Heart of a Samurai by Margi Preus

In Japan it was considered impolite to breathe on another person. People held their hands in front of their mouths to avoid it. The man breathing down Manjiro's neck made no such effort. Rum, sweat, and whale oil-the stench of a whaling man.

"Haul 'em to the fire," said a voice from the darkness. Manjiro was dragged across the sand and into a circle of firelight. Four or five greasy faces appeared, disappeared, and reappeared in the flickering light. A pair of glimmering spectacles, a gleaming gold hoop, an empty grin of a few silver teeth, and the flash of a knife-the kind whale men used to trim bits of flesh from blubber-glinted in the firelight. Goemon was there, too, pale and shivering.