1636: Seas of Fortune (44 page)

Once they entered San Pablo Bay, the northern extension of San Francisco Bay, they turned eastward, and with relief they laid their paddles aside and let the wind carry them. And it was by wind power that they passed through the Carquinez Strait and into Suisun Bay. The Delta, where the Sacramento and San Joaquin Rivers came together, lay ahead of them.

They spent several days scouting the delta, and then threaded through it, after a few false turns, to the main channel of the Sacramento.

Their progress was now hindered by the river current. With the wind once again powerless to aid them, it was “five steps forward, four steps backward.”

It was with great relief that they found the place where, they thought, the American River fed into the Sacramento. They made camp below a lone oak.

That night, as Lord Matsudaira lay back on his sleeping mat, he saw a meteor cross over Heaven’s River, the Milky Way. He took it to be a favorable omen. Didn’t gold glitter like the stars in the sky? A meteor, a fallen star, was a promise of treasure to come.

* * *

There was a grinding sound, and the
Ichi-Ban
, the “Number One” boat, shook.

“Back water, back water!” the former captain of the
Sado Maru
shouted.

The
Ichi-Ban
held for a moment, then the riverbed released it, and the boat was back in deeper water. The “Number Two Boat,” the
Ni-Ban
, came up close behind, so that its prow almost touched the
Ichi-Ban
’s stern.

“Find a deeper channel,” Lord Matsudaira ordered.

The captain bowed his head deeply. “Forgive me, my lord, but I think this
is
the deepest channel. The river is just too low, even for a ship-boat.”

Lord Matsudaira stared for a time at the water. “If I recall correctly, the encyclopedia said that the gold was discovered while a sawmill was built on the American River. According to the Dutch barbarians, a sawmill requires several feet of water for operation. So how can this be the American River?”

Shigehisa thought about this. “If this is the American River, then according to the map, Folsom Lake should be about ten miles upriver. A pair of samurai could run that far in a day.”

“Pick our best runners,” said the Lord Matsudaira.

* * *

The two samurai returned four days later. They bowed deeply.

“We are very sorry, my lord, we went two days travel upriver—at least twenty miles—and did not find a lake of any kind. The river did fork, however.”

“Ah! I was right! This is not the American River! The captain has failed me again! I should take off his head right now!” The captain’s face blanched, but it was impossible for him to flee.

“Please refrain, milord,” Shigehisa whispered urgently. “We need him to handle the boat if we are to search further up the Sacramento.”

“Very well. We need him. At least until we find this confounded American River. But there will be a reckoning . . .”

The next day, they were once again fighting the strong currents of the Sacramento, and moving farther and farther away from, not closer to, the mouth of the American River. None of the Japanese knew that “Folsom Lake” had been created by the Folsom Dam, built in 1955, and thus not in fact part of the California landscape in 1634.

South Bay, near Alviso, California

“Welcome to ‘Sadomaru Palace,’” said Iroja-hime. “Please come in and dine with me.”

The palace in question was a lean-to, made of salvaged ship timbers and sailcloth. It was, perhaps, the nicest lean-to that the shipwrecked Japanese had made on the site of Alviso, but it was still merely a lean-to. Dinner, however, was more promising, as the South Bay was rich in fish, shellfish and waterfowl.

“To what do I owe the honor of this invitation?” Matsuoka asked gravely.

“To my being bored out of my mind,” she replied archly. “Have you been able to make contact with the Indians?”

“I’m afraid not,” the elderly samurai admitted. “They see us, and if we approach closer than half a
li
, they flee. If we had horses, we could overtake them, but on foot, pursuing them in their own lands is hopeless . . . even dangerous.”

“What does Hachizaemon think?”

“Hachizaemon?” His tone suggested that he was at a loss to come up with any reason that the second mate could possibly provide useful advice on any nonnautical matter.

“He told me that he had sailed once on a Red Seal ship to Manila and other exotic ports. So he has, perhaps, traded with people that didn’t speak Japanese.”

Matsuoka called for Hachizaemon.

“Yes, Matsuoka-san, how may I help you?”

Matsuoka explained.

“Well, I haven’t done it myself. But I have heard that the Spanish in Manila have a ‘silent trade’ with the Apoyno of Luzon.”

“Silent trade?”

“Yes, you leave goods out, and withdraw, and make a smoke signal or a drum beat or something of the sort. And then the second side comes and puts down something in exchange. And if the first side thinks this a good offer, they take it away, and leave their goods behind. And if they don’t, they wait for the second side to either add to what they put down, or take away what they last offered and thus end the bargaining.”

Matsuoka stroked his chin. “Now that you mention it, I think I have heard that the Ainu do such a thing with the even more savage barbarians of the islands to their north. But the problem is, we have no way to tell the Indians what we are interested in. They could put something out that is of great value to them, but worthless to us.”

“Forgive my impertinence in making this suggestion,” said Iroha, “but perhaps it doesn’t really matter what we receive, if we just set out a few goods that even we can spare. What we are really bargaining for is their trust.”

* * *

Matsuoka gave his final instructions to the chosen messengers, Saburo and his older brother, Jiro. “A great valley extends southeastward from the Bay. You should come, eventually, to a stream that flows from the northeast to the southwest. Or perhaps, you will find just a dry river bed, I can’t say for sure.” The stream that he had in mind was what the eighteenth-century Spanish called the San Benito River.

“It is perhaps eighty miles from where we stand. Count your paces.” Samurai were expected to be able to estimate marching distances.

“Turn down that river, it should pass through a low spot in the hills, and join another river.” That was the Pajaro. “Head southwest until you reach the sea.

“You should be on a great ocean bay, between two rocky points. Search between them until you find the Japanese colony. Then ask for the grand governor, Date Masamune.”

Hachizaemon gave them the spare ship’s compass. “You’ll have more use for this than we will.”

Matsuoka had some parting advice. “Oh, and Saburo-san—stay out of the mud, if you can.”

Late September 1634,

Monterey Bay, California

Monterey Bay is in the shape of a fishhook. The eye is at the northern end, at Point Año Nuevo, where elephant seals bellow at their rivals during the mating season. The Santa Cruz Mountains are the shank, their slopes a home for fog-loving redwoods. A nearly continuous stretch of white sandy beach forms the broad bend, with the mouth of the Salinas near the middle, and the rockier shore from the old time line city of Monterey to Point Piños, where the pine trees stand guard, is the barb.

A fair wind, blowing from the northwest, allowed the First Fleet, the motley collection of Dutch, Japanese and even hired Chinese ships carrying Japanese Christians into exile, to run almost downwind toward Monterey. The wary skippers gave a wide berth to the rocks of Point Piños, and slowly entered the bay.

Abel Tasman, commanding the Dutch
jacht
Mocha
, was in the lead. When the waters shallowed out to thirty fathoms, the First Fleet naval commander
ordered the fleet to reduce sail to just enough for headway, and Tasman was instructed to choose the anchorage.

When Tasman’s ship came within half a mile or so of the base of the barb, where it was partially sheltered by both Point Piños and Point Cabrillo, the wind slackened and the swell of the sea was broken. He sampled the bottom, finding it to be sand and yellowish mud, and likely to be good holding ground. He anchored in seven fathoms, and signaled for the fleet to join him.

Several parties of samurai were landed on the flat ground behind the anchorage. One went west, toward a hill covered by pine and oak. A second went southeast, finding an estuary fed by streams. The third stayed behind, to make sure that loose-fingered natives didn’t liberate the boats.

In the evening, their commander reported to Date Masamune.

“Our priorities are clear,” he said. “Fresh water. Food. Shelter. Not just from the elements, but also from unfriendly Indians. What have you found so far?”

“There is no good site for a fortress here,” said the scout leader. “The land near the anchorage is too low and flat. As for the hill to the west, it will take much time and labor to clear away the forest, and there is no good flat land at the top so we would have to build a foundation, too.”

“Nonetheless, we must have some kind of fort to protect the anchorage. Captain Tasman says that the rest of the bay is completely exposed. Tell me more about this estuary.”

The scout leader shrugged. “There is not much more to tell. It is shaped like the head and horns of a water buffalo—” he drew a “U” in the air—“with the horns pointing away from the sea. Streams run into each horn. The base is separated from the sea by very low ground, and at high tide the sea comes in.”

“And what is the ground like between those horns?”

“There is something of a rise.”

Masamune decided that he would establish a lightly fortified fishing village within the horns of the lake, which would serve as a moat on three sides. The walls and watchtower of the village in turn would provide some protection for the anchorage. The fisherman would use the anchorage for their boats, and they could start bring in fresh fish for the colonists. It would be several months before the farmers could harvest a crop.

One of Masamune’s scholars coughed.

“You have a suggestion?”

“Yes, my lord. Depending on the height of the water at high tide, we could perhaps dam the lower edge of the estuary so the saltwater can’t come in any more. It will then become a freshwater lake.”

“Speak to the masons, and see if they agree that it is possible with the earth and rock available nearby.”

He told the scout leader to take several Japanese woodsmen and Dutch artillerists with him to the hill to the west, and try to find a place where a battery that commanded both the harbor and the ridges near the estuary might be constructed without too much trouble.

Some of the fishing folk among the colonists were disembarked, and their new village was given the name of Andoryu, after Saint Andrew the Apostle, the patron saint of fishermen.

* * *

Date Masamune summoned his herald, and handed him a scroll. “Read it so all may hear and obey.”

The
obugyô
cleared his throat. “Black Seal Edict, given under the hand of the shogun of Nippon, Tokugawa Iemitsu, court noble of the upper first rank.

“(1) It shall be unlawful for barbarians, or people from outside provinces, to enter or exit New Nippon to trade with the Indians without the consent of the taishu of New Nippon, or the shogun.

“(2) Within the province of New Nippon, freedom of worship is permitted, provided that it does not disturb public harmony.

“(3) It shall be unlawful for residents of New Nippon who are of the Christian faith to return to their former provinces without the consent of the shogun or his duly appointed representatives.

“(4) It is strictly prohibited to inflict injustices or crimes upon the Indians of New Nippon.”

The herald paused for effect. “This edict is to be rigorously enforced by the authorities in New Nippon.” The edict was similar to the one given a few decades earlier to the Matsumae clan, which held the monopoly on trade with the Ainu, the aborigines of Hokkaido.

Date Masamune ordered that this black seal edict was to be read aloud at every later settlement, too.

October 1634

The First Fleet worked its way up the coast to the mouth of the Salinas. More precisely, where the mouth of the Salinas was supposed to be. From the crow’s nest of the
Date Maru
, they could see some kind of body of water behind the beach. Beyond that, there was a low hill, and far in the distance, a mountain range.

A launch was lowered into the water, and the sailors rowed a party of samurai to the beach. They spread out into a V-formation and moved cautiously east.

The body of water turned out to be a part of a river. The Salinas, without a doubt. However, the river mouth wasn’t here. Rather, a short distance south of the hill, the river made a sharp turn northward, and the area around the bend was fairly marshy.

South of the marsh, running parallel to the shore, there was long line of mammoth sand dunes. This was a mixed blessing; it screened that part of the beach from any Indians further inland, but it also meant that Indians could be close by yet undetected.

A second party of samurai was sent out to climb the dunes. This was not a terrain they were accustomed to; there were dunes near Tottori, on the west coast of Honshu, and also in Hamamatsu on the east coast, but none worth mentioning in Date Masamune’s fief of Rikuzen. With every step, sand was dislodged, increasing the effort required to make progress upward. Lizards scurried out of their way.

As they neared the crest of the dunes, they crouched, and at last they crawled to the top. From this excellent vantage point, they could see that the Salinas wound its way through a great valley stretching out to the southeast. They didn’t see any Indians, or even any habitations.

The question, then, was whether to land the colonists here—based on the map in the encyclopedia—or to head north, to the present mouth of the Salinas. However far north that might lie.

Tasman was sent northward, to see if the mouth could be spotted from the sea, and in due course he returned with the report that it was perhaps four miles up the coast . . . and that the land around the mouth was completely flat, and equally marshy.