From Akkeshi to Nemuro--A Horse Station--Nemuro and its People.
The road in the proximity of Akkeshi was extremely muddy and slippery,
owing to the continuous fogs and rain. A north wind was blowing hard the
day I left for Kiritap, and it drove the mist and drizzly rain right
through one's skin into one's bones. The fogs, which are prevalent all
along the coast, seem to excel between Akkeshi and Kiritap; so much so
that the Japanese in the neighbourhood make them answerable for their
baldness, and the local Ainu say they are so scantily hirsute because of
the everlasting dampness in which they live. They clinch their argument
by reminding you that when their forefathers came to this part of the
coast they were as hairy as the bear, so what can have caused their own
comparative smoothness but these everlasting fogs? I believe that to a
great extent they are right, for when, after a day's wet ride, I have
sat near a fire even for some hours, I have felt as if my skin were
soaking with wet--as if I had been too long in a bath--and neither
rubbing with cotton towels nor the warmth of the fire seemed thoroughly
to dry it; and perhaps such an extraordinary dampness, constantly
saturating the pores of the skin, may have an injurious effect upon the
hair, and cause it to decay and fall off. It was in a thick fog like
this that I had to find my way to Riruran, the next horse station, about
eight miles further east. The road soon became a mere track, running
through an undulating country, chiefly pasture land. As luck would have
it, I had hired a pony which belonged to the Riruran station, and the
beast was as anxious to get there as I was. He knew the way and I did
not, so I let him guide me. Now and then, when the wind blew with
increased strength, the fog lifted for a few minutes, and disclosed some
pretty bits of landscape. The country all around was grassy, with the
familiar densely-wooded hills in the background. It somewhat resembled
the slopes and high lands of Cornwall, without, however, the herds of
sheep and cattle, which in our country are connected with green fields;
without the trim fences and stiles, the ploughed fields and meadows, the
trim hedges and park-like trees, the bye-lanes and well-kept roads.
Hill after hill was ascended and descended, the sturdy little pony going
well towards his former home; but as yet I had come on no signs of any
living creature. No labourers are here to work and plough the dark rich
soil. Potato fields; cottages with their plots of vegetable grounds;
cows and sheep scattered over the green pastures--all signs of vigorous
and successful husbandry--are things that an intending traveller to Yezo
will miss. Everywhere are solitude and monotony. Still, even solitude
and monotony are not always to be abhorred, and if they have their
drawbacks they also have their advantages. You can go undisturbed for
mile after mile; you can think; you can dream; you can sing; you can
keep to the track or go across country; you can go fast or slow, and
there is no one to object, to obstruct, or to comment. You breathe air
that no one has breathed before, and you quench your thirst in a limpid
stream unpolluted by sewage, chemical refuse, or poisonous dye-stuffs.
You lead a simple life, and, what is more, an independent life. Many a
time, when I woke up to the real state of my new condition, I could not
help laughing at our civilised conceptions of what constitutes a free
man in a free country, viz. that he can have a voice in choosing which
of two men shall be sent as a member to Parliament.
Absorbed, now in my own thoughts on many subjects, and now in gazing at
the monotonous scenes, which, as if reflected from a magic-lantern,
suddenly appeared and as suddenly faded away, I had not seen how far my
pony had hurried on, when, rapidly descending a steep hill, I discerned
through the grey fog a solitary shed in the small valley below. The
neighing of my steed, responded to by the neighing of his compatriots in
the valley, told me that I had reached the horse station of Riruran, and
a few minutes later my baggage and pack-saddle were removed from my
steaming quadruped, and a fresh animal was burdened with my possessions.
These horse stations generally consist of one shed, in which the owner
and his family live; near it is a rough enclosure formed of branches and
trunks of trees laid down horizontally, and strengthened at intervals by
poles stuck in the ground. The ponies are kept in this enclosure during
the day, but are let loose at sunset, when they go for their food
wherever they can get it--generally on the near hills. Early in the
morning one or two Ainu employed in the stations start off to recapture
the ponies, and after a struggle bring back the herd to the paddock. My
readers, who may not be well acquainted with the habits of semi-wild
horses, will wonder that the ponies, once free in an unenclosed country,
do not bolt away altogether inland, thus making it impossible to
recapture them; and, moreover, these readers will think what a difficult
task it must be for the Ainu horsemen to recover all the ponies, each
one of which, they probably imagine, has bolted in an independent and
different direction. This is not the case. When a herd of ponies is let
loose they invariably all go together in one direction, generally
following those of the older animals which have bells hanging to their
necks. When they come to a proper feeding-ground they all graze within a
few yards of one another; and the chances are that the herd will not go
a step further than is necessary, as they are terribly afraid of bears,
their most dreaded enemy, by which they well know the more distant
hills are infested. When their hunger is satisfied they shoulder up
together and form a circle, in the centre of which the young colts are
placed, these being thus well protected from bears, who would find a
sturdy resistance in the hind hoofs of the outstanding guard should they
come to close quarters. The Ainu are good trackers, and have little
difficulty in finding in which direction the herd has moved. When this
preliminary is ascertained, the horseman, mounted on a swift pony, which
he has taken good care to keep behind, starts from the station about an
hour before sunrise, so as to allow himself ample time to reach the herd
before the sun is up. He finds the ponies in this circular position of
defence. With a long stick he breaks their ranks, and by shouting, and
wildly galloping to and fro, drives them on in front till the station
and the pen are reached. When they have all entered the latter, a heavy
wooden bar is rested on two biforked poles, one on each side of the
entrance, thus barring their way out; and there they are kept all day,
waiting for such native travellers or traders as may require their
services along the coast.
Most of the stations are owned by Japanese and by Ainu half-castes. Some
have large numbers of ponies; some only a few, according to the wants of
the neighbourhood.
The average market value of a beast is between five and ten _yen_, or
about fifteen to thirty shillings in English currency.
At stations where the ponies are but little worked, good animals can
sometimes be obtained for a small sum of money; but at stations near
large settlements--where trade with other villages is carried on
entirely by pack-ponies--they are mostly sorry beasts, with their backs
one mass of sores, produced by the friction of the rough pack-saddles.
Moreover, the cruel habit of letting colts follow mares for long
distances--sometimes forty or fifty miles--is as painful a sight to
witness as it is injurious to the breed. The Yezo ponies are
characterised by their long hair and mane. They are short, sturdy,
punchy brutes, not more than ten or twelve hands high, with a rather
large and massive head, and thick, crooked legs. They are by no means
fine-looking animals, nor are they well groomed--in fact, they are not
groomed at all--but they serve capitally for the rough tracks and
precipitous wastes of Hokkaido. They have none of the good qualities we
require in our horses, but they possess others which fit them for the
country they are in. Their enormous power of endurance, and the
wonderful way in which they can go over the steepest tracks--almost
unclimbable on foot; their sure step when going along precipices; and
the marvellous manner in which they pick their way over rocky coasts,
which the waves would seem to make impassable, and where none of our
good horses could go without breaking their legs, are all endowments
which I feel bound to quote in honour of the Yezo ponies. They are not
shod, and they can hardly be called trained. Indeed, if a traveller be a
good rider, it is advisable to obtain a perfectly unbroken animal, as
from my own personal experience I can say that, though the riding was a
little more exciting, I could invariably make better time with a totally
unbroken beast, than with one of the worn-out, sore-backed "quiet
ponies," which needed any amount of thrashing to make him go.
[Illustration: AINU BITS.]
A curious method is adopted for directing the animal. It is as simple as
it is ingenious. The necessary "bit" by which we control our horses is
dispensed with, and it is replaced by two wooden wands about twelve
inches long and two inches wide, tied together at one end, allowing a
distance of three inches between them. In the middle of these wands a
rope is passed which goes over the pony's head behind its ears; while
the wands themselves, thus supported by it, rest one on each side of the
pony's nose. Another rope, five or six feet in length, and acting as a
rein, is fastened at the lower end of one of the wands, and passes
through a hole in the other, thus allowing this simple contrivance,
based on the lever principle, to be worked exactly in the same way as a
nut-cracker, the pony's nose being the nut. The disadvantage of the
system is, that having only one rein, this has to be passed over the
pony's head each time one wishes to turn to the right or to the left,
as by pulling the rope hard, and thus squeezing the animal's nose, its
head is turned in the direction in which it is pulled, and it is soon
taught that this is the way it must go. Furthermore, should the pony
bolt, it can be stopped by pulling its head close to its haunches,
thereby making it impossible to continue its race. In the latter case it
often happens, especially with an untrained pony, that it will spin
round, trying to stretch its twisted neck by pushing its head away from
the side of its body, and the result is generally a bad fall of horse
and rider.
Another thing of which one ought to be careful is to keep one's legs out
of the reach of the brute's teeth; for it is not infrequent that instead
of the man punishing the animal, the animal revenges itself on the man;
and the incautious traveller realises Sydney Smith's position, and finds
that to a Yezo pony, as well as to an English cart-horse, "all flesh is
grass."
From Riruran, for about fifteen miles, the way is merely a mountain
track; and I dare say that in fine weather the scenery along it is
picturesque. Unfortunately, when I went through, the fog had become more
and more intense, and I saw very little of the landscape. At places the
track led down to the sea, and then mounted up again over cliffs and
high lands. As the mist, which came in gusts and waves, deepened or
lightened in intensity, the rugged precipitous rocks, formed mostly of
conglomerate, sandstone, and breccia, took all sorts of fantastic forms.
Along the coast were many Ainu huts inhabited by half-castes and by
Japanese. The Ainu were once very numerous in this district, but few of
them are to be found now. The few remaining ones have yielded to the
more civilised Japanese, and have become their servants. They are used
as menials in most of the fishing stations, always acting under the
directions of Japanese masters. Very frequently they are employed as
tenders of horses, and in some places as guides for traders and
travellers from one station to another.
Not far from Riruran the mouths of two lagoons have to be crossed, the
larger of which is called Saruffo-Ko, or "Lake in a grassy plain."
Cranes, swans, and ducks are numerous in these lagoons.
The track continues mostly over cliffs and mountains till Birvase, a
small village of seaweed gatherers, is reached, and the next two and a
half miles are along a sandy beach as far as Hammanaka. A short bridge
joins this place to the island of Kiritap, which is separated from the
mainland by a channel only a few feet wide. Towards the evening the fog
lifted, and I caught a glimpse of the village.
The ponies of the Kiritap village had just been let loose, and were
running over the small wooden bridge with great clamour. The houses,
which number about a hundred and twenty, are all poor and dirty. There
is a main street, and most of the houses are on each side of it. The
people are fishermen, seaweed gatherers, and small traders; for
Hammanaka Bay, being a good anchorage for junks and small craft under
the lee of Kiritap Island, is a place of some importance for its export
trade of seaweeds, fish-oil, and herring guano; these products being
sent down to Hakodate.
If a few Ainu have adopted the Japanese language, clothes, and customs,
there are also many Japanese who have taken up the Ainu language and
ways. I noticed this more particularly in this district, where the Ainu
have almost entirely disappeared. The older Japanese and many of the
younger folks have Ainu features; and not only have they adopted a great
number of Ainu words, but when talking Japanese they speak it with the
peculiar intonation and accent pertaining to the Ainu. This is not
surprising, nor yet peculiar to the Japanese or the Chinese; for we find
that almost all English residents in Chinese ports adopt many of the
words of our pig-tailed brothers, and have thus formed a kind of local
English, besides the "pidgeon-English"--a corruption of "business
English"--which almost constitutes a language of its own.
The Ainu, like the Scotch or the French, give a rolling sound to the
"r." Thus, for instance, if I had written the word "Riruran" as it is
pronounced I should have spelt it "Rrirrurran." Then the Ainu almost
sing their words--the women in a falsetto voice, ending in a singularly
mournful kind of cadenza. On his return from a journey, a hunt, or a
fishing expedition, the Ainu squats down cross-legged in his hut, and,
after the conventional introductory ceremony of rubbing the palms of his
hands together and then repeatedly stroking his hair and beard, proceeds
to relate the adventures that have befallen him during his absence.
This he does by singing out his story in a sort of monotone, or
sometimes chanting it. When conversing with Japanese the Ainu have
slightly modified this habit, which gave rise to much mirth to the
light-hearted sons of the Mikado's empire. However, like all people who
are ready to laugh at everything novel, the local Japanese have now
themselves fallen into that same manner of speaking, which, after all,
has its charms, as it is rather sentimental in spirit, and so far
pleasant to the ear. What is more, they have also acquired the slow ways
of the Ainu.
All along the beach between Hammanaka and Hattaushi, a distance of
nearly twenty miles, there are fishermen's and seaweed gatherers' huts;
but none of them is inhabited by Ainu. Men, women, and children are all
occupied in the seaweed gathering industry; and it is when the sea is
stormy that the largest quantity of kelp is collected. The numerous
reefs and rocks all along the shore-line afford suitable ground and
bottom for its growth and production; and during a stormy sea quantities
of kelp float on the breaking waves, to be finally thrown on shore. The
industrious gatherers seldom wait for this "jetsam," as the long weeds,
after they are washed off the rock, and before they are finally swept on
shore, are apt to be damaged by the waves, and are therefore of less
value for the export market than when long and fresh; wherefore, each
gatherer provides himself with a long pole or hook, and from morning
till night these half-naked "toilers of the sea" can be seen running to
and fro in and out of the waves dragging bunches of long ribbon-like
seaweeds, which are then carefully disentangled, stretched on the sands
to dry, and, after several days of exposure, are packed for the market.
Some huge cliffs towering over the sandy beach make the track
interesting; and here and there, scattered in the Hammanaka Bay, are
some oyster-banks before reaching the single shed of Hattaushi. The
following twelve miles were on an extremely bad track, partly over steep
hills and partly on tiresome soft sand. Then I arrived at
Otchishi--without exception the loveliest little spot in Yezo. It lies
in the centre of a small bay, on the two sides of which are magnificent
headlands with precipitous cliffs and rocks of volcanic formation. On a
pretty bit of green grass in the foreground, only a few feet above the
sea-level, were a shed and a storehouse. A reef and shallow water closed
the entrance of the bay to the foaming waves of the Pacific. In the
sheltered water, which was as smooth as a mirror, the dark rich colour
of the overhanging rocks, caressed by the last warm rays of the dying
sun, was reflected with absolute fidelity and almost increased
loveliness. A cold whitish sky, and the _white horses_ breaking on the
reef, completed the _ensemble_ of that lovely scene; and it was with
great regret, after having attempted a sketch, that I was told my horse
was ready, and I had to leave this poetical and exquisite scene.
On the slight elevations near Otchishi, and in the valley, pits are
still to be seen, showing that the pit-dwellers were once numerous in
this district. They are found both along the coast as well as slightly
inland by the side of small rivers, and on the shores of the Saruffu
lagoon. A well-kept road begins at Otchishi, and goes on to Nemuro. At
first it runs over hilly ground and through an oak-wooded country, then
through thick forests of spruce trees, the trees standing very
close together. About four miles from Nemuro a military
settlement--"Hanasaki"--similar to the one on the Shibetcha-Akkeshi
road, has been established by the Japanese Government. Here, again, I
was struck by the difficulty and the amount of labour involved in
clearing the trees off the ground. It will take many years before the
industrious farmers will have any return for their hard labour. I do not
know what the object of the Japanese Government may have been in
starting these two militia settlements in spots so unfit for
cultivation, but it seems a great pity to see the Tokachi region, which
has all the requisites for successful agriculture, quite deserted, while
hundreds of men are wasting their strength and time at other places,
where it will take several years to open enough ground for even a
kitchen-garden.
Past the long row of houses at Hanasaki the road descends gently, and I
arrived at Nemuro, a thriving place of about fifteen hundred houses, on
the south-west coast of the plateau-like peninsula ending at Cape
Noshafu. The general elevation of the plateau is between sixty and one
hundred and twenty feet above the sea-level, and the high land is
covered with undergrowth and stunted trees, such as scrub bamboo, oak,
birch, and alder, the east winds and fogs no doubt preventing the latter
from attaining a larger growth. Some low islands and reefs lie north and
south off Cape Noshafu, and make navigation very unsafe for the small
coasting crafts which sometimes during the summer call at Nemuro for
sea-weed, herring, salt, salmon, and herring guano; the first exported
chiefly to China, the others to Tokio and Southern Japan. Herrings are
caught in large numbers during the spring and summer, and the export of
fish-manure would be considerably increased if the harbour at Nemuro
could be safely entered by larger ships. As it is now, though well
sheltered by the small island of Bentenjima, it can only harbour small
ships, as, besides not being deep, its entrance is narrow and of
difficult access during the thick fogs of the summer. In the winter and
part of the spring the harbour and the coast as far as Noshafu Cape are
blocked with drift ice, thus stopping navigation altogether. The trade
from the adjoining coast and the Kurile Islands concentrates at this
port, and as a farming region the small portion of available land
north-west of the town has given fairly good results. Horse-breeding has
proved a success for the local wants, but hardly so in producing a fine
breed of horses. Cattle-breeding, on the other hand, has been a failure
all through, owing to the severe weather in winter, which the imported
animals could not stand. In spite of strong easterly winds, heavy fogs,
ice, and snow, fair crops of _daikon_, potatoes, turnips, barley, beans,
wheat, and hemp are successfully raised here, as the soil is of
extremely good quality. As to the town itself, it is prettily laid out,
the streets crossing each other at right angles, while some of the
houses are built in semi-European style, to meet the severity of the
climate. A Shinto temple is erected on the high level; and from this is
obtained a fine bird's-eye view of the harbour and town, with the
numerous storehouses overlooking the sea.
As I have given a short description of the town--uninteresting save from
a commercial point of view--I feel that I owe a few lines to its
go-ahead inhabitants. Belonging, nearly all, to a young and adventurous
generation, they reminded me of the same type of Englishmen who have
abandoned their fatherland and settled in America and Australia,
striving, and often succeeding, in making a fortune. Such men are
invariably of a different "make" from that of the young fellows who are
satisfied to drudge for life in a bank, a merchant's office, or a
shop--vegetating rather than living; following their day's routine in a
mechanical sort of way; grumbling continually, but never bold enough to
attempt any improvement of their position. As one is born an artist, a
musician, or a literary man, one has to be born a colonist to be a
successful one.
The young Japanese whom I met at Nemuro impressed me as being thoroughly
different from any I had come across in my one year's stay in Southern
Japan; and I was agreeably surprised when I found that I was dealing
with a lot of young, clever, and serious men, willing to improve their
country and themselves, and anxious to accept any practical hint that
would enable them to accomplish this in the shortest time possible. In
other words, they had lost the slow, phlegmatic way of transacting
business of the "stay-at-homes," and had accepted the quick perception
of the true colonist, who is always ready to catch all the chances which
will help him to get on in life.
I had been struck with this energy, this go-ahead faculty, several times
along the south-west and south-east coasts, when conversing with the
Japanese with whom I came in contact; but I was never so much impressed
as at Nemuro, where, indeed, the men are of a superior class,
well-educated, and belonging to good families, while most of the
Japanese at fishing stations along the coast are taken from the scum of
the towns. They are often escaped or ex-convicts, or else people who
found it advisable to abandon the livelier shores of Nippon, leaving no
trace of themselves rather than end their days in a prison cell.
Nemuro is a progressive place in every way, and had it been built five
miles further west it would have been intersected by the Onnetto
River--a short outlet of the Onnetto Lagoon, which would have formed a
larger and safer harbour than the present Nemuro anchorage. As it is,
prosperity showed itself in the usual way, by the number of
eating-houses for all classes, a theatre, numerous _guechas_--singers
and dancers--and a whole street of houses of light morals, in which,
behind a wooden grating similar to a huge cage, dozens of girls are
shown in their gaudy red and gold embroidered _kimonos_, with elaborate
_obis_ round their waist, and expensive long tortoise-shell hairpins
artistically surrounding their heads like a halo. There in a line the
pretty girls sit for several hours on their heels in front of a
_hibachi_--brazier--smoking their diminutive pipes. They are fair game
for now the compliments and now the jokes of the crowd promenading up
and down the street in the evening. Every now and then, when an admirer
approaches the cage, one of the girls gets up, refills her tiny pipe
with tobacco, and offers it to him, not forgetting to wipe the
mouthpiece with the palm of her hand before so doing. He (the admirer)
puffs away, and returns the empty pipe with thanks, shifting on to
another cage to have his next smoke. Japanese men cannot live without
_guechas_, and it follows as a matter of course that Nemuro, being a
prosperous place, there are many of them.
A _guecha_ is a singer or dancer (posturing), or both, and one or more
generally attend dinner-parties and festivities of any kind. Some sing
with self-accompaniment of _shamesen;_ others display their wonderful
powers of mimicking and posturising, in which grace is never lacking. A
long _kimono_, a carefully-arranged _obi_, and a pretty pair of white
_tabi_--short socks with split toes--make up the graceful and simple
attire in which they appear in the house. Their hair, plastered down
with camelia oil, is a veritable work of art. It is carefully combed,
oiled, and flattened behind the ears. A metal fastener at the lowest
point of the curve keeps it in this flat position, and it is then raised
again and fastened at the back of the head, first in a most elaborate
twist, and then rolled up in graceful curves. A pretty, tasteful
_kanzashi_--a long hairpin--is placed on the left side of the head, thus
completing that part of a _guecha's_ toilette.
The sallow complexion characteristic of the race is despised by the
womankind of Japan, and all women are given to "painting" themselves.
With us such a custom is not uncommon, but it is disregarded by most
sensible women. In Japan it is part of the ordinary woman's daily
toilette. A thick layer of white chalk is first smeared with a soft
brush over the face, neck, shoulders, arms, and hands; then the pretty
_mouseme_, dipping her first finger in red paint, gently rubs this on
her cheeks, her temples, and over the upper eyelids. The middle finger
is the "black brush," and adds sentiment to the expression by blackening
under the eyes; and sometimes when the eyebrows are not shaved it is
also used to accentuate them. A piece of burnt cork is often used as a
substitute for black paint. The fourth finger has no occupation, but the
little finger is for finishing touches, brightening up the mouth with
carmine, and adding a bit of gold on the lower lip. A _guecha_ paints
herself to a much greater extent than other women, and with brighter
colours. As to her moral qualities, a _guecha_ is usually not immoral
enough to be called "fast," yet too fast to be qualified as "moral."
Their music and posturing have a great charm for Japanese; and when
money is made, a good quantity of it goes to keeping up these feminine
musicians and their establishments.
* * * * *
To show how enterprising and Americanised the Nemuro people are, I shall
ask the reader's forgiveness for again relating a personal experience
which at the time greatly amused me.
I was in the midst of my simple Japanese dinner in the Jamaruru
tea-house, when four youths entered my room and offered to shake hands
with me--a most unusual thing with Japanese. One of them handed me his
card, on which I read, "K. Sato, _Nemuro Shimbun_" (Nemuro newspaper).
"Oh," I said in Japanese, "you have even a newspaper at Nemuro."
"Yes," answered in English one of his friends, a Mr. Yuasa, handing me
his own card.
"You speak English, then, Mr. Yuasa?"
"Yes."
"Can I offer you and your friends anything to drink or to eat?"
"Yes."
"What will you have?"
"Yes."
"Will you have some _sake_?"
"No, no; I come to speak to you."
"Thank you."
"No, no; I come to _take your life_ in Nemuro newspaper. Please speak
where come? How old? Where go?"
When I had sufficiently recovered from the shock of his announcement
that he had come to take my life, and understood what he meant by it, I
had a most pleasant conversation in English with him, and in Japanese
with the others. Mr. Yuasa's English improved as his shyness wore off,
showing that he had a very fair knowledge of the language. The interview
lasted many hours, continually interrupted by the _nara honto_ and the
_sajo deska_--"really" and "indeed" of my visitors--while notes were
taken by the editor and his staff. They finally departed, and early the
next morning I received the following letter:--
"SIR,--I long that you will correspond to me any events wherever
you have met them in your journey when you are not so awful busy,
as I have to translate and write on the Nemuro _News_. I meet the
first time here, and I hope to have your friendly favor hitherto,
and thanks for your kindness I have received ever, believe me, your
humble servant, F. YUASA."
The same afternoon the editor and his staff called again, accompanied by
the two Mr. Nakamuras, the richest merchants in Nemuro, and they
insisted on giving me a European dinner. After my experience at Otsu as
regards European cooking by Japanese, I was rather loth to accept their
kind invitation, but I had to yield. The feast began with biscuits and
jam,[31] and the soup was brought immediately after; then vegetables
were followed by roast chicken, and the latter by salad and fried fish.
With the exception of the somewhat inverted order of the courses, this
time it was actually a European dinner, and even well-cooked; but my
hosts were seen at a great disadvantage when using a knife and fork. As
for the anatomy of the chicken, that was decidedly their weakest point.
Those of the party who were shy gave up the carving as a bad job; the
bolder only fought bravely; and every now and then a knife gave a
terrible squeak on the plate, and half a leg, a wing, or a carcase was
fired right across the table into one's plate, if not in one's face, or
on one's lap.
[31] The Japanese always begin their meals with sweets.
"_Honto taihen muskashi_"--"Really it is very difficult"--said the wit
of the party, helplessly putting down his knife and fork after trying to
separate the two parts of a wing. "This bird's bones have lost all their
joints in the cooking."
My hosts were extremely kind, and were, besides, so clever and bright
that I enjoyed their good company immensely. At the same time I gained
from them valuable information as regards the neighbouring country and
the Kurile Islands.
[Illustration: SEMI-AINU RAT TRAP.]
[Illustration: AINU WOMAN OF KURILE ISLANDS.]