One enterprising merchant and ship owner in Yedo had, months before Perry arrived, made a fortune by speculating in oiled paper, buying up all he could lay his hands upon, making water-proof garments and selling at high prices. Indiscreetly exulting over his doings, he gave a feast to his many friends whom his sudden wealth had made. The two proverbs “_In vino veritas_,” and “Wine in, wit out,” kissed each other. Over his merry cups he declared that “the vessels of the barbarians” had been “the treasure-ships of the seven gods of happiness” to him. The authorities got wind of the boast, and clapped the unlucky wight in prison. He was charged with secretly trading with foreign countries. His riches took wings and flew into the pockets of the yakunin and the informer. While the American ships were at Napa he was beheaded. His fate sobered other adventurous spirits, but did not injure business. The book-sellers and picture-shop keepers, who had sent artists down to Uraga, also coined _kobans_ by selling “brocade pictures” or broadsides bedizened with illustrations in color, of the floating monsters and the tall man of strange garb, speech, tonsure, hirsute fashion, and shape of eyes. Fans, gaily colored and depicting by text and drawing the wonders that now thrilled the nation, were sent into the interior and sold by thousands. The governor was compelled to issue proclamations to calm the public alarm. Meanwhile, in the castle, the daimiōs were acquainted with the nature of the despatches and the object of the American envoy. Discussion was invited, but there was nothing to be said. Innumerable pipes were smoked. Long hours were spent on the mats in sedentary recumbence on knees and heels. Uncounted cups of tea were swilled. Incredible indignation, impotent wrath and contempt were poured upon the ugly barbarians, but still an answer to the unanswered question, “what was to be done?” could not be deferred. This was the problem.