During the reign of Taico, Loo-Choo suffered severely; trade was brought to a stand still, and, like a more modern nation that Americans wot of, Japan proclaimed herself mistress of the sea. The king of the islands, however, managed to send an embassador to China, who was received with great magnificence by the emperor, both on account of the dangers he had encountered from the voyage in the junk, and the risk incurred of falling into the hands of the pirates who swarmed in those seas.
After the death of Taico, and during the regency of Iyeyas for his son, in 1612, a Loo-Chooan chief, dissatisfied with his king, armed three thousand men in Japan, with whom he returned to his own country and made the kingdom by force tributary to Japan, that is, to the province of Satsuma. He took back the king a prisoner. The fallen sovereign of Loo-Choo behaved with so much dignity, that two years afterward he was generously sent back, and reinstated on his throne, remaining still a true friend to the emperor of China.
Commercial relations, but on a small scale, existed with China and Japan, when, in 1708, all the plagues came down on Loo-Choo: it was desolated by the ravages of terrible typhoons; the crops failed; cattle died; the king’s palace was entirely consumed by fire; and frightful epidemics prevailed among the natives. Cang-hi, the emperor of China, sent them assistance, and his embassador, Supas Kang, in his report, according to the translation in French, says the language of these people is so mixed up of Chinese and Japanese, that it forms almost a distinct language. He finds no wild animals or venomous reptiles or insects, but much fish. Their exports at that time consisted of sulphur, a peculiar red dye stuff, dried fish, saki, and timber, principally cedar-wood.
The prospect, as you approach Great Loo-Choo island, clothed in masses of deep green, is very delightful to the eye, after it has been resting for days on the slate-colored ocean. We reached our anchorage late in the afternoon in the midst of a heavy rain, on the 26th of May. The roadstead off the city of Napa is enclosed by large fields of coral, and the entrances through the reefs are quite narrow. When we had gotten inside, large numbers of the natives appeared on the shore, no doubt greatly astonished at the sight of the two large steamers; and shortly after, the sloop-of-war “Saratoga,” from Hong Kong, also arrived. In a short time a rude dug-out boat came off to our ship, containing some officer, but as the flag-ship had previously made signal forbidding any communication with shore, he was directed to that ship—now the Susquehanna. He wished to know what we wanted in their harbor; the answer to this was, “Ask no questions and I’ll tell you,” &c. He was given to understand that he was rather too “small pigeon” for our commodore to see, and that he must go back and send off their “first chop” mandarin, as we could hold no intercourse with any other. This was trying on the _dignitate_ early, but nothing else will answer in the East; any concession of equality, or manifestation of too great courtesy, would be at once construed by them into an admission of their superiority.