Chapter 47

One Koku of rice would feed one man for a year ... or about 330 pounds of rice. Four Koku, 1320 pounds of rice, was the value of a single gold ryō coin. One ryō weighed 15 grams. One ryō was worth about four hundred thousand yen, depending on the rice harvest. The official exchange rate in 1931... 109.01. Four hundred thousand yen was worth 3668.00 dollars. I had a large bag of ryō coins ... each worth ... oh Lordy! A fortune!

I hefted the bag ... good lord!

I wondered what the two swords and stand were worth.

I hired Hideo to find me an armed escort back to the boat. Two messengers and there were 40 armed men arrayed out front waiting.

"How much?"

"One time deal?"

"One time deal."

"One ryō."

"For everybody?"

"One ryō for everybody," Hideo said. He handed me a small flag. "My Zaibatsu chop," he said. "Nobody will bother you."

"Then why the men?"

"In case somebody decides to commit seppuku," Hideo said laughing.

And then he went with us.

No trouble.

The men were stevedores. They unloaded what had to be the most expensive six thousand pounds of rice in the world.

The next day, Hideo and his father came to see us off.

Chinese silk might have been first ... but Indochina produces the best. Siam was in the middle of the world wide depression when Phrabat Somdet Phra Poraminthramaha Prajadhipok Phra Pokklao Chao Yuhua suddenly became King Rama VII.

We sailed into the head of the Gulf of Siam and up the Chao Phraya River to the merchant docks of Bangkok ... Our bag of Japanese gold was speedily turned into Siamese silk cloth ... a hold full of bolts and bolts of fine silk.

Bangkok stinks ... the river is filthy, full of human and animal waste and the odd victim of circumstances. We didn't stay a minute longer than necessary.

Now, we had something worth stealing. Millions of dollars worth of silk. News of our coming preceded us and there was always some fool who wanted what we had. By the time we reached Singapore we had expended seventy-five percent of our ammunition stocks.

A telegram to Dal in Uusikaupunki and the British Army was more than glad to replenish our stocks. Our French Hotchkiss 1" was supplied from post WWI stocks and the fifty cal machine-gun ammo for the Brownings was direct from America. The .55 cal Oerlikon ammo was in use by every nation.

The Brits doubled us up. Twenty thousand rounds per weapon and as many 9mm rounds for our three sub guns.

A load off my mind.

The Gunner, a Lieutenant also gave us almost a million rounds of two year old BMG ammo that he was going to take out to sea and sink. Not a thing wrong with it ... just out of date for Army use.

North westish up the Malacca Strait and a port turn at Banda Aceh; then due west across the Bay of Bengal past Matara off the southern tip of Ceylon and northward to Colombo.

Colombo, one day; we replenished our stores there.

Sailing through the not so deep waters of the Maldives and then Socotra, an island at the mouth of the Gulf of Aden. The Gulf led us to the Red Sea and the Gulf of Suez. The canal ... still under British rule. We rested, explored the Pyramids, used our Mexican experience to join an archaeological dig while we were waiting for the Khamsin winds and the Sirocco to abate before hazarding the run to Malta. Our intention is to strike masts and motor the canals from Arles on the Med to Dunkirk on the Channel.

If it seems like the last part of our round the world excursion is lacking in adventure ... we have had enough.

The winds abated. We sailed to Malta and thence to Arles.

A change of plans. The silk was purchased by brokers for the Paris Fashion season. A wealthy French industrialist saw the Vellamo III and paid more than it was worth.

Paris welcomed Wendy and Inkeri with waiting open pocketbooks. The two of them filled those pocketbooks to overflowing. Their own little anti-depression expression.

There are now regular trips by tri-motor aircraft from Orly airfield to Helsinki. A hop ... and we were home ... and glad to be here.