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with newer eight-inch Paixhans, which fired explosive shells in deafening salvoes, and their small teams of specialist gunners had been trained to a peak of readiness. All the ships’ longboats had been armed with small brass cannon and readied for launching; extra lookouts had been posted aloft, in the bows and at the stern; drills to meet all contingencies from landing attacks to repelling boarders had been practised over and over again, and stacks of sharp, long-handled pikes stood ready for use in defending the decks against any attempt by the Japanese to swarm aboard in overpowering numbers.
The strait leading to the Bay of Yedo was some eight miles wide, but because no detailed charts were available, as it advanced across the lower gulf the US squadron slowed its speed and moved forward with greater caution. The bigger warships needed a draught of three and a half fathoms beneath their iron-braced wooden hulls and constant soundings were also being taken by leadsmen who swung out weighted lines from the ‘chains’ of the narrow bows. With the Susquehanna at its head, the squadron forged on through the morning hours, following a course that took it to within two miles of the bay’s northern shore.
As the coastal mist cleared in the early afternoon, Eden caught sight of the first signs of habitation: a thatched village nestling in the shadow of a rocky bluff. Almost at once figures began spilling from the houses, and soon the beach was black with running, gesticulating men. Higher up the strait a dozen high prowed fishing junks with ribbed, bat-wing sails were emerging from a cove. On catching sight of the American ships they milled confusedly in a circle for a minute or two before half their number broke from the rest and sailed away rapidly in the direction of Yedo, as though to raise an alarm.
Two or three of the junks approached and crossed the path of the thundering warships before, apparently, realizing the speed at which they were moving. As the Susquehanna bore down on them, the Japanese fishermen panicked and brought the sails clattering down their masts. Manning long oars, they desperately rowed their lumbering craft shoreward, passing so close to the American ships that Eden and the marine guards were able to see the fearful expressions on their faces.
As he watched them, Eden felt a tug at his sleeve. Looking down, he found Sentar o pointing out through the gunport towards the beach. Following the direction of his finger, Eden saw a flotilla of twenty or more narrow boats had been launched and were being rowed skillfully towards them. Each boat bore an identical coloured flag on its stern marked with a single Japanese character, and it was evident that they carried an organized defence force.
Sentaro’s face furrowed into a despairing expression and he began muttering distractedly, repeating the same words over and over again. ‘Shimpai! Taihen shimpai - I’m worried, master. . . I’m so worried
Eden watched the boats for several seconds, then patted the castaway reassuringly on the shoulder. ‘Look, they’re falling behind already. They’re not fast enough to catch us. Don’t upset yourself
Turning, Eden glanced towards the quarterdeck, where the bulky authoritative figure of Commodore Matthew Perry was silhouetted, standing determinedly alone at the weather rail. Resplendent in a dark blue tunic festooned with gold epaulettes and double rows of gilded buttons, his dark leonine head jutted aggressively from his high collar as he surveyed the misty strait through a long Dollond telescope. When they approached Cape Sagami around noon the squadron had come to on his orders and he had spelled out his feelings very clearly to all the officers and men of the four ships through their captains, whom he called to his cabin on the flagship. There were only two ways, he had said, to open Japan to trade - by a show of force or by the outright use of that force.
If displaying their mighty steam-driven warships