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Authors: Giles Milton

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It was a terrible voyage, “by reason of contrary winds we had,” and it took them several weeks to reach their destination. Adams’s principal concern was to gain permission to sell their remaining cargo, for he intended to use the money to buy victuals and supplies for their ship. Once her hold was filled, the men hoped to set sail from Japan. In the meantime, they began lobbying for the necessary permission to depart. “I sought by all meanes … to get our shipp clear,” wrote Adams, but his pleas fell on deaf ears.
Next, he resorted to bribery, proffering large sums of money to members of Ieyasu’s retinue. But it was a fruitless exercise, which drained their limited resources. Within a few weeks, “we spent much of the monney that was given us.”
Ieyasu was in fact far too preoccupied to deal with the
Liefde
. The council of elders had suddenly turned against him, with the other four members forming an unholy alliance. Led by Ishida Mitsunari, they began to engineer a military showdown, hoping to crush Ieyasu’s forces once and for all. Ieyasu monitored developments with cool detachment. He commanded the loyalty of a huge number of troops, and his confidence was boosted by the
Liefde
’s quantity of weaponry, which had been promptly confiscated on the ship’s arrival. If events turned to war, as seemed likely, the ship’s nineteen cannon would prove invaluable.
Battles in Japan were fought on an epic scale and often involved tens of thousands of men. The crack troops in all armies were samurai, whose great curved swords were wielded with deadly effect. These elite forces—highly trained and disciplined—could wreak havoc on the field of battle. Adams would later see them in action and, stunned by their ruthlessness, would describe them as being “valliant in warres.” He said that they rarely took hostages and noted that “justice is severely executed upon the transgressor of the lawe.”
The strategy of the samurai was to cut a swath through the ranks of their enemies, slicing to pieces anyone who dared to stand in their way. This was intended to cause confusion and disarray, as well as to test the mettle of the opposing forces. Although these warriors fought with clinical efficiency, battles endured for many hours and sometimes even days. Treachery was rife, and it was not uncommon for entire regiments to switch allegiance in mid-battle. Men were trained to fight to the death, and surrender was extremely rare. Vanquished troops would rather commit ritual suicide than allow themselves to be captured.
Ieyasu had been in receipt of good intelligence about the
movements of his enemies and realized that they were intent on luring him into combat. He relished the fight and, a few days after his third meeting with Adams, he left Osaka and headed for Edo to begin preparations for war. The forces opposing him numbered almost 80,000 men, while Ieyasu himself could count upon about 70,000. All were in a high state of readiness, yet for six weeks there was an uneasy standoff as the two armies monitored each other’s weaknesses and movements.
It was Ishida’s army that made the first move. In mid-October, his men started to converge on the little village of Sekigahara, some fifty miles from Osaka. Ieyasu’s troops soon followed, entrenching themselves on the hillsides outside the village. The appalling weather guaranteed that the battle would be messy and confused. The first skirmish broke out in the early hours of October 21, when Ishida’s forces found themselves unexpectedly under attack. They fought back fiercely, prompting a much larger engagement than either side had planned. As the gilded banners of war were unfurled and the samurai warriors unsheathed their swords, the heavy drizzle developed into a spectacular rainstorm. A westerly gale screamed through the Sekigahara defile, creating havoc and confusion. Then, a thick fog descended on the field of battle and the two armies found themselves locked in combat. Almost without warning—and certainly without planning—the troops began to fight all along the battlefront, sinking to their knees in the muddy morass.
It is not clear how much damage was being caused by the
Liefde
’s great guns. One Spanish report suggests that they were fired continually into the enemy ranks. If this is true, the cannon would have inflicted severe casualties on the mass of sword-wielding foot soldiers. More certain is the fact that Ishida was determined to seize the initiative by launching a surprise attack on the rear of Ieyasu’s great army. His master plan was to lead the initial engagement, then summon his fearsome allies to smash their way through Ieyasu’s left and right flanks. But these crack troops refused to yield and, when they did at last counterattack, they swooped down upon Ishida’s own forces and hacked them to pieces. Two divisions, each more than 10,000 strong, were totally routed and the tide of battle was dramatically turned. Ieyasu’s forces scented victory and redoubled their offensive when they realized that the panicking enemy army was in full flight, led by their ignominious commander. Ishida was later captured and decapitated, and the triumphant Ieyasu was left as the undisputed master of Japan.
from the Zohyo monogatari
.
Japanese troops were ruthlessly efficient. The soldier
(right) was in charge of a gunner squadron—his bamboo cane contained a spare ramrod. Horsemen (above) cooked food in their battle helmets, and also used them to water their horses
.
His victory was a turning point in Japanese history. Although the infant Hideyori was still alive—and still the ruler-in-waiting—no one doubted that Ieyasu now called the shots. In the aftermath of the great battle, he reorganized fiefdoms and confiscated land from many of the lords who had opposed him. He also strengthened his grip on power and, within three years, would take the ancient title of shogun, which at long last gave him the legitimacy he craved.
It is unclear when Adams and his men learned the welcome news of Ieyasu’s victory. They were still on board the
Liefde,
which remained at anchor in Edo Bay, and were preoccupied with their own troubles. “Four or five of our men rebelled against the capten and myself,” wrote Adams, “and made a muteney amongst the rest of our men, so that we had much trouble with them.” Some of the men vowed to chance their luck on shore, while the rest elected to remain on the
Liefde
. But even they soon tired of the endless waiting game and joined the mutinous rebels. “Everyone would doe what he thought best,” wrote Adams, who agreed to the crew’s suggestion that the remaining money given by Ieyasu should be divided among them. “The monney was delivered according to every man’s place … [and] everyone tooke his way where he thought best.”
When Ieyasu learned of events on the
Liefde
, he must have been secretly pleased. He now knew that the crew had given up all hope of setting sail from Japan and decided to reward them
with a most generous settlement. Every man was given an allowance of two pounds in weight of rice a day, which was more than enough to ensure survival. But Ieyasu’s generosity came at a price. He wished to give the men employment and he had a particularly important job for William Adams.
SAMURAI WILLIAM
T
HE
LIEFDE
was the men’s only link with the world beyond Japan. As long as she was still afloat, she offered the possibility of escaping from the Land of the Rising Sun and attempting the long voyage back to their family and friends. But they were only too aware that the vessel was in a pitiful state. Her timbers were rotten and her mullioned windows, set deep into the stern, were falling apart. Storms, tropical rains, and a severe winter had all contributed to her decline. After more than two years without repairs, she was scarcely seaworthy.
The crew knew that their chances of fleeing in the
Liefde
were slight. Even if they could get permission to leave Japan, which was unlikely, the chances of their surviving a voyage across the East China Sea in such a wreck were minimal. At some point, one of the men clambered aboard and hacked off the figurehead of Erasmus that adorned her prow. It was the only keepsake that they would have of their journey, for shortly afterward the
Liefde
broke
apart and slipped beneath the waves. Her loss was a distress to the seamen, who now knew that they were doomed to a lengthy stay in Japan. Unless or until an English or Dutch rescue vessel arrived, they were stranded in one of the remotest spots on earth.
The
Liefde
’s disappearance was also a blow to Ieyasu, who had marveled at her passage through the Straits of Magellan and across the Pacific. Aware that Adams and his men were not just skilled seafarers but also knew how to keep a craft afloat in the most hostile conditions, he decided to commission them to build a replica of the ship in which they had made their great expedition.
Shipbuilding expertise had long been lacking in the wharves and shipyards that dotted the coastline of Japan. Although the Japanese were daring sailors who pushed their barques into distant oceans and had regular traffic with the East Indies, their ships were of poor construction and handled badly in high seas. The Chinese expert Mao Yuan had dismissed them with contempt in his 1600 book on warfare,
We Pei Chih (On Preparations for War)
, describing Japanese vessels as “wretchedly small … and easily sunk.” He ridiculed the use of a grass called
tanbokuso
to caulk the ships, claiming it was “very extravagant in labour and costly for materials.” Ieyasu agreed and decided to put Adams’s talents to good use.
“The emperour called me,” wrote Adams, “as divers times he hath formerly done.” But on this occasion he did not wish to discuss geography or mathematics. “He would have me make him a small shipp”—a trading craft—that would be capable of sailing as far afield as the Philippines and Mexico.
Adams was alarmed by the request. Although his former tutor, Nicholas Diggins, had taught him the basic principles of shipbuilding, he had never actually constructed a vessel. Nor did he have any experience of cutting and shaping timber for the ship’s frame. This was a highly complex process, fraught with difficulty. If its skeleton was not correctly shaped and aligned, the vessel would be at risk of capsizing in the high seas that surrounded
Japan. Adams explained some of the problems to Ieyasu and mumbled some excuses as to why he could not undertake such a task: “[I] answered him that I was no carpenter and had no knowledge thereof.” Ieyasu frowned when he heard Adams’s protests and commanded him to build the ship nonetheless. “‘Well doe your endeavour,’ saith he. ‘If it be not good, it is no matter.’”
Adams realized that the task ahead presented him with a rare opportunity to demonstrate that he could be of great service to Ieyasu. He threw himself into the work, acquiring timber and giving orders to his men. He was almost certainly aided by Pieter Janszoon, the
Liefde
’s carpenter, who had many of the necessary tools and most of the skills. The men used the now-lost
Liefde
as their template, building the new ship’s frame in much the same manner. For month after month they cut timbers and planking and slowly assembled the ship. When she was at last finished and the men stood back to review their work, they were rather pleased with the result. She was indeed a miniature replica of the
Liefde
—“made in all respectes as our manner is”—and had a displacement of some eighty tons.
When the last rope was attached and the pennants put in place, Ieyasu was invited to the quayside to view the vessel. “He came abord to see it,” wrote Adams, “[and] the sight whereof gave him great content.” It did indeed. Ieyasu was delighted with the ship, telling Adams that, henceforth, he was welcome to visit the court whenever he wished and “that allways I must come in his presence.”
Ieyasu was even more impressed when he had seen the majestic vessel under full sail, “[and] commaunded me to make another”—one that was capable of making ocean voyages. This second craft was to be on a much grander scale—about 120 tons—and took many months to build. When it was finally finished, Adams was extremely proud of his handicraft. “I have made a voyage in [her] from Kyoto to Edo,” he recorded, “being as farr
as from London to the Lizard or the Lande’s End of England.” The ship would eventually prove her seaworthiness by surviving a treacherous crossing of the Pacific, for Ieyasu lent it to the Spanish governor of the Philippines, whose own vessel was shipwrecked off the shores of Japan.
from Arnoldus Montanus’s Atlas Japannensis, 1670
.
The Japanese constructed magnificent pleasure craft (above) but lacked the expertise to make ocean-going vessels
.
Ieyasu decided to utilize William Adams’s talents
.
Ieyasu now saw how wise he had been not to execute Adams and regularly summoned him to meetings, “giving me from time to time presentes, and, in the end, a yearly stipend to live upon.” This provided Adams with a considerable sum of money—some seventy ducats of silver and more than two pounds of rice each day.
The Jesuits were horrified by the rise of this heretic sea dog. They had been infuriated by their failure to have Adams crucified; now, they realized that he posed a serious threat to their relationship
with the shogun. “After he had learned the language,” wrote Padre Valentim Carvalho, “he had access to Ieyasu and entered the palace at any time. In his character of heretic, he constantly endeavoured to discredit our church as well as its ministers.” The Jesuit fathers knew that it would be dangerous to murder Adams, so they tried a different approach. They redoubled their efforts to convert him and his men to Catholicism, aware that any success would be a spectacular coup for their mission.
They recognized that this would not be easy and laid down contingency plans in the event of failure. These included an extraordinary offer “to procure for him and his companions a safe conduct permitting them to leave Japan.” They were so alarmed that Adams and his men would “contaminate, with their conversation and perverse doctrines, the souls of the Christians still fresh and tender in the Catholic faith” that they were prepared to risk Ieyasu’s wrath by smuggling them out of the country.
In 1605, one of the Jesuit monks—almost certainly Padre João Rodrigues—met Adams at court and, somewhat clumsily, attempted to convert him: “[He] took advantage of the occasion to demonstrate to him the falsity of his sect, and the truth of the Catholic religion, by arguments and obvious reasons, drawn from the Holy Bible.” Adams scoffed at the monk and gave a bold defense of his Protestant faith. “[He] had a lively intelligence,” reads the Jesuit account, “and, though he had not studied, tried to justify his errors by citing the authority of the same holy scriptures.”
When the padre perceived his failure, he announced his willingness to secure passage for the
Liefde
’s survivors on the next vessel to depart from Nagasaki. But although Adams was desperate to leave Japan, he had no desire to place his life in the hands of his bitterest enemies. He declined their offer and angered them further by mocking their waning influence at court.
The small Franciscan community also tried to convert Adams and his men, but they chose an altogether more original approach. A fanatical but decidedly crazy friar called Juan de Madrid conceded
that debate was wasted on such stubborn heretics and offered instead to perform a miracle. He summoned the men to Uraga Bay near Edo and gave them one of two options. Pointing to two mountains, one on either side of the bay, he offered “[to] remove a greate tree, over the water, from the top of one mountaine to another.” His second proposal was to “remove the whole mountaine itselfe.”
The men sniggered into their beards and joshed that the local landowner would be less than happy if his mountain were to disappear. The friar was nonplussed by their jocularity and proceeded to offer them two further choices: “to make the sun to stand still in the fermament, as it did in the time of Joshua … [or] walke on the water, as St Peter did.” The men declined his offer to stop the sun, saying that it would burn their sensitive skins, but were very taken with the last option. They all agreed that they would like nothing better than to see Friar Juan walk on water.
Adams was as skeptical as the rest of the men. He said that “he firmly beleeved that all miracles ceased longe since, and that those of late time were but fictions and nothinge to be respected.” Such skepticism only encouraged the friar, who was determined to demonstrate the vigor of his faith. Indeed, he was so convinced of success that he traipsed around the local town of Uraga, publicizing the forthcoming miracle, “so that thousands of people came to behould and see the event.”
The crew of the
Liefde
watched impatiently for the spectacle to begin. No one believed that the friar could perform a miracle and they were delighted that he was going to make a fool of himself in front of the vast crowds that had gathered. But as Friar Juan began to prepare himself, the men suddenly became alarmed. The friar was known to be a strong swimmer, and it dawned on them that he was about to perform some sort of illusion or trick. “The frire … [was] well provided of a greate piece of wood made in forme of a crosse,” wrote one, “which wrought from above his girdell to his feete.” The men were unsure as to exactly how this wooden
contraption would keep Friar Juan afloat, yet it appeared to have been constructed in such a way “as to have kept up any reasonable swimer above water, as this man was well knowne to be.”
But it was by now too late to warn the crowds that Friar Juan was a charlatan. He had already walked down to the water’s edge with great show, playing to the enormous crowd. He prayed, crossed himself fervently, and gingerly placed his foot onto the water’s surface. It sank to the bottom. So did his other foot. He continued edging forward, but his body refused to become weightless and his “greate peece of wood” appeared not to work. He was soon plowing through the water, which shelved down steeply from the shoreline, until he was up to his neck. The cross, far from providing him with buoyancy was dragging him down and it would be only a matter of seconds before his head disappeared beneath the waves. Suddenly, the men from the
Liefde
took pity on the friar. Melchior van Santvoort rushed across to a little skiff on the beach and pushed off into the water to rescue the foolish padre: “For all his cunninge and holinesse, he had been drowned.” Wet, bedraggled, and mortified, he was plucked from the sea. His bold attempt had failed, “to the utter scandall of all the papists and other Christians.”
On the following morning, Adams went to visit Friar Juan in order to quiz him about his miracle. But the poor man was not in a good state. Adams “fownd him sicke in his bed,” although as plucky as ever when asked about his supposed miraculous powers. “‘For,’ said he, ‘had you beleeved that I could have done it, I had assuredly accomplished it.’” Adams could not stop himself from ribbing the padre, saying, “I told you before that I did not beleeve you could doe it, and now I have better occasion to be of the same opineon still.” The friar, broken and humiliated, realized that he was defeated and “got him[self] packinge out of this cuntry.” He took passage to Manila, where he found that his reputation had preceded him. He was feted for his attempt, and the admiring crowds gave him the nickname
O Milagreiro
, “the
miracle–monger.” But the local bishop proved rather less charitable toward his fellow Franciscan “[and] put him into prison for his rash attempt.” It was indeed rash; news of his failed walk on water soon spread through Japan, and it was said that even many years after, the people “canot forget so notable a miracle-monger.”
BOOK: Samurai William: The Englishman Who Opened Japan
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