The Great Japanese Embassy Hoax of 1860

The real Japanese Embassy from 1860

 On Independence Day of 1860, one of the most notable events in the history of Montour County took place-- a visit from Japanese royalty! Why Japanese royalty should want to pay a visit to the sleepy seat of Pennsylvania's smallest county never exactly crossed the minds of the excited local residents, and perhaps that is how one of the greatest and most elaborate hoaxes in Pennsylvania history came to fruition.

The story of the great Japanese Embassy hoax might have remained forgotten in the dustbin of history had it not been for a New Yorker-- and former Danville resident named W.A.M. Grier-- who came across letters and documents pertaining to the "royal visit" while cleaning out his Brooklyn home decades later. In 1910, the Danville Morning News published Grier's account of the outrageous hoax for the benefit of those who had never heard about it. Apparently, most of the older residents had either forgotten about it, or were simply too embarrassed to admit that it had ever happened.

As a preface to the story, it should be pointed out that, during the 19th century, Japan had a reputation as a mysterious and exotic hermit kingdom, having resisted all efforts to establish diplomatic and economic ties to Western nations for over 250 years-- an isolationist doctrine which the Japanese called sokoku. It wasn't until 1854 when Commodore Perry arrived in Japan uninvited on the USS Susquehanna and demanded an audience with the king, Sho Tai, that the walls between East and West crumbled and Japan opened its ports to American merchant vessels. Unfortunately, the treaty that was signed between the two nations was destroyed in a fire in 1858. Two years later, the Japanese Embassy decided to visit the United States for the purpose of having a new copy signed. 

 

Commodore Matthew C. Perry

 

A great feeling of excitement swept across the county that year on account of the first official diplomatic visit by the Japanese. The visiting party consisted of two principal ambassadors, four crown princes, sixteen soldiers and an army of fifty servants. They arrived in San Francisco in March before sailing around Cape Horn and dropping anchor in Hampton Roads. From Virginia they proceeded north to Washington, where they paid their respects to President Buchanan. Afterwards they visited Baltimore, Philadelphia and New York, where over half a million people spilled into the streets to welcome the Japanese. On July 1, the Embassy sailed for home aboard the USS Niagara. However, since Danville only had a weekly newspaper at the time, this detail wasn't locally known by the time July 4 rolled around, and this inspired several prominent residents of Danville to have a little fun at their neighbors' expense.

Danville had already planned an elaborate Independence Day celebration that year, with a parade of visiting firemen and a speech by the Honorable William D. Kelley, a U.S. Representative from Philadelphia who was also one of the founders of the Republican Party. Known throughout the state as "Pig Iron Kelley" for his stance on iron and steel tariffs, he was especially beloved in iron manufacturing towns like Danville. A few local youths, realizing that Kelley was bound to draw an immense crowd, saw a prank opportunity that was too good to pass up.

In the days leading up to Independence Day, the youths hatched their plan from the soda fountain stools of William Hays' drug store, which was the town's hangout spot at the time. Roles were chosen and a paper was signed by the thirty-one participants, which included some of Danville's leading citizens. These included the likes of Robert Adams, Peter Baldy, Charles Cook, William Hays, Dr. Isaac Hughes, Joseph Keeley, Robert Magill, Sam Pardoe, Dr. Robert Simington, Col. Samuel Strawbridge, Abram Voris and Dr. George Youmans.

 

William "Pig Iron" Kelley

 

It was decided by the pranksters that, instead of a caricature of the Japanese, they should present a painstaking reproduction of the actual Japanese dignitaries, right down to the clothing and hairstyles. Even though time was short, preparations were commenced and carried on in secret. Peter Baldy, a leading merchant, supplied sewing machines from one of his stores to Joseph Doran, the tailor, who designed and manufactured the costumes based on a drawing of a Chinese laundryman. Replica ceremonial samurai swords were provided by Col. Strawbridge, which had been carved from wood and wrapped in "fancy colored yarn" to resemble ornamental Japanese scabbards. One of the participants, Robert Adams, even took a midnight train to Philadelphia in search of Oriental masks, but couldn't find any that were life-like enough.  As a result, the pranksters had to darken their own skin with makeup and affix an olive-brown cloth to their heads, in which was a hole for the hair to be drawn through like a ponytail. The nourimori (treaty box) was made from varnished wood, and, with its peaked roof, looked "much like a dog kennel", according to one of the participants.

On July 3 the costumes and props were ready, and one of the practical jokers convinced the superintendent of the Catawissa Railroad to have one of his trains stop at the Sechler Farm, where the "Japanese Embassy" would board. Not only did Superintendent Fonda agree to this request, but he stated that he wanted to be in the crowd so that he could witness the spectacle for himself. Danville's chief of police, J.C. Rhodes, agreed to make a welcome speech for the phony diplomats, and members of the borough council were chosen to head the procession down Market Street.

To illustrate just how far the pranksters were willing to go in order to pull off their hoax, one of the participants, Isaac Grier (founder of the town's First National Bank and grandson of Danville's namesake, Daniel Montgomery), fearing that news of the real Embassy's departure from New York aboard the USS Niagara might reach Danville by wire, sent a convincing telegraph of his own from the railroad station to the town's telegraph operator, George M. Gearhart. Grier, as luck would have it, was also the secretary of the West Branch Telegraph Company. His dispatch read:

New York, July 3rd, 2:00 P.M.

The Niagara with the Japanese Embassy on board returned this afternoon and anchored in the Bay, having broken a shaft and otherwise injured one of her engines when about eighty miles out at sea. Six or eight days will be required to make the necessary repairs. It is rumored that the Embassy will take a train for Niagara Falls, returning via Albany, in season to sail when the repairs to the Niagara shall have been completed.

George Gearhard immediately posted this notice to the telegraph pole in front of the drugstore and it quickly attracted attention. Grier sent another dispatch two hours later:

New York, July 3rd, 4:00 P.M.

The Embassy will not disembark until tomorrow morning, when they will leave via Easton and Mauch Chunk and proceed to Danville to inspect the extensive iron works there, being desirous of witnessing the manufacture of railroad iron with a view to introducing it into Japan. they will leave Danville on the night of the 4th in a special train for Niagara Falls.

As one might expect, this dispatch caused tremendous excitement around town, and as hundreds gathered around the telegraph pole, a few of the conspirators urged the crowd to do eveything in their power to welcome the Japanese and impress them with their industrious ways. Thomas Beaver, owner of the rolling mill, urged his workers to forego their holiday and get back to work, which they did with vigor. Darkened shops immediately opened up for business, the proprietors and employees eager to make a good impression on the foreign visitors.

 

Montour County Courthouse

 

Meanwhile, sometime after midnight on July 3, Robert Magill and Abram Voris loaded crated containing the Japanese costumes onto a wagon that was waiting in the alley behind Peter Baldy's store and drove out to the Sechler farm. Mr. Sechler stuck his head out the window to inquire who was there, and when the pranksters identified themselves, Sechler said, "Go ahead, the barn door is unlocked and the dogs are tied." While Magill and Voris unloaded the costumes, Joseph Keeley arrived with the wooden swords and treaty box.

Independence Day dawned bright and clear, and by noon it had become intolerably hot. After the fireman's parade came the speech by William D. Kelley, from a stage erected between the courthouse and the Friendship Fire Company building. With the spectators facing the river, this allowed the pranksters to slip out of the crowd without arousing suspicion via Bloom Road, out Market Street, and over the railroad tracks to the Sechler farm. After donning their costumes, they boarded the train, which was already filled with passengers. Recognizing the "Japanese Embassy", the passengers clamored to give the foreign visitors a warm Susquehanna Valley welcome. They swarmed the men and extended their hands for a handshake, but the ruse came very close to falling apart when some of the passengers looked at their hands and saw that the sweat and humidity had caused the artificial coloring of the Japanese diplomats to rub off on them. Fortunately, the railway station was a short distance away, and when the train pulled into the station a large, excited crowd was there to greet the practical jokers.

On the railway platform, Dr. Robert Simington, disguised in a Navy officer's uniform and fake whiskers, pretended to be the U.S. Commodore in charge of the Embassy. He conducted the entourage from the railcars to their waiting carriages-- but not without a few mishaps. One of the men, in attempting to carry himself with the dignified air of Japanese royalty, tripped over his shoes and went sprawling across the platform. Another member of the group had his finger pinched by the closing of his carriage door, eliciting a profanity-laden exclamation. "Well, they can swear in English anyhow," mused Lloyd Brittain, the carriage driver. 

With the borough council members leading, the procession of carriages proceeded downtown. They were met by a brass band at the Montgomery Building on the corner of Bloom and Mill Streets, and the procession of musicians and firemen marched up Mill Street and down Mahoning, through Chestnut over to Market, and up to the grandstand at the courthouse. Robert Adams, carrying the "treaty box" on the back of a horse-drawn wagon, brought up the rear.

 

Downtown Danville, circa 1910

 

Things were going swimmingly until the procession passed Thomas Wood's shoe store, at a point where the street sloped downward toward the gutter. This caused the horses to swerve suddenly, which in turn caused some of the phony diplomats to tumble out of the wagon rather unceremoniously. One of the jokesters who fell from the wagon was Alex Grier, who landed in the arms of Jacob Miller of the Friendship Fire Company. The two men were well acquainted. "Alex Grier, by thunder!" exclaimed the surprised fireman, nearly exposing the fraudulent Japanese Embassy. But the crowd was so large and so loud that this mishap failed to derail the hoax.

The parade continued up Market Street until all were assembled around the grandstand by the courthouse, where the "visitors" were welcomed by Chief Rhodes. The chief's welcome speech was "translated" from English to Japanese by newspaper editor Charles Cook, who was disguised as Mamura Gohatsiro, the Embassy's Chief Interpreter. Dr. George Youmans, who was impersonating the highest-ranking Japanese ambassador, responded to Cook's gibberish with gibberish of his own, which Cook then "translated" back to English for the benefit of the crowd, which cheered heartily after every improvised nonsensical sentence.

After all the speeches had been made, the party marched onward to the Montour House. An announcement was made that the Japanese diplomats wished not to be disturbed; they needed to rest because they were tired from their travels. This allowed the conspirators to change back into their street clothes, which had already been delivered to the hotel by Billy Smith. After an appropriate amount of time had elapsed, the perpetrators went downstairs and explained that the whole thing had been a joke. A very elaborate joke. Perhaps the most elaborate practical joke in Pennsylvania history!

 

 

To say that the Great Japanese Embassy Hoax of 1860 was an unqualified success is an understatement; one of the spectators who was in attendance that day was a Welsh miner from California, who had been on hand to greet the real Japanese Embassy when the USS Niagara steamed into San Francisco Bay. "They are the real, genuine fellows!" the miner exclaimed as the parade passed by the Montgomery Building. Even Pig Iron Kelley was impressed, and after the ruse had been exposed, the venerable politician told reporters that he had been greatly amused by the joke, declaring that he had never before seen a prank so original in conception and so successful in execution.

Years after the hoax, W.A.M. Grier found old receipts from the caper, and estimated that the entire hoax had cost just over fifty dollars to orchestrate, or the equivalent of roughly $1,636 in today's money. The greatest expense was $30.43 for the purchase of fabric for the costumes, which had been purchased from the Waterman & Beaver store. Joe Doran, the tailor, was paid six dollars for his services, while $3.78 had gone toward masks, fans and flags. But the overall value of the greatest hoax Montour County has ever seen? Priceless.

Perhaps one reason why this practical joke was such a success was because it was concocted by some of the area's best and brightest... and aided by some "friends in high places". Those who took part in the great Japanese Embassy Hoax of 1860 include bankers (David Clark, Isaac Grier), newspaper editors (Thomas Chalfant, Charles Cook), leading merchants (Peter Baldy, Charles Kaufman), physicians (Isaac Hughes, Robert Simington, George Youmans) and local politicans (William Johnston). Chalfant, after retiring as editor of the Intelligencer, was elected to the State Senate.

And perhaps one reason why the practical joke was forgotten was because it happened just nine months before the onset of the Civil War, and most of the participants were hastily mustered into service. Simington became surgeon of the 93rd Pennsylvania Regiment, while Youmans was the surgeon of the 13th Pennsylvania Reserves. Others who answered the call of duty include Joe Patton, Joe Ramsey, Samuel Strawbridge, Samuel Hibler, Robert Adams, Robert Magill, Isaac Grier, W.A.M. Grier, Peter Baldy, William Hays, Sam Pardoe, and Charles Kaufman.

Sadly, a few of the prank's participants suffered gravely during the war; Jack Hibler rose to the rank of captain in the 54th Pennsylvania Regiment, only to starve to death in a prison camp in Macon, Georgia, while Bob McCormick was killed by Confederate guerillas in Virginia after straying away from Union lines to visit a friend.