed. Small groups of Jesuits had indeed returned to Japan, transported aboard the annual trading ships from Macao. They had found it relatively easy to enter the country unnoticed, for there was much chaos and confusion that followed the arrival of the great ship. Once they had landed in Japan, they vanished like phantoms, living in safe houses and only venturing out at night. They had a network of “underground” contacts throughout the land and could celebrate Mass in secret with little fear of being caught. The penalties for such a flagrant disregard of Hidetada’s anti-Christian edict were torture and death, yet this did not deter the most fervent of these padres.
Hidetada had first received definite news of the Jesuits’ return in the spring of 1617. He was particularly incensed by the behavior of two of the priests—a Jesuit and a Franciscan—who held his anti-Christian edict in such disdain that they began preaching in public. One of the two, Padre Jean-Baptiste Machado, claimed to have yearned for martyrdom in Japan since the age of ten—the result of some potent childhood stories—and said that the day of his death would be the happiest of his life. This claim was soon put to the test, for he was seized in the fiefdom of Omura and accused of disobeying Hidetada’s edict.
He neither denied the charge nor showed any remorse. Indeed, he told the lord of Omura that he would be happy to be executed in the Japanese fashion—dismembered and chopped to morsels. In the event, he was cut into just two pieces—head and body—suffering three painful strokes of the sword before his head finally thumped to the ground. Between each stroke, he thanked Jesus for his plight. His fellow priest was also beheaded, not by the common executioner “but by one of the first officers of the lord.” The corpses were placed in a common grave and guards posted
beside it, but this did not prevent scenes of wild hysteria and public zeal. “The sick were carried to the sepulchre to be restored to health,” wrote one eyewitness. “The Christians found new strength in this martyrdom [while] the pagans themselves were full of admiration for it.” Far from deterring the local Christian community, it gave them the courage to begin worshiping in the open. “Numerous conversion and numerous returns of apostates took place everywhere.”
The Omura fiefdom was home to a large Christian community, and the local lord now found that his land was in turmoil. His troubles deepened when two more foreign padres, marveling at the effect of this martyrdom, threw caution to the wind and began preaching in full priestly garb. One of the two, Padre Alphonso, brazenly decreed that he did not recognize the emperor of Japan, but only the emperor of heaven. The lord of Omura ordered both priests to be summarily executed, and this time he took an added precaution. According to Cocks, he organized a secret burial to prevent their bodies’ becoming relics. “Because the people carried away the blood, in handkerchefes and clothes, of the other two,” he wrote, “ … [the lord of Omura] caused these two to be cast into the sea with stones tied about their necks.” Even this grim fate served only to fuel the ardor of people’s faith. Every time a new martyr was burned or beheaded, there was “so great fervour and courage in all the Christians … that now they did not thinke nor talke of any other thing but only how to prepare themselves to imitate and follow them.”
The Jesuit authorities continued to blame William Adams for their woes. Their private writings contain many complaints against his “malicious and most vile reportes,” and it was not long before they began accusing him publicly. In one book,
A Briefe Relation of the Persecution Lately Made Against the Catholike Christians in the Kingdome of Japonia
, the author singled out Adams as the cause of their misfortunes. He claimed that the Japanese nobility had turned against the Jesuits because they were “incited by
the wordes of an English pilot, who spake most bitterly against religious men and Spaniardes.” Adams was said to have made “their persons odious unto him [the shogun], and all that they did suspitious.” Another book claimed that the entire ruling elite had been “not a little provoked by the foolish words of a certain pilot”—William Adams. It accused him of informing Hidetada that the Jesuits were actually soldiers in disguise who had come to Japan in order to “make war against them and, overcomming them, take possession of their kingdom and estates.”
Although Adams had indeed made such accusations and had done much to harm those who had once tried to crucify him, the foreign priests had also been the authors of their own misfortunes. They had infuriated the shogunate by fighting with the rebels at the siege of Osaka and had persistently challenged the feudal order by demanding total obedience from their converts. Most heinous of all, they had blithely ignored Hidetada’s edict. Unlike Ieyasu, who had repeatedly “closed his eyes” to their disobedience, Hidetada was determined to act. As he was less interested in foreign trade, while also anxious to tighten his control over Japan, his policy was to crush anyone who could challenge his rule. If that meant slaughtering Christians—both European and Japanese—then he was only too willing to do so.
The English realized that events were rapidly spiraling out of control and kept a close eye on developments. They had noticed that the lay Christian community in Nagasaki had so far been virtually untouched by the violence, even though the town harbored large numbers of Christians. This was all the more surprising given that the Japanese governor was fanatically anti-Christian. But Governor Hasegawa was a busy man and left the town’s day-to-day affairs to his deputy, Murayama Toan, who had converted to Christianity some years earlier.
Although Toan’s conversion was an open secret, the authorities had hitherto chosen not to act. But in the tense months that followed the Omura executions, Toan found himself accused by one
of his bitterest foes. He and his family were charged with being Christians “and maintainers of Jesuits and friers who were enemies to the state.” Toan denied that he was financing the Jesuits’ covert operation in Japan, but steadfastly refused to abjure his faith. Such intransigence infuriated the authorities, who ordered him to be roasted alive, along with his entire family. The sentence was carried out with customary Japanese efficiency.
Cocks wrote that “it is thought greate persecution will ensue at Nagasaki.” His prediction was correct, for the city now bore the brunt of the regime’s anti-Christian wrath. Many of Nagasaki’s churches had already been destroyed after the first anti-Christian edict, but a few—like the magnificent Santa Casa da Misericordia—had been spared. Now, every chapel, church, and tombstone was hacked to pieces in an attempt to eradicate all traces of Christianity. The English, who watched the destruction with considerable excitement, felt that this spelled the end for Catholicism in Japan. “All is quite pulled downe,” wrote Cocks, “and all graves and sepulchres opened, and dead men’s bones taken out.”
Hidetada compounded Catholic woes by ordering “pagodas to be erected” on the sites of the wealthiest and most prestigious churches. He also sent “heathen priests to live in them, thinking utterly to roote out the memory of Christianity out of Japan.” He insisted that even little family shrines must be destroyed and ordered the felling of flowering trees planted by Christians in memory of the deceased. “All the said trees and altars are quite cut downe,” wrote Cocks, “and the grownd made even, such is his desire to root out the remembrance of all such matters.” By the time Hidetada’s demolition squads had finished their work, every Christian edifice in Nagasaki lay in ruins, while the churchyards were scattered with human bones and putrid, flyblown corpses.
Adams and Cocks both felt a malicious twinge of excitement at the fate of the Jesuit fathers, yet they were surprised by the extent of Hidetada’s wrath and viewed the wrecking of the churches with a sense of misgiving. “I doe not rejoice herein,” wrote Cocks
in a letter to Sir Thomas Smythe, although he said that he was pleased that the English could now visit Nagasaki without being insulted by priests and lay people. “In the time of that bishop,” he wrote, “ … one could not passe the streetes without being by them called
Lutranos
[Lutherans] and
herejos
[heretics].” Now, he added, “none of them dare open his mouth to speake such a word.” The monks who had once tried to kill William Adams had now been silenced, and the few brave Catholics remaining in Japan found themselves in the greatest danger.
It was not long before the wave of persecutions began to envelop Japanese converts. In the autumn of 1619, Cocks was spending a few days in Kyoto when he heard rumors that there was to be a spectacular public burning of local Christians. He investigated further and discovered that no fewer than fifty-two of the most devout townsfolk were to be roasted alive in the dry bed of the Kamo River. They included several entire families as well as many mothers and children who had steadfastly refused to apostatize.
Mass executions were extremely common in Japan and always drew a large crowd. There was particular excitement on the eve of a public burning, in which suffering and pain were overlaid with a barbaric theatricality. Spectators participated in the organization of the event, helping to prepare the firewood and fix stakes into the ground. “When anyone is to be burnt,” wrote Dutchman Reyer Gysbertsz, “it is given out and publicly proclaimed on the evening before, that each house which lies near the place … must bring two, three, four or five faggots of firewood.” Gysbertsz was writing of a later execution, but all were similarly brutal and horrific. Local officials dressed themselves in their finery and arrived early to supervise the event. “[They] erected as many stakes as there are persons to be burnt, and the wood is laid around at a distance of about five-and-a-half fathoms from the stakes.” When the public arena had been prepared, the victims themselves were brought forth and bound to the stakes with ropes attached to their
arms. As the heat of the fire increased in intensity, they would be forced to hop and skip in pain, making fools of themselves as they went to their grisly deaths.
On this occasion, the fifty-two Christians were taken to the place of execution in chariots. The women and toddlers were seated at the middle of the procession, while the men and boys were placed in the front and rear. As this solemn group made its way to the Kamo River, the crier announced their fate to the assembled masses: “The shogun, ruler of all Japan, wants and commands that all these people are burned alive for being Christians.”
With such a large number of people to be burned, the executioners were obliged to tie several to each stake. The men were bound together, back to back, while the mothers were entwined with their children. It made for a desperate spectacle, and many of the onlookers were moved to tears. This execution was on an unprecedented scale, and the carnival atmosphere came to an abrupt end when people realized the full horror of what they were about to witness. One of the mothers, Tecla, was to be burned with her five children. Another, Madeleine, was roped to her two-year-old daughter Regine. Marthe was to be burned with her two-year-old son Benoit. One eight-year-old was blind.
Cocks was distraught as he watched the children tied to the stakes with their parents. “Amongst them,” he wrote, “were littell children of five or six years ould.” The Jesuits had helped to prepare such victims for their ordeal, publishing religious tracts on how to bear the pain of torture and fire. “While being tortured, visualise the Passion of Jesus,” reads one prayer manual. “Think intently that Santa Maria, many angels and blessed ones are looking upon your fight from Heaven.”