* * *
Tokubei lowered the telescope. They had left Gillies Bay, and Isamu’s party, behind them. The latter had drawn up and secured their boat, and found a path up from the beach. They had quickly passed out of sight, and Tokubei hoped that they would be all right. His report would direct the future colonists to Gillies Bay; it would be easy to find, as at the northern point, there was an unusual white patch, two spots like a pair of plum blossoms. There was nothing like it anywhere else along the western coast of Texada.
* * *
“Tokubei-san.” Yoshitaki had come up behind him.
The mariner started. He hadn’t seen or heard the big samurai’s approach.
“It’s a great thing you’ve begun here,” said Yoshitaki. “The grand governor will certainly reward you.” He paused. “If it were up to me, I’d say you should start thinking about what might be a nice surname for your house.” A surname . . . the sign of samurai status.
Late August 1634,
Oregon Coast
“Where have you been?” demanded Standing-on-Robe, of the Alsea Indians. “You should have been home before the sun stopped climbing the sky!”
His son, Little Otter, was not especially abashed. “I was by the beach, gathering clams, as you told me to, when I saw a white cloud on the horizon.”
“A white cloud? How amazing!” said his older brother.
“Stay out of this,” said Standing-on-Robe.
“The white cloud was moving straight toward me, not with the other clouds. Then it split into many clouds. The clouds came closer together, and I saw that they were hovering over a forest of pine trees, that in turn were planted on the backs of great whales.
“So I ran and hid in the forest. I waited there a few hours, and then circled back here.”
Little Otter was, perhaps, fortunate that his people didn’t believe in corporal punishment of children for lying. Even though he wasn’t.
* * *
The First Fleet had made landfall in Alsea Bay, on the coast of Oregon. Armed parties landed first, to set up a defensive perimeter, and then the passengers were given the chance to come ashore, stand, however unsteadily, on dry land, and to collect fresh water and food.
The Alsea Indians noted the great numbers of the intruders, and decided it was prudent to move upriver. Naturally, they left a few scouts to keep an eye on the Japanese.
One of these was Standing-on-Robe. Little Otter was given strict instructions to stay with his mother. Naturally, he slipped out after the scouts as soon as he saw the opportunity. As he made his way downriver, he saw something truly, truly shocking.
When Standing-on-Robe returned, he found Little Otter telling his friends just how ghastly the visitors were.
“Most of them look like men, but they are ruled by some kind of giant beetle. The beetles had eight legs—”
“Beetles have six legs,” said his older brother. “That’s it.”
“Well, these had eight legs, like a spider, but were armored like a beetle. Anyway, they moved on just four of the legs, but they could run faster than any man. And they had a long sting in front.”
“Oh, you’re just making this up.”
“Am not.”
“You couldn’t have seen it, you were confined to camp.”
“I sneaked out.”
“Wait until I tell Father.”
Standing-on-Robe sent him to bed without supper. But the punishment was for sneaking out, not lying. By then, Standing-on-Robe, too, had seen what a samurai on horseback, carrying a lance, looked like.
* * *
Yamaguchi Takuma placed a white cloth on Munesane’s forehead, and put salt, an ancient symbol of wisdom, in his mouth. Then Yamaguchi picked up the pitcher and began to pour.
Water dripped down Munesane’s eyebrows as Yamaguchi baptized him with the waters of North America. Every kirishitan had to know how to administer baptism, but Yamaguchi was a mizukata, the elected baptizer of his group of hidden Christians. The honor of baptizing Munesane had first been offered to Imamura Yajiro, but he had declined and suggested Yamaguchi do it instead.
As Yamaguchi poured, he chanted, “I baptize you ‘David,’ in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost. Amen.”
* * *
Yajiro had witnessed many baptisms before, but this one was different. This one, Yajiro knew, could not fail to have an impact on history. Date Munesane—‘David Date,’ Yajiro corrected himself—was the heir apparent to the province of New Nippon. When, as they no doubt would eventually, the Spanish discovered the Japanese settlement in Monterey, they would discover that it was a Christian kingdom. This wouldn’t stop them from attacking it, but it would give them pause. And the delay would allow the Japanese to entrench themselves.