Ascent of Fujiyama—Its Crater—View from the Summit—Triangular
Shadow—Numerous Volcanic Eruptions.
I must refrain from further memories of delightful Japan, except to tell
of one expedition which was the crowning joy of my six months in the
group. This was my pilgrimage to the summit of FUJIYAMA, the Peerless
Mountain, FUJI-SAN! the most honourable, which is the name by which it
is known by the Japanese.
It is dear to the traveller as the first and last vision of beauty that
enchants him as he approaches the Land of the Rising Sun, or watches its
receding shores. While still too far at sea to discern any land of
ordinary height, this lovely mountain appears towering above the clouds,
sometimes bathed in golden light, sometimes pale celestial blue, or else
relieved in purply grey against a clear primrose sky; its colour varying
with every change of atmosphere, never lovelier than when the early
sunlight sheds a rosy hue over the newly fallen autumn snow which
clothes that lonely summit in dazzling white, while the grand unbroken
curves of the wide, far-spreading base sweep downward in purple gloom.
Beautiful as are the low ranges of mountains around, they are so utterly
dwarfed by the gigantic, dormant volcano, that they serve but to add to
its apparent height. Thus, queenly alike in her beauty and in her
solitude, rises this majestic mountain—the Holy Mount of Japan—the goal
to which, from time immemorial, thousands of eager pilgrims have pressed
year after year. (Though I use the word gigantic, the height of Fuji
does not really exceed twelve thousand six hundred feet, some say twelve
thousand four hundred, which, as compared with the height of peaks I
have seen in the Himalayas of nineteen thousand to twenty-one thousand,
is not pre-eminent, but then we always see those when we are ourselves
at an altitude of about ten thousand feet, whereas Fuji has the full
value of isolation, and rises in a perfect sweep from the sea-level.)
I had seen the fair vision while yet distant a hundred miles from its
base, and from many nearer points both on sea and land; I had gazed on
its snowy crown when, in the autumn of 1878, I first visited Japan. And
yet the hope of ever being myself numbered among its pilgrims had never
presented itself as a possibility. However, on my return from six
months’ wandering in China, the idea did suggest itself, but only to be
repudiated, so serious were the difficulties which stay-at-home friends
declared to lie in the path. Nevertheless, the thought, once admitted,
returned with fresh force every time that a break in the envious clouds
afforded us a momentary glimpse of the mysterious mighty giant.
At last I had the good-fortune to find a lady as anxious as myself to
make the ascent; and a gentleman (a boy friend of my early schooldays)
who had already accomplished it four times, but always in unpropitious
weather, volunteered to try his luck once more, and be our escort. So,
being duly provided with passports, which ordered us to abstain from
scribbling our names on temples, attending fires on horseback, and
various other crimes, and empowered us to travel in certain districts
for thirty days, we started from Yokohama at sunrise on 7th August, not,
however, beginning our journey in true pilgrim style, inasmuch as we had
engaged a very good three-horse waggonette to take us as far as
Oodiwara, a distance of about forty miles; a very pretty drive through
cultivated lands and picturesque villages, beneath cryptomerias and pine
avenues, along beautiful sea-coast, and past orchards and temples.
[Illustration:
_C. F. Gordon Cumming._
FUJIYAMA FROM THE OTOMITONGA PASS.
]
Amongst the infinite variety of crops, our attention was from time to
time arrested by whole fields of lovely, tall white lilies, the roots of
which are used for food. Or else we passed ponds or flooded fields
devoted to the sacred lotus, whose magnificent rose, white, or
lemon-coloured blossoms peeped up from among the large blue-green
leaves, which rise to a height of three or four feet above the level of
the water—certainly the most lovely of all edible plants.
Heaps of luscious green water-melons, with pink flesh, were offered for
sale, in slices ready cut, to tempt the thirsty pilgrims, of whom
multitudes thronged the road, on their way to or from the Holy Mount,
nearly all dressed in white, with straw hats like huge mushrooms, straw
sandals, a wallet, a gourd to act as water-bottle, cloaks of grass
matting, sole protection against the rain, and a stout staff to support
their flagging steps on many a weary march. They come from all parts of
the Empire, visiting and making offerings at all the most sacred shrines
along their path. One at least, sometimes several, in each company
carries a small brass bell, which he rings continually, and the majority
carry rosaries, which they prize exceedingly. Some of these are really
valuable heirlooms, the large beads being either of crystal or agate.
Every tea-house along the road was gay with a multitude of quaint calico
flags of all colours, having mysterious-looking symbols inscribed on
them. Of these, dozens fluttered from a bamboo erected in front of the
house, or from a long rope suspended under the eaves. These are the
visiting-cards left by previous pilgrims, and now hung up as
testimonials to attract others.
Another pretty custom added colour to the scene. This being the seventh
month of the Japanese year, a sort of school examination was going on
everywhere, and in front of every second or third house was planted a
graceful bunch of bamboo, from each twig of which fluttered little
strips of bright-coloured paper, whereon the children of the house had
written some little sentence or poem as a test of their progress.
When we returned by the same road a fortnight later, another festival
had its turn. The children’s trees had vanished, but in every house
feasts for the dead were spread before the domestic shrine; coloured
lanterns and straw ropes, from which fluttered sacred symbols of white
paper, were suspended in the streets. The heaps of water-melons, too,
had disappeared, the sale of all fruit being prohibited by law, as a
precaution against the dreaded cholera, which, alas! was spreading in
every direction, its presence being marked by a house here and there
enclosed by the police with bamboo fencing, to prevent ingress or egress
from its infected walls. At one door we noticed an onion hung up, as a
charm to keep off the dreaded malady. But the most singular and common
medicines which attracted our attention, hung out in fanciful patterns
outside the houses, were dried lizards, which, when reduced to powder,
are supposed to be exceedingly efficacious in some simple childish
maladies (as a vermifuge).
But in Japan there is always something interesting to notice, either for
its beauty or its oddity. For instance, how strange to one newly arrived
in the country, is the first halt at such a tea-house as that where we
stopped to change horses and partake of a light native meal; the pile of
wooden clogs lying on the threshold, the tired coolies squatting on the
mats, enjoying what looks like the prettiest doll’s feast in little
china dishes with bowls of black and red lacquer, served on lacquer
stands by the most winsome and polite of prettily dressed damsels, while
close by, always next the street, is the kitchen where all these
dainties are prepared!
And probably in the open courtyard a large wooden tub is being heated,
by means of a charcoal stove, for the benefit of some dusty travellers.
Probably those travellers, well-to-do tradesmen, will proceed to divest
themselves of all superfluous garments, and, hanging them up to air,
will sit down in the very lightest attire, to share the family meal with
the well-dressed ladies of the party. And all these different
groups—your own included—are, as it were, in one large open room, for
the paper slides which divide the house into many rooms at night have
all been thrown open during the day, leaving free space.
It was about two o’clock when we reached Oodiwara, the point at which we
were to leave our carriage and ponies (for in Japan all horses are mere
ponies), and proceed in _jinrikshas_, literally _man-power carriages_,
which are simply light bath-chairs, quite a recent invention, but one
which has multiplied all over the land with marvellous rapidity.
Owing to the steepness of the road, we had but a short run in these
little carriages, and were next transferred to _kangos_, or mountain
chairs, which are basket-work seats slung on a pole, borne by two men.
Being made for the little Japanese, they are, of course, horribly
uncomfortable for full-grown Europeans, for whose benefit, however,
kangos of a larger size are now made, and can be had at Myanoshita,
whither we were now bound. It is a pretty village in a wooded valley,
noted for its shops for the sale of all manner of fancy woodwork, and
much frequented in summer by foreigners, for whose benefit two large
hotels are now kept in semi-European style. As we infinitely preferred a
purely Japanese tea-house, we pushed on a short distance to the far
prettier village of Kinga, where we found excellent quarters, though I
confess that the sound of ever-rushing, brawling waters in the immediate
vicinity, is to me anything but a soothing lullaby.
On the following morning, having secured kangos of extra size, three men
to each, and a packhorse to carry our baggage and provisions, we started
very leisurely across the plain, and up a very steep ascent to the
Otomitonga Pass, a very narrow saddle, from which on the one side we
looked back on the Hakoni Lake and on the valley through which we had
travelled, while before us lay outspread the vast level plain from which
the faultlessly harmonious curves of the great mountain sweep
heavenward. Probably from no other point is so magnificent a view to be
obtained as from this, as we acknowledged when, on our homeward route,
we contrived to reach this point soon after sunrise, and for a little
while beheld the giant revealed in cloudless beauty.
On the present occasion, however, our march was one of simplest
faith—not a break was there in the close grey mist, which clung around
us as a pall, and veiled even the nearest trees. Vainly did we halt at
the little rest-house on the summit of the Pass, and there linger over
luncheon in the hope that the mist might clear a little. We had to
console ourselves, as our bearers assuredly did, with the consequent
coolness of the weather, and devote our attention to the beautiful wild
flowers which grew so abundantly along our path. There were real
thistles and bluebells growing side by side with white, pink, and blue
hydrangea, lilac and white hybiscus, masses of delicate white clematis
and creeping ferns hanging in graceful drapery over many a plant of
sturdier growth, and all manner of lilies, greenish and lilac, crimson,
orange, and pure white.
A few days earlier the splendid _lilium auratum_ had been flowering in
such profusion that the air was too heavy with its perfume. I was told
that it grows freely on all the grassy slopes of Fuji at an altitude of
about four thousand feet, wherever leaf-mould has formed over decomposed
volcanic material. At some of the tea-houses where we halted for
luncheon, bulbs of this glorious lily, cooked with ginger, were served
as a vegetable. It did seem profanation. I fastened one magnificent
spike to the front of my kango, where the white blossoms shone in relief
against the brown back of my bearer, till, alas! the constant process of
changing men crushed my lilies and their lovely buds.
It was already five o’clock when we reached Gotemba, a pretty town lying
about half-way across the plain, but we had determined to push on to
Subashiri, which is considerably nearer the base of the mountain. Heavy
rain came on, and the men very sensibly demurred at going farther.
British obstinacy, however, carried the day, and we subjected them and
ourselves to the misery of reaching our destination in the dark, to find
the only good rooms occupied, and all our clothes and other goods
soaked—a serious matter in a Japanese house, where the only means of
drying them is over a small _hibachi_, which is simply a small brass
bowl containing a handful of charcoal. We spent a considerable portion
of the night at this primitive occupation, aided by a pretty little
Japanese damsel, and, as a matter of course, were not inclined for an
early start next morning.
The village is a long straggling street, gay with the pilgrim flags
which float from its many tea-houses, while from the grove of rich green
cryptomerias which clothes the base of the mountain, appear the quaint
overhanging thatch roofs of a fine old Shinto gateway and temple, at
which all devout pilgrims pay their vows ere commencing the ascent.
Passing by a shrine, which is the stable of the sacred white wooden
horse, they perform their ceremonial ablutions at the fountain, where a
sacred bronze dragon ceaselessly spouts clear running water into a stone
tank, from the wooden canopy of which float bright calico flags which
act as towels.
Then the pilgrims, who at this season press on in ceaseless streams,
assemble in groups before the temple, or else kneel reverently before
the sacred mirror on the altar, while the old priest, rapidly repeating
some formula of blessing or of prayer, holds up a great bronze sort of
crozier, from which floats an immense _gohei_, a sort of banner of
mystically cut paper hanging in very peculiar folds, which is the Shinto
symbol of God, supposed to have originated in a play on the word _kami_,
which expresses both God and paper. Having thus consecrated the first
stage of their pilgrimage, the wayfarers, on their descent, return here,
or else by the sacred village of Yoshida, a very picturesque spot on
another spur of the mountain, where the priest imprints a stamp on their
garments which shall prove them true pilgrims in the sight of all men,
and the raiment thus sanctified will become a relic and heirloom for
ever.
It was ten o’clock ere we were ready to start. The same grey
uncompromising weather continued, and our one consolation lay in the
cool freshness of the air, knowing how trying would be the ascent over
that great expanse of bare lava should the sun blaze with the same
fierce intensity that it had been doing for some time previously. We
were already at the height of 2500 feet above the sea-level, and our
route from this point was a steady ascent over volcanic ash and cinders.
The lower slopes of the mountain are all wooded; a good deal of larch
mingles with the fir; cryptomerias and other pines, willow, maple, and
chestnut all flourish, and raspberries grow abundantly.
About two and a half hours brought us to the rest-house, where by law we
were obliged to leave our kangos, as no carrying nor any beast of burden
is allowed on the Holy Mount. Even coolies cannot be engaged here, but
those whom foreigners bring with them are winked at, and ours had agreed
to accompany us all the way. From this point to the summit takes from
seven to eight hours’ steady walking.
There are eight or nine rest-houses at easy intervals, two or three of
which had collapsed the previous winter and had not been rebuilt; but at
the others, which are merely wooden sheds, we were offered welcome tiny
cups of pale tea, and a bowl of rice with savoury accompaniments, or a
tray of sweetmeats, notably peppermint drops, and a sort of very strong
crystallised peppermint, of which an infinitesimal quantity is given as
a reviving dram. A drink by no means to be despised, and which we found
very sustaining, is a compound of raw eggs, beaten up with sugar and hot
_saki_—a kind of wine distilled from rice. In our character of pilgrims
we tasted all that was offered us, and rather enjoyed the curious fare.
Our route for some distance lay through pleasant woods, in which we
found a good deal of white rhododendron, blue monkshood, and masses of
large pink campanula and small bluebells. Further up we passed through
thick alder scrub, and found quantities of real Alpine strawberries, on
which we feasted. Finally we emerged on to the bare cone, which
presented precisely the appearance of a vast cinder heap.
One coolie had been told off to help each of the ladies, and mine did me
good service by going ahead carrying the two ends of a hammock which (as
being softer than a rope) I had passed round my waist. We pressed on in
advance of the others, till, after five hours’ climbing, we reached the
rest-house known as No. 6, where I was welcomed by an old man, who, with
infinite discretion, immediately spread a _fautong_, or wadded quilt,
rolled up another as a pillow, and heaped up a big fire, the material
for which must have been brought from the woods far below. In a few
minutes I began shivering violently, but was all right ere the others
arrived, which they did in a sharp thunder-shower.
The rain soon ceased, and then for the first time the summit stood out
perfectly clear, seeming so close that it was quite aggravating not to
have gained it. But we were all thoroughly tired and disinclined to go
further, so we arranged to sleep here. The sunset was magnificent, and a
splendid double rainbow spanned the heavens. We had brought our own
provisions and two Japanese attendants, so supper was duly served, and
we then made the best of rough quarters.
Our landlady at Shibashiri had kindly lent us a huge roll of quilts,
made up in the form of gigantic wadded dressing-gowns with sleeves,
three of which made a very heavy coolie-load. In these we wrapped
ourselves, and lay down in the corner farthest from the wood fire, round
which our shivering attendants crouched, but the smoke of which made our
eyes smart horribly. We were, however, soon routed from our lair by the
heavy rain which dripped through the roof. Happily we had brought large
sheets of oiled paper to protect our baggage, and these, being spread as
a canopy over our heads, proved excellent protection.
At 1 A.M. we woke and found the rain had ceased, and that a bright
half-moon was shining, so we quickly roused our host, and made him
prepare rice for the coolies, and also some breakfast for ourselves, and
at 3 A.M. we started for the last, and by far the steepest, part of the
ascent. By mistake we got on to the track by which the pilgrims descend,
which is quite straight instead of zigzaging, and also leads over very
soft decomposed ash, in which we sank so deep at every step that it was
very exhausting.
We therefore struck across the cone, and scrambled over a belt of rough
lava, beyond which we found a very uncertain track, which, however,
eventually led us to the beaten path, trodden by such multitudes of
pilgrims, and so thickly strewn with their cast-off straw sandals, as to
give it the appearance of having had straw laid over it. As these shoes
cost somewhat less than a halfpenny a pair, they can be replaced without
serious extravagance, and the provident traveller is wont to carry at
least one extra pair; more would be unnecessary, as they are sold at
every halting-place. Many pilgrims overtook us, hastening upwards, and
repeating in chorus a sort of chant, “Rokkonshōjo, Rokkonshōjo,” which
is a formula expressive of the purity of flesh and spirit required in
those who ascend this holy mount. Formerly it was requisite that they
should undergo a hundred days of purification ere commencing the ascent.
Towards the summit the path leads right through several small shrines,
in which the faithful may purchase small paper _goheis_ floating from
little sticks, which they plant in the lava as they ascend; and the
curious, whether faithful or not, can purchase odd pictures and maps of
Fujiyama, showing the various routes by which it may be ascended from
all sides of the country. By dint of great exertion, and with the help
of my faithful coolie, I managed to reach the summit at 5.30 A.M., just
in time to see all the companies of white-robed pilgrims kneeling to
adore the rising sun as his first rays gilded the mountain-top, and
chanting deep-toned litanies. It was a very striking scene, though at a
little distance the groups of white figures kneeling on the dark lava
were singularly suggestive of sea-birds nestling on some high rock—a
resemblance which was increased by their having removed their large
mushroom-shaped white hats and covered their heads with a white cloth.
I had been told that many women of all ages perform this pilgrimage. So
far from this being the case, among the many thousands of men whom we
met going and returning, I only observed two women—one very old and bent
almost double; the other a merry girl, who, like ourselves, seemed more
intent on the pleasure of the expedition than on the expiation of her
sins. The fact is, it was only in the latter half of the nineteenth
century that the law was annulled which forbade any woman to ascend the
holy mountain, so that it really is not customary for women to go.
Having chanted their sunrise orisons, the next care of the pilgrims is
to march in procession sun-wise round the crater, a distance of about
three miles. On descending the mountain, the more zealous repeat the
sun-wise circuit round the base of the cone, which of course implies a
very long additional walk. It is the same ceremony which I have
witnessed in many a remote corner of the earth—in Himalayan forests, or
round the huge _dogobas_ in the heart of Ceylon—and which we still trace
in many an old custom dating from prehistoric times, and not yet wholly
extinct in our own Scottish Highlands.
Being anxious to reach the western side of the crater in time to see the
vast triangular shadow frequently cast by the mountain at sunrise and at
sunset, I hastened round and had the good-fortune to witness an effect
precisely similar to what I had seen from the summit of Adam’s Peak in
Ceylon, and which I am told also occurs at Pike’s Peak, Colorado—namely,
a vast blue triangle, lying athwart land and sea and cloud, yet
apparently resting on the atmosphere, its outlines being unbroken by any
irregularity of hill or valley. It may be interesting to add that when I
witnessed this phenomenon in Ceylon, the edge of the triangle was tinged
with prismatic colours, giving the appearance of a triangular rainbow.
A magnificent panorama lay outstretched before us. The world below
appeared as a vast plain. On every side dreamy visions of far away
ocean, range beyond range of dwarfed mountains, wide expanses of level
green dotted with towns, gleaming lakes, and filmy vapours forming veils
which now and again hid some portion of the landscape from our sight;
and, in strong contrast with all this delicate distant colour, the
strong warm madder and chocolate tints of the lava foreground, melting
away into the hazy greens of the forest below, while here and there, on
some secluded spot, patches of last winter’s snow still lingered, soon
to be covered by a fresh fall.
All around us on the steep slopes of the cone were heaped up a multitude
of cairns of broken lava, memorials of many a pilgrim band—another link
in the chain of curious customs common to so many races. At short
intervals all round the crater are tiny shrines, where the devotees halt
for the observance of some religious rite of the Shinto faith. One of
these crowns the highest crag, and is conspicuous from afar by its
quaint wooden _torii_, a curious specimen of ecclesiastical
architecture, which forms the invariable gateway to every Shinto and
many Buddhist temples, but which to the irreverent foreigner is rather
suggestive of a gallows.
Another of these structures marks the spot where, on the edge of the
crater, a holy well yields pure cold water, with which the devout fill
their gourd-bottles, to be reverently carried home, together with large
bundles of charms, as a cure for all manner of ills. I have since noted
similar cold springs in the bed of the great extinct crater of
Haleakala, in the Sandwich Islands, and there is one near the summit of
Adam’s Peak.
I mentioned that one of my companions had already made the ascent of the
mountain several times. On each previous occasion the weather had been
so unpropitious that the whole scene had been shrouded in cold, grey
mist, and he could not even discern the outline of the crater which
yawned at his feet.
This morning the whole lay bathed in cloudless sunlight, and a clear
blue sky threw out yet more vividly the wonderfully varied colours of
the lava, great crags of which—red, claret, yellow, sienna, green, grey,
and lavender, purply and black—rose perpendicularly from out the deep
shadow, which still lay untouched by the morning light, in the depths of
the crater. I believe that in reality its depth does not exceed 500
feet, while its greatest length is estimated at 3000 feet, its width
1800. We best realised its size by noting the long lines of figures
(their large white hats giving those near us the appearance of
locomotive mushrooms), which became mere pin-points when seen against
the sky-line on the farther side. We only heard of one gentleman (a
foreigner, of course) who had made a descent into the crater itself.
Very peaceful and calm was the scene in that clear early morning,
without a sound save the tinkling of pilgrims’ bells. Yet, by the
frequent earthquakes which still cause the land to tremble, we know that
the fires which of old desolated this region still smoulder, and may at
any moment break out again, and repeat the story of 1707, which is the
date of the latest eruption. According to native traditions, this huge
volcano arose suddenly upwards of 2000 years ago, the date assigned
being B.C. 285. At the same time a mighty convulsion rent the earth near
Kioto, 300 miles to the southward, forming a chasm sixty miles long by
eighteen broad, in which now lie the blue waters of Lake Biwa.
The internal fires find vent at many points all over these fair green
isles, which are dotted with boiling springs and active volcanoes as
numerous as those which mark the Malay Archipelago, Lombok, Sumbawa,
Java, Sumatra, the Philippines—in short, all those isles which, with
Japan, form a chain along which volcanic action extends right up to the
shores of Kamskatka.
In Kiusiu alone there are five active volcanoes. Of one, near Nagasaki,
called the High Mountain of Warm Springs, noted for its hot sulphur
baths, the Japanese tell how, in 1793, the summit fell in, and torrents
of boiling water burst forth. On one occasion it overwhelmed the city of
Shima Barra, destroying 35,000 persons. We are also told of a mountain
fortress in the district which suddenly subsided, and the place where
the hill had stood became a lake.
There has scarcely been one century in which the national records have
not had occasion to record dire catastrophes caused by earthquakes or
volcanic eruptions. In fact there are historic records of no less than
231 eruptions, many being of appalling magnitude.
The latest eruption of FUJIYAMA was in A.D. 1707, when a mighty
earthquake shook the land, and the living fires forced open a new
chimney at three thousand feet below the summit, vomiting showers of
ashes, which fell at distances of one hundred miles. The cone thus
formed remains to this day, and is called Ho-yei-San. I confess I grudge
the honorific _San_ being applied to the unsightly lump which, as seen
from certain points, mars the otherwise faultless sweep of the perfect
outline.
One of the most active volcanoes in the group at the present day is that
of ASAMA-YAMA, which towers to a height of 8282 feet, and is always
capped by a cloud of heavy smoke, telling of the internal fires. For
just a century it had been comparatively quiet, and in the summer of
1783 the industrious people were gathering the abundant harvest of their
well-tilled corn-fields, when suddenly came the awful eruption of dense
showers of ashes and red-hot boulders and rock-masses, which brought
total destruction to upwards of fifty prosperous villages and their
inhabitants. Vast tracts of forest were burnt by the fiery lava-streams
which poured down the sides of the mountain, and for a radius of many
miles the whole country was smothered beneath a layer of ashes varying
from two to five feet in depth.
The year 1854–55 was marked by appalling activity of the internal
forces. The isle of Shikoku was shaken by an earthquake so terrific that
the solid earth heaved in waves like an angry sea. Innumerable fissures
were rent open, and from these gaping chasms mud and water were thrown
up. From the mountains fell vast avalanches of earth and rock, which
overwhelmed whole cities, and what escaped the landslips was destroyed
by fires which very naturally broke out in the ruins. Tidal waves swept
the shores and rushed up the rivers, doing appalling damage and flooding
the land. A Russian frigate which was lying off the coast of Idzu, in
Shimoda, was spun round and round forty times within half an hour, and
was then thrown ashore a total wreck. In one night seventy shocks were
counted. In the district of Tosa all dwelling-houses were either thrown
down or shaken to their foundations. The country for a space of four
hundred miles presented one widespread scene of desolation. In the
ensuing twelve months upwards of eight hundred distinct shocks were
experienced.
In 1855 occurred an earthquake so terrific that the city of Tokio was
well-nigh destroyed. Upwards of 14,000 dwelling-houses and 2000 strong
fireproof storehouses were destroyed. Multitudes of persons were crushed
in their own falling houses; others fell into clefts and chasms which
suddenly opened beneath their feet and swallowed them up. Then fire
spread and raged furiously, so that the city was made desolate, the dead
being variously estimated at from fifty to a hundred thousand.
1888 was marked by one of the most appalling eruptions that can possibly
be conceived, when on a calm peaceful summer morning, 15th June, without
any notice whatever, BANDAI-SAN, a mountain about 5800 feet in height,
after slumbering for eleven centuries, suddenly reawakened with such
terrific energy that it blew off one of its own huge cones, thereby
destroying thirty square miles of country and six hundred human beings.
So long had the volcano been at rest, that from base to summit, it was
clothed with richest vegetation, in the midst of which nestled
picturesque groups of châlets, clustering around the boiling springs
which attracted not only invalids, who came to bathe in the healing
waters, but pleasure-seekers who delighted in the lovely scenery.
Consequently in summer the usually small population of these pretty
villages was augmented to about eight thousand persons enjoying their
pleasant life, so full of graceful courtesies and pretty customs.
Asama-yama had done its work of destruction in 1783 in the ordinary
manner of dry volcanoes, by the ejection of molten rock and scoriæ, but
Bandai-San accomplished its terrible mission by the agency of steam,
which so effectually permeated the whole mass, that when the explosion
occurred, which suddenly in a moment blew the whole cone, as such, out
of existence, it fell over thirty square miles of country, in one awful
shower of scalding mud, burying a dozen villages, and causing the death
in agony of six hundred human beings, and of a multitude of animals,
besides involving total ruin to at least four times as many survivors,
of whom a considerable number were terribly injured.
All was calm and peaceful when, on that beautiful summer morning, the
happy people went out for their early bath at one or other of the hot
springs on the mountain; but at 7.30 they were startled by a violent
earthquake-shock. Another and another followed in rapid succession, the
earth heaving like a tossing sea, and then followed an appalling sound
as of the roar of a thousand thunder-claps, blending with the shriek of
all the steam-whistles and roaring steam-boilers of earth, and ere the
terrified and deafened human beings could recall their bewildered
senses, they beheld the whole mighty cone of Sho-Bandai-San (one of five
which crowned the mountain) blown bodily into the air, overspreading the
whole heavens with a vast, dense pall of mud-spray followed by dark
clouds of vapour and such stifling gases as well-nigh choked all living
creatures.
Then leaping tongues of infernal flame, crimson and purple, seemed to
flash right up to the heavens, and after appalling earth-throes, these
were succeeded by showers of red-hot ashes, sulphur, and boiling water,
accompanied by fearful subterranean roaring and rumbling, and by a
rushing whirlwind of hurricane force, uprooting great trees, and hurling
them afar.
Another moment, and there poured forth floods of boiling liquid mud,
which swept down the mountain-side with such velocity, that within ten
minutes the scalding torrent was rushing past a village ten miles down
the valley. The eruption continued for about two hours, till the awful
mud-wave had poured itself out, transforming thirty square miles of most
lovely country into a chaos of horror, the thick layer of horrid mud
varying in depth from ten to a hundred and fifty feet; and in places
suggesting a raging sea whose gigantic waves have suddenly been turned
to concrete. On every side reigned absolute desolation, with a horrid
smell rising from stagnant sulphur-pools, and the pretty villages and
courteous people lay buried deep beneath this hideous sea of mud.
Equally appalling in its suddenness was the awful earthquake which in
thirty seconds, in the early morning of 28th October 1891, desolated the
NAGOYA-GIFU and OGAKI plains, one of the most beautiful, fertile, and
thickly inhabited districts in Japan; Nagoya with a population of about
162,000, Gifu a busy manufacturing city with 14,083, and Ogaki with
10,522 kindly, industrious people—the last-named being chiefly known to
travellers on account of the excellence of its curiosity-shops. It is a
district of dark, rugged hills, with waterfalls, foaming rivers, rocky
bluffs, avenues of noble old pine trees, and beautiful sea-coast, varied
by level grassy plains and rich cultivation.
It was the one district in the whole of Japan which seemed to enjoy
complete immunity from all volcanic disturbances; but never was there a
ruder awakening to full knowledge of the awful changes which may be
wrought “in the twinkling of an eye,” than the awful thirty seconds
which (according to official returns, which are always minimised) caused
the death of 9968 persons, and grievous bodily injury to 100,000 more.
Buildings of every description fell, as though built of cards, sides of
mountains slipped down and dammed rivers, forming lakes and carrying
away bridges and miles of railway. The cost to Government was thirty
million dollars, but to private individuals the widespread ruin was
incalculable.
As regards results, this has probably been the most severe
earthquake-shock on record, even in Japan. Though the first few seconds
sufficed to accomplish a work of destruction probably without parallel,
the earth tremors continued from 28th October till 4th November,
accompanied by subterranean roaring.
Beyond a somewhat unusual stillness and warmth, there was absolutely no
premonition, when at 6.30 A.M. (when the sun had risen gloriously, and
workers were all astir) the solid earth seemed to upheave to a height of
three feet, and as suddenly sank down again, swaying sideways from east
to west and back, as though a giant nurse was violently rocking a
cradle! In every direction the earth was seamed with fissures, right
across the roads, some of unfathomable depth; from these spouted geysers
of boiling mud, or of volcanic sand.
The road from Nagoya to Gifu and Ogaki—which on that peaceful morning
had connected such a series of villages and small towns as to form an
almost continuous street twenty miles in length, all astir with
cheerful, kindly people—was at noon simply a narrow lane between
interminable piles of shattered woodwork, broken tiles, and fallen
thatch: all that had once been comfortable homes, and which in thousands
of cases formed the tomb of most of the family. As a matter of course,
numerous fires broke out, and consuming all wood and straw-work,
cremated numberless dead and wounded, and the smoke-laden air was heavy
with the stench, though this was far less horrible than in other places,
where mangled bodies lay inextricably imprisoned beneath heavy rafters,
and spread pestilence around.
Upwards of half a million persons were left homeless and in absolute
penury, as well as in direct mental and physical distress, mourning
their ten thousand dead, and the far larger number mutilated for life.
More than three thousand wells were totally destroyed, so that thirst
was added to starvation, notwithstanding the marvellous promptitude,
presence of mind, humanity, and power of organisation of the Japanese
officials, aided by the doctors and nurses from the foreign missionary
hospitals, in dealing with such widespread calamity.
With marvellous rapidity new houses were constructed, yet multitudes
were still homeless when snow fell to the depth of more than a foot, and
then bitter frost set in. Then came a rapid thaw, and the shattered
embankments of the rivers were wholly unable to withstand the rush of
roaring torrents, and so gave way, flooding large areas of country.
And to all these miseries was shortly added pestilence in the form of
virulent typhoid fever, bred of the stench of putrefying corpses and
polluted wells; and influenza likewise claimed many victims, who had to
battle with it under such terrible circumstances.
It is remarkable that, amid this wholesale destruction of all works of
man, so very few trees were overthrown, and in many places the homes, so
suddenly transformed to wholesale sepulchres, were overhung by
camellia-trees laden with rosy blossoms. Where the bodies of the dead
were buried, the first care of the survivors was to protect the grave
with hoops of slim bamboo, and adorn it with at least a section of
larger bamboo to serve as a vase in which to place a graceful spray of
chrysanthemum. For though the stone _torii_ and lanterns and pretty
bridges were all overthrown, the flowers blossomed gloriously as ever,
while in the fields the yellow rice seemed to bend under its weight of
grain, as if inviting the reaper—but no reapers were there, and the
appearance of the crops proved delusive, for the grain was light at
best, and was almost destroyed by severe gales.
Again in 1896, the sea-coast was swept by an appalling tidal wave which
was attributed to a submarine eruption. And so the tale goes on.
Scarcely a week passes in which a slight shock of earthquake is not
felt; so there is, of course, no certainty that such scenes of horror
may not at any time be repeated. Moreover, within a day’s march of the
mighty mountain lie the sulphurous boiling springs of O-ji-goku (_i.e._
the Great Hell), and, at no great distance in other directions, two sets
of hot springs, both bearing the name of Yumoto. And, looking down from
FUJIYAMA summit, far on the dreamy horizon I saw, or fancied I saw, a
faint indication of smoke from the active volcanic isle of Vries (or
Ashima), which lies just off the coast of Idzu. Such neighbours as these
make it impossible to ignore the probability that a day may come ere
long when Fuji-San shall awake from his sleep of a century and a half,
and may resume his crown of fire, as Vesuvius, Etna, Tarawara in New
Zealand and many another volcano, fondly assumed to be extinct, have
done ere now.
Vesuvius is said to have made such good use of 150 years of rest that,
at the time of the great eruption in A.D. 1306, not only were all its
slopes richly cultivated, but chestnut groves and pools of water had
sprung up within the crater. Here on the extreme summit of Fujiyama, we
have the water-springs, but no trace of vegetation, though a few blades
of grass have struggled into life within a very short distance of the
summit.
Whether fiery streams will ever again pour down the mountain-side and
burn their way through the green forests, we cannot prophesy. At
present, however, all seems quiet, and the mighty giant sleeps.
Having wandered leisurely round the crater I began to think of
breakfast, and, returning to my companions, found them and our followers
already in possession of one of a row of about a dozen small huts facing
the rising sun, erected as lodgings for the pilgrims. They are tiny
stone houses, partly scooped out of the cinder bank, the roof weighted
with heavy blocks of lava, to resist the force of wild tempests. There
is a small space artificially levelled in front of the huts from which
float numbers of the gay pilgrim flags already mentioned. Within each
hut is a small space neatly matted, and here, having spread the soft
warm quilts brought with us, I gladly lay down for an hour’s rest, while
my companions made the circuit of the crater. Our large sheets of oiled
paper were hung across as a curtain to shield us from the glare, and to
separate our corner from that where our host was cooking. Happily, in
mercy to our eyes, he had substituted charcoal for wood. I may mention,
by the way, that water here boils at 184° Fahr. Above my head, even in
this rude hut, was the invariable domestic shrine. Here, of course, it
was Shinto, and in addition to the usual sacred mirror of polished
metal, was a model of Fujiyama rudely hewn in lava.
Our quarters being as comfortable as could possibly be expected, it had
been our intention to spend the day and night quietly on the summit.
Unfortunately, however, our brother pilgrim, who on his previous ascents
had already suffered from mountain-sickness, produced by the rarified
air, was on this occasion so violently and continuously sick that it was
evidently necessary for him to descend at once. Both our Japanese
attendants likewise suffered, and asked leave to go back. They had
crushed sour pink plums on their temples, which seemed to us a novel
remedy, but is one much in favour in Japan. Had we but known it, nature
had provided a far more efficacious remedy in the snow-drifts of the
crater—bathing the temples with snow being the surest protection against
sickness and headache thus produced.
At first we two ladies decided on remaining by ourselves (having perfect
trust in our coolies), but unfortunately, after an interval of rest, I
too awoke feeling so sick, that, combining the chances of increasing
illness with that of bad weather on the morrow, it was voted better that
we should also return to the lower world—a decision which I now
sincerely regret, being convinced that my own indisposition was simply
momentary and due to over-fatigue. I am the more inclined to this belief
as two parties of our friends, fired by our example, made the pilgrimage
a few days later; each spent a night on the summit, coming in for grand
thunderstorms, torrents of rain, and a magnificent sunrise; but no one
complained of any tendency to sickness, though one stalwart Scot did
awaken with a headache, which, however, he attributed to the mountain
dew in which he had pledged his absent friends, and not to the mountain
air.
Our coolies once more shouldered their burdens, with an alacrity which
surprised us, and at 11.30 we regretfully took our last look at the
magnificent scene, and, already over-wearied, commenced the descent.
Large white clouds encompassed the base of the mountain, and floating
mists played about the summit, veiling the sun and shielding us from its
burning rays. Nevertheless, the descent was most exhausting, and seemed
never-ending. The path lay straight down the cone, over deep soft ash
and crumbly scoriæ, in which we sank over the ankles, and which kept
penetrating into our boots. We felt grateful to our pilgrim
predecessors, whose straw shoes strewed the earth in thousands, making
it somewhat better for us.
It was 4 P.M. when we reached the rest-house where we had left our
kangos, and much did we enjoy some good egg _saki_, as did also our
coolies, who, having made an excellent meal and transferred the luggage
to a packhorse which we were fortunate enough to secure, shouldered the
kangos, in which we wearily lay, and trotted off quite cheerily, only
halting to smoke beneath a fine old larch-tree, from the branches of
which hung innumerable pairs of old straw shoes, tied together and
thrown up for luck by the happy pilgrims whose task is accomplished, and
who have secured a store of merit and sanctity to last for years to
come. Our bearers added their sandals, and as many more as they could
find lying on the path, evidently considering it a good game. They then
trotted on down-hill to Subashiri, where we arrived about 5.30. This
time we found the good rooms reserved for us, and hot baths, the
advantage of which the Japanese so fully understand, were all ready.
These, followed by a good night’s rest, partly restored us, though I
confess I was stiff and aching for many days to come.
We spent the following morning in pleasant idleness at the old Shinto
temple, only doing a three hours’ evening march to Gotemba, whence we
proposed starting long before daylight. A message was, however, brought
to us that the police, who as a matter of course had demanded our
passports, refused to allow us to pass till we had been inspected by the
doctor, a ceremony which could not be performed till next day. This was
on account of the cholera panic.
Tired as we were, we concluded that the only thing to be done was to put
on our boots again and march in person to the police office, where our
healthy appearance, and extreme civility, so overawed two minute
policemen, that they allowed us to pass on unmolested. So at 3 A.M. the
good old landlady and cook were astir, to feed us and our coolies, and
at 4 we started in the dark. At one point the coolies evidently had a
great joke, and, laughing heartily but very silently, they ran as hard
as they could for about half a mile. We could not understand their fun
at the time, but afterwards discovered that we were passing the house of
the dreaded doctor, who might have detained us as he had done other
people.
The sun rose while we toiled up the Otomitonga Pass, and at every step
the view became more grand, as Fujiyama stood revealed, rising in
cloudless beauty from the vast intervening plain. Scarcely, however, had
we feasted our eyes on the lovely vision, of which I happily secured a
very careful sketch, when the mists uprose, and in a few moments not the
faintest suggestion of a mountain was visible, to the great grief of a
large party who toiled up the hill from Hakoni Lake, just too late to
see it.
We descended the pass, and, crossing the valley, made for a region known
as O-ji-goku, “the Great Hell,” where, in a hollow between two dark
wooded hills, the steam of boiling sulphur-springs rises ceaselessly
from a bare expanse of red, broken ground. Before reaching this spot we
arrived at the charmingly primitive tea-house of Sengoku Yu, in the
heart of the beautiful forest. The water from the boiling
sulphur-springs is brought down in bamboo pipes, and is here cooled in
simple but effective baths. One of these having been told off for our
exclusive use, screened, and placed under the guardianship of a pretty
Japanese boy, who, proud of his charge, sat on watch to keep off all
intruders, we were able to revel in peace, and did our best to boil away
all painful memories of our climb. Then, arrayed in cool Japanese
dresses, lent to us by our hostess, we were ready to enjoy a semi-native
supper. On the following morning we repeated our sulphur-bath, and
recommend the process to all future pilgrims.
Then, climbing the hill to make a nearer inspection of “the Great Hell,”
we tried various foolishly rash experiments in the way of tasting
sulphur, alum, and iron-springs, cooked our luncheon in one, and then,
braving the choking sulphurous fumes, which made us cough violently, we
inspected the process by which sulphur rock is pounded to a fine powder,
thrown into furnaces where it becomes a gas, and, passing through rude
retorts, drips in a deep orange-coloured fluid into large vessels, where
it becomes pure, solid sulphur, of a pale chrome colour, after which it
is made up in matted bundles and carried down the mountain on the backs
of little Japanese women, that it may finally reach Yokohama, and be
used in making medicinal baths.
With regard to the very unpleasant name given to the sulphur-producing
district, I may mention that in various parts of both the Northern and
Southern Isle we find the title of Ko-ji-koku or O-ji-goku, _i.e._ “the
Little or the Great Hell,” while one such spot in the neighbourhood of
Nagasaki is distinguished as the Chiū-to-Ji-goku, or “the Middle-Class
Hell.” One beautiful geyser in the neighbourhood of the latter is known
as the Dai-kiō-kwan, “the Loud Wailing,” as suggesting the anguish of
souls in Purgatory. Naturally the Buddhists, who exhaust all the
resources of art and language to depict the horrors of the seven hells,
were not likely to let slip so suggestive a natural illustration.
When I was at Nagasaki I had occasion to visit the courteous Roman
Catholic Bishop. While waiting, I had leisure to inspect sundry large,
coloured prints of Purgatory, the Day of Judgment, and Hell—a teaching
of terror; devils with pitchforks driving affrighted human beings into
pits of flame, and all fully described in Japanese. Having recently
visited the very realistic reproductions of the seven hells in many
Buddhist temples, I felt that there was little to choose between these
interpreters of the Great Hereafter.
Descending in a thick, soaking mist, we halted at the tea-house of
Obango, where a group of native travellers were listening in rapt
attention to a woman reciting, in an extraordinary voice down in her
throat, gurgling and cackling, and occasionally blowing through a shell,
or loudly tapping with her fan. She was apparently reciting some old
story, but none of our party could understand a word she said, as she
was speaking in a dialect almost obsolete, which few of the Japanese
themselves could follow. An hour’s row down the lovely Hakoni Lake
brought us to the village of the same name, where we found many friends
in pleasant summer quarters, and where the chief attraction of every
house and every walk lies in the view it commands of Fujiyama.
Here I spent a delightful fortnight with the Dyers, who were renting a
pretty Japanese house during the summer vacation. Every day we made
delightful expeditions to specially beautiful scenes, to visit
fascinating rural villages, quite untouched by the foreign element, and
we lingered beneath the shade of grand cryptomerias with an undergrowth
of bright blue hydrangeas, orange tiger-lilies, small lilac and white
lilies, and campanulas.
Remembering our pleasant sulphur-bath at Sengoku Yu, we went one day to
the sulphur-springs at Ashinoyu, which are more fashionable, and where
the whole air is tainted with the smell of sulphuretted hydrogen,
whereas at Sengoku Yu the baths have a clean smell of sulphurous acid.
So, leaving the town, I consoled myself by sketching a fine image of Dai
Butzu, sculptured on a rock on the hill above the village, returning by
a grand avenue of cryptomerias.
We witnessed a pathetic annual feast for the dead, when every house
spreads a variety of things good to eat before its domestic shrine.
These are for the spirits of all the hungry dead, not only their own
ancestors, but also the neglected spirits whose relatives are too poor
to provide food for them. This feast is laid out on many successive
days, and ends in a _matsuri_, _i.e._ one of those always attractive
general festivals.
It was tantalising to turn away from such varied beauty and interest,
but an invitation from Sir Harry Parkes to H.B.M. Legation at Tokio, to
witness an absolutely unique festival given by the people to the Mikado
and his American guests, General and Mrs. Ulysses Grant, was
irresistible, and so I bade adieu to beautiful Lake Hakoni and the many
friends there.