An Inland Sea.
They had told us overnight that a small steamer plied every other day
through Noto's unfamed inland sea, leaving the capital early in the
morning, and touching shortly after at Wakura. As good luck would
have it, the morrow happened not to be any other day, so we embraced
the opportunity to embark in her ourselves. On her, it would be more
accurate to say, for she proved such a mite that her cabin was barely
possible and anything but desirable. By squatting down and craning
my neck I peered in at the entrance, a feat which was difficult
enough. She was, in truth, not much bigger than a ship's gig; but
she had a soul out of all proportion to her size. The way it
throbbed and strained and set her whole little frame quivering with
excitement, made me think every moment that she was about to explode.
The fact that she was manned exclusively by Japanese did not entirely
reassure me.
There was an apology for a deck forward, to which, when we were well
under way, I clambered over the other passengers. I was just sitting
down there to enjoy a comfortable pipe when I was startlingly
requested by a voice from a caboose behind to move off, as I was
obscuring the view of the man at the wheel. After that I perched on
the gunwale.
We steamed merrily out into the middle of the bay. The water was
slumberously smooth, and under the tawny haze of the morning it shone
with the sheen of burnished brass. From the gentle plowing of our
bow it rolled lazily to one side, as if in truth it were molten metal.
Land, at varying picturesque distances, lay on all sides of us.
In some directions the shore was not more than a mile and a half off;
in others, the eye wandered down a vista of water framed by low
headlands for ten miles or more. But the atmosphere gave the
dominant thought, a strange slumber-like seclusion. So rich and
golden, it shut this little corner of the world in a sort of happy
valley of its own, and the smoke from my pipe drifted dreamily
astern, a natural incense to the spirits of the spot.
The passengers suggested anything, from a public picnic to an early
exploration party. There were men, women and children of all ages
and kinds, some stowed away in the cabin behind, some gathered in
groups amidships; and those in the cabin thought small fry of those
on deck. The cabin was considered the place of honor because the
company made one pay a higher price for the privilege of its
discomfort. Altogether it was a very pretty epitome of a voyage.
Just as the steamer people were preparing for their first landing,
there detached itself from the background of trees along the shore
the most singular aquatic structure I think I have ever seen.
It looked like the skeleton of some antediluvian wigwam which a
prehistoric roc had subsequently chosen for a nest. Four poles
planted in the water inclined to one another at such an angle that
they crossed three-quarters of the way up. The projecting quarters
held in clutch a large wicker basket like the car of a balloon.
Peering above the car was a man's head. As the occupant below slowly
turned the head to keep an eye on us, it suggested, amid its web of
poles, some mammoth spider lying in wait for its prey.
It was a matter of some wonder at first how the man got there, until
the motion of the steamer turned the side and disclosed a set of
cross poles lashed between two of the uprights, forming a rude sort
of ladder. Curiosity, satisfied on this primary point, next asked
why he got there. As this was a riddle to me, I propounded it to
Yejiro, who only shook his head and propounded it to somebody else;
a compliment to the inquiry certainly, if not to my choice of informant.
This somebody else told him the man was fishing. Except for the
immobility of the figure, I never saw a man look less like it in my
life.
Such, however, was the fact. The wigwam was connected by strings to
the entrance of a sort of weir, and the man who crouched in the basket
was on the lookout for large fish, of a kind called bora. As soon as
one of them strayed into the mouth of the net, the man pulled the
string which closed the opening. The height of his observatory above
the level of the water enabled him to see through it to the necessary
depth. I am a trifle hazy over the exact details of the apparatus,
as I never saw a fish inquisitive enough to go in; but I submit the
existence of the fishermen in proof that it works.
Having deposited such wights as wished to go ashore--for the place
was of no pretension--our steam fish once more turned its tail and
darted us through some narrows into another bay. It must have been a
favorite one with bora, as its shores were dotted with fish-lookouts.
The observatories stood a few stone-throws out in deepish water, at
presumably favorable points, and never very near one another, lest
they should interfere with a possible catch. Some were inhabited,
some not.
This bay was further remarkable for a solar halo which I chanced to
see on glancing up at the sun. I suppose it was the singular quality
of the light that first caused me to look overhead. For a thin veil
of cloud had drawn over the blue and tempered the sunshine peculiarly.
Of course one is familiar with caricatures of the thing in
meteorological books; but the phenomenon itself is not so common,
and the effect was uncanny. At the first glance it seemed a bit of
Noto witchery, that strangely luminous circle around the sun.
To admire the moon thus bonneted, as the Japanese say, is common enough,
and befits the hour. But to have the halo of the night hung aloft in
broad day is to crown sober noon with enchantment.
The sheet of water was sparsely dotted with sail. One little craft
in particular I remember, whose course bore her straight down upon us.
She dilated slowly out of the distance, and then passed so close I
might have tossed a flower aboard of her. So steady her motion she
seemed oblivious to our presence, as she glided demurely by at
relatively doubled speed.
Only after we had passed did she show signs of noticing us at all.
For, meeting our wake, the coquette, she suddenly began dropping us
curtseys in good-by.