HEAVY RAIN
THE THIRTEENTH DAY of the sixth month. Midnight.
Heavy rain.
The fields and forests of Motohara and Nakano were wrapped in silence as sheets of rain pelted the ground.
The doors of every farmhouse were tightly shut, and everyone had long since fallen asleep while outside it was so dark that one could not see even an inch ahead.
In the Motohara chapel—which, in reality, was nothing more than an animal shed—Father Laucaigne was writing in his diary, relying on the light from a rapeseed oil candle that flickered like the wings of a moth.
The surface on which he wrote would, come morning, be transformed into an altar for Mass. Again tomorrow, a large number of Japanese Kirishitans would kneel at the base of that improvised altar. Some would come from Shitsu and Kurosaki. That group was presently asleep in the room adjoining their hut, snoring loudly….
I’ve neglected writing in my journal for a long while. A dizzying number of things have happened over the past month, and we’ve been so busy we’ve scarcely had time to sleep. Father Laucaigne paused in his writing to listen to the sound of the rain. As he lent his ears to the downpour, in his mind he sought to put in order the events that had occurred this past month.
At night, we leave the Ōura Church like bats escaping from a belfry. We remove our vestments and put on Japanese clothing that the Kirishitans have provided for us. Then we put on wigs with a samurai topknot, slip on straw sandals, cover our faces from the tops of our heads to beneath our chins with a scarf, and head out into the silent streets. There’s no longer any need to use the kites to contact one another. Even if the officials know that we slip out at night, they can’t do anything about it. The young man from Urakami who comes to guide us carries a lantern and starts out ahead of us, with the implements for the Mass in a pack on his back. When we arrive in Urakami …
Once more he stopped writing and listened intently. The violent rain had stopped abruptly, and he could hear the croaking of frogs.
“Padre, haven’t you gone to sleep yet?” A young believer who had awakened gave a yawn and headed outside. He probably needed to relieve himself.
Everything works in our favor. The long-standing policy of Christian persecution adopted by the Japanese government is, however slowly, becoming a policy in name only. When the Japanese come inside our chapel, the authorities merely blink at it, and a few days ago, when Father Petitjean was installing an image of the Blessed Mother that he had requested from France, those in attendance included not just representatives from various foreign nations but the Nagasaki magistrate himself. He peered curiously around the sanctuary, gazed at the holy image, and even shook hands with us before leaving. With changes like that, I’m certain it won’t be long before the Japanese abandon their anti-Christian policy altogether.
The young man returned from outside, said “Good night” to the priest who was engrossed in his writing, and disappeared.
Apparently the rain had now stopped completely. The croaking of the frogs became rather annoying. Father Laucaigne stretched out his back and twisted his weary head to the left and the right. It was almost 3:00 A.M.
At that same hour … a black column of officers was climbing the hills from Magome toward Motohara and Nakano, tracing a route alongside the Urakami River. The padre, of course, could not have known anything about this.
The official record states that the number of policemen who raided Urakami that night was approximately 170. The columns of police, led by government officers Andō Ginnosuke, Yatsu Kanshirō, and Hondō Shuntarō, chose this night of fierce downpour to steal undetected into the hamlets of Nakano, Motohara, and Ieno.
By the time the sleeping peasants were awakened by the sounds of footsteps, their houses were already surrounded.
What follows is Father Laucaigne’s detailed report of the events of that night:
Saturday and Sunday nights were exceedingly peaceful, with not a single suspicious sound to be heard. Despite the pounding rain, the faithful who had made their preparations for baptism arrived one by one, retired to the chapel or to houses in the neighborhood and calmly fell asleep. But on Monday night, around 3:00 A.M., the doors were suddenly flung rudely open. I heard Ichinosuke cry out, “It’s the police! Run! Quickly!!” I pulled a Japanese kimono over my cossack and flew out the rear door. At just that moment, constables came storming in through the front door.
Father Laucaigne escaped to a mountain called Mount Ippongi. Running behind to protect him were Ichinosuke, Tatsuemon, Seikichi, and Yūkichi. The five men ran for their lives, their shoulders heaving, along the rain-soaked road.
“Padre, just a little farther,” Yūkichi shouted to the priest as they ran. “Old lady Kira at Ippongi has a hut where you can hide.”
Agonizingly the priest replied, “I … I left the Mass implements behind!”
The four Japanese Kirishitans stopped in their tracks. The implements for the Mass were of irreplaceable value to them.
Yūkichi muttered decisively, “I’ll … I’ll go back and get them.”
“If you’re going, I will too!” Seikichi responded. At that, the two men slid down a slope covered with rain-soaked pine trees.
The sky grew light; night was breaking.
“Padre, we must hurry!” Ichinosuke urged the priest, who was still looking absently in the direction the other two young men had fled. The sun was already up by the time they located the two huts near the top of the mountain. A dog barked in the distance.
They dove into the huts and asked old Kira to get them a set of tattered clothes.
“We don’t need them. These are for the padre to change into.” Ichinosuke and Tatsuemon handed the single set of tatters to the priest and stepped outside the hut to stand watch.
The dog’s bark drew closer. Evidently the constables were coming this way.
“Padre, it isn’t safe here, either. You’ve got to escape to the valley or you’ll be arrested.”
With no time to rest, the three men fled the hut and rushed down to the valley below Mount Ippongi. The trees that sheltered the valley would hide the three men from view.
The rain had stopped, but a milky fog veiled Mount Ippongi, concealing Father Laucaigne, Ichinosuke, and Tatsuemon.
Again a dog yapped in the distance. It had to be a dog belonging to their pursuers. But perhaps they had been discouraged by the heavy fog that blanketed the valley: the barking sounds retreated gradually into the distance.
“I wonder if everybody got away,” Tatsuemon mumbled. Then he asked Ichinosuke, “What do you remember happening?”
“I went outside to piss in the middle of the night, and when I opened the door, I saw a big lantern on a pole coming toward us. So I shouted out to the padres to warn them …”
“Do you think the other two will make it back?” The priest was concerned about the two young men who had courted danger by going back to the village to retrieve the Mass implements.
“No need to worry about Seikichi and Yūkichi, padre. They’re sharp, those boys.”
Father Laucaigne closed his eyes and leaned back against a rock. Exhaustion washed over him. He had not slept since the previous night.
Meanwhile, after Seikichi and Yūkichi left Father Laucaigne and the others, they slid down a tree-covered slope. They could hear the gurgling of a mountain stream; it came from the headwaters of the Urakami River that flowed through Motohara.
The two men hid behind the wet trunks of two trees and listened carefully for any sounds. But they could hear nothing other than the murmuring of the river and the plopping of raindrops falling from the branches.
Yūkichi asked, “Do you think they’ve gone? It’s so quiet.”
“The fog is so thick, you can’t even see the houses or the fields from here,” Seikichi nodded. “I think it’s OK to go to the bottom of the hill.”
They stepped out of the trees. Skirting past the terraced fields, they headed toward a cluster of houses. Their feet were
caked in mud, and a wind whipped the fog around, providing them a glimpse of a young woman standing nearby.
“Isn’t that Maki from Ichizō’s family? What’s she doing there?” Yūkichi whispered to Seikichi, then called toward the figure, “Maki!”
Maki turned toward them and cried, “Don’t come this way! Run!!”
Several men came bounding through the fog.
Yūkichi tripped and fell to the ground, screaming to Seikichi, “Get away!! Hurry!!”
A man tumbled on top of Yūkichi. Several men kicked him and then bound him in ropes.
Seikichi fled for his life into the trees. He leaped into the swirling fog and tried to hide. His pursuers, totaling nearly ten men, split into three groups in an effort to cut him off.
“You should get some sleep, too,” Father Laucaigne called to Ichinosuke and Tatsuemon, who sat with their backs to him. The two men planned to let the priest rest while they waited anxiously to hear the footsteps of Seikichi and Yūkichi returning.
“We will, but those two haven’t come back yet. What could have happened to them?” Ichinosuke muttered with concern. “Padre, I’m going to go look for them. Please stay here with Tatsuemon. If you move on, I won’t know where to find you when I come back.” He paused, then with some discomfort said, “Padre, I have a favor to ask. If I make it back today, I’d like to receive bautismo.”
Father Laucaigne nodded and watched as the man spun on his heels and disappeared into the fog.
A faint light broke through the overcast sky, enough to weigh heavily on their eyelids. The clouds over Nagasaki cracked open and blue sky appeared. Father Laucaigne shut his eyes and began to pray. Following his example, Tatsuemon also intoned an oração, but before long his muttering broke off and he dozed, his head bobbing up and down. The fear and tension of the previous night had drained both him and the priest.
Soon Tatsuemon was awakened by the faint sound of footsteps coming down the mountain path. He put his finger to his lips and whispered, “That’s not Ichinosuke. Padre, don’t make any noise.” The two men froze and listened for movement.
“Hello!” It was a man’s voice, but not Ichinosuke’s. The priest wondered whether it might be a Kirishitan, but Tatsuemon shook his head sternly, so he did not respond.
“There’s nothing to be afraid of. It’s Chiyomatsu, I live next door to old lady Kira. She asked me to bring you some sandals and raincoats.”
When Tatsuemon finally responded, they again heard footsteps and two farmers appeared from the fog-swathed forest.
“What’s happening in the village?”
“We don’t really know. But there was a huge uproar before dawn, and then we heard dogs barking.”
“That was the officers looking for the padre and us. But it looks like they gave up with all this fog. Yūkichi and Seikichi went to check things out, and Ichinosuke went looking for them, but none of them have come back yet.”
“Do you think they were caught?” Chiyomatsu said it as though he blamed Father Laucaigne for all their troubles. “They shouldn’t have gone back to the village.”
Father Laucaigne lowered his eyes. It was true that if the missionaries had not come to Nagasaki, these Japanese Kirishitans would have been able to live quiet, peaceful lives just as they always had…. But because they had come …
At that same hour—
The fog was swept away by the wind, and the shapes of thatched roofs and tree branches became clearly visible. From among those houses and trees a group of peasants, male and female, bound with ropes and caked with mud, struggled down the slope, driven like animals. Constables followed behind them.
Motohara was not the only village where arrests were made. Throughout the morning hours the Kirishitans of Nakano and Ieno were also shaken from their sleep; they too had scrambled to escape and been captured.
Many months later, Sen’emon from Motohara reported: “Around 3:00 A.M. there was a loud pounding on the door, so I woke up and went to see who it was, and when I opened the door a whole flock of officers charged into the house. They took me and tied me up, and when I asked ‘What crime have I committed?’ they said, ‘Rude bastard! You’ll find out soon enough!’ and then they beat me. As they led me off in ropes, they stopped at Yasaburō’s place and then asked me where Taira no Mataichi’s house was. But I wouldn’t tell them, so one of them shouted ‘I’ll cut you down!’ and whacked me over the head with the side of his sword.”
Kanzaburō of Nakano related the following:
The night of the thirteenth, Zennosuke, Kisuke, and I were sleeping in the chapel. But around 2:00 in the morning of the fourteenth, we woke up and saw nearly thirty lanterns with red rising suns printed on them. We realized it was the officers come to arrest us, so we scurried around trying to find a place to hide the Blessed implements, but just then they all came racing in through the front door…. I put my hands behind my back and said, “Please tie me up,” but they were very frightened and said, “He’s trying to work one of their Kirishitan spells on us!” and they threw a lasso around me, and three of them tied me up real tight. But I passed out while they were trying to tie the rope around my neck. They brought me back with some water and smelling salts….
Maki, the daughter of Ichizō of Motohara, was awaked early on the fourteenth by fierce pounding on the door of her house.
“Is that you, padre?” She asked.
“What’s a padre? Have you got a foreigner in there?”
When Maki replied that there wasn’t, a shuffle of footsteps scrambled up to the chapel where Father Laucaigne was staying. This was soon followed by a storm of noises—pounding on the chapel door, the cracking of the door as it was broken down, shouting voices.
Maki and her father, Ichizō, went outside and looked up toward the chapel. Constables had encircled it in such a throng that a single ant couldn’t have broken through.
The constables returned to Maki’s house and interrogated her father.
Maki told them, “My father’s been home all night. You can see that his clothes aren’t wet from the rain.”
But a constable jerked open the breast of his kimono, found a scapular of the Blessed Mother hanging from his neck, and immediately tied him up.
By the time dawn broke, a long line of peasants bound in ropes were taken from Motohara and Nakano to the house of the village headman. The number totaled sixty-eight men and women.
Dawn came. Kiku and Mitsu awakened as always along with the other servants the moment light appeared in the sky, got themselves ready, washed their hands, and started in on their various chores. Mitsu and Tome hiked up their skirts and drew water from the well, then lit fires under the several large kettles in the kitchen. As the rice cooked, they dusted and cleaned.
Kiku’s assignment in the morning was to tidy up the entryway to the shop. As she swept, her face was constantly turned toward the road that reached into the distance. She waited to hear the bracing voice of Seikichi as he came down the road, calling out to prospective buyers.
Because of the heavy rain the previous night, portions of the road were still wet. But there were no puddles of water in this neighborhood because the shop owners spread sand on the roads.
The sky was still overcast, but tiny patches of blue could be seen between the clouds. It would probably clear by midday.
When Kiku finished her cleaning, she sat down to breakfast. It was the practice in this household for all the apprentices and clerks to gather together and await the arrival of the Master while the Mistress and all the maidservants prepared the morning meal.
It happened after they had all sat down to eat.
Someone raced past the shop entrance, shouting.
That was followed by a number of people racing by and shouting.
The Master was just about to pick up his chopsticks. He looked with concern toward the Mistress and said, “What in the world is going on?” Then he gave an order, “I doubt there’s a fire or a brawl this morning. Somebody go outside and see what??
?s happening.”
Kiku was the first to dash to the earthen entryway. At such times she was always faster than the apprentices.
When she stepped out onto the street, four or five men and women were racing toward the main road.
Kiku caught one of the women hurrying past and asked, “Excuse me, ma’am, but what’s going on?”
The woman stopped and said, “The Kuros of Urakami have been arrested, and they’re being taken to the magistrate’s office right now.” The woman quickly ran after her comrades.
The Kuros of Urakami …
Kiku staggered against the fence, feeling as though her head had been bludgeoned with a club.
Kuros were Kirishitans. And to Kiku, the “Kuros of Urakami” had only one meaning: Seikichi.
“The Kuros have been arrested … !” One apprentice who had followed her outside hurried back into the shop, loudly calling out his report to the Master.
But Kiku had no interest in the shop right now. Completely forgetting that she was supposed to report back to the Master, that she was to have breakfast and clean up afterward, she took off at full speed. Just as on a previous day she had gone out into the rain looking for Seikichi … Like a gunshot …
Looking at Nagasaki today, it’s difficult to conjure up what this district looked like back then. Areas that used to be part of an inlet have been filled in and transformed into residential neighborhoods.
But if you study it carefully, you’ll see that traces of the old cape can still be seen along National Highway 34 and in Manzai-machi and that this area was in fact a promontory. The spot where the municipal water works office is now located was, during the Kirishitan period, the site of the famed “Church at the Cape.” After the church was destroyed, a jail known as the Sakuramachi Prison was built in its place.
The Kirishitan peasants who were arrested and taken from Urakami would have had to climb over the hill at Nishizaka and then be led to this Sakuramachi Prison. Spectators pushed their way forward, waiting to catch a glimpse of the prisoners when they arrived in Sakuramachi.