Seas of Fortune(156)

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.