Cruise on a French Man-of-War—Tongan
Isles—Samoa—Taheiti—California—Japan.
The arrival of British or other men-of-war always brought some little
stir, and some accession to our somewhat limited society, as of course
the officers called at Government House, where Sir Arthur and Lady
Gordon showed them all possible hospitality.
In August 1877 a French man-of-war, _Le Seignelay_, came into harbour on
a very peaceful errand. She had been appointed to take Monseigneur
Elloi, the Roman Catholic Bishop of Samoa on _le tour de la mission_,
_i.e._ to visit all the mission-stations in his diocese. He had already
visited Easter Isle and some other very interesting places, but had
still to visit the Samoan (or Navigators), the Tongan (or Friendly
Isles), and the Tahitian (or Society) group.
Two kinder or more courtly gentlemen than the bishop and the captain,
Commandant Aube, could not be found, and indeed all the officers were
gentlemen of the best type. We all became great friends, and they were
keenly interested in my portfolios of Australia, New Zealand, and many
Fijian Isles which they could not visit. But we could scarcely believe
they were all in earnest when one day Commandant Aube called and
formally invited me to go with the _Seignelay_ to Tonga, Samoa, and
Tahiti.
The invitation had to be reiterated and backed by that of all our
friends on board ere Sir Arthur could believe that it was really quite
genuine, but when Baron Anatole von Hügel, one of our own party, went on
board and saw the delightful cabin assigned to me through the unselfish
kindness of M. de Gironde, and brought back fresh messages of welcome,
Lady Gordon so thoroughly entered into my wish not to throw away so
unique a chance of visiting isles which by no other possibility could I
ever hope to see, that it was decided that I might accept the kind
captain’s generous offer of hospitality, at least so far as Samoa, where
I had an invitation to visit the wife of the consul, and whence I should
doubtless find some means of returning to Fiji.
So on 5TH SEPTEMBER Lady Gordon, Captain Knollys, and dear little Jack
in his sailor’s dress, escorted me on board _Le Seignelay_, which became
to me the very kindest home till 7TH OCTOBER, when we reached Tahiti.
From the 7th to the 15th September we were in the beautiful Tongan
group, where every hour was full of interest; and from 18th September to
2nd October we were in the still more lovely Samoan Isles, among
mountains, rivers, orange-groves, palms, splendid thickets of bananas,
and most attractive people. But there, alas! civil war, fostered by evil
white men, was causing bloodshed and misery; every man’s hand against
his neighbour.
It soon became evident that to return thence to Fiji would be absolutely
impossible, even had I cared to risk travelling in such company as
sailed in those trading-vessels. I therefore gratefully accepted the
cordially renewed invitation to proceed on board _Le Seignelay_ to
Tahiti, where I was first most cordially welcomed by Mr. and Mrs. Green
at the London Mission, and afterwards by Mrs. Brander, alias “Titaua,”
the highest chief next to King Pomare, who was married to her sister
Marau.
All through our voyage my companions had been telling me of this
delightful _demi-blanche_, Madame Brandère. So I looked forward with
much interest to making her acquaintance, and when taken by Mr. Green to
do so, I was turning over in my mind what insular topics we could find
in common, when to my amazement she asked whether I had lately been in
Morayshire? and whether I had recently seen Lady Dunbar Brander?
Then it suddenly flashed upon my memory that a connection of the
Branders of Pitgaveny had many years before left the north to carve his
own fortune in the South Seas, and this was how he had done it. He had
invested his capital in trading-ships, which proved highly remunerative,
and had enormously enlarged his connection by marrying this good and
beautiful woman, who owned great estates in various parts of the group,
and ruled her people wisely and well, but with the absolute power of a
feudal chief. She was a woman of rare ability, who after her husband’s
death carried on all the command of her fleet of trading-ships,
personally ordering every detail, and consulted on many business matters
by the French civil and naval authorities.
Of course their seizure of the isles had been a terrible trial to her,
as to all her people, but she had wisely resolved to make the best of
the unavoidable evil. She was an earnestly religious woman, and grieved
bitterly over the very immoral influence of the usurpers, which she and
the hitherto loved and revered missionaries were powerless to
counteract. She also suffered seriously in business matters from the
adverse influence of her own trading German sons-in-law, and from the
new French law, which compelled equal division of property among all her
children.
Feeling the need of a strong man with authority to take her part, she
married her husband’s manager, George Darsie, and some years later
actually made up her mind to remove her younger children from the
dangerous influences to which they were exposed. Such was the strength
of her mother-love, that she forsook her lovely homes in Tahiti and
Moorea, and brought her family to settle at bleak Anstruther, in Fife,
which had been Mr. Darsie’s early home. A more absolute contrast in
every respect to her own poetic isles could not be conceived, but she
felt that it was worth the sacrifice. At Anstruther she died, and her
daughter, Paloma, “the dove,” who could not bear ever to leave the spot
where that dear mother was buried, happily found her own true love in
the manse close by, and as wife of the young parish minister, lived on
for some years close to her half-brothers and sisters.
Of my ideal six months in Tahiti and Moorea, as well as the enchanting
weeks in the Tongan and Samoan groups, up to that wonderful Easter
morning when I passed through “the golden gates” and landed in
California, I have written a very full account in my _Lady’s Cruise in a
French Man-of-War_, published by Blackwood.
In California I found such attractive sketching-ground that six months
slipped away like so many weeks, chiefly in the grand Sierra Nevada. I
lived most of the time in the Yo Semite valley, at the very foot of the
stupendous falls (2630 feet in height), which give their name to the
wonderful valley; thence riding in every direction to paint the many
other falls, and view the sierras from various mountain summits.
I arrived in the valley when the snows had just melted sufficiently to
make access possible, and when leafless trees enabled me to secure
accurate drawings of crags which soon were veiled by delicate green
foliage; I watched the thickets of bare sticks develop into masses of
most fragrant small yellow azalea, and the green banks of the “river of
mercy” (the Merced) became starred with a profusion of lovely blossoms
which we cultivate in gardens.
I watched all the changing effects when the melting snows of the higher
sierras brought down all the falls in flood, and transformed the green
meadows in the valley to quiet lakes, reflecting the sky and trees; then
the waters dried up, leaving everything greener than ever—a rest and
delight to the eye.
But far beyond expression was the loveliness of the Californian forests,
in which (only in about half-a-dozen groves where the soil is amazingly
rich and deep) grow the _Sequoia Gigantea_, which we so very unfairly
persist in calling Wellingtonia—the Americans justly saying that if we
must give them a man’s name it should be Washingtonia.
The only way in which it is possible to give people in this country an
idea of their size is by taking about thirty-five yards of tape and
pegging it out in a circle on the lawn. Then you can realise the
circumference of these trees. The big ones range from ninety to one
hundred and twenty feet. In themselves they are not beautiful, being
very much like the red trees in children’s Noah’s arks, with a little
tuft of green branches at the top. But they are so surrounded by
entrancingly graceful sugar-pines, Douglasias, and other magnificent
trees, that the whole combines to produce a dream of loveliness, a true
forest sanctuary.
I dare not trust my pen to start on such reminiscences. It has already
had free play in my book, _Granite Crags of California_, published by
Blackwood.
So I will pass on to 16th August, 1878, when I bade adieu to San
Francisco, to which I paid four distinct visits, and sailed for Japan,
reaching Yokohama on 6th September.
Owing to my somewhat erratic movements, I reached Japan before the
principal letters of introduction which should have awaited me there, so
I had to find quarters at the hotel, and as the flood of tourists had
not then set in, hotels in the east were not then so luxurious as they
are now.
On the following morning I received one of many pleasant proofs of how
small the world is. A visitor was announced who, to my pleasurable
amazement, proved to be the very nice woman who had accompanied me to
India as my lady’s-maid, there to take charge of my sister’s children,
and who, refusing a number of “most advantageous” offers of marriage,
had resolutely stuck to her charge till they reached Sussex, when she
announced her engagement to one of the ship’s stewards. In course of
time they found themselves in Japan, and decided to run a really
respectable hotel for foreigners in Tokio. They had only just started
the enterprise, and very soon found it necessary to seek fortune
elsewhere.
Needless to say, I very soon moved thither, and was well cared for till
invitations reached me from various kind friends, first and foremost
from Henry Dyer, the creator of the Kobu-dai-Gakko or Imperial College
of Engineering, which, under his powerful leading and instruction,
became the training-centre for a host of clever young Japanese
engineers, by whom all manner of railway and other work has been carried
out, and bridges built in every part of the group.
When Japan applied to Scotland for the best man she could send to teach
practical engineering, there was no doubt at all as to Mr. Dyer being
the best, the only drawback being his youth. But his splendid height and
preternatural Scottish gravity were such that on his arrival in, I
think, 1872, standing fully head and shoulders above his future pupils,
any question as to his age would have been preposterous, and he was at
once recognised as the embodiment of all the desired wisdom, which was
not only to include the different branches of engineering, but also
various manufacturing arts.
The first problems he had to face were to draw out a scheme of technical
education to enable young Japan to acquire the most practical knowledge
on these subjects, and to build a suitable college for his purpose. He
was met by suggestions for doing this on a Lilliputian scale, which he
at once set aside, and insisted on a handsome brick and stone building
on high ground overlooking the castle moats. Within its spacious grounds
were houses for himself, as principal, and for nine professors,
dormitories for students, class-rooms, lecture-rooms, library, a noble
common hall, kitchens, laboratories for the students of chemistry,
engineering, etc.
As all tuition is given in English, the students have to commence by
acquiring a thorough knowledge of an alien tongue. There are special
professors for teaching English, drawing, mathematics, natural
philosophy, chemistry, engineering, telegraphic and mechanical
engineering, surveying, architecture, mineralogy, geology, mining and
metallurgy. The four last were added to enable students to help in
developing the great mining resources of the country.
The students acquire their practical knowledge of engineering in the
great Government works of Akabané, where every conceivable variety of
engines and machines are constructed for use on _terra firma_. Not only
was Mr. Dyer called upon to supply bridges of every construction for all
parts of the Empire, but machinery of every sort and kind was required
at his hands, often taxing his fertile mechanical genius to the very
utmost.
When we look at the latest maps of Japan, and see the railways already
made, or in course of construction throughout the group, and hear of the
telegraphs, telephones, dockyards, shipbuilding yards, arsenals, etc.,
to which Japan owes so much of her present strength, we can form some
idea of the amount of very varied work which has been accomplished by
students trained at this College.
It was very gratifying to Mr. Dyer, after his retirement into private
life at Glasgow, to receive a letter from the Prime Minister of Japan,
saying that the College he had created had been greatly instrumental in
saving Japan from Russia.
In the extraordinarily rapid development of Japan in every branch of
Western knowledge, it very soon became necessary to remove the Imperial
College of Engineering to a much larger building elsewhere, and Mr.
Dyer’s building was transformed into a College for Nobles under the
title of Teikoku Daigaku, or Imperial University.
One point of interest, which will rapidly increase in value, is the very
fine museum in which Mr. Dyer collected specimens of all manner of
Japanese products and models of the native machinery which is already
obsolete, and would so soon be quite forgotten.
There are also admirable models of all sorts of bridges, engines, and
mechanical appliances, while round the walls hang characteristic
paintings by native artists, to illustrate all stages of every process
of Japanese industry and agriculture, such as ploughing, sowing,
reaping, tea-planting, tea-gathering and drying, cultivation of silk
worms from the earliest care of the egg to the production of richest
brocades, house-building, and manufactures of all sorts. These are a
most interesting series, and represent many phases of native life, which
will soon exist only as memories. For if it be true that soon the
children of Britain and America will fail to understand the simple
parables of “The Sower,” “The Reapers,” and “The Gleaners,” because to
them steam-engines represent all details of husbandry, it is likely to
be equally true in this country of amazingly rapid progress.
And how amazing it has been! Remember I landed in Japan in 1878, and the
previous ten years had witnessed the most surprising revolution of
modern history. It was in 1867 that, at the age of fifteen, the present
Emperor, the Mikado Mutsu Hito, succeeded to his divine office, and that
Keiki succeeded to the temporal power as Shogun, the previous Shogun and
Mikado having each died of sheer over-anxiety and perplexity at all the
worries forced upon them by the determination of foreigners to secure
access to Japanese harbours and commerce, and the heavy indemnities by
which alone the havoc of big guns could be averted.
Keiki, convinced that the division of power was a serious drawback to
the progress of the country, resigned his office, and the wondering land
slowly realised that the power and glory of the Shogunate was a story of
the past, and that the Mikado would henceforth hold undivided sway. Very
unfortunately, however, the Imperial Government began by removing from
office all the great _daimios_ who were specially friendly to the
Shogunate, and replacing them by followers of the Princes of Satsuma and
Choshiu.
This was too much for Keiki, who, repenting of his magnanimous
abdication, placed himself at the head of the malcontents, and a
grievously bloody but happily brief civil war ensued, in which many
temples and beautiful tombs were destroyed, though happily many were
chivalrously spared in response to the Mikado’s appeal to the rebels.
The Imperial troops came off victorious, and the last of the mighty and
magnificent Shoguns retired to live the life of a simple country
gentleman in his castle at Skidzuoka, while his followers, no longer
encumbered with two swords, and a very natural craving to make use of
them, devoted themselves to the cultivation of the land, and of tea in
particular.
The city of Yeddo had for long been the Windsor of the Shoguns. But now
its name was changed to Tokio, which means “the eastern capital,” as
Kioto signifies “the capital of the west,” having for many centuries
been the home where, surrounded by marvels of art, the ancestors of the
Mikado had dwelt in rigid seclusion.
The young Emperor was now induced to abandon that strange policy, and to
show himself to his people. So in the autumn of 1868 he removed his
court from Kioto to the more accessible position of Tokio, and the
castle of the Shoguns became the Imperial palace.
From that time till the present the only very serious outbreak that has
occurred has been the great rebellion in Satsuma in 1876–77, when
discontented _daimios_ and _samurai_, who still clung to the old order
of things and hated to see the annihilation of their own power and the
encroachments of foreigners, strove to make one last effort to restore
the vanished past and regain their lost position. There was obstinate
fighting on both sides, and the impoverished land once more saw her sons
shedding one another’s blood in civil war, at a cost to the treasury of
upwards of eight millions sterling.
Strange indeed is the change which has so rapidly overspread the land.
To our matter-of-fact notions it seems well-nigh incredible that the
mighty _daimios_, who ten years before exercised greater power than our
own highest nobles in old feudal days, should at the bidding of the
Emperor carry out their high views of chivalry and self-abnegation in so
practical a manner as from sheer patriotism to give up their vast
estates and enormous retinues, retaining only one-tenth of their
revenues, and quietly assume the character of simple country gentlemen.
Their retainers, the two-sworded Samurai, and even the proud Hatamoto,
formerly the most overbearing class in the country, all alike dispersed
to seek their bread where they could find it, and from positions of
considerable wealth fell into deepest poverty. Those who had family
treasures of rare old works of art lived for a while by selling these to
foreigners, and set up in trade, formerly so much despised. Some became
clerks in Government offices, some teachers in the schools, and I was
told that many were earning their daily pittance by running jinrikshas
at sixpence an hour, or working as _bettos_ (grooms) in the service of
the once-hated foreigner; and how friendly and obliging they are!
Once I realised the antecedents of the jin-riki-ya (our human ponies),
their wonderful endurance and power of adaptation to circumstances
became to me a source of endless wonder, and was infinitely pathetic.
They seemed to be always cheery, always on the look out for a joke,
invariably obliging and extraordinarily polite, and yet, poor fellows,
what a hard life was theirs, of such abject poverty as to make them
eagerly compete for the wretched small coin to be earned by trotting for
many miles in the capacity of carriage-horses. The rate of payment is
according to a regular tariff, which varies in different parts of the
country, ranging from five to twelve _sen_ (cents) a _ri_, the _ri_
being about two and a half miles!
Such meagre pay for such hard work does not sound tempting, yet I was
told that in Tokio alone there were actually twenty-three thousand men
who were thus earning their scanty bread. Many of these were said to
have been of comparatively gentle birth, and certainly they had little
foreseen that a day would come when they would be reduced to real hard
labour. Yet they accepted their lot as if it were the pleasantest
position possible, instead of being a hard struggle for life. Underfed
and wretchedly clothed, these poor fellows stand shivering in the cold
till happily some one comes by rich enough to hire them.
At certain places there are regular stands answering to our cab-stands,
where a number of jinrikshas are always in waiting. When a fare
approaches they draw lots to decide which of them shall have the job.
Their method of drawing lots is very simple. They have a bunch of many
pieces of string, all of different lengths, and whoever secures the
longest end gets the run; and off he starts at a rattling pace, perhaps
dragging two full-grown people up hill and down for several miles.
The power of endurance of most of these men is perfectly amazing—some of
them are so glad to secure a job, that they will undertake to run twenty
miles a day for several successive days, rather than yield their place
and their little earnings to another. It certainly is not a matter of
wonder that so many should have early developed heart complaint and
consumption, from which many have died.
When I was returning from beautiful Nikko to Tokio with the French
Minister of Legation, who wished to economise time, we had seven
jinrikshas, which with their passenger averaged two hundred pounds
weight. Each was drawn by two men, who two days previously had brought
the Russian admiral and a party of officers up the long, steep ascent,
trotting eighty English miles in one day, with such wretched straw
sandals that they were almost barefoot. These same men trotted back with
us, doing one hundred and eight miles in two days, having only halted
each day for breakfast, and a very few minutes besides, and all that we
might reach Tokio by 3.30. “It is the pace that kills!”
The regulation dress of the jin-riki-ya is a dark blue garment with long
loose sleeves, fastened at the waist, and tight knee-breeches, also dark
blue; bare legs and straw sandals tied on with wisps of straw. While
patiently waiting for a fare, they sit wrapped up in the scarlet
blanket, which is their only warm garment, and which they most carefully
and kindly wrap round your knees as you take your seat. For very wet
weather they have a waterproof coat of oiled paper, or else one of
grass, which looks exactly as if they were thatched.
Sometimes when warm with running, and at a safe distance from the
police, they slip off all these superfluous garments, and reveal most
wonderfully beautiful tattooing of mediæval history, covering them from
head to foot. What tortures they must have endured in the production of
such elaborate pictures! Truly it would be a sin against art not to
allow us to see them!
A large number of the Samurai found useful work in the police-force,
which pervades every district of the wide empire. They are all
exceedingly polite, and very quiet, rarely interfering unnecessarily.
They wear a neat European uniform—a dark frock coat, belt, and white
trousers. One can scarcely believe that these well-drilled, orderly men
can be the swashbucklers who so recently were ready to cut down any
inoffensive foreigner who did not get out of their way.
Happily they command much the same unquestioning obedience as do our own
police, for you see a tiny official arrest a prisoner gently but firmly,
and then producing from his pocket a ball of strong cord, he winds it
round the body of the offender, and then ties his wrists to his back,
leaving a couple of yards free, and holding these like reins, he
politely requests the prisoner to walk before him, which he does without
the slightest resistance!
As to the prisons where heretofore prisoners were subject to barbarous
tortures, all arrangements are now said to be ideal, and all prisoners
are educated to do profitable work, in whatever line they seem capable
of acquiring. Clever burglars become wonderfully skilful wood-carvers,
some are employed in making fans, others make paper lanterns, straw
sandals, or baskets, some make delicate pottery or cloisonné; there are
weavers, printers, rice-pounders, stone-breakers, some even constructing
jinrikshas, all working for the good of their country, while perhaps
acquiring a hitherto unknown means of afterwards earning an honest
living. Thus Japanese prisons are now true reformatories.
To return to the Kobu-dai-Gakko. The Mikado and the Empress Haruku have
taken the keenest personal interest in extensive educational schemes for
all classes of their subjects, and Mr. Dyer’s work at the Imperial
College of Engineering received their strongest personal encouragement.
Only a few weeks before my arrival, the Mikado had paid the college a
state visit, which of course was a very solemn ceremonial. His Imperial
Majesty was escorted by all the princes of the blood, the great nobles,
privy councillors, and all manner of Government officials, who, if only
they had appeared in their beautiful national dress, would have been a
joy to behold. But, alas! the silken robes were all replaced by European
uniforms; gold lace, and cocked hats, or, still more unbecoming, by
simple suits of black.
No one can suffer more from this change of dress than the Mikado
himself, who is a man of middle stature, and not remarkable for personal
beauty, but to whom the robes of state must have lent a dignity which is
not enhanced by a stiff, gold-embroidered black coat, white trousers
with red stripe, and cocked hat.
The very coachman who drove his handsome open carriage also wore the
cocked hat of state. But none of these details will strike you as
remarkable unless you remember that heretofore the sacred person of the
Mikado has been veiled from all eyes, his own great nobles only being
admitted to do homage to a glimpse of his robe just revealed from behind
the screen which concealed the Sun of Heaven.
Now, having burst from his bonds, he takes his part freely in all state
ceremonials, after the manner of European sovereigns.
On the present occasion he was conducted to a dais in the great hall,
where he received an address, and replied in a short speech, both in
Japanese, and both intoned in a rapid sing-song. Other speeches
followed, and some of the leading students had the very alarming
privilege of delivering short essays on various learned topics, after
which His Majesty made a grand inspection of all departments of the
college, and allowed all the foreign masters and professors the honour
of being presented to him.
As the court ceremonial did not permit of any ladies being present on
that occasion, the Empress was not allowed to accompany her lord, so she
determined to come on her own account.
A general order had been given for the exclusion of all foreigners, so
of course my host was the last person who could venture to help me to
obtain a stolen glimpse of the Imperial beauty. However, the chance was
one not to be lost, and so I went out alone in search of a good
position, and fortune proved propitious. I got under a big fir-tree on a
hillock overlooking the library door, at which the carriages stopped,
and with my faithful companions (the good opera-glasses which have
accompanied me on so many travels) I saw admirably.
First came several carriages with maids-of-honour, in green brocade
dresses and loose scarlet trousers, their glossy black hair dressed flat
like a soup-plate. Then came outriders bearing purple flags with
chrysanthemums or kiku (the Imperial crest) embroidered in gold, and
finally the Empress’s handsome English close carriage, with
chrysanthemum, which also figured on the scarlet hammercloth, and in
gold brocade on the white silk lining. But the windows were closed, and
muslin curtains drawn, so that I only saw the shiny top of the Imperial
head as her ladies closed round the Empress while she alighted. But a
few minutes later they all had to walk along an open verandah very near
my hiding-place.
As she passed along this open corridor in very slow procession, I had
the satisfaction of an excellent view of the Empress and the attendant
Princesses Arisugawa and Higashi-Fushimi. The impression thus obtained
was a very pleasant one. The Empress has a pleasant and intellectual
expression. She is decidedly small, but looked extremely dignified in
her crimson skirt and white robe of embroidered silk, made something
like a sacque, flowing loose from the neck, which is the ancient
court-dress.
The Princesses wore dresses made in the same style, white and crimson
(the Imperial colours) predominating. The face and neck of all three
ladies were powdered with white, and all three wore their hair in the
true court fashion, which is quite unlike that of ordinary life. The
hair is combed back from the face and dressed very smoothly over a
concealed framework of light cane, shaped like a crescent, which
encircles the brow and gives just the necessary support. No ornament of
any sort is allowed; the hair is merely tied at the back of the head
with a strip of white paper, and hangs behind in a simple plait.
I cannot make out whether this white paper is used as an affectation of
studied simplicity, or whether it has some symbolic meaning, strips of
white paper being the most sacred emblem in the Shinto temples, in which
the Mikado, as the offspring of the sun, receives such devout homage.
From the Empress downwards, all wore foreign shoes. I only hope they did
not prove the thin end of a wedge which may have brought European
fashions to supersede the national costume, to which the ladies almost
without exception still continued faithful at that time.
I heard that the Empress won golden opinions from all present by her
gentle, unaffected manners, and evident interest in everything about the
college. Amongst other novelties prepared for her amusement and that of
her ladies, were microphones and telephones, through which they listened
to the dulcet melodies of a company of blind musicians, who were
stationed in another part of the building.
They stayed at the college about six hours, and as I returned to Mrs.
Dyer’s house, I saw the Empress’s carriage, covered with a handsome
green cloth, with gold chrysanthemum, the hammercloth with a blue cover,
and all the carriage-horses and horses of the escort with blue clothes,
all bearing the same Imperial crest, the whole within a temporary wooden
enclosure hung with the black cloth, with white oblongs, which denotes
sacred Imperial property.
I noticed the same curious black and white cloth hung across a certain
bridge in the Mikado’s own beautiful park, which we understood to be an
indication that the further side was private. In the part to which we
were allowed access there is a succession of ingenious Japanese gardens,
with artificial lakes, streams, cascades, rocks, green lawns, fine old
dwarfed fir-trees, clumps of bamboos, and all manner of dainty
prettinesses.
But these, in varying detail, we saw repeated so often that I confess
they at last lost something of their first fascination, and that is what
can never be said of the exquisite natural scenery which I found
wherever I had the good-fortune to go, and which was described to me as
being just as lovely throughout the group, and always enhanced by the
prettiness of tea-houses or little shrines perched just in the right
spot for general effect.
As for attempting by any mere words to give the faintest idea of the
enchanting groves and gorgeous shrines at Uyeno, Shiba, Nikko, and
elsewhere, it has been often attempted, but is altogether hopeless.
Coloured stereoscopes of individual portions might convey some faint
idea, but even they could do little, for while every detail is artistic
and of exquisite beauty, half the charm lies in the combination of so
many beautiful objects, all clustered together on these steep hillsides,
enfolded in the cool, deep shades of the evergreen forest, stately
cryptomerias whose tops seem to touch the deep blue sky, and the
undergrowth of wild camelia-trees, which when I first saw them were
gemmed all over with pink single blossoms, and showering their leaves in
a rosy shower on the soft green moss.
When you consider that Tokio alone, with its noble castle, parks, and
moats, overshadowed by most picturesquely gnarled old “Scotch firs,” is
said to cover almost as large an area as London, and to contain at least
five hundred temples and shrines, besides the countless quaint shows and
curio-shops, and the crowds of delightfully polite, prettily dressed
women and children, you can understand that a traveller on first
arriving finds it difficult to start further afield. Yet every
expedition I made in each new direction seemed more fascinating than the
last, and many kind friends escorted me to the points of greatest
interest from different centres right away south to Nagasaki, which is
the beautiful seaport nearest to China.
Mrs. Dyer’s hospitable house continued to be my home from whence to come
and go for many weeks. For three months, each day brought a bewildering
succession of interests and novelties, then as winter advanced I began
to realise that sleeping in Japanese paper houses, with only movable
wooden walls to be run into place round the verandah at night, was much
too chilly for comfort. I therefore from Nagasaki passed on to China,
reaching Hong Kong on Christmas Eve (in time to witness an appalling but
magnificent fire, which consumed whole blocks of houses in the town, the
house in which I was staying a little way up the hill, just overlooking
this scene of awful beauty).
After six months in China (fully described in my _Wanderings in China_,
published by Blackwood), I returned to Japan for three more months,
crammed full of interests. But on my return to Britain I was assured
that Japan had already been over-written—that all travellers spun
Japanese yarns _ad nauseam_, and that I had better not add to the list
of such. So I abstained; and if that was sound advice twenty-four years
ago, surely it must be very much more so now, when the array of
scribblers as well as of earnest writers has multiplied so greatly.
And yet, as I turn over page after page of my diary, which has lain
unopened for so many years, it recalls so much that was fascinating,
that I am sorely tempted to quote a few passages, though it will be
difficult to know how to stop!