A Welcome Gift—Recent Changes—Volcanic Phenomena—Interesting Tufa
Cones—Semi-strangulation—A Fall into a Bear-trap—The Shiraôi
Ainos—Horsebreaking and Cruelty.
OLD MORORAN, VOLCANO BAY, YEZO,
_September_ 2.
AFTER the storm of Sunday, Monday was a grey, still, tender day, and the
ranges of wooded hills were bathed in the richest indigo colouring. A
canter of seventeen miles among the damask roses on a very rough horse
only took me to Yubets, whose indescribable loneliness fascinated me into
spending a night there again, and encountering a wild clatter of wind and
rain; and another canter of seven miles the next morning took me to
Tomakomai, where I rejoined my _kuruma_, and after a long delay, three
trotting Ainos took me to Shiraôi, where the “clear shining after rain,”
and the mountains against a lemon-coloured sky, were extremely beautiful;
but the Pacific was as unrestful as a guilty thing, and its crash and
clamour and the severe cold fatigued me so much that I did not pursue my
journey the next day, and had the pleasure of a flying visit from Mr. Von
Siebold and Count Diesbach, who bestowed a chicken upon me.
I like Shiraôi very much, and if I were stronger would certainly make it
a basis for exploring a part of the interior, in which there is much to
reward the explorer. Obviously the changes in this part of Yezo have
been comparatively recent, and the energy of the force which has produced
them is not yet extinct. The land has gained from the sea along the
whole of this part of the coast to the extent of two or three miles, the
old beach with its bays and headlands being a marked feature of the
landscape. This new formation appears to be a vast bed of pumice,
covered by a thin layer of vegetable mould, which cannot be more than
fifty years old. This pumice fell during the eruption of the volcano of
Tarumai, which is very near Shiraôi, and is also brought down in large
quantities from the interior hills and valleys by the numerous rivers,
besides being washed up by the sea. At the last eruption pumice fell
over this region of Yezo to a medium depth of 3 feet 6 inches. In nearly
all the rivers good sections of the formation may be seen in their
deeply-cleft banks, broad, light-coloured bands of pumice, with a few
inches of rich, black, vegetable soil above, and several feet of black
sea-sand below. During a freshet which occurred the first night I was at
Shiraôi, a single stream covered a piece of land with pumice to the depth
of nine inches, being the wash from the hills of the interior, in a
course of less than fifteen miles.
Looking inland, the volcano of Tarumai, with a bare grey top and a
blasted forest on its sides, occupies the right of the picture. To the
left and inland are mountains within mountains, tumbled together in most
picturesque confusion, densely covered with forest and cleft by
magnificent ravines, here and there opening out into narrow valleys. The
whole of the interior is jungle penetrable for a few miles by shallow and
rapid rivers, and by nearly smothered trails made by the Ainos in search
of game. The general lie of the country made me very anxious to find out
whether a much-broken ridge lying among the mountains is or is not a
series of tufa cones of ancient date; and, applying for a good horse and
Aino guide on horseback, I left Ito to amuse himself, and spent much of a
most splendid day in investigations and in attempting to get round the
back of the volcano and up its inland side. There is a great deal to see
and learn there. Oh that I had strength! After hours of most tedious
and exhausting work I reached a point where there were several great
fissures emitting smoke and steam, with occasional subterranean
detonations. These were on the side of a small, flank crack which was
smoking heavily. There was light pumice everywhere, but nothing like
recent lava or scoriæ. One fissure was completely lined with exquisite,
acicular crystals of sulphur, which perished with a touch. Lower down
there were two hot springs with a deposit of sulphur round their margins,
and bubbles of gas, which, from its strong, garlicky smell, I suppose to
be sulphuretted hydrogen. Farther progress in that direction was
impossible without a force of pioneers. I put my arm down several deep
crevices which were at an altitude of only about 500 feet, and had to
withdraw it at once, owing to the great heat, in which some beautiful
specimens of tropical ferns were growing. At the same height I came to a
hot spring—hot enough to burst one of my thermometers, which was
graduated above the boiling point of Fahrenheit; and tying up an egg in a
pocket-handkerchief and holding it by a stick in the water, it was hard
boiled in 8½ minutes. The water evaporated without leaving a trace of
deposit on the handkerchief, and there was no crust round its margin. It
boiled and bubbled with great force.
Three hours more of exhausting toil, which almost knocked up the horses,
brought us to the apparent ridge, and I was delighted to find that it
consisted of a lateral range of tufa cones, which I estimate as being
from 200 to 350, or even 400 feet high. They are densely covered with
trees of considerable age, and a rich deposit of mould; but their conical
form is still admirably defined. An hour of very severe work, and
energetic use of the knife on the part of the Aino, took me to the top of
one of these through a mass of entangled and gigantic vegetation, and I
was amply repaid by finding a deep, well-defined crateriform cavity of
great depth, with its sides richly clothed with vegetation, closely
resembling some of the old cones in the island of Kauai. This cone is
partially girdled by a stream, which in one place has cut through a bank
of both red and black volcanic ash. All the usual phenomena of volcanic
regions are probably to be met with north of Shiraôi, and I hope they
will at some future time be made the object of careful investigation.
In spite of the desperate and almost overwhelming fatigue, I have enjoyed
few things more than that “exploring expedition.” If the Japanese have
no one to talk to they croon hideous discords to themselves, and it was a
relief to leave Ito behind and get away with an Aino, who was at once
silent, trustworthy, and faithful. Two bright rivers bubbling over beds
of red pebbles run down to Shiraôi out of the back country, and my
directions, which were translated to the Aino, were to follow up one of
these and go into the mountains in the direction of one I pointed out
till I said “Shiraôi.” It was one of those exquisite mornings which are
seen sometimes in the Scotch Highlands before rain, with intense
clearness and visibility, a blue atmosphere, a cloudless sky, blue
summits, heavy dew, and glorious sunshine, and under these circumstances
scenery beautiful in itself became entrancing.
The trailers are so formidable that we had to stoop over our horses’
necks at all times, and with pushing back branches and guarding my face
from slaps and scratches, my thick dogskin gloves were literally frayed
off, and some of the skin of my hands and face in addition, so that I
returned with both bleeding and swelled. It was on the return ride,
fortunately, that in stooping to escape one great liana the loop of
another grazed my nose, and, being unable to check my unbroken horse
instantaneously, the loop caught me by the throat, nearly strangled me,
and in less time than it takes to tell it I was drawn over the back of
the saddle, and found myself lying on the ground, jammed between a tree
and the hind leg of the horse, which was quietly feeding. The Aino,
whose face was very badly scratched, missing me, came back, said never a
word, helped me up, brought me some water in a leaf, brought my hat, and
we rode on again. I was little the worse for the fall, but on borrowing
a looking-glass I see not only scratches and abrasions all over my face,
but a livid mark round my throat as if I had been hung! The Aino left
portions of his bushy locks on many of the branches. You would have been
amused to see me in this forest, preceded by this hairy and
formidable-looking savage, who was dressed in a coat of skins with the
fur outside, seated on the top of a pack-saddle covered with a deer hide,
and with his hairy legs crossed over the horse’s neck—a fashion in which
the Ainos ride any horses over any ground with the utmost serenity.
It was a wonderful region for beauty. I have not seen so beautiful a
view in Japan as from the river-bed from which I had the first near view
of the grand assemblage of tufa cones, covered with an ancient
vegetation, backed by high mountains of volcanic origin, on whose ragged
crests the red ash was blazing vermilion against the blue sky, with a
foreground of bright waters flashing through a primeval forest. The
banks of these streams were deeply excavated by the heavy rains, and
sometimes we had to jump three and even four feet out of the forest into
the river, and as much up again, fording the Shiraôi river only more than
twenty times, and often making a pathway of its treacherous bed and
rushing waters, because the forest was impassable from the great size of
the prostrate trees. The horses look at these jumps, hold back, try to
turn, and then, making up their minds, suddenly plunge down or up. When
the last vestige of a trail disappeared, I signed to the Aino to go on,
and our subsequent “exploration” was all done at the rate of about a mile
an hour. On the openings the grass grows stiff and strong to the height
of eight feet, with its soft reddish plumes waving in the breeze. The
Aino first forced his horse through it, but of course it closed again, so
that constantly when he was close in front I was only aware of his
proximity by the tinkling of his horse’s bells, for I saw nothing of him
or of my own horse except the horn of my saddle. We tumbled into holes
often, and as easily tumbled out of them; but once we both went down in
the most unexpected manner into what must have been an old bear-trap,
both going over our horses’ heads, the horses and ourselves struggling
together in a narrow space in a mist of grassy plumes, and, being unable
to communicate with my guide, the sense of the ridiculous situation was
so overpowering that, even in the midst of the mishap, I was exhausted
with laughter, though not a little bruised. It was very hard to get out
of that pitfall, and I hope I shall never get into one again. It is not
the first occasion on which I have been glad that the Yezo horses are
shoeless. It was through this long grass that we fought our way to the
tufa cones, with the red ragged crests against the blue sky.
The scenery was magnificent, and after getting so far I longed to explore
the sources of the rivers, but besides the many difficulties the day was
far spent. I was also too weak for any energetic undertaking, yet I felt
an intuitive perception of the passion and fascination of exploring, and
understood how people could give up their lives to it. I turned away
from the tufa cones and the glory of the ragged crests very sadly, to
ride a tired horse through great difficulties; and the animal was so
thoroughly done up that I had to walk, or rather wade, for the last hour,
and it was nightfall when I returned, to find that Ito had packed up all
my things, had been waiting ever since noon to start for Horobets, was
very grumpy at having to unpack, and thoroughly disgusted when I told him
that I was so tired and bruised that I should have to remain the next day
to rest. He said indignantly, “I never thought that when you’d got the
_Kaitakushi kuruma_ you’d go off the road into those woods!” We had seen
some deer and many pheasants, and a successful hunter brought in a fine
stag, so that I had venison steak for supper, and was much comforted,
though Ito seasoned the meal with well-got-up stories of the
impracticability of the Volcano Bay route.
Shiraôi consists of a large old _Honjin_, or _yadoya_, where the
_daimiyô_ and his train used to lodge in the old days, and about eleven
Japanese houses, most of which are _saké_ shops—a fact which supplies an
explanation of the squalor of the Aino village of fifty-two houses, which
is on the shore at a respectful distance. There is no cultivation, in
which it is like all the fishing villages on this part of the coast, but
fish-oil and fish-manure are made in immense quantities, and, though it
is not the season here, the place is pervaded by “an ancient and
fish-like smell.”
The Aino houses are much smaller, poorer, and dirtier than those of
Biratori. I went into a number of them, and conversed with the people,
many of whom understand Japanese. Some of the houses looked like dens,
and, as it was raining, husband, wife, and five or six naked children,
all as dirty as they could be, with unkempt, elf-like locks, were huddled
round the fires. Still, bad as it looked and smelt, the fire was the
hearth, and the hearth was inviolate, and each smoked and dirt-stained
group was a family, and it was an advance upon the social life of, for
instance, Salt Lake City. The roofs are much flatter than those of the
mountain Ainos, and, as there are few store-houses, quantities of fish,
“green” skins, and venison, hang from the rafters, and the smell of these
and the stinging of the smoke were most trying. Few of the houses had
any guest-seats, but in the very poorest, when I asked shelter from the
rain, they put their best mat upon the ground, and insisted, much to my
distress, on my walking over it in muddy boots, saying, “It is Aino
custom.” Ever, in those squalid homes the broad shelf, with its rows of
Japanese curios, always has a place. I mentioned that it is customary
for a chief to appoint a successor when he becomes infirm, and I came
upon a case in point, through a mistaken direction, which took us to the
house of the former chief, with a great empty bear cage at its door. On
addressing him as the chief, he said, “I am old and blind, I cannot go
out, I am of no more good,” and directed us to the house of his
successor. Altogether it is obvious, from many evidences in this
village, that Japanese contiguity is hurtful, and that the Ainos have
reaped abundantly of the disadvantages without the advantages of contact
with Japanese civilisation.
That night I saw a specimen of Japanese horse-breaking as practised in
Yezo. A Japanese brought into the village street a handsome, spirited
young horse, equipped with a Japanese _demi-pique_ saddle, and a most
cruel gag bit. The man wore very cruel spurs, and was armed with a bit
of stout board two feet long by six inches broad. The horse had not been
mounted before, and was frightened, but not the least vicious. He was
spurred into a gallop, and ridden at full speed up and down the street,
turned by main force, thrown on his haunches, goaded with the spurs, and
cowed by being mercilessly thrashed over the ears and eyes with the piece
of board till he was blinded with blood. Whenever he tried to stop from
exhaustion he was spurred, jerked, and flogged, till at last, covered
with sweat, foam, and blood, and with blood running from his mouth and
splashing the road, he reeled, staggered, and fell, the rider dexterously
disengaging himself. As soon as he was able to stand, he was allowed to
crawl into a shed, where he was kept without food till morning, when a
child could do anything with him. He was “broken,” effectually
spirit-broken, useless for the rest of his life. It was a brutal and
brutalising exhibition, as triumphs of brute force always are.