1636: Seas of Fortune (49 page)

“Is there room to walk beside the river? Or is the gorge too steep-walled?”

“At least on the lower stretch we have spied out, there is room. Further up, who knows? But I have tired of sitting in camp watching the miners turn over rocks and sift their fingers through the sand and gravel.”

“May I accompany you, my lord?”

“No, I need you to hold this nugget for me. It would not be good if I tumbled into the water, and lost it.”

“It will be my honor and pleasure, Lord Matsudaira.”

* * *

Modern weather forecasters call it a “Pineapple Express.” The Polar jet stream forks, and the southern branch guides a tropical air mass northward and eastward, bringing warm air and torrential rainfall to the western coast of North America.

On the shores of San Francisco Bay, there was a bit of flooding, but this only inconvenienced the passengers and crew of the
Ieyasu Maru
. The miners sought temporary refuge on board the ship, and the ship took shelter from the wind on the lee side of Angel’s Island.

The rain was heavy at times, leading Iroha-hime to compare the
Ieyasu Maru
to Noah’s Ark. Tokubei, from the time he spent on Dutch ships, understood the reference, and expressed his earnest hope that the rain would not last forty days and forty nights.

In the Central Valley to the north, a much more dangerous situation developed. The waters of the Sacramento rose, then subsided a little as the storm system continued eastward.

But it was a temporary reprieve. The storm bombarded the Sierras with warm rain. The rain permeated the snowpack. Within a matter of hours, it had melted much of the snow at intermediate elevations. The melt water hurtled down the narrow canyons of the upper reaches of the Feather and American Rivers, turning them into maelstroms of white water. The flood front descended to what was normally the more placid lower sections of these rivers. Here, the water rapidly overflowed the banks, and spread out, forming a temporary lake that stretched out as far as the eye could see.

Storms of this nature struck the Central Valley at least once a generation, perhaps more often, and the elders of the Indian tribes were quick to spot the signs and chivvy their people to safe ground. The two Japanese deserters, who had taken refuge with those Indians, followed their lead.

The Japanese strung along the American River were caught by surprise.

* * *

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” said Captain Haruno.

“Nor I,” Tokubei agreed.

“What is the matter?” asked Commander Yoritaki.

“The tide . . . It’s been a full day and it hasn’t changed direction,” said Haruno.

Iroha and Senior Guardsman Matsuoka Nagatoki stood nearby, and they overheard this exchange. “Excuse me, Captain Haruno, what do you mean?” she asked.

“Usually, the tide comes in and out twice each day. But we have been fighting a nonstop ebb tide since we left our harbor yesterday morning. We’ve barely made any northing at all.”

“If we hadn’t had the benefit of a southwest wind, we’d have been moving
backward
,” Tokubei added.

Iroha pondered this for a while. “The Almighty acts in mysterious ways. Excuse me, please.” She went below, calling for her maid, with Nagatoki leading the way as a bodyguard should.

Tokubei looked at Captain Haruno. “Her Almighty has apparently dumped a heck of a lot of water on the lands to the north, and it’s running south now. Enough to overwhelm the normal tides. That’s the only explanation I can come up with.”

“Well, it’s better than that the Dragon God has misplaced his magic tide-flow jewel.”

North Fork, American River

“Milord, I don’t like how fast the water is rising,” said one of the two samurai accompanying Lord Matsudaira’s samurai.

“Neither do I,” said Lord Matsudaira. “But we can’t climb these cliffs. At least, not quickly enough to save ourselves. Our only hope is to get back out of the gorge, to where the slope is gentler, and then climb to high ground.”

Naturally, they were scrambling downstream as they spoke. The gap between the river’s edge and the gorge wall had been narrow when they began their exploration, and now it was getting ever narrower.

It was not flat land, but scree; broken rocks that had tumbled downhill. It was difficult terrain to cross both safely and quickly, but speed was of the essence.

One of the samurai took an incautious step, lost his balance, and fell into the water.

“He’s down!” yelled another samurai. “No, his head’s above water.” He passed out of sight as the river curved.

“We must catch up to him!” Lord Matsudaira commanded.

They found that the fallen samurai had managed to swim to the water on the inside of the bend, where the current was slower, but seemed to be unable to free himself completely from the water’s grip.

“Hold my swords,” said Lord Matsudaira.

The samurai took them, protesting, “My lord, you cannot risk yourself, we are sworn to protect you.”

“And two of you can protect me better than one, neh?” he said as he stripped down to his loincloth. “I am a master of
suei-jutsu
.” That was swimming as a martial art. “Can you say the same?”

The samurai could only bow his head. He could hardly claim to be superior to his lord in that skill, after such a boast.

Lord Matsudaira jumped into the water. It was bitter cold, draining away his life-force. He had to force his limbs to move; his arms and legs were as stiff as the puppets of
ningyo-joruri
. At last, he reached his target, and took hold of the fallen samurai. Slowly, very slowly, they inched toward the bank.

“My lord, watch out!” The samurai that Lord Matsudaira had left on dry land was pointing upstream, his features contorted.

A fallen tree swept down the river, and it spun in the eddy of the inside bend, striking Lord Matsudaira in the head. He went under, as did the man he had been trying to save.

The remaining samurai then dived in after them.

Lower American River

Downstream, where the miners were active, the rise of the river was more gradual, but the samurai guard refused to untie the men, or let them leave the riverbank, without orders.

Kiyoshi bowed. “Then run down to Shigehisa-san, ask him to bring up the boats.”

“My orders say that I am to stay here.”

“Then let me go!”

“My orders say that you are to remain here and supervise the miners.”

“Supervise them doing what? Drowning?”

“Orders are to be obeyed, not questioned.”

Kiyoshi bowed even more deeply. “You are right, of course, I will go back to mining.”

The samurai didn’t answer.

Kiyoshi picked up his shovel. “Cave in!” he shouted.

The samurai looked at him, perplexed.

The miners, still roped together, ran up the bank, toward Kiyoshi. The rope, strung taut, caught the samurai’s legs behind the knees, and he fell backwards into the water.

Kiyoshi slammed the shovel down upon him.

The samurai fumbled for his katana, but it was trapped underneath.

Kiyoshi struck again. The samurai was dead.

The miners stood silent.

“He fell in the water. He was dashed against the rocks.”

The miners nodded.

Kiyoshi pushed the dead samurai’s body into the river. The miners had pulled out their belt knives and were already cutting themselves free.

By now, the water had lapped over the riverbank, and was swirling about their ankles.

Kiyoshi pointed northward. “Run for the hills!” They ran.

Unfortunately, they were still far from high ground. When the water came up to their calves they despaired of reaching it in time, instead seeking out the nearest of the oak trees that dotted the lowland. Soon, they were huddled precariously in the branches.

And then, one by one, the trees toppled into the water.

* * *

“Row, damn you, row!” yelled Shigehisa. The sailors labored at the oars of the
Ni-Ban
, the first mate handling the tiller. Even Shigehisa was rowing. “Our comrades are depending on you!”

The captain, in the
Ichi-Ban
, didn’t bother appealing to the crew’s finer sentiments. “You sluggards! You good-for-nothings! Put your backs to it, you cockroaches!”

But neither approach was particularly successful. The American River had, within hours, gone from a trickle to a torrent, and they couldn’t make any headway against it.

At last, exhausted, they turned the boats westward and let the current carry them back downstream.

January 1635,

Carquinez Strait

“You are the only survivors?” Iroha’s voice was matter-of-fact, but her gaze seemed haunted.

“Yes, milady,” said Shigehisa. “Only those of us who were in the boats, or very close to them, at the time of the flood. The others wrestled with the
kappa
. . . and lost.”
Kappa
were the malicious river-spirits of Shinto mythology, who often drowned travelers attempting to cross the swift, dangerous mountain streams of Japan.

Iroha-hime frowned at the pagan reference but didn’t object to it directly. “I will pray to São Vicente for my lord’s soul.” Saint Vincent of Saragossa was the patron saint of Lisbon, and the Romans had thrown his body into the sea.

“After the disaster,” Shigehisa continued, “I thought it best that we make our way down to the South Bay, to reinforce you. But of course you intercepted us here, while we were still on our way.”

Shigehisa lowered his voice. “There is one more thing, Iroha-hime. He gave this to me.” He handed her the nugget.

“Why haven’t you shown this to Captain Haruno, or Commander Yoritaki, or Mr. Tokubei?”

He looked away from her. “Because they are in the service of your father, the Grand Governor Date Masamune, and your husband was in that of the shogun, Tokugawa Iemitsu.”

“And you weren’t sure that the two were, ah, quite the same thing?”

“I thought that perhaps it was best that you decide who should know about this discovery.”

“Thank you, Shigehisa-san. What will you do now?”

“Now? I am masterless, a ronin, once more. An old ronin. Perhaps I should join my lord in death.”

“Serve me instead, and live.”

“You? Forgive me, but women have not commanded men since the time of Sengoku, and then only rarely.”

“My father has only one son, and two daughters, in this land. I do not think he can afford to treat us like ornamental plants for his garden. And even if it has not been ‘official,’ in the Time of Troubles, a wife sometimes had to hold a castle against an enemy while her lord was in the field.

“I intend to suggest to my father that I lead settlers from the Second Fleet back to the South Bay. I already know the Indians to be friendly, after all. Why lose the benefit of the work I have done with them already?”

“I will think upon it.”

* * *

Iroha held the gold nugget up. It sparkled in the sunlight. It had a cold beauty, she thought, a beauty without mercy, a beauty that had brought her husband to his death.

Once he had found the nugget, he had accomplished the task set by the shogun: He had found the gold fields. He could have rejoined her, and together they could have journeyed to Monterey.

Instead, he stayed. Why? What allure did the gold possess, that she did not?

If her husband had been less concerned with status and wealth, and more with love and faith, he would still be alive.

Had he ever cared for her? As Iroha? Or only as the daughter of the great and powerful Date Masamune? Would he have invited her to rejoin him if her father did not command the First Fleet?

She knew that as a samurai woman, she should not care. Marriage was an alliance between families, it had nothing to do with love.

But she cared.

And she cared about the colonists, too. Once the shogun was given tangible proof that the gold of California was not a fantasy, he might think twice about allowing the
kirishitan
to live there. The Tokugawa had taken control of all the gold mines throughout Japan, heedless of the claims of the local daimyos.

The Dutch were allies now, but they were also a potential threat. Japan didn’t have enough ships to transport all the
kirishitan
by the shogun’s deadline without their aid. And if the Japanese sent a large number of miners to the Bay, the Dutch might well learn of it. If they knew that those miners knew exactly where to go to find gold, the Dutch would be sorely tempted to wrest San Francisco Bay, and perhaps all California, away from the Japanese. And the Japanese in California were still too few to stop them.

A seagull swooped low across the water, and rose with a small fish gleaming in its mouth. The bird, at least, had no fears as to the consequences of finding a treasure.

Iroha tossed the nugget into the still-muddy waters of the Carquinez Strait. It made a soft “plop,” as if a frog had jumped in.

February 1635,

Kodachi Machi/Santa Cruz

“Sanada Jiro and Sanada Saburo, please come forward,” said Date Masamune.

The two samurai, wearing their formal attire, complied, then bowed deeply.

“Your feat in crossing the wilds of California, first to bring word of the plight of Iroha-hime and her party, and then to lead a rescue party to her, reminds me of the deeds of Hi no Omi no Mikoto the days of the Emperor Jimmu. It was that great samurai that led the imperial party to Yamato, earning himself the epithet, Michi no Omi, the Opener of the Way. You have opened the land road to San Francisco Bay.

“Since your service to Lord Matsudaira Tadateru was released by his death, you are offered positions as members of the grand governor’s personal guard, with suitable stipends.”

Saburo and Jiro exchanged quick glances, and bowed again.

“My brother and I thank you deeply,” said Jiro. “May we respectfully request that we be assigned to the protection of Iroha-hime?”

“That is indeed her wish, and I am pleased to make it my command.”

“Next. Captain Haruno. Please rise.”

The captain did so haltingly.

“It would be remiss of me not to assure that you did not suffer an economic loss as a result of your spending your time on missions of exploration and rescue rather than trade. So, besides the payments you have already received from me, I have decided to give you the exclusive right to sell sea otter pelts in Japan. You will pay our house the standard commission. This exclusivity will last for two years, after which we will review how well you have done.”