Daughters of the Samurai: A Journey From East to West and Back by Janice P. Nimura
Authors: Janice P. Nimura
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the train was coupled to a snowplow for the long descent.
From there it was on to the Great Basin, with endless sagebrush desert replacing the dramatic Sierra. From the train the travelers could see Indians in the dome-shaped thatched dugouts of their winter camps—a long way from the cupolas of the Grand Hotel. “Having journeyed through a realm of civilization and enlightenment, we were now crossing a very ancient, uncivilized wilderness,” Kume wrote. He found no romance in the scene: “Their features display the bone structure often seen among our own base people and outcasts.”
The next stop was Ogden, Utah Territory, which they reached on February 4—and were then unable to leave. Snow had blockaded the Union Pacific Railroad. They could consider themselves lucky: passengers trapped for days aboard snowbound trains farther east were surviving onsalt fish and crackers, and piling out to help railroad workers shovel snow that had drifted as high as the smokestacks of the engines. Resigned, the delegates transferred to a branch line to wait out the delay in Salt Lake City, thirty-five miles to the south.
In 1872, Salt Lake City was a handful of muddy streets with board sidewalks, frequented by ranchers, miners, soldiers, and new Mormon converts attracted from as far east as England. The Japanese travelers put up at the Townsend House, Salt Lake City’s leading hotel: a wood-frame building with a long veranda and a corral out back for cattle. Though there was a spacious “ball-room” upstairs, the bedrooms were tiny and the partitions between them thin.
Within hours of arrival, Iwakura received an invitation from Brigham Young, patriarch of the Mormon Church, requesting the pleasure of his company. As diplomatic etiquette dictated that Young should be the caller and not the called-upon, the ambassador politely declined. The messenger insisted that Young was eager to meet the Japanese visitors but found it impossible to present himself at the Townsend House. Why?, the ambassador inquired. Well, said the messenger, the prophet Brigham unfortunately found himself detained at home in the custody of a federal officer. The first target of President Grant’s antipolygamy campaign, Young had been arrested for “lascivious cohabitation” several months earlier and was awaiting trial. He had sixteen wives and forty-eight children.
Iwakura frowned. “We came to the United States to see the President of this great nation,” he said, choosing his words with care. “We do not know how he would like for us to call on a man who had broken the laws of his country and was under arrest.” A few days later, however, a party of touring delegates did make an official stop at Brigham Young’s house, in the company of Charles DeLong. “His power is equivalent to a feudal lord’s,” Kume wrote of Young, describing his house as “dignified and looking like a castle.” DeLong later claimed he hadn’t realized where their guides were taking them, but non-Mormon leaders were not amused. Iwakura, perhaps cannier than DeLong, had somehow arranged not to be part of the group that evening.
For the duration of his stay, Iwakura maintained a discreet distance from Salt Lake City’s Mormons. Crowning the visit was a banquet hosted by the city’s leading gentiles—dinner for 120, followed by dancing. For once, the girls were in attendance. “Mrs. DeLong, with the bearing and mien of a queen, and the Japanese girls, in their rich, quaint costumes, absorbed the constant attention of the guests,” the Chronicle ’s reporter relayed to San Francisco by telegraph. After dinner, the dignified speeches gave way to dancing—something the Japanese delegates found uncomfortable to watch. “The social customs in this remote mountain area were, we thought, somewhat less than refined,” Kume wrote delicately.
Days of anticlimax followed, as departure was postponed again, and yet again. “We had seen everything which might possibly be
From there it was on to the Great Basin, with endless sagebrush desert replacing the dramatic Sierra. From the train the travelers could see Indians in the dome-shaped thatched dugouts of their winter camps—a long way from the cupolas of the Grand Hotel. “Having journeyed through a realm of civilization and enlightenment, we were now crossing a very ancient, uncivilized wilderness,” Kume wrote. He found no romance in the scene: “Their features display the bone structure often seen among our own base people and outcasts.”
The next stop was Ogden, Utah Territory, which they reached on February 4—and were then unable to leave. Snow had blockaded the Union Pacific Railroad. They could consider themselves lucky: passengers trapped for days aboard snowbound trains farther east were surviving onsalt fish and crackers, and piling out to help railroad workers shovel snow that had drifted as high as the smokestacks of the engines. Resigned, the delegates transferred to a branch line to wait out the delay in Salt Lake City, thirty-five miles to the south.
In 1872, Salt Lake City was a handful of muddy streets with board sidewalks, frequented by ranchers, miners, soldiers, and new Mormon converts attracted from as far east as England. The Japanese travelers put up at the Townsend House, Salt Lake City’s leading hotel: a wood-frame building with a long veranda and a corral out back for cattle. Though there was a spacious “ball-room” upstairs, the bedrooms were tiny and the partitions between them thin.
Within hours of arrival, Iwakura received an invitation from Brigham Young, patriarch of the Mormon Church, requesting the pleasure of his company. As diplomatic etiquette dictated that Young should be the caller and not the called-upon, the ambassador politely declined. The messenger insisted that Young was eager to meet the Japanese visitors but found it impossible to present himself at the Townsend House. Why?, the ambassador inquired. Well, said the messenger, the prophet Brigham unfortunately found himself detained at home in the custody of a federal officer. The first target of President Grant’s antipolygamy campaign, Young had been arrested for “lascivious cohabitation” several months earlier and was awaiting trial. He had sixteen wives and forty-eight children.
Iwakura frowned. “We came to the United States to see the President of this great nation,” he said, choosing his words with care. “We do not know how he would like for us to call on a man who had broken the laws of his country and was under arrest.” A few days later, however, a party of touring delegates did make an official stop at Brigham Young’s house, in the company of Charles DeLong. “His power is equivalent to a feudal lord’s,” Kume wrote of Young, describing his house as “dignified and looking like a castle.” DeLong later claimed he hadn’t realized where their guides were taking them, but non-Mormon leaders were not amused. Iwakura, perhaps cannier than DeLong, had somehow arranged not to be part of the group that evening.
For the duration of his stay, Iwakura maintained a discreet distance from Salt Lake City’s Mormons. Crowning the visit was a banquet hosted by the city’s leading gentiles—dinner for 120, followed by dancing. For once, the girls were in attendance. “Mrs. DeLong, with the bearing and mien of a queen, and the Japanese girls, in their rich, quaint costumes, absorbed the constant attention of the guests,” the Chronicle ’s reporter relayed to San Francisco by telegraph. After dinner, the dignified speeches gave way to dancing—something the Japanese delegates found uncomfortable to watch. “The social customs in this remote mountain area were, we thought, somewhat less than refined,” Kume wrote delicately.
Days of anticlimax followed, as departure was postponed again, and yet again. “We had seen everything which might possibly be
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