THE HOME STRETCH.
During the afternoon the narrow kuruma road merges into a broad, newly
made macadam, as fine a piece of road as I have seen the whole world
round. Wonderful work has been done in grading it from the low-lying
rice-fields, up, up, up, by the most gentle and even gradient, to where
it seemingly terminates, far ahead between high rocky cliffs. The picture
of charming houses and beautiful terraced gardens climbing to the very
upper stories of the mountains here beggars description; one no longer
marvels at what he has seen in the way of terraced mountains in China.
New sensations of astonishment await me as the upper portion of the
smooth boulevard is reached, and I find myself at the entrance to a
tunnel about five hundred yards long and thirty feet wide. The tunnel is
lit up by means of big reflectors in the middle, shining through the
gloom as one enters, like locomotive headlights. It is difficult to
imagine the Japs going to all this trouble and expense for mere
jinrikisha and pedestrian travel; yet such is the case, for no other
vehicular traffic exists in the country. It is the only country in which
I have found a tunnel constructed for the ordinary roadway, although
there may be similar improvements that have not happened to come to my
notice or ear. One would at least expect to find a toll-keeper in such a
place, especially as a person has to be employed to maintain the lights,
but there is nothing of the kind.
A few miles beyond the tunnel the broad road terminates in a good-sized
seaport, whence I encounter some little difficulty in finding my way
along zigzag field-paths to my proper road for the north. The rain has
fallen at intervals throughout the day, but the roads have averaged good.
Fifty miles, or thereabout, must have been reeled off when, at early
eventide, I pull up at a village ya-doya. Before settling myself down,
for rest and supper, I take a stroll through the village in quest of
possible interesting things. Not far from the yadoya my attention is
arrested by a prominent sign, in italics, "uropean eating, Kameya hous."
Entertaining happy visions of beefsteak and Bass's ale for supper, I
enter the establishment and ask the young man in charge whether the place
is an hotel. He smiles, bows, and intimates his woeful ignorance of what
I am saying.
The following morning is frosty, and low, scudding clouds denote
unsettled weather, as I resume my journey. Much of the time my road
practically follows the shore, and sometimes simply follows the windings
and curvatures of the gravelly beach. Most of the low land near the shore
appears to be reclaimed from the sea--low, flat-looking mud-fields,
protected from overflow by miles and miles of stout dikes and rock-ribbed
walls. Fishing villages abound along the shore, and for long distances a
recent typhoon has driven the sea inland and washed away the road.
Thousands of men and women are engaged in repairing the damages with the
abundance of material ready to hand on the sloping granite-shale hills
around the foot of which the roadway winds.
Fish are cheaper and more plentiful here than anything else, and the old
dame at the yadoya of a fishing village cooks me a big skate for supper,
which makes first-rate eating, in spite of the black, malodorous sauce
she uses so liberally in the cooking.
In this room is a wonderful brass-bound cabinet, suggestive of
soul-satisfying household idols and comfortable private worship. During
the evening I venture to open and take a peep in this cabinet to satisfy
a pardonable curiosity as to its contents. My trespass reveals a little
wax idol seated amid a wealth of cheap tinsel ornaments, and bits of
inscribed paper. Before him sets an offering of rice, sake, and dried
fish in tiny porcelain bowls.
Clear and frosty opens the following morning; the road is good, the
country gradually improves, and by nine o'clock I am engaged in looking
at the military exercises of troops quartered in the populous city of
Hiroshima. The exercises are conducted within a large square, enclosed
with a low bank of earth and a ditch. Crowds of curious civilians are
watching the efforts of raw cavalry recruits to ride stout little horses,
that buck, kick, bite, and paw the air. Every time a soldier gets thrown
the on-lookers chuckle with delight. Both men and horses are undersized,
but look stocky and serviceable withal. The uniform of the cavalry is
blue, with yellow trimmings. The artillery looks trim and efficient, and
the horses, although rather small, are powerful and wiry, just the horses
one would select for the rough work of a campaign.
North of Hiroshima the country assumes a hilly character, the road
following up one mountain-stream and down another. In this mountainous
region one meets mail-carriers, the counterpart almost of the
fleet-footed postmen of Bengal. The Japanese postman improves upon nature
by the addition of a waist-cloth and a scant shirt of white and blue
cotton check; his letter-pouch is fastened to a bamboo-staff; as he
bounds along with springy stride he warns people to clear the way by
shouting in a musical voice, "Honk, honk." This cry resembles in a very
striking degree the utterances of an old veteran brant, or wild-goose,
when speeding northward in the spring to escape a warm wave from the
south.
Among these mountains one is filled with amazement at the tremendous work
the industrious Japs have done to secure a few acres of cultivable land.
Dikes have been thrown up to narrow the channels of the streams, so that
the remaining width of the bed may be converted into fields and gardens.
The streams have been literally turned out of their beds for the sake of
a few acres of alluvial soil. Among the mountains, chiefly between the
mountains and the shore, are level areas of a few square miles,
supporting a population that seems largely out of proportion to the size
of the land. Many of these sea-shore people however, get their livelihood
from the blue waters of the Inland Sea; fish sharing the honors with rice
in being the staple food of provincial Japan.
The weather changes to quite a disagreeable degree of cold by the time I
reach the end of to-day's ride. This introduces me promptly into the
mysteries of how the Japanese manage to keep themselves warm in their
flimsy houses of wooden ribs and semi-transparent paper in cold weather.
An opening in the floor accommodates a brazier of coals; over this stands
an open wood-work frame; quilts covered over the frame retain the heat.
The modus operandi of keeping warm is to insert the body beneath this
frame, wrapping the covering about the shoulders, snugly, to prevent the
escape of the warm air within. The advantage of this unique arrangement
is that the head can be kept cool, while, if desirable, the body can be
subjected to a regular hot-air bath.
The following day is chilly and raw, with occasional skits of snow.
People are humped up and blue-nosed, and seemingly miserable. Yet,
withal, they seem to be only humorously miserable, and not by any means
seriously displeased with the rawness and the snow. Straw wind-breaks are
set up on the windward side of the tea-houses, and there is much stopping
among pedestrians to gather around the tea-house braziers and gossip and
smoke.
Everybody in Japan smokes, both men and women. The universal pipe of the
country is a small brass tube about six inches long, with the end turned
up and widened to form the bowl. This bowl holds the merest pinch of
tobacco; a couple of whiffs, a smart rap on the edge of the brazier to
knock out the residue, and the pipe is filled again and again, until the
smoker feels satisfied. The girls that wait on one at the yadoyas and
tea-houses carry their tobacco in the capacious sleeve-pockets of their
dress, and their pipes sometimes thrust in the sash or girdle, and
sometimes stuck in the back of the hair.
Many of the Buddhas presiding over the cross-roads and village entrances
along my route to-day are provided with calico bibs, the object of which
it is impossible for me to determine, owing to my ignorance of the
vernacular. The bibs are, no doubt, significant of some particular season
of religious observance.
The important city of Okoyama provides abundant food for observation--the
clean, smooth streets, the wealth of European goods in the shops, and the
swarms of ever-interesting people, as I wheel leisurely through it on
Saturday, December 4th. No human being save Japs has so far crossed my
path since leaving Nagasaki, nor am I expecting to meet anybody here. An
agreeable surprise, however, awaits me, for at the corner of one of the
principal business thoroughfares a couple of American missionaries appear
upon the scene. Introducing themselves as Mr. Carey and Mr. Kowland, they
inform me that three families of missionaries reside together here, and
extend a cordial invitation to remain over Sunday. I am very glad indeed
to accept their hospitality for to-morrow, as well as to avail myself of
an opportunity to get my proper bearings. Nothing in the way of a
reliable map or itinerary of the road I have been traversing from
Shimonoseki was to be obtained at Nagasaki, and I have travelled with but
the vaguest idea of my whereabouts from day to day. Only from them do I
learn that the city we meet in is Okoyama, and that I am now within a
hundred miles of Kobe, north of which place "Murray's Handbook" will
prove of material assistance in guiding me aright.
The little missionary colony is charmingly situated on a pine-clad hill
overlooking the city from the east. Several lady missionaries are
visiting from other points, all Americans, making a pleasant party for
one to meet in such an unexpected manner.
On Sunday morning I accompany Mr. Carey to see his native congregation in
the nice new church which he says they have erected from their own means
at a cost of two thousand yen. This latter is a very gratifying
statement, not to say surprisingly so, for it savors of something like
sincerity on the part of the converts. In most countries the converts
seem to be brought to a knowledge of their evil ways, and to perceive the
beauties of the Christian religion through the medium of material
assistance provided from the mission. Instead of spending money
themselves for the cause they profess to embrace, they expect to receive
something from it of a tangible earthly nature. Here, however, we find
the converts themselves building their own meeting-house, and bidding
fair ere long to support the mission without outside aid. This is
encouraging from the stand-point of those who believe in converting "the
heathen" from their own religion to ours, and gratifying to the student
of Japanese character.
About five hundred people congregate in the church, seating themselves
quietly and orderly on the mat-covered floor. They embrace all classes,
from the samurai lawyer or gentleman to the humblest citizen, and from
gray-haired old men and women to shock-headed youngsters, who merely come
with their mothers. Many of these same mothers have been persuaded by the
missionaries to cease the heathenish practice of blackening their teeth,
and so appear at the meeting in even rows of becoming white ivories like
their unmarried sisters. Numbers of curious outsiders congregate about
the open doors and peep in and stand and listen to the sermon of Mr.
Carey, and the singing. The hymns are sung to the same tunes as in
America, the words being translated into Japanese. Everybody seems to
enjoy the singing, and they listen intently to the sermon.
After the sermon, several prominent members of the congregation stand up
and address their countrymen and women in convincing words and gestures.
Mr. Carey tells me that any ordinary Jap seems capable of delivering a
fluent, off-hand exposition of his views in public without special effort
or embarrassment. Altogether the Japanese Christian congregation,
gathered here in ita own church, sitting on the floor, singing,
sermonizing, and looking happy, is a novel and interesting sight to see.
One can imagine missionary life among the genial Japs as being very
pleasant.
Saturday and Sunday pass pleasantly away, and, with happy memories of the
little missionary colony, I wheel away from Oko-yama on Monday morning,
passing through a country of rich rice-fields and numerous villages for
some miles. The scene then changes into a beautiful country of small
lakes and pine-covered hills, reminding me very much of portions of the
Berkshire Hills, Mass. The weather is cool and clear, and the road
splendid, although in places somewhat hilly.
Fifty-three miles are duly scored when, at three o'clock in the
afternoon, I arrive at the city of Himeji. The yadoya here is a superior
sort of a place, and Himeji numbers among its productions European pan
(bread), steak, and bottled beer. The Japs are themselves rapidly coming
to an appreciation of this latter article, and even to manufacture it, a
big brewery being already established somewhere near Tokio. A couple of
young dandies of "New Japan" drop in during the evening, send out for
bottles of beer, and seem to take particular delight in showing off their
appreciation of the newly introduced beverage before their countrymen of
the "ancient regime."
Beyond Himeji one leaves behind the mountains, emerging upon a broad,
level, rice-producing plain, which extends eastward to Kobe and the
sea-shore. The fine level road traversing the plain passes through
numerous towns and villages, and for the latter half of the distance
skirts the shore. Old dismantled stone forts, tea-houses, eating-stalls,
fishermen's huts, house-boats, and swarms of jinrikishas and pedestrians
make their sea-shore road lively and interesting. The single artery
through which the life of all the southern tributary country ebbs and
flows to trade at the busiest treaty port in Japan, this road is
constantly swarming with people. Over the Minato-gawa Kiver by an
elevated bridge, and one finds himself in a broad street leading through
Hiogo to Kobe. These two cities are practically joined together, although
bearing different names. Like many of the rivers of Japan, the bed of the
Minato-gawa is elevated considerably above the surrounding plain.
Confined between artificial banks to prevent the flooding of the adjacent
fields in spring, the debris brought down from year to year has gradually
raised the bed, and necessitated continued raising also of the levees.
These operations have very naturally ended in raising the whole affair to
an elevation that leaves even the bottom of the stream several feet
higher than the fields around.
Kobe is one of the treaty ports of Japan, and nowadays is reputed to do
more foreign trade than any of the others. One can imagine Kobe being a
very pleasant and desirable place to live; the foreign settlement is
quite extensive, the surroundings attractive, and the climate mild and
healthful.
Pleasant days are spent at Kobe and Ozaka. Twenty-seven miles of level
road from the latter city, following the course of the Yodo-gawa, a broad
shallow stream that flows from Lake Biwa to the sea, brings me to Kioto.
From the eighth century until 1868 Kioto was the capital of the Japanese
empire, and is generally referred to as the old capital of the country.
The present population is about a quarter of a million, about half of
what it was supposed to be in the heyday of its ancient glory as the seat
of empire.
Living at Kioto is Mr. B, an American ex-naval officer, who several years
ago forsook old Neptune's service to embark in the more peaceful pursuit
of teaching the ideas of youthful Japs to shoot. The occasion was
auspicious, for the whole country was fired with enthusiasm for learning
English. English was introduced into the public schools as a regular
study. Mr. B is settled at Kioto, and now instructs a large and
interesting class of boys in the mysteries of his mother tongue. Taking a
letter of introduction he makes me comfortable for the afternoon and
night at his pleasant residence on the banks of the Yodo-gawa. Under the
pilotage of his private jinrikisha-man, I spend a portion of the
afternoon in making a flying visit to various places of interest. A party
of American tourists are unexpectedly met in the first temple we visit,
that of Nishi Hon-gwan-ji. The paintings and decorations of this temple,
one of the ladies says with something akin to enthusiasm, are quite equal
to those of the great temple at Nikko. This lady appears to be a
missionary resident, or, at all events, a person well versed in Japanese
temples and things. Her companions are fleeting tourists, who listen to
her explanations with respect, but, like myself, know nothing more when
they leave the temple than when they entered. Japanese mythology,
religion, temples, politics, history, and titles, seem to me to be the
worst mixed up and the most difficult for off-hand comprehension of
anything I have yet undertaken to peep into. The multitudinous gods of
the Hindoos, with their no less multitudinous functions, seem to me to be
easily understood in comparison with the weird legends and mazy mythology
of the Flowery Kingdom.
Near this temple is a lovely little garden that gives much more
satisfaction to the casual visitor than the temples. It is always a
pleasure to visit a Japanese garden, and, in addition to its landscape
attractions, historical interest lends to this one additional charm. The
artificial lake is stocked with tame carp, which come crowding to the
side when visitors clap their hands, in the expectation of being fed. A
pair of unhappy-looking geese are imprisoned beneath an iron grating
within the garden. They are kept there in commemoration of some
historical incident; what the incident is, however, even the
well-informed lady of the party doesn't seem to know; neither does
Murray's voluminous guide-book condescend to explain. A small palace,
with interior decorations of the usual conventional subjects--storks,
flying geese, rising moons, bamboo-shoots, etc.--together with a
small, round, thatched summer-house, where, five hundred years ago,
Ashikaga Yoshimitsu, the Shogun monk, was wont to pass the time in
meditation, form the remaining sole attractions of the garden.
The one place I have been anticipating some real pleasure in visiting is
the Shu-gaku-In gardens, one of the most famous gardens in this country
where, above all others, gardening is pursued as a fine art. This,
however, is not accessible to-day, and wearied already of temples, gods,
and shaven-pated priests, I give the jin-rikisha-coolie orders to return
home. A mile or two through the smooth and level streets and the hopeful
and sanguine "riksha" man dumps me out at another temple. Fancying that,
perchance, he might have brought me to something extraordinary, I follow
him wearily in. A graduate in the Shinto religion would no doubt find
something different about these temples, but to the ordinary, every-day
human, to see one is to see them all. My man, however, seems determined
to give me a surfeit of temples, and hurries me off to yet another one,
ere awakening to the fact that I am trying to get him to return to Mr. B
's. The third one I positively refuse to have anything to do with.
At Mr. B 's I find awaiting my coming an interesting deputation,
consisting of the assistant superintendent of the young ladies' seminary,
together with three of his most interesting pupils. They have been
reading about my tour in the native papers, and, in the assistant
superintendent's own words, "are very curious at seeing so famous a
traveller." The three young ladies stand in a row, like the veritable
"three little maids from school" in "The Mikado," and giggle their
approval of the teacher's explanation. They are three very pretty girls,
and two of them have their hair banged after the most approved American
style.
Sweetcakes and tea are indulged in by the visitors, and before they leave
an agreement is entered into by which I am to visit their school in the
morning before leaving and hear them sing "Bonny Boon" and "The
fire-fly's light," in return for riding the bicycle in the school-house
grounds. "The fire-fly's light" is sung to the tune of "Auld lang syne,"
the Japanese words of which commemorate a legend of the tea-district of
Uji near Lake Biwa. The legend states that certain learned men repaired
to a secluded spot near Uji to pursue their studies. On one occasion,
being out of oil and unable to procure the means of lighting their
apartment, myriads of fire-flies came and illumined the place with their
tiny lamps sufficient for their purpose.
My compact with the "three little maids from school" takes me down into
the city on something of a detour from my nearest road out next morning.
The detour is well repaid, however; besides the singing and organ-playing
promised, the many departments of industrial study into which the school
is divided are very interesting. Laces and embroidery for the Tokio
market, dresses for themselves and to sell, are made by the girls, the
proceeds going toward the maintenance of the institution. One of the most
curious scholarships of the place is the teaching of what is known as the
"Japanese ceremony." It seems to be a perpetuation of some old court
ceremony of making tea for the Mikado. Expressing a wish to see the
ceremony, I am conducted to a small room divided off by the usual sliding
paper panels. A class of girls are kneeling in a row, confronting a very
neat-looking old lady who sits beside a small brazier of coals. The old
lady is the teacher; when she claps her hands, one of the paper screens
slides gently aside and one of the scholars enters, bearing a small
lacquer tray with tiny teapot and cups, a canister of tea, and various
other paraphernalia. There is really very little to the "ceremony," the
graceful motions of the tea-maker being by far the more interesting part
of the performance. The tea used is finely powdered and comes from Uji,
where it is grown especially for the use of the Mikado's household. The
tea-dust is mixed with hot water by means of a curiously splintered
bamboo mixer that looks very much like a shaving-brush. The result is a
very aromatic cup of tea, delicious to the nostrils, but hardly
acceptable to the European palate.
My jinrikisha-man of yesterday precedes me through the streets, shouting
the "honk, honk, honk." of the mail-runners, to clear the way. To see him
cleave a way through the multitudes for me to follow, keeping up a
six-mile pace the while, swinging his arms like a windmill, one might
well imagine me a real dai-mio on wheels with faithful samurai-runner
ahead, warning away the common herd from my path.
At Kioto begins the Tokaido, the most famous highway of Japan, a road
that is said to have been the same great highway of travel, that it is
to-day, for many centuries. It extends from Kioto to Tokio, a distance of
three hundred and twenty-five miles.
Another road, called the Nakasendo, the "Road of the Central Mountains,"
in contradistinction to the Tokaido, the "Road of the Eastern Sea," also
connects the old capital with the new; but, besides being somewhat
longer, the Nakasendo is a hillier road, and less interesting than the
Tokaido. After leaving the city the Tokaido leads over a low pass through
the hills to Otsu, on the lovely sheet of water known as Biwa Lake.
This lake is of about the same dimensions as Lake Geneva, and fairly
rivals that Switzer gem in transcendental beauty. The Japs, with all
their keen appreciation of the beauties of nature, go into raptures over
Biwa Lake. Much talk is made of the "eight beauties of Biwa." These eight
beauties are: The Autumn Moon from Ishi-yama, the Evening Snow on
Hira-yama, the Blaze of Evening at Seta, the Evening Bell of Mii-dera,
the Boats sailing back from Yabase, a Bright Sky with a Breeze at Awadzu,
Bain by Night at Karasaki, and the Wild Geese alighting at Katada. All
the places mentioned are points about the lake. All sorts of legends and
romantic stories are associated with the waters of Lake Biwa. Its origin
is said to be due to an earthquake that took place several centuries
before the Christian era; the legend states that Fuji rose to its
majestic height from the plain of Suruga at the same moment the lake was
formed. Temples and shrines abound, and pilgrims galore come from far-off
places to worship and see its beauties.
One object of special curiosity to tourists is a remarkable pine-tree,
whose branches have been trained in horizontal courses over upright
posts, until it forms a broad shelter over several hundred square yards.
A smaller imitation of the large tree is also spreading to ambitious
proportions on the Tokaido side.
Snow has fallen and rests on the upper slopes of the mountains
overlooking the lake, little steamers and numerous sailing-craft are
plying on the smooth waters, and wild geese are flying about. With these
beauties on the left and tea-gardens on the right, the Tokaido leads
through rows of stately pines, and past numerous villages along the lake
shore.
The Nakasendo branches off to the left at the village of Kusa-tsu,
celebrated for the manufacture of riding-whips. Through Ishibe and
beyond, to where it crosses the Yokota-gawa, the Tokaido continues level
and good. Near the crossing of this stream is a curious stone monument,
displaying the carved figures of three monkeys covering up their eyes,
mouth, and ears, to indicate that they will "neither see, hear, nor say
any evil thing." All through here the country is devoted chiefly to
growing tea; very pretty the undulating ridges and rolling slopes of the
broken foot-hills look, set out in thick, bushy, well-defined rows and
clumps of dark, shiny tea-plants.
Down a very steep declivity, by sharp zigzags, the Tokaido suddenly dips
into the little valley of the Yasose-gawa. At the foot of the hill is a
curious shrine cave, containing several rude idols, a trough with tame
goldfish, and one of the crudest Buddhas I ever saw. The aim of the
ambitious sculptor of Buddhas is to produce a personification of "great
tranquillity." The figure in the Valley of Yasose-gawa is certainly
something of a masterpiece in this direction; nothing could well be more
tranquil than an oblong bowlder with the faintest chiselling of a mouth
and nose, poised on the top of an upright slab of stone rudely chipped
into a dim semblance of the human form.
A mile or two farther and my day's ride of forty-six miles terminates at
the village of Saka-no-shita. A comfortable yadoya awaits me here, no
better nor worse, however, than almost every Jap village affords; but on
the Tokaido the innkeepers are more accustomed to European guests than
they are south of Kobe. Every summer many European and American tourists
journey between Yokohama and Kobe by jinrikisha.
At this yadoya I first become acquainted with that peculiar institution
of Japan, the blind shampooer. Seated in my little room, my attention is
attracted by a man who approaches on hands and knees, and butts his
shaven pate accidentally against the corner of the open panel that forms
my door. He halts at the entrance and indulges in the pantomime of
pinching and kneading his person; his mission is to find out whether I
desire his services. For a small gratuity the blind shampooer of Japan
will rub, knead, and press one into a pleasant sensation from head to
foot. This office is relegated to sightless individuals or ugly old
women; many Japs indulge in their services after a warm bath, finding the
treatment very pleasant and beneficial, so they say.
One of the most amusing illustrations of Jap imitativeness is displayed
in the number of American clocks one sees adorning the walls of the
yadoyas in nearly every village. The amusing feature of the thing is that
the owners of these time-pieces seem to have the vaguest ideas of what
they are for. One clock on the wall of my yadoya indicates eleven
o'clock, another half-past nine, and a third seven-fifteen as I pull out
in the morning. Other clocks through the village street vary in similar
degree. Watching out for these widely varying clocks as I wheel through
the villages has come to be one of the diversions of the day's ride.
The road averages good, although somewhat hilly in places, from Saka-no
through lovely valleys and pine-clad mountains to Yokka-ichi. Yokka-ichi
is a small seaport, whence most travellers along the Tokaido take passage
to Miya in the steam passenger launches plying between these points. The
kuruma road, however, continues good to the Ku-wana, ten miles farther,
whence, to Miya, one has to traverse narrower paths through a flat
section of rice-fields, dikes, canals, and sloughs.
A ri beyond Okabe and the pass of Utsunoya necessitates a mile or two of
trundling. Here occurs a tunnel some six hundred feet in length and
twelve wide; a glimmer of sunshine or daylight is cast into the tunnel by
a system of simple reflectors at either entrance. These are merely glass
mirrors, set at an angle to reflect the rays of light into the tunnel.
Descending this little pass the Tokaido traverses a level rice-field
plain, crosses the Abe-kawa, and approaches the sea-coast at Shidzuoka, a
city of thirty thousand inhabitants. The view of Fuji, now but a short
distance ahead, is extremely beautiful; the smooth road sweeps around the
gravelly beach, almost licked by the waves. The breakers approach and
recede, keeping time to the inimitable music of the surf; vessels are
dotting the blue expanse; villages and tea-houses are seen resting along
the crescent-sweep of the shore for many a mile ahead, where Fuji slopes
so gracefully down from its majestic snow-crowned summit to the sea.
It is indeed a glorious ride around the crescent bay, through the
sea-shore villages of Okitsu, Yui, Kambara, and Iwabuchi to Yoshiwara, a
little town on the footstool of the big, gracefully sweeping cone. The
stretch of shore hereabout is celebrated in Japanese poetry as
Taga-no-ura, from the peculiarly beautiful view of Fuji obtained from it.
This remarkable mountain is the highest in Japan, and is probably the
finest specimen of a conical mountain in existence. Native legends
surround it with a halo of romance. Its origin is reputed to be
simultaneous with the formation of Biwa Lake, near Kioto, both mountain
and lake being formed in a single night--one rising from the plain
twelve thousand eight hundred feet, the other sinking till its bed
reached the level of the sea.
The summit of Fuji is a place of pilgrimage for Japanese ascetics who are
desirous of attaining "perfect peace" by imitating Shitta-Tai-shi, the
Japanese Buddha, who climbed to the summit of a mountain in search of
nirvana (calm). Orthodox Japs believe that the grains of sand brought
down on the sandals of the pilgrims ascend to the summit again of their
own accord during the night.
Tradition is furthermore responsible for the belief that snow disappears
entirely from the mountain for a few hours on the fifteenth day of the
sixth moon, and begins to fall again during the following night. Formerly
an active volcano, Fuji even now emits steam from sundry crevices near
the summit, and will some day probably fill the good people at Yoshiwara
and adjacent villages with a lively sense of its power. Fuji is the
special pride of the Japs, its loveliness appealing strongly to the
national sense of landscape beauty. Of it their poet sings:
"Great Fusiyama, tow'ring to the sky. A treasure art thou, giv'n to
mortal man, A god-protector watching o'er Japan: On thee forever let me
feast mine eye."
Fuji is passed and left behind, and sixteen miles reeled off from
Yoshiwara, when Mishima, my destination for the night, is reached. A
festival in honor of Oyama-tsumi-no-Kami, the god of "mountains in
general," is being held here; for, behold, to-day is November 15th, the
"middle day of the bird," one of the several festivals held in his honor
every year. The big temple grounds are swarming with people, and pedlers,
stalls, jugglers, and all sorts of attractions give the place the
appearance of a country fair.
Leaving the bicycle outside, I wander in and stroll about among the
crowds. Sacred ponds on either side of the footway are swarming with
sacred fish. An ancient dame is doing a roaring trade, in a small way, in
feathery bread-puffs, which the people buy and throw to the fish, for the
fun of seeing them swarm around and eat.
Interested groups are gathered around veritable fac-similes of the Yankee
"street-men," selling to credulous villagers little boxes of powder for
"coating things with silver." Others are selling song-books, attracting
customers by the novel and interesting performances of a quartette of
pretty girls, who sing song after song in succession. Here also are
little travelling peep-shows, containing photographic scenes of famous
temples and places in distant parts of the country.
Among the various shrines in this temple is one dedicated to an ancient
wood-cutter, who used to work and spend his wages on drink for his aged
father, who was now too old to earn money for the purpose himself. At his
father's demise the son was rewarded for his filial devotion by the
discovery of a "cascade of pure sake."
A gayly decorated car and a closed tumbril, that looks very much like an
old ammunition-wagon, have been wheeled out of their enclosures for the
occasion. Strings of little bells are suspended on these; mothers hold
their little ones up and allow them to strike these bells, toss a coin
into the contribution-box, and pass on. The vehicles probably contain
relics of the gods.
A wooden horse, painted red, stands in solemn and lonely state behind the
wooden bars of his stall--but I have almost registered a vow against
temples and their belongings, in Japan, so inexplicable are most of the
things to be seen. A person who has delved into the mysteries of Japanese
mythology would no doubt derive much satisfaction from a visit to the
Oyama-tsumi-uo-Kami temple, but the average reader would weary of it all
after seeing others. What to ordinary mortals signify such hideous
mythological monsters as saru-tora-hebi (monkey-tiger-serpent), or the
"Twenty-four Paragons of Filial Piety" on the architrave. Yet, of such as
these is the ornamentation of all Japanese temples. Some few there are
that are admirable as works of art, but most of them are hideous daubs
and representations more than passing rude.
Down the street near my yadoya, within a boarded enclosure, a dozen
wrestlers are giving an entertainment for a crowd of people who have paid
two sen apiece entrance-fee. The wrestlers of Japan form a distinct class
or caste, separated from the ordinary society of the country by long
custom, that prejudices them against marrying other than the daughter of
one of their own profession. As the biggest and more muscular men have
always been numbered in the ranks of the wrestlers, the result of this
exclusiveness and non-admixture with physical inferiors is a class of
people as distinct from their fellows as if of another race. The Japanese
wrestler stands head and shoulders above the average of his countrymen,
and weighs half as much more. As a class they form an interesting
illustration of what might be accomplished in the physical improvement of
mankind by certain Malthusian schemes that have been at times advocated.
Within a twelve-foot arena the sturdy athletes struggle for the mastery,
bringing to bear all their strength and skill. No "hippodroming" here:
stripped to the skin, the muscles on their brown bodies standing out in
irregular knots, they fling one another about in the liveliest manner.
The master of ceremonies, stiff and important, in a faultless gray
garment bearing a samurai crest, stands by and wields the fiddle-shaped
lacquered insignia of his high office, and utter his orders and decisions
in an authoritative voice.
The wrestlers squat around the ring and shiver, for the evening is cold,
until called out by the master of ceremonies. The two selected take a
small handful of salt from baskets of that ingredient suspended on posts,
and fling toward each other. They then advance into the arena, and
furthermore challenge and defy their opponent by stamping their bare feet
on the ground, in a manner to display their superior muscularity. Another
order from the gentleman wielding the fiddle-shaped insignia, and they
rush violently together, engage in a "catch-as-catch-can" scuffle, which,
in less than half a minute usually, results in a decisive victory for one
or the other. The master of ceremonies waves them out of the ring,
straightens himself up, assumes a very haughty expression, until he looks
like the very important personage he feels himself to be, and announces
the name of the victor to the spectators.
The one portion of the Tokaido impassable with a wheel commences at
Mishima, the famous Hakone Pass, which for sixteen miles offers a steep
surface of rough bowlder-paved paths. Coolies at Mishima make their
livelihood by carrying goods and passengers over the pass on kagoa (the
Japanese palanquin). Obtaining a couple of men to carry the bicycle, the
chilly weather proves an inducement for following them afoot, rather than
occupy a kago myself. The block road is broad enough for a wagon, being
constructed, no doubt, with a view to military transport service. The
long steep slopes are literally carpeted in places with the worn-out
straw shoes of men and horses.
The country observed from the elevation of the Hakone Pass is extremely
beautiful, the white-tipped cone of the magnificent Fuji towering over
all, like a presiding genius. Near the hamlet of Yamanaka is a famous
point, called Fuji-mi-taira (terrace for looking at Fuji). Big
cryptomerias shade the broad stony path along much of its southern slope
to Hakone village and lake.
Hakone is a very lovely and interesting region, nowadays a favorite
summer resort of the European residents of Tokio and Yokohama. From the
latter place Hakone Lake is but about fifty miles distant, and by
jinrikisha and kago may be reached in one day. The lake is a most
charming little body of water, a regular mountain-gem, reflecting in its
clear, crystal depths the pine-clad slopes that encompass it round about,
as though its surface were a mirror. Japanese mythology peopled the
region round with supernatural beings in the early days of the country's
history, when all about were impenetrable thickets and pathless woods.
Until the revolution of 1868, when all these old feudal customs were
ruthlessly swept away, the Tokaido here was obstructed with one of the
"barriers," past which nobody might go without a passport. These barriers
were established on the boundaries of feudal territories, usually at
points where the traveller had no alternate route to choose.
A magnificent avenue of cryptomeria shades the Tokaido for a short
distance out of Hakone village; on the left is passed a large government
sanitarium, one of those splendid modern-looking structures that speak so
eloquently of the present Mikado's progressive and enlightened policy.
The road then turns up the steep mountain-slopes, fringed with
impenetrable thickets of bamboo. Fuji, from here, presents a grand and
curious sight. The wind has risen, and the summit of the cone is almost
hidden behind clouds of drifting snow, which at a distance might almost
be mistaken for a steamy eruption of the volcano. Close by, too, the
spirit of the wind moves through the bamboo-brakes, rubbing the myriad
frost-dried flags together and causing a peculiar rustling noise--the
whispering of the spirits of the mountains.
The summit reached, the Tokaido now leads through glorious pine-woods,
descending toward the valley of the Sakawagawa by a series of breakneck
zigzags. The region is picturesque in the extreme; a small
mountain-stream tumbles along through a deep ravine on the left,
mountains tower aloft on the other side, and here and there give birth to
a cataract that tumbles and splashes down from a height of several
hundred feet.
By 1 p.m. Yomoto and the recommencement of the jinrikisha road is
reached; a broiled fish and a bottle of native beer are consumed for
lunch, and the kago coolies dismissed. The road from Yomoto is a gradual
descent, for four miles, to Odawara, a town of some thirteen thousand
inhabitants, on the coast. The road now becomes level and broader than
heretofore; vehicles drawn by horses mingle with the swarms of
jinrikishas and pedestrians. Both horses and drivers of the former seem
sleepy, woe-begone and careless, as though overcome with a consciousness
of being out of place.
Gangs of men are dragging stout hand-carts, loaded with material for the
construction of the Tokaido railway, now rapidly being pushed forward.
Every mile of the road is swarming with life--the strangely
interesting life of Japan. Thirty miles from Yomoto, and Totsuka provides
me a comfortable yadoya, where the people quickly show their knowledge of
the foreigner's requirements by cooking a beefsteak with onions, also in
the morning by charging the first really exorbitant price I have been
confronted with along the Tokaido. Totsuka is within the treaty limits of
Yokohama. A mile or so toward Yokohama I pass, in the morning, the "White
Horse Tavern," kept in European style as a sort of road-house for
foreigners driving out from that city or Tokio.
A fierce wind, blowing from the south, fairly wafts me along the last
eleven miles of the Tokaido, from Totsuka to Yokohama. The wind, indeed,
has been generally favorable since the rain-storm at Okabe, but it fairly
whistles this morning. It calls to mind the Kansas wheelman, who claimed
to have once spread his coat-tails to the breeze and coasted from
Lawrence to Kansas City in three hours. Unfortunately I am wearing a coat
the pattern of which does not admit of using the tails for sails
otherwise the homestretch of the tour around the world might have
provided one of the most unique incidents of the many I have encountered
on the journey.
A battery of field-artillery, the smartest seen since leaving Germany, is
encountered in the streets of Kanagawa, at which point the road to
Yokohama branches off from the Tokaido. The great Imperial highway, along
which I have travelled from the old capital almost to the new, continues
on to the latter, seventeen miles farther. Since the completion of the
railway between Tokio and Kanagawa, travellers journeying from the
capital down the Tokaido usually ride on the train to Kanagawa, so that
the jinrikisha journey proper nowadays commences at the latter city.
Kanagawa is practically a suburban part of Yokohama: one Japanese-owned
clock observed here points to the hour of eight, another to eleven, and a
third to half past-nine, but the clock at the Club Hotel, on the Yokohama
bund, is owned by an Englishman, and is just about striking ten, when the
last vault from the saddle of the bicycle that has carried me through so
many countries is made. And so the bicycle part of the tour around the
world, which was begun April 22, 1884, at San Francisco, California, ends
December 17, 1886, at Yokohama.
At this port I board the Pacific mail steamer City of Peking, which in
seventeen days lands me in San Francisco. Of the enthusiastic reception
accorded me by the San Francisco Bicycle Club, the Bay City Wheelmen, and
by various clubs throughout the United States, the daily press of the
time contains ample record. Here, I beg leave to hope that the courtesies
then so warmly extended may find an echoing response in this long record
of the adventures that had their beginning and ending at the Golden Gate.
ITINERARY:
GIVING THE NAME AND DATE OF EACH SLEEPING-POINT ON THE BICYCLE TOUR
AROUND THE WORLD.
VOLUME I.
UNITED STATES.
CALIFORNIA.
1884
April 23 San Francisco
23 House in the tuiles
24 Elmira
25 Sacramento
26 Near Rocklin
27-28 Clipper Gap
29 Blue Canon
30 Summit House
NEVADA.
May 1 Verdi
2 Ranch on Truckee River
3 Hot Springs
4 Lovelocks
5 Mill City
6 Winnemucca
7 Stone House
8 Ranch on Humboldt
9 Palisade
10 Carlin
11 Halleck
12 C P Section House
UTAH.
13 Tacoma
14 Matlin
15 Salt House
16 Near Corrinne
17 Willard City
18 Ogden
19 Echo City
20 Castle Rocks
WYOMING TERRITORY.
May 21 Evanston
22 Hilliard
23 In abandoned freight wagon
24 Carter Station
25 Near Granger
26 Rocks Springs
27 Ranch
28-29 Rawlins
30 Carbon
31 Lookout June
1-2 Laramie City
3 Cheyenne
NEBRASKA.
4 Pine Bluffs
5 Potter Station
6 Lodge Pole
7 Ranch on Platte
8 Ogallala
9 In a "dug-out"
10 Brady Island
11 Plum Creek
12 Kearney Junction
13 Grand Island
14 Duncan
15 North Bend
16 Fremont
17-18 Omaha
IOWA.
19 Farm near Nishnebotene
20 Farm near Griswold
June 21 Farm near Menlo
22 Farm near De Soto
23 Altoona
24 Kellogg
25 Victor
26 Tiffin
27 MOSCOW-ILLINOIS.
28 Rock Island
29 Atkinson
30 La Moile
July 1 Yorkville
2 Naperville
3 Lyons
4-11 Chicago
INDIANA.
12 Miller Station
13 Beneath a wheat shock
14 Goshen
15 Farm
OHIO.
10 Ridgeville
17 Empire House
18 Bellevue
19 Village near Cleveland
20 Madison
PENNSYLVANIA.
21 Roadside Hotel near
Erie
NEW YORK.
22 Angola
23 Buffalo
24 Leroy
25 Farm near Canandaigua
26 Marcellns
27 East Syracuse
28 Erie Canal Inn
29 Indian Castle
80 Crane's Village
31 Westfalls Inn
MASSACHUSETTS.
Aug. 1 Otis
2 Palmer
3 Worcester
4 Boston
EUROPE.
ENGLAND.
1885 Liverpool
May 2 Warrington
3 Stone
4 Coventry
5 Fenny Stratford
6 Great Berkhamstead
7-8 London
9 Croydon
10 British Channel Steamer
FRANCE
Via Dieppe
11 Elbeuf
12 Mantes
13-15 Paris
16 Sezanne
17 Bar le Duo
18 Trouville
19 Nancy
GERMANY.
20 Phalzburg Via Strasburg
21 Oberkirch
22 Rottenburg
23 Blauburen
24 Augsburg
25-26 Munich
27 Alt Otting
AUSTRIA-HUNGARY.
28 Hoag
29 Strenberg
80 Neu Lengbach
31 Vienna
June 1-3
4 Altenburg
5 Neszmely
6-7 Budapest
8 Duna Pentele
9 Szegszard
10 Duna Szekeso
11-12 Eszek
13 Sarengrad
14 Neusatz
15 Batauitz
SERVIA, BULGARIA, AND TURKEY.
16-17 Belgrade
18 Jagodina
19 Nisch
June 20-31 Bela Palanka
22 Sofia
23 Ichtiman
24 Near Tartar Bazardjic
25 Cauheme
26 Near Adrianople
27-28 Eski Baba
29 Small Village
30 Tchorlu
July 1 Camped out
2 Constantinople
6,000 miles wheeled from San Francisco.
ASIA.
ASIA MINOR.
Aug. 10 Ismidt
11 Geiveh
12 Terekli
13 Beyond Torbali
14 Nalikhan
15 Bey Bazaar
16-17 Angora
18 Village
19 Camped out
20 Koordish Camp
21 Yuzgat
22 Camped out
23 Village
24-25 Sivas
26 Zara
Mar. 27 Armenian Village
28 Camp in a cave
29 Merriserriff
30 Erzingan
31 Houssenbeg Khan
Sept. 1 Village in Euphrates Valley
2-6 Erzeroum
7 Hassan Kaleh
8 Dela Baba
9 Malosman
10 Sup Ogwanis Monastery
PERSIA.
11 Ovahjik
12 Koodish Camp
13 Peri
14 Khoi
15 Village near Lake Ooroomiah
16 Village near Tabreez
17-20 Tabreez
21 Hadji Agha
22 Turcomanchai
23 Miana
24 Koordish Camp
25-26 Zendjan
27 Heeya
28 Kasveen
29 Yeng Imam
30 Teheran
VOLUME II.
1886
Mar. 10 Katoum-abad
11 Aivan-i-Kaif
12 Aradan
13-14-15 Lasgird
16 Semnoon
17 Gusheh
18 Deh Mollah
19-20 Shahrood
21 Mijamid
22 Miandasht
23-24 Mazinan
25 Subzowar
26 Wayside caravanserai
27 Shiirab
28 Gadamgah
Mar. 29 Wayside caravanserai
30-Ap. 6 Meshed
April 7 Shahriffabad
8 Caravanserai
9 Torbet-i-Haidorai
10 Camp on Gounabad Desert
11 Kakh
12 Nukhab
13 Small hamlet
14 Beerjand
15 Ali-abad
16 Darmian
17 Tabbas
18 Huts on desert edge
AFGHANISTAN.
April 19 Camp on Desert of Despair
20 Nomad camp
31 Village ou Harud
22 Ghalakua
23 Nomad camp
24-25 Furrali (arrested by Afghans)
26 Nomad camp
27 Subzowar
28 Nomad camp
29 Camp out
30-May 9 Herat
May 10 Village
11 Roadside umbar
12 Camp in Heri-rood jungle
PERSIA.
13 Karize (released by Afghans)
14 Nomad camp
15 Furriman
16-18 Meshed
19 Caravanserai
20 Near Nishapoor
21 Lafaram
22 Wayside umbar
23 Mazinan
24 Near caravanserai
25 Camp out
26-27 Shahrood
28 Camp out
29 Asterabad
30 Bunder Guz
Russian steamer to Baku;
rail to Batoum; steamer to Constantinople and India.
Renewed bicycle tour:
INDIA.
August Lahore
1 Amritza
2 Beas River 8 Jullunder
4 Police chowkee
5-6 Umballa
7 Peepli
8 Paniput
9 Police chowkee
10-14 Delhi
15 Dak bungalow
16 Bungalow
17 Muttra
Aug. 18-19 Agra
20 Mainipoor
21 Miran-serai
22-26 Cawnpore
27 Caravanserai
28 Caravanserai
29-30 Allahabad
31 Roadside hut
Sept. 1-2 Benares
3 Mogul-serai
4 Caravanserai
5 Dilli
6 Shergotti
7 D`ak bungalow
8 D`ak bungalow
9 Burwah
10 Ranuegunj
11 Burdwan
12 Hooghli
13-17 Calcutta Steamer to Canton
CHINA.
Oct. 7-12 Canton
13 Chun-kong-hi
14 Low-pow
15 Chin-ynen
16 Bamboo thicket
17-20 Aboard sampan
21 Schou-chou-foo
22 Small village
23 Do.
24 Nam-hung
25-28 Nam-ngan
29 Aboard sampan
30 Large village
31 Large village near Kan-tchou-i'oo
Nov. 1 Small mountain hamlet
2 Walled garrison city
3 Ta-ho
4 Ki-ngan foo (under arrest)
5-15 Under arrest on sampan
16 Inn near Kui-Kiang
17 Yangtsi-Kiang steamer
18 Shanghai
19-20 Japanese steamer
JAPAN.
21-22 Nagasaki
23 Omura
Nov. 24 Ushidza
25-26 Futshishi
27 Hakama
28 Shemonoseki
29 Village
30 Do.
Dec. 1 A small fishing hamlet
2 Do.
3 Do.
4-5 Okoyama
Dec. 6 Himeji
7-8 Kobe
9 Ozaka
10 Kioto
11 Saka-no-shita
12 Miya
13 Hamamatsu
14 Roadside inn
15 Mishima
16 Totsuka
17 Yokohama
DISTANCE ACTUALLY WHEELED, ABOUT 13,500 MILES.