EARLY DAYS IN JAPAN
A new friend--A Japanese dinner--Japanese temples--An earthquake--A fire
in Yokohama.
The first few weeks after our arrival in Japan would have been rather
dull, as my father had to leave at once for Tokio on business, had I not
made the acquaintance of a girl staying in the hotel who was also
travelling with her father in Japan. Pauline, as she was called, was a
few years older than myself, a clever girl with very decided opinions on
most subjects. She was also an only child, and her father, who was an
invalid, gave way to her in everything. For some reason or other she
took a great fancy to me at first sight. We soon became good friends and
I was delighted to have someone to go about with as I had always longed
for a girl companion. We explored the streets of Yokohama together,
picking up a few words of Japanese which enabled us to make purchases
and direct our rickshaw coolies. What delightful drives we had, going
out sometimes far into the country with green rice-fields on either side
and here and there a little tea-house where we would stop to rest and
have a cup of the honourable tea!
One evening my father took us both to dine at a Japanese restaurant to
have a real Japanese dinner. On arriving, we had to take off our shoes
before entering the house and were then taken to a room with absolutely
no furniture, but divided by screens. The floor was covered with
spotless matting and some little cushions on which we sat in various
attitudes. The Japanese way of sitting on one’s heels is far too
fatiguing to try for long.
First a little nasan (servant) appeared bowing to the floor, bringing
tea in tiny cups and some cakes made of sweet beans; then three charming
little geishas (dancing girls) entered, dressed in scarlet-embroidered
kimonos and bright sashes. Their faces were carefully painted, and their
black hair decorated with many-coloured pins. They were the dearest
little people imaginable, not more than thirteen or fourteen years old,
with pretty little hands and feet and charming, graceful manners. A
lacquer tray was placed before each of us on the floor with a cup of
saké, the national drink--something like sherry and water, but with a
burning taste, and most intoxicating. As water-drinking is dangerous in
Japan we had to content ourselves with tea. Bowls of soup were first
brought us with large pieces of fish and some strange-looking morsels
floating in it. These we chased about with our chopsticks with little
success, much to the amusement of the geishas, who sat in a row watching
us, laughing merrily and evidently discussing our clothes and
appearance.
The next dish was raw fish cut in slices, with some green and very nasty
sauce made from seaweed; then came a course of fried fish, after which
there was a dance by the two geishas--wonderfully graceful and pretty.
It consisted chiefly in the waving of fans and the revolving on one leg
to the melodious strains of a samisen, which resembles anything rather
than what we call music. Still, it seemed to suit the dance and the
strange surroundings.
Shrimps in batter was the nicest dish that we tasted, followed by a
concoction of fermented turnip in slices and cabbage-stalks soaked in
vinegar; and finally a bowl of rice was served, always the last course
at a Japanese dinner.
Spoons and forks were given us, but we stuck manfully to our chopsticks.
It was a polite way of not eating more than absolutely necessary. Two
more dances finished our entertainment.
On leaving we were each presented with a fried fish in a little wooden
box for good luck, and the little geishas and nasans followed us to our
rickshaws, calling out as we left: ‘Tum adain soone! Sayonara!’
[Illustration: ‘TUM ADAIN SOONE! SAYONARA!’]
The Shinto and Buddhist temples round Yokohama are curious and
interesting with their stone lanterns and little lacquer shrines. Most
of them are built of wood painted red. Those in the town are generally
crowded with people constantly coming and going, some buying prayers on
rice-paper for their own particular want, price one sen (quarter of a
farthing), others only gossiping and strolling about.
[Illustration: ONE OF THE SHINTO TEMPLES.]
Outside some of the temples is to be seen the bronze or wooden figure of
a god enclosed in a kind of cage covered with wire-netting. These
figures are literally plastered over with little pellets of paper
prayers which the people chew in their mouths and throw or spit at the
image. If the paper sticks on the figure their petition is answered; if,
on the other hand, it remains in the netting their prayer is not
heard--a true relic of old Japanese superstitions. The great bronze
Buddha at Kamakura is very wonderful, and contains a small temple. The
eyes of the figure are of solid gold.
[Illustration: THE GREAT BRONZE BUDDHA.]
At one of the temples which Pauline and I visited a sacred horse is kept
in a stall, and close by small trays of corn are sold and given to the
horse to do duty as prayers. Needless to say, the poor beast is almost
as broad as it is long.
We had our first experience of an earthquake soon after our arrival in
Yokohama. It was not a severe shock, but quite enough to alarm the
visitors at the Grand Hotel, who came rushing out on the landings and
corridors in the strangest and most sketchy attires. I hardly like to
describe the appearance of one or two visions I met as I ran out of my
room to see what had happened. One lady was tearing downstairs followed
by her maid holding out a dressing-gown, which she vainly endeavoured to
persuade her mistress to put on. Two old maiden ladies, who had arrived
only the day before, insisted on the manager of the hotel hiring them
two rickshaws, although it was nearly midnight, and in them the two
agitated spinsters spent the rest of the night driving slowly up and
down the Bund (parade), to be prepared in case of further alarms. I saw
them the next morning looking very pale and weary, but still holding on
their laps bundles of underclothing, several bags and a miserable little
pet dog.
One or two cracks in the ceilings and walls of the hotel was all the
damage done by the shock that night.
A fire is almost as much dreaded as an earthquake in Japan, and,
unfortunately, is of common occurrence owing to the houses in the native
quarters of the towns being built entirely of wood and paper.
A few nights after the earthquake scare I was awakened at about 2 a.m.
by a brilliant glare in my room and the noise of many hurrying footsteps
passing the hotel. Looking out of my window, I saw what was apparently
the entire native quarter of Yokohama in a blaze. Flames and sparks were
leaping high into the air and great clouds of smoke were pouring down
the street. Quickly flinging on a few clothes, I hurried to Pauline’s
room, which was next mine, and found her already half dressed. It needed
but little persuasion on her part to convince me that the one and only
thing to be done was to go and see what we could of the fire from a safe
distance. We crept downstairs and out of a side-door into the street,
which was by this time full of little figures running rapidly in the
same direction, all carrying lanterns in their hands. I then remembered
that our passports, which had been given us by the British Consul only a
few days previously, notified that no one was to attend a fire on
horseback, or without carrying a lantern. I could well understand the
danger there would have been riding amongst this excited crowd of little
Japs, but what were we to do without a lantern? Suddenly I remembered I
had my purse in my pocket, and seeing two shabby-looking boys carrying a
light just in front of me, I stopped them, and holding out a yen
(dollar), pointed to their precious lantern. They understood my signals
and, grinning broadly, snatched at the money, handed me the lantern and
scampered off.
Pauline and I, clinging closely to each other, were swept on in the
crowd, which every moment grew denser, until we found ourselves on the
edge of the moat separating the native quarter from the settlement.
As it seemed hopeless to attempt to put out the fire, which every moment
attacked fresh houses, figures of men could be seen jumping from roof to
roof and tearing down houses still untouched to stop the flames going
further. The fierce glare lit up the pale, excited faces of the
thousands of little spectators swaying in one moving mass backwards and
forwards, whilst the clashing of bells from every quarter of the
town--one of the regulations in case of a fire--the shouts of the crowd,
and the crackling of the burning wood, all added to the strangely
horrible, yet fascinating sight. The heat and smoke became almost
unbearable, sparks began to fall on us and one had even scorched my
hair. It seemed probable, unless the wind changed, that the fire might
cross the moat, in which case our lives would be in danger. I turned and
asked Pauline whether we had not better try to get out of the crowd and
return home. To my horror I found she was looking ghastly and ready to
faint. The heat and excitement had been too much for her. I was in
despair, knowing it would be impossible to help her out in such a crush.
At that moment, to my intense relief, I saw my father’s head and
shoulders towering above the crowd not far behind. I managed to call
loud enough to attract his attention, and he soon pushed his way through
to where we were standing. After some difficulty we managed to get poor
Pauline safely to a cooler and less crowded spot. When she had revived a
little, we returned to the hotel half dead with fatigue, our clothes
ruined, and both of us thoroughly ashamed of ourselves. I think my
long-suffering parent thought we had been punished sufficiently, as he
did not refer to our escapade, and Pauline’s father never knew in what
danger his idolized daughter had been that night.
The next day we heard that over four hundred houses had been destroyed
in the fire and three lives lost. The loss of property was not great, as
the Japanese keep all their valuables in ‘go-downs’--small fireproof
buildings, which alone remained standing and unhurt when we visited the
spot a few days later. Even before the ashes were cold the plucky little
people were hard at work marking out fresh sites for new buildings, and
three or four months later it was difficult to believe that a fire could
ever have taken place in that neighbourhood.
Shortly after this Pauline confided to me her great desire to see
something of Japanese life in the interior, far away from Treaty-port
towns and European hotels. Naturally, I also became seized with a
similar desire, so, after much persuasion and many entreaties, our
parents gave their consent to our making a ten days’ tour, accompanied
by a highly-recommended and most respectable guide and interpreter, by
name Idaka. He was a most superior person, with a fair knowledge of the
English language, and quite deliciously ugly. I liked that guide; he
told me I was a most intelligent walker, and had a noble foot. Pauline
insisted on calling him a fool--of course not to his face, as ‘bacha,’
Japanese for fool, is a terrible term to apply to anyone in Japan--but
even she admitted he certainly was useful.
During our absence Pauline’s father decided to remain quietly at
Yokohama, whilst mine had still much important business to do in Tokio.