From the Tokachi River to the Kutcharo River.
I decided to stop a day at Otsu, so as to recover from the fatigue of my
late travels and adventures, and I chose my quarters in the _yadoya_ of
a Japanese called Inomata Yoshitaro. I was told that he was an
ex-convict. Be that as it may, he had now turned into a fisherman and
innkeeper. Like all Japanese, he was an inexhaustible talker, and his
politeness was so great that it became a bore.
It was about three in the morning when I reached Otsu. I had taken off
my boots on entering his house--for it is an insult to enter Japanese
houses with one's boots on--and I had seated myself on the soft mat in
order to rest my aching limbs, when Yoshitaro made me get up to place a
small square cushion under me, on which he said I should be more
comfortable. I had not been on it one minute before Yoshitaro, wanting
to increase my comforts, made me rise again to exchange the first
cushion covered with cotton for one covered with silk--a detail to which
a man is not likely to pay much attention when tired to death, and only
anxious to be left alone. It followed as a matter of course that before
I was allowed to go to sleep I had to sip several cups of tea, which
Yoshitaro's wife had hurriedly made, and I had to relate the result of
my expedition to the sleepy fishermen who had crept out of their
_foutangs_ at the news of my arrival. In spite of all this, when I had
got rid of my audience I had a good night's rest; but when I woke up the
next day at noon I found myself surrounded by a crowd of fishermen of
Otsu, who had invaded the _yadoya_ to have a peep at the young
foreigner, while in the back yard I recognised the voices of Yoshitaro
and his wife, who evidently were occupied in the exciting chase of a
fowl.
A few minutes later Yoshitaro triumphantly entered the room with a large
dish, on which the same fowl, uncooked, and cut into a thousand little
bits, was served to me, together with pieces of raw salmon, _daikon_ (a
vegetable), and boiled rice. This he called a European dinner! I did my
best to roast the chicken bits on the _hibachi_ (the brazier); but I was
never well up in the culinary art, and, as my landlord remarked, he had
brought up the meat for me to eat, not to "burn."
Fowls are very scarce indeed in Hokkaido, and the few found have been
imported; therefore the landlord did not fail to explain, in a
roundabout manner, under what great obligation I was to him for killing
such a precious bird.
I said that I had not asked him to do this, and with his perfect
Japanese politeness, bowing gracefully down to the ground, he said:
"Sayo de gozarimas" ("Yes, your honourable sir"). "But," he added, "the
bird was so old that if I had not killed it I fear it would have died by
itself ere long." Such a sacrifice undoubtedly deserved a reward, and he
assured me that we should be "quite even" if I, being an artist, would
condescend to paint twelve portraits of him. I had no little trouble to
make him understand that he was mistaking me for a photographic camera,
but I offered to paint him a small sketch the next morning if he would
leave me alone all that day.
Punctually at sunrise he entered my room. He had his best clothes on,
and his anxiety to be painted was such that he had not been able to
sleep all night. I painted the sketch, and Yoshitaro and his male and
female friends joined in exclamations of admiration at the good result
of the _abura è_ (oil painting). He professed to be very grateful, and
carefully packed the picture in a box, which he carried into another
room.
I took advantage of his absence to pack up my traps, as I wished to
leave for Shaubets that same morning. In a short time Yoshitaro came
back to my room, but a different man. He was rude, and tried to bully
me. He presented a bill for the sum of sixteen _yen_, equivalent to £3
in English money, which I considered exorbitant for two nights' rest, a
few bowls of rice, and the "European dinner." The highest charge made by
the very best tea-houses in Hokkaido never exceeds one yen--two
shillings and tenpence a day--including all meals. I quietly told the
landlord that he was a thief, and that I would punish him by taking the
picture away from him; but he swore that he would not surrender it, and
that he would fight for it if necessary.
I seldom refuse a challenge when I know that I am going to get the best
of it, and as it so happened that my arms were a great deal longer than
those of Yoshitaro, I caught him by the throat and shook him so
violently that he was nearly strangled. His friends came to his rescue,
and when I dropped him he fell heavily on the mats, and had to be
carried away. Some minutes elapsed, and while I was hastily taking my
heavier luggage out of the house I heard Yoshitaro in the next room call
out to his wife to bring him a sword, as he wanted to kill the "_ijinsan
bakka_"--"the fool of a foreigner." I entered his room. Yoshitaro, pale
with rage, was sitting by his _hibachi_, and round him were eight or ten
of his men. They were apparently holding a congress on what to do, and
each one of them, as is usual on all occasions in Japan, had pulled out
his little pipe, and was continually refilling it with tobacco as they
all discussed the matter on hand. I had my boots on this time, as I
wished to show the scorn I had for him, his friends, and his house. In
my coat pocket--the only sound one--I had my revolver, but it was not
loaded.
"Yoshitaro," I said, "deliver the picture at once."
"I will not," said he.
"Good!" said his friends in a chorus.
"Yoshitaro," I said again, producing the revolver and pointing it at
him, "if I have not the picture before I count twenty you will be a dead
man."
I never in my life saw a crowd of bullies so scared. Covering their
faces with their hands, Yoshitaro's friends bolted in all directions,
some jumping out of the semi-European window, some dashing through the
violently-opened paper _shojis_ (sliding doors), leaving eight or ten
pipes and as many tobacco pouches scattered on the mats. The landlord, a
moment ago so brave, had not strength to get up, so great was his
terror. Pale as death, and with a trembling voice, he called imploringly
to his wife, servants, and friends to come and deliver up the picture.
I had counted up to number fourteen, and no one had put in an
appearance. Then I incidentally mentioned to Yoshitaro that time was
nearly up, and enquired if he preferred to be shot through the head or
the heart, at the same time cocking my revolver. Yoshitaro shuddered.
At number sixteen a little girl, the only brave one of the lot, was sent
to his help.
"Dutchera Danna?" ("Where is it, sir?") she asked him, quite perplexed.
"Hatchera, hayaku, hayaku nesan!" ("It is there; quick, quick, girl!")
pointing to a closet in which a pile of _foutangs_ (small mattresses)
were kept rolled during the day.
Yoshitaro had hidden the sketch so well in the closet that the little
_nesan_[27] could not find it, and when I called out number nineteen the
poor girl, discomfited, cried out, "Mi-imasen" ("I do not see it!")
[27] _Nesan_, a corruption of _annesan_.
Yoshitaro was more dead than alive; his lips were white, and he tried to
articulate some words, but could not. His eyes, fixed on the closet,
were glazed and set. His body was beginning to collapse, and every
moment I thought that he would faint.
In the meantime the _nesan_ hurriedly pulled out all the _foutangs_ and
unrolled them, and the box with the sketch fell out just as I was about
to call out number twenty. She gave me the box and sketch, and I told
Yoshitaro that he must now come out with me, and, putting my revolver in
my pocket, I pulled the man to the entrance door.
Several villagers had collected at a respectful distance on the road,
waiting for the report of the revolver. Yoshitaro's wife was the
farthest of all.
I signed to them to come nearer, and seeing that the revolver was no
longer in my hands, they came, though very reluctantly. Yoshitaro was
beginning to breathe again; and when a sufficient crowd had collected, I
compelled him to accuse himself before them all of being a thief, and to
confess that he was glad to have been punished. Also I made him promise
that he would not play such tricks again on any other traveller.
The Japanese are fond of a good joke, even when it is played off on one
of themselves; and when I had seen all my baggage safe on my
pack-saddles, I gave Yoshitaro the sixteen dollars he had asked me: "Two
dollars," I said, "in settlement of my bill, and fourteen to go to your
doctor for restoring you to good health after the fright you have had
to-day."
To show how shabby Yoshitaro's nature was, it is enough to state that
out of the sum received his munificence went to the extent of five _sen_
(2-1/2_d._) as a present to the girl who had come to save his life!
When my ponies were ready, I showed Yoshitaro and his knavish friends
how I had sold them. I brought out my revolver again, and they all saw
that not a single cartridge was in any of its chambers. This done, I
bade them good-bye, and left them to reflect that it is not always the
quietest persons who can be imposed on with most impunity, but that
sometimes such quiet persons get the best of it, even against ten
bullies or more banded together. I have no doubt that a good many of my
readers will think me cruel for carrying a joke so far; but, on the
other hand, if placed in similar circumstances, when no redress from
without is to be obtained, and one must defend oneself by main force,
very few would treat such a serious imposition and offence as a joke.
In going through the village more than one fisherman came to tell me
that I had done right in dealing severely with Yoshitaro, as he was
known to be a scoundrel and a thief, and they all detested him.
There was little of interest between Otsu and Shaubets, with the
exception of the beautiful delta formed in the low alluvial valley by
the Otsu River and the Tokachi River, two large estuaries nearly two
miles apart, by which the Tokachi River enters the sea. The Tokachi is a
river of large volume and considerable length, and even when divided,
the body of water carried by both outlets is so great as to make it
necessary to cross in boats, fording on foot being quite impossible.
The Urahoro River was successfully crossed, but for the twenty miles on
to Shahubets the track was flat and sandy, lying mostly under high clay
banks, some of which form picturesque headlands. The country is not
mountainous in the proximity of the coast, but it is of a moderate
elevation all through, and wooded with deciduous trees. The formation of
the south-east coast from Cape Erimo to Cape Noshafu is in many ways
unlike that of the south-west coast. The south-western part is more
mountainous, and is further characterised by the absence of extensive
plains. The coast-line is indented, and there is a striking want of
broad beaches. Precipitous rocks are also frequent along the south-west
coast, and thick deposits of pumice--as we have seen--are lying over
quaternary rocks, filling up the declivities of mountain lands and river
shores.
In the western part the tertiaries are more tufaceous than on the
south-east coast, and they are distinguished mainly by the presence of
shales and andesite breccia. The south-eastern part is characterized by
the almost entire absence of volcanic rocks and older eruptive rocks.
After leaving the range of mountains forming the _Sparti acque_, east
and west of Cape Erimo, high land is met all the way along the
south-east coast. Nevertheless, pumice is found in the basin of the
Tokachi River, and also in that of the Kushiro River, but it does not
form the surface soil, covering large areas of ground, as in many places
on the south-western portion of the coast.
The different aspect in the tertiaries of the south-east and south-west
coast may be accounted for by the presence of breccia and conglomerate,
shales and sandstones, on the western part, while on the eastern coast
beds of lignite, coal of inferior quality, and diatom earth form the
tertiary strata. If it were not for the total want of harbours, or even
moderately sheltered anchorages for ships, this south-west portion of
Yezo, with its agricultural resources, its milder climate, and the
facilities that it offers for the construction of roads and railways,
ought to support a large population. As things stand now, there are no
colonists inland, and the coast is deserted and desolate-looking. As I
have mentioned before, the only drawbacks are the thick fogs prevailing
during the summer months along the south-east coast, and I believe that
this in some measure accounts for the Japanese not wishing to settle in
a part of the country so depressing to their spirits and so trying to
their nerves. I have often noticed how easily affected the Mikado's
subjects are by atmospheric and geographical conditions, and how, before
settling to do business, they make a point of finding some pleasant spot
where to cast anchor, thinking more of the amenities of physical
existence than of the facilities for successful trade. I did not see a
single house for twenty miles until I reached Shaubets, a village of
eleven Ainu huts and one Japanese house. Thousands of sea-gulls and
penguins lined the sandy shore, and I saw several large black
sea-eagles. A pretty waterfall, gently descending from the high grey
cliff, was decidedly ornamental to the scenery and useful to the
wayfarer, as it afforded my ponies and myself a good drink of
deliciously fresh water. Far off in the distance I could distinguish a
long tongue of land. At Shaubets I was told that it was the peninsula on
which _Kossuri_, or _Kushiro_, as the Japanese call it, is situated. I
left Shaubets early in the morning, with the intention of pushing on to
Kushiro, thirty-one miles distant. At Shiranuka, only ten miles from
Shaubets, I changed my ponies. Shiranuka is an Ainu village, the
inhabitants of which employ themselves in collecting and drying seaweed.
There are also seven or eight Japanese shanties besides the Ainu huts.
At the mouth of the Tcharo-bets, near the latter village, coal and
lignite of inferior quality are found; but this coalfield was not worked
at the time I passed through Shiranuka. The remaining twenty-one miles
were monotonous and uninteresting. The long _Kossuri_ peninsula was
before me, increasing in size as I drew nearer; and after having gone
through the two small villages of To'tori and Akan-gawa, in the
neighbourhood of Kossuri, I crossed the Kutcharo River, on a
nicely-built wooden bridge, and found myself at Kushiro, an important
Japanese settlement on the south-east coast. From its favourable
situation Kushiro is likely to become one of the chief towns in Yezo,
though unfortunately it does not possess a good harbour, and is much
exposed to westerly winds. The largest number of the houses are situated
on a slight elevation above the reef-harbour, immediately south of the
river mouth. In the proximity of Kushiro, and just beyond the range of
hills which stretches for about three miles from the entrance of the
harbour in a northerly, and for about two miles in an easterly
direction, is a lagoon, called by the Ainu "Harutori." This lagoon is
nearly two miles long, and certainly not more than a quarter of a mile
wide. It is divided from the sea by a very narrow strip of sand, through
which the water of the lagoon finds its outlet. On the east side of the
Harutori coal has been discovered, and it seems to be of fairly good
quality; and three miles further, quite close to the sea-coast, coal was
dug out some years ago, but the quality was so inferior that the works
had to be abandoned.
There is a considerable area of good land in the neighbourhood of
Kushiro, and here again it is to be regretted that Japanese farmers do
not emigrate to work it. Yezo has a very small population for its size,
and I was surprised that emigration from the mainland was not carried
out on a larger scale. Yezo is a rich country in many ways. Why do not
all the troublesome students, the fiery _soshi_ of Japan, abandon
politics and futile rows and go and do men's work in that northern
region of the empire? They would profit by it, and so would their
country. An immense loss occurs every year simply because no one is
there to take the profit; and it is a great pity, and almost a shame, to
see so much waste and neglect in a region which, after all, is not
difficult of access from the main island of Nippon. To the mineral
products of the Kushiro district must be added the exports of fish
(salmon and herrings), fish manure, and seaweed, which could be greatly
increased if more practical processes were used.
The town of Kushiro itself is not picturesque. There are, I dare say, as
many as five hundred houses, some built in Japanese, some in
semi-foreign style. The streets are very wide, and along the main street
rails have been laid to carry coal trucks from the Harutori mine down to
the shipping point. Thus the town has a civilised appearance, which was
artistically ugly enough, but refreshing to my eyes after my experiences
along the south-west and south-east coasts. There are Ainu huts along
the river banks, on the high lands, and on the strip of sand between
Lake Harutori and the sea. Unfortunately, most of the Ainu here, being
in the employ of the Japanese, have adopted Japanese clothes, customs,
manners, and language. Nearly all the younger folks are half-castes. A
select few have even gone so far as to forget their strongest national
characteristic of dirt; and, to my great amazement, one day I saw an
Ainu half-caste actually taking a hot bath. It may amuse the reader to
learn of what this Japanese bathing accommodation generally consists. It
is one of the features in nearly all fishing stations in Yezo, and it is
worth describing.
When the day's work is over, one or more of the iron fish-kettles or
caldrons used for extracting the oil from herrings are filled with
water. These caldrons rest each on a cylindrical base of stones and
clay, thus allowing a big fire of wood to be lighted under them. When
the water has reached a high temperature, the bather either provides
himself with an old pair of straw sandals (_waraji_), and steps in, or,
placing a small board on the water, places his foot on it, and forces it
down to the bottom of the caldron by his own weight. He thus avoids
scalding his feet, which otherwise he would do severely. I have often
seen two or three men (Japanese) placidly sitting up to their necks in
the steaming water of the same caldron, with a huge fire burning under
it; and several times I have been _warmly_ invited by the bathers to
join them, which _very warm_ invitation, however, I invariably _coolly_
considered and declined with thanks.
As regards the Ainu, they are not fond of bathing or washing, and they
share the Chinese idea that it is only dirty people who need continual
washing. They do not regard themselves as dirty, and therefore dispense
with such an "uncleanly habit."
"You white people must be very dirty," once said an Ainu to me, as I was
taking a plunge into a limpid river, "as you tell me that you bathe in
the river every day."
"And what about yourself?" I asked him.
"Oh, Nishpa," he replied with an air of contempt, "I am very clean, and
have never needed washing!"
If Kushiro is not interesting to an artist, it is decidedly so from an
archæological point of view. Numerous pits, forts, and camps, flint
implements, and fragments of pottery, are found in the immediate
neighbourhood of the town, both on the range of hills and along the west
shore of Lake Harutori. The pits are found in such numbers as to lead
one to believe that the old "Kossuri" of the Ainu was once the capital
of a race of pit-dwellers previous to the conquest of the whole of Yezo
by the hairy race. The Ainu gave these people the name of
_Koro-pok-kuru_--men of the holes. A few words on them may not be out of
place, though, unfortunately, little is to be learned from the Ainu as
to who their predecessors were, and it is merely by a close examination
of their pits, and relics found in different parts of Yezo and the
Kuriles, that we can to a certain extent trace the existence of such a
race of people, and also prove that they were in no way connected with
the present Ainu.
[Illustration: AINU HOOK FOR SMOKING BEAR-MEAT.]
[Illustration: KORO-POK-KURU FORT.]