White Cloud stood on the beach to greet them. He and Talks-While-Walking exchanged signs. While the Indians of California didn’t have a universal or comprehensive sign language, like the one that would develop on the Great Plains, some simple, concrete concepts could be communicated to other tribes. Indeed, even the few Spanish visitors to California, like Cabrillo in 1542, had been signed to.
Hikobei was surprised to find another wooden planked boat on the beach. The Indians of Monterey Bay only paddled about, close to shore, in little tule rafts. This Chumash boat was made of pine, without any internal ribs, and painted red. The planks seemed to be tied together with plant fibers, and the seams were caulked with a strange black material. Later, he learned that the boat belonged to a visitor, one of the Island Chumash of the south, and the local Chumash themselves only had tule boats.
White Cloud ceremoniously led them back to his village, which was located a short distance inland, near a small creek. As they approached the village, a dog darted out, and started barking at them. This caught the attention of White Cloud’s tribesmen, several of whom came out, weapons in hand. After a sharp exchange with White Cloud, they lowered them, and smiled at the Japanese visitors.
They were introduced to the chief. He had done much traveling in his youth, indeed, he had been to Monterey Bay, and even as far as the cinnabar mine, and he still remembered a little of Talks-While-Walking’s tongue.
This didn’t come as a complete surprise to Hikobei, since he had known that in Talks-While-Walking’s tribe, there were those who could speak the language of a neighboring tribe.
What did come as a surprise was that one of the Chumash knew a few Japanese words. At first, Hikobei thought that one of the kirishitan fishermen might have been shipwrecked here. But no, the Indians of Monterey Bay had learned a little Japanese, and as they traded with their neighbors, the new words had passed along with the goods. So the Salinans learned Japanese from the Costanoans, and the Chumash from the Salinans. Given that California Indian languages were so diverse, Hikobei couldn’t help but wonder whether Japanese might soon become the trade language for the central California coast.
The chief welcomed them. Indeed, he told them that they could stay as long as they wish. “Only, please kill more bears.”
Maruya (Carmel, California),
Summer 1636
The eta were supposed to deliver their leather goods to a storehouse constructed near Maruya. They would lock them up, and then hoist a flag to let the kirishitan in Maruya know that they had made a delivery. The eta would be allowed time to withdraw to a camp down-shore, and the Maruyans would come pick up the leather, and leave supplies for the eta. The eta would return for these, then sail home.
This time, matters were different. What the Maruyans found in the storehouse wasn’t leather, but a note. The note demanded that the eta be given the same rights as other Japanese: to dress as they did, to live in the towns, to serve in the militia, to attend prayer services, and so forth. It was signed by the “Shin-Heimin”—the “new commoners.”
Kodachi Machi (Santa Cruz)
“We have a problem,” Shigetsuna announced. “The eta have staged a chosan ikki.” It was a time-honored tactic for farmers at odds with their daimyo. They would harvest their crops, pack their things, and cross the border into the next han. Their lord, of course, could not lead soldiers into another daimyo’s domain without permission, not only from that daimyo, but from the central government. From this temporary safe haven, the farmers would send petitions to the latter, asking for it to intercede. If the dispute could not be settled quickly, the new daimyo might let them stay permanently, or the central government might get fed up with the old daimyo and dispossess him on grounds of mismanagement.
“But what lord could they take refuge with?” demanded Date Masamune. “There are no other daimyo, no other han here.”
Shigetsuna bowed. “But there are many Indian tribes. They have taken refuge, it seems, with the Chumash. According to the encyclopedia, the Chumash live on the coast from San Luis Obispo to Malibu, and on the Channel Islands, and inland as far as the western edge of San Joaquin Valley. Just the coastal section alone is, as I best I can figure it, two hundred miles long.”
“So . . . They can hide from us easily.”
“Unless you are willing to force the Chumash to give them up.”
“Is that what you advise?”
“We must resolve this crisis, peacefully or otherwise, before the commissioners arrive. Failing to keep the eta under control could be considered ‘mismanagement.’ And anyway we need the leather.”