The revolt that reshaped Tokugawa foreign policy

In the autumn of 1637, peasants on the Shimabara Peninsula in western Kyushu rose in rebellion, sparking what would become the largest uprising of the Edo era (1603-1867). At the time, much of the population was Christian, the area having been ruled by devout daimyō who promoted the religion during the last decades of the 16th century. The Tokugawa shogunate, realizing that Christians could place their loyalty to the Church and fellow believers above their loyalty to the shogun, had banned Christianity in 1614. Shimabara’s daimyō, Matsukura Katsuie, zealously enforced this ban in his domain, executing believers and destroying churches.

Adding to the persecution, the peasantry struggled under the heavy taxation imposed by Matsukura Katsuie and his counterpart in Amakusa, Terazawa Katataka. Seeking funds to maintain Shimabara Castle and win shogunate favor through military contributions, Matsukura raised taxes despite poor harvests, ignoring the famines and droughts that ravaged much of Kyushu. Those unable to pay were punished and tortured. Starvation became widespread, and many families were reduced to eating grass and tree bark. As discontent grew, the region’s many rōnin—masterless samurai whose former lords had been dispossessed—began meeting secretly with local peasants to plan a revolt.

Although desperation to relieve the harsh taxation seemed to be the main cause of the uprising, one unfortunate overreach is rumored to have set it off. On October 25, 1637, Matsukura’s officials seized a peasant’s daughter as payment for overdue taxes, which provoked local villagers to attack the officials. This revolt grew and spread, eventually uniting thousands of peasants and rōnin.

Leading the rebels was Amakusa Shirō, a 16-year-old whose charisma and claims of divine visions inspired hopes of victory. Carrying crosses and banners bearing Christian prayers, the rebels attacked Tomioka Castle in Amakusa and then Shimabara Castle but failed to capture either. They withdrew to the abandoned Hara Castle on the southern tip of the Shimabara Peninsula, where they repaired its walls, strengthened its defenses, and began rationing what little food they had.

To quash the rebellion, the shogunate called upon daimyō from across Kyushu to provide troops, assembling an army of more than 125,000 men to besiege Hara Castle. It also enlisted the assistance of the Dutch, who sent the ship De Ryp from Hirado to bombard the fortress in January 1638. The shelling caused little damage, and according to contemporary accounts, the rebels mocked the besieging army, sending them a message asking, “Are there no longer courageous soldiers in the realm to fight us? Are you not ashamed to call upon foreigners against so small a force?” 

The siege went on for three months. The rebel forces succeeded in a few brave attacks, but their lack of supplies gradually weakened their defenses. On April 12, 1638, shogunate forces launched their final assault. Three days later, Hara Castle fell. An estimated 37,000 rebels and sympathizers were slaughtered, their bodies buried among the ruins. The few survivors, mostly women and children, were executed or enslaved.

Amakusa Shirō was captured, interrogated by shogunate officials, and beheaded. His severed head was displayed in Nagasaki as a grisly deterrent to Christians and would-be rebels.

The rebellion also claimed the lives of some 4,000 shogunate troops. The Tokugawa government held Matsukura Katsuie responsible for the unrest that had led to the uprising. Later that year, he was executed in Edo, the only daimyō put to death by the shogunate during the Edo period. Terazawa Katataka’s Amakusa domain was confiscated, and he lived in disgrace in Edo until taking his own life in 1647.

Because of the slaughter, the Shimabara Peninsula was severely depopulated. People were brought in from other domains to resettle. All were required to register with Buddhist temples as part of the shogunate’s policies to identify and suppress Christianity. They were also subjected to periodic fumie, a practice introduced in 1629 in which people were required to step on Christian images to prove they were not Christians. Refusing to was punishable by torture and death.

Soon after the Shimabara Rebellion, the Tokugawa shogunate moved further toward national seclusion by expelling the Portuguese, confining the Dutch to the man-made island of Dejima in Nagasaki Harbor, and tightening its control over foreign trade.

The post The Shimabara Rebellion—The Last Stand of Japan’s Christians first appeared on More Than Tokyo and is written by Diane Tincher.

A present for Toyotomi Hideyoshi

An Asian elephant who had been living in the Philippines played an unexpected role in relations with Japan. 

But before exploring that story, please allow me to share some vital background.

The Tragedy

On October 19, 1596, the Spanish galleon San Felipe was on its way from Manila to Acapulco, its holds filled with silks, spices, ivory, and other precious goods. Because of a delayed departure, it sailed squarely in the middle of typhoon season. After enduring three typhoons, the battered ship approached Japanese waters. Crew members urged the captain to seek refuge in foreign-friendly Nagasaki. The captain refused, having heard of Taikō Toyotomi Hideyoshi’s kind treatment of Spanish missionaries. Surely the great warlord would welcome Spanish traders. 

As the crippled San Felipe approached Shikoku Island, the local daimyō, Chōsokabe Motochika, dispatched 200 armed vessels to guide it to port. Once it entered Urado Bay, the Spanish ship ran aground on a sandbar.

Daimyō Chōsokabe took advantage of this windfall from the Manila-Acapulco Trade and confiscated its valuable cargo. News of this bonanza soon reached the ears of Toyotomi Hideyoshi in Osaka.

Things went from bad to worse for the Spanish when the ship’s pilot imprudently told Japanese authorities that it was Spanish strategy to send missionaries to infiltrate a country before an eventual military conquest, a tactic they had successfully employed in the Americas and the Philippines. This news also reached Hideyoshi, and he was not pleased.

In January 1597, in anger and retaliation against the Spanish, Hideyoshi ordered the immediate arrest of missionaries — the Spanish Franciscan who had been sent as Philippine ambassador to Japan, his three friars, as well as catechists and helpers — one Portuguese, one Mexican, three Japanese Jesuits, 17 Japanese lay Franciscans, and even three young altar boys.

This unfortunate group was jailed in Kyoto and subjected to the stigmatic punishment of each having part of their left ear cut off. They were then paraded 800 miles amidst snowfall to Nagasaki. Brought to the execution grounds, they were crucified and impaled with lances on Nishizaka Hill overlooking Nagasaki on February 5, 1597.

Beyond the deaths of these martyrs, the San Felipe incident ignited a wave of severe persecution of Christians. Churches were destroyed, missionaries were expelled from Japan, and Christianity was outlawed.

On June 8, 1862, Pope Pius IX canonized the 26 Christians. They are remembered at the 26 Martyrs of Japan Memorial in Nagasaki City.

But what does that tragedy have to do with elephants?

Elephant Diplomacy

As a gesture to mend strained relations and ensure future trade in the aftermath of the San Felipe incident and the crucifixion of their beloved ambassador, Friar Pedro Bautista, and his company, the Spanish Governor-General Francisco Tello of the Philippines wished to present the formidable Taikō of Japan, Toyotomi Hideyoshi, with something extraordinary.

That extraordinary gift was an elephant named Don Pedro.

In August 1597, an embassy under the leadership of Captain Don Luis de Navarette Fajardo arrived in Japan bearing gifts. Among these offerings was a portrait of the illustrious governor-general and, yes, an elephant. Hideyoshi issued a directive for the embassy’s delegation to proceed to Osaka.

As news of the elephant’s arrival spread, curiosity surged through Osaka. The prospect of seeing such an exotic, near-mythical beast stirred the hearts of the people.

Soon, the streets were inundated with hordes of eager onlookers, all vying for a glimpse of the elephant. The crowds thronged to such a degree that not even the sternest blows from cudgels could disperse them. Seeing the gravity of this near riot, Hideyoshi’s servants rallied an additional hundred strong men wielding clubs.

As the men pushed, prodded, and herded the multitudes to the sides to make way for Don Pedro, several people were killed beneath the trampling feet of the unruly masses.

When the Spaniards and their entourage finally reached Hideyoshi’s grand Osaka Castle, dignitaries and nobles gathered at the gate to welcome them. Passing through the gates, they entered the first chamber and were met by Hideyoshi himself. He held the hand of young Hideyori, a mere four years old, the eyes of both father and son filled with eager anticipation to see the elephant.

The Spanish Captain, Don Luis, his interpreter, Lorenzo, and their four attendants approached Hideyoshi, and following their European customs, stood and bowed three times. Hideyoshi returned the gesture and extended warm greetings to the captain and his men. 

With caution, Hideyoshi approached the elephant, Don Pedro. Upon a command from his mahout, the mighty beast knelt, raised his trunk above his head, and let out a resounding trumpet. Hideyoshi gasped.

Astonished, the Taikō turned to the interpreter and asked, “What was that!?” The interpreter explained that the elephant had recognized the presence of His Highness and had saluted him.

Now filled with wonder, Hideyoshi asked whether the elephant had a name, to which Lorenzo replied that it was known as Don Pedro. Drawing nearer to this remarkable creature, Hideyoshi called, “Don Pedro, Don Pedro.” In response, the elephant repeated its salute, lifting its trunk and trumpeting in the same marvelous manner.

Overwhelmed and delighted, the mighty warlord Hideyoshi clapped his hands like a happy child and cried, “O sate, sate!” Well, well!

Hideyoshi asked what such a beast ate. 

“It will eat anything it is given, Your Highness.” 

Hearing this, Hideyoshi ordered fruit, and his attendants brought out two trays of melons and peaches. He chose a plump, pink peach and held it out to Don Pedro. The beast gently grasped the fruit with its trunk and lifted it high above his head before dropping it into his gaping mouth.

The rest of the fruit was placed before the elephant, and without hesitation, Don Pedro ate all the melons and peaches, swallowing them whole without spitting out the seeds or pits.

Hideyoshi was enthralled. He could not get enough of Don Pedro. He gazed at the elephant while listening to tales of the extraordinary intelligence of this beast that, to his eyes, appeared so ugly and strange.

This ends the record of the meeting.

Although seemingly pleased almost beyond words, Hideyoshi sent a less than grateful thank-you letter to the Spanish governor-general of Manila.

Thank you for the black elephant. Last year, the Chinese promised me a white elephant… 

You see, he really wanted a white one.

Still, Don Pedro’s tricks must have won the heart of Hideyoshi. The Spanish were allowed to continue trading until 1624 when they were expelled from Japanese shores by the third shogun of the Edo Period, Tokugawa Iemitsu.

We can only wonder what became of Don Pedro, unlike the elephant brought to Tokugawa Yoshimune two centuries later, whose story we know.

As well, Hideyoshi’s story is known. Perhaps overcome with a bit too much hubris, he sent his armies to conquer Ming China. While they were being soundly defeated, he died of illness at home in his luxurious Fushimi Castle outside of Kyoto in 1598.

Account of Don Pedro found in: They Came to Japan: An Anthology of European Reports in Japan, 1543–1640 (University of California Press, 1965)

The post 26 Tragic Christian Martyrs—and Mending Relations with an Elephant first appeared on More Than Tokyo and is written by Diane Tincher.