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Authors: Giles Milton

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The
Sea Adventure
’s voyage had failed in almost every respect, and the fallout was to continue long after Adams’s return. The
English factory’s two Nagasaki agents, who had accompanied Adams to Ryukyu, found themselves in deep trouble with the town’s Portuguese authorities. Accused of treachery for serving the English and of betraying their Catholic faith, they were thrown in prison, pending their execution.
Cocks wrote urgent letters to the governor of Nagasaki, demanding their freedom, but his pleas fell on deaf ears. “[He] used all meanes possible to get them releaste,” wrote William Eaton, “and cannot.” Humiliated by his lack of influence, Cocks begged Adams to argue his case with the shogun. Adams was happy to oblige. He informed Ieyasu of what had happened, and the shogun ordered the Portuguese to free the men immediately. “[Ieyasu] gave his command forthwith that the two men should be set at liberty,” wrote a grateful Cocks, “and all their goodes restored to them.” The Portuguese were furious, but there was nothing they could do. Once again, Adams had managed to humiliate them, and at the same time he had demonstrated his continuing influence over Ieyasu.
Adams scored a further triumph when he interceded with the shogun on behalf of Specx and his men. The Dutch had captured a Portuguese ship, the
San Antonio
, which was richly laden with ebony wood, gold, and conserves. She was heading for Nagasaki but, because she did not have the necessary Japanese trading license, they claimed her as a lawful prize.
Ieyasu was unsure how to respond and allowed both sides to come to court to plead their case. When he discovered that the Dutch were represented by Adams, he resolved the matter in their favor. They were allowed to keep the ship, her cargo, and her captured crew. “William Adams was a cheefe occation to move the emperour thereunto,” wrote a gleeful Cocks, who was delighted to learn that Adams had taken the opportunity to remind Ieyasu of the Spanish and Portuguese kings’ desire to dominate the easternmost parts of the world.
Cocks was also pleased with the sweet-potato tubers that Adams had brought back as a present from Ryukyu. These would become the first recorded potatoes ever grown in Japan and, tended by the green-thumbed Cocks, they produced a heavy crop. It was not long before he was writing in his diary about how he had taken a “dish of pottatos” to the food-loving King Foyne.
They proved to be the factory’s only material benefit from the 1614 voyage to Ryukyu. Although Wickham had made a fortune from private trade, Cocks himself was left with empty pockets. But before he was able to take stock of the situation—and count his losses—the men found themselves facing a far more serious challenge. Japan was threatened by civil war, and Ieyasu was mobilizing his troops.
 
 
Ieyasu’s anger was directed toward the Christians in his realm. He had hitherto shown remarkable tolerance toward both Jesuits and Franciscans, allowing them to construct churches and preach in public throughout the land. They had established religious colleges to instruct Japanese novices and had founded their own printing press to produce catechisms for recent converts. The Jesuits had benefited most from Ieyasu’s benign rule: they had achieved a far greater success in Japan than in any other Eastern realm—the number of their converts was probably approaching 300,000—and their 116 missionaries served scores of churches spread right across the country. Ieyasu had even turned a blind eye to the conversion of several feudal lords and had appointed a number of Japanese Christians to senior positions in his court. Now, a series of unfortunate incidents caused him to rethink his entire strategy toward the foreign padres.
The visit of Sebastian Vizciano had sounded the first alarm bell. The Spaniard’s haughty arrogance had infuriated Ieyasu, and his anger had increased when he learned that this disagreeable individual
had many contacts with the Franciscans. Ieyasu punished these monks by closing some of their churches.
Shortly after, he faced a challenge from one of his own feudal lords. The lord of Arima, a Christian, bribed one of his coreligionists at court to forge a document that extended the boundaries of his fiefdom. Ieyasu was horrified that a courtier could place religious loyalty above loyalty to his own person. As a warning to other Christian officials, he had the man roasted alive. He also took action against Arima, stripping him of his fiefdom and sending him into exile.
Ieyasu soon received word of a far more serious incident, which finally persuaded him that Christianity was having a pernicious and divisive influence on Japanese society. A common criminal called Jirobioye was caught counterfeiting money and was brought before the authorities. He was condemned for his crime and, as a Christian, sentenced to be crucified. The crucifixion was attended by hundreds of fellow Christians and, when Jirobioye finally expired, the assembled crowd “kneeled downe upon their knees to commend his soule unto God.” The priests then began preaching to the masses, telling them of their love for all Christians—even sinners like Jirobioye.
Ieyasu was disgusted by such behavior and was even more shocked to discover that these priests were openly teaching their flocks to obey the padres over and above their feudal lords. Such a doctrine was a threat to the orderly society of Japan, and Ieyasu decided he could no longer allow it to continue. In January 1614, he issued his famous edict against Christianity. It charged Christians with having come to his land “to disseminate an evil law [and] to overthrow true doctrine, so that they may change the government of the country.” It added that “this is the germ of great disaster, and must be crushed.” All foreign Christians were to leave forthwith, or face one of five punishments: branding, nose-slitting, amputation of the feet, castration, or death. The edict was
also aimed at Japanese converts. They were allowed to remain in Japan, but only on the condition that they become members of one of the principal Buddhist sects. The head of each family was made personally responsible for the apostasy of his children.
The Jesuits were appalled by this dramatic downturn in their fortunes. After more than half a century in Japan, they found themselves summarily expelled by the very man who had shown the greatest tolerance toward them. Although some hoped to stay behind, “to remaine hid and disguised in Japan,” they knew that this would be almost impossible because of “the extreme difficulty in finding means to keep them secret.” With great reluctance, the fathers made their way to Nagasaki, their designated port of leave, hoping and praying that Ieyasu would rescind his edict.
Ieyasu’s new law theoretically applied to all Christians in Japan, yet it was specifically targeted at Catholics. Adams had spent a great deal of effort explaining to the shogun the differences between the Catholic and Protestant faiths and informing him of the theological rift that had plunged Europe into turmoil and war for decades. His clarity and patience now paid handsome dividends. The English remained totally untouched by Ieyasu’s wrath. The only consequence to them came when they were ordered to remove the flag of St. George from their factory because the cross was a cause of offense. They greeted the news of Ieyasu’s selective tolerance with undisguised glee, yet they were not unduly surprised. Adams had long believed that Catholicism in Japan was ultimately doomed and had bragged to one Spaniard, “Your Honour will see that within three years there won’t be a single padre in Japan.” Wickham went so far as to claim that Ieyasu’s edict was partly a result of English chicanery, boasting that “upon demand, as occasion offered, we have done the Jesuits little credit here.” The Jesuit provincial Valentim Carvalho certainly believed as much. He wrote to the Pope to inform him that Adams and the others “by false accusation … have rendered our preachers such
objects of suspicion that he [Ieyasu] fears and readily believes that they are rather spies than sowers of the Holy Faith in his kingdom.”
The effect of Ieyasu’s edict was dramatic and immediate. “All the houses and churches that did belong to the friars and Jesuits are pulled down and burnt,” wrote William Eaton from Osaka. He added that all the Japanese converts had abjured their faith “so as now there is no more Christian Japanners in these parts.” This was only partly true. Osaka’s churches had indeed been demolished, but many of their worshipers were still at large. Nor had all the foreign priests made their way to Nagasaki. A number of friars, Jesuits, and Christian samurai had, in great secrecy, begun to seek refuge within the impregnable ramparts of Osaka Castle. A conflict was brewing, and Ieyasu was about to face the greatest—and most desperate—challenge to his authority.
The trouble had been long in the making. Ieyasu’s triumphant victory at Sekigahara in 1600 had made him temporarily the undisputed master of Japan. His enemies had been utterly crushed, and all criticism appeared to have been silenced. But Ieyasu’s victory had provided only breathing space. The young Hideyori, for whom Ieyasu had originally been appointed regent, was still ensconced in Osaka Castle, and there were many who saw him as Japan’s legitimate ruler-in-waiting. As Hideyori approached adulthood, scores of disaffected nobles and dispossessed princelets began to rally to his standard.
Ieyasu’s anti-Christian edict had strengthened Hideyori’s hand, encouraging Christian samurai and soldier-priests to join his ranks. By the winter of 1614, it was clear to Ieyasu that he was facing a crisis that needed to be confronted head-on. He had long planned for his own son to succeed him and did not intend to let Hideyori’s increasingly belligerent forces stand in the way. But the challenge posed by these malcontents was far more serious than that which Ieyasu had faced in 1600. Although he could count on the loyalty of a vast number of troops—including battle-toughened
veterans of the Sekigahara campaign—his enemies had one significant advantage. They controlled the mighty Osaka Castle, which occupied a strategic position in the heart of Japan.
Osaka Castle was immense. It was built on such a monumental scale that all newly arrived foreigners were stunned by what they saw. Its outer defenses stretched for more than nine miles and were widely held to be impregnable, while the central keep was protected by two deep moats, both of which were surrounded by 120-foot walls. These, in turn, were protected by “very deep trenches … and many drawbridges, with gates plated with iron.” Each gate was bristling with weaponry, and the ramparts were defended by fire-hurling mangonels. When Saris had examined the castle, he was astonished to discover that “the walls are at the least six or seven yards thick.”
Ieyasu and Hideyori both knew that a military showdown was inevitable. They also knew that this battle would determine the future of Japan. There was so much at stake that their already massive armies were augmented by thousands of eager volunteers, who sought to improve their lots by backing the winning side. Ieyasu had some 180,000 troops at his disposal, all of whom were mustered outside the walls of Osaka. Their martial encampment made an impressive sight—an array of tents and pavilions that stretched for many miles. These hardy warriors faced a hidden enemy that was believed to number about 100,000 troops and included many of Japan’s most ruthless samurai. Ieyasu’s first challenge was to dislodge from Osaka Castle this formidable force—many of whom were fanatical Christians fighting for their faith. Once they had been flushed from their stronghold, he would have to defeat them in hand-to-hand combat. It was a dangerous and risk-filled strategy.
Ieyasu had acquired a great deal of weaponry and gunpowder from Adams and Eaton, and he decided to use these to announce the start of hostilities. At the end of December 1614, he ordered his most experienced gunners to train their thirteen-pound
guns—the
Clove
’s culverins—on one of the castle towers, in the hope that they would dislodge the masonry. They continued their bombardment for three days, as shot after shot pounded the fortifications, but they made little impact on the stonework. It quickly became apparent that the castle was indeed impregnable to weaponry and that Ieyasu’s only hope of capturing the place was by siege or trickery.
He had long proved a master of cunning and now—in his hour of greatest need—he acted with consummate skill. He caused confusion inside the castle by sending conflicting signals to the defenders. One day, he played the peacemaker. The next, he renewed his warmongering. He dispatched negotiators to Hideyori’s mother, who was known to favor peace, yet shortly afterward he bombarded the castle with cannonfire. He wooed factional groups with bribery, but at the same time mined the moat. And then, to the bewilderment of the defenders, he suddenly capitulated. He sent a document to Hideyori in which he confessed to his folly at having hoped to capture Osaka Castle. Contrite, and with customary grace, he offered to pardon all the malcontents inside the castle and allow the young pretender to live wherever he wished. He assured Hideyori “that his person should be held inviolable” and sealed his document with a
kappan
, or blood-stamp-blood from his own finger—which rendered it sacred and binding.
from Arnoldus Montanus’s Atlas Japannensis, 1670
.
Ieyasu’s troops were battle-hardened and well equipped. But they soon discovered that arquebuses (above) and even cannon were of little use against the massive battlements of Osaka Castle.
BOOK: Samurai William: The Englishman Who Opened Japan
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