Between a series of addresses which I had been giving in his church,
in early July of 1892, in Tokyo, and the opening of work at the
summer-school at Hakoné, Mr. T. Yokoi and I planned an excursion of a
few days to the mountainous region in the interior northward of the
Capital City. The addresses had been on topics in philosophy--chiefly
the Philosophy of Religion. The weather proved as uncomfortable and
debilitating as Japanese summer weather can easily be. In spite of
this, however, about two hundred and fifty men, with few exceptions
from the student classes, had been constant in attendance and interest
to the very end; and I was asking myself where else in the world under
similar discouraging circumstances, such an audience for such a subject
could readily be secured.
The evening before we were to set out upon our trip, I was given a
dinner in the apartments of one of the temples in the suburbs of Tokyo.
The whole entertainment was characteristic of old-fashioned Japanese
ideals of the most refined hospitality; a brief description of what
took place may therefore help to correct any impression that the
posturing of geisha girls and the drinking of quantities of hot saké
is the only way in which the cultivated gentlemen of Japan know how to
amuse themselves. As the principal feature of entertainment on this
occasion, an artist of local reputation, who worked with water-colours,
had been called to the assistance of the hosts; and we all spent a most
pleasant and instructive hour or two, seated on the mats around him
and watching the skill of his art in rapid designing and executing.
The kakemonos thus produced were then presented to the principal guest
as souvenirs of the occasion. The artistic skill of this old gentleman
was not indeed equal to his enthusiasm. But on later visits to Japan
I have enjoyed the benefits of both observation and possession, in
instances where the art exhibited has been of a much higher order. For
example, at a dinner given by my Japanese publishers to Mrs. Ladd and
me, we witnessed what has since seemed to both of us a most astonishing
feat of cultivated æsthetical dexterity. The son of one of the more
celebrated artists of Japan at that time (1899), himself a workman
of much more than local reputation, had after some hesitation been
secured to give an exhibition of his skill at free-hand drawing in
water-colours. When two or three designs of his own suggestion had
been executed, in not more than ten minutes each, the artist asked
to have the subjects for the other designs suggested for him. Among
these suggestions, he was requested to paint a lotus; and this was his
answer to the request. Selecting a brush somewhat more than two inches
in width, he wet three sections of its edge with as many different
colours, and then with one sweep of hand and wrist, and without
removing the brush from the paper, he drew the complete cup of a large
lotus--its curved outlines clearly defined and beautifully shaped, and
the shading of the inside of the cup made faithful to nature by the
unequal pressure of the brush as it glided over the surface of the
paper.
After the dinner, which followed upon the display of the painter’s
skill, and which was served by the temple servants, the entire party
divided into groups or pairs and strolled in the moonlight through
the gardens which lay behind the temple buildings. The topic of talk
introduced by the Japanese friend with whom I was paired off carried
our thought back to the quiet and peaceful life lived in this same
garden by the monks in ancient days; and not by the monks only, but
also by the daimyos and generals who were glad, after the fretful time
of youth was over, to spend their later and latest days in leisurely
contemplation. In general, in the “Old Japan,” the father of the family
was tempted to exercise his right of retiring from active life before
the age of fifty, and of laying off upon the eldest son the duty of
supporting the family and even of paying the debts which the father
might have contracted. But it was, and still is, a partial compensation
for this custom of seeking early relief from service, that the
Japanese, and the Oriental world generally, recognise and honour better
than we are apt to do, the need of every human soul to a certain amount
of rest, recreation, and time for meditation.
The entertainment over, and the uneaten portion of each guest’s
food neatly boxed and placed under the seat of his jinrikisha for
distribution among his servants on the home-coming, I was taken back
to my lodgings through streets as brilliantly lighted as lanterns and
coal-oil lamps can well do, and crowded with a populace of both sexes
and all ages who were spending the greater part of the night in the
celebration of a local religious festival. The necessity of sitting
up still later in order to write letters for the mail which left by
the steamer next day, and of rising at four o’clock in the morning, to
take an early train from a distant station, did not afford the best
physical preparation for the hardships which were to be endured during
the two or three days following.
It was on applying for a ticket to Yokogawa, which was as far toward
the foot of Asama-yama from Tokyo as the railway could take one in
those days, that I experienced the only bit of annoying interference
with my movements which I have ever met with, when travelling in
Japan. But this was in the days of passports and strict governmental
regulations for the conduct of foreigners and of natives in their
treatment of foreigners. These regulations required that all tourists
who wished to visit places beyond ten _ri_, or about twenty-four and
a half miles, distant from some treaty-port, must obtain passports
from the Japanese Government by application through the diplomatic
representative of the country to which they belonged. The purpose of
the proposed tour must be expressly stated; and it must be one of these
two purposes,--either “for scientific information” or “for the benefit
of the health.” The exact route over which it was proposed to travel
must also be stated, and the length of time for which the permission
was desired. Applications for more than three months were likely to
be refused. It was, further, the duty of every keeper of an inn or
tea-house where a foreign traveller wished to pass the night, to take
up the passport and hand it over to the local police for inspection and
for safe keeping until the departure of his guest. The strictness of
the compliance with these regulations, however, differed in different
places; and nowhere did they serve to destroy or greatly to restrict
the kindness and hospitable feelings of the common people. For example,
I recall the pathetic story of a missionary, who had lost his way, and
having become so exhausted that he felt he could not take another step,
applied for shelter during the night in the hut of a peasant family.
The man did not dare to break the law which forbade him to harbour
the foreign stranger; but he offered, and actually undertook to carry
on his back the tired missionary, to the nearest place where he could
obtain legal entertainment!
Some weeks before, after a visit in company with a missionary friend
and his family to the Shintō temples at Ise, we had all turned aside
for a night of rest at the charming sea-side resort of Futami. The
other members of the family felt quite at their ease, for they
were armed with their passports for the summer vacation; not so,
however, the gentleman who was the family’s head and guardian and my
interpreter. For he was without the necessary legal permission to pass
the night away from home; while the day’s journey of thirty miles in a
_basha_ without springs made the prospect of a return journey that same
night anything but desirable to contemplate. But the issue was happy;
for the large number of passports furnished by the entire party and
duly made over to the police by our host seemed to prove a sufficient
covering for us all. And we had come off victorious in another battle
with legal restrictions,--a battle royal between the maids, who at the
risk of suffocation to human beings, insisted on obeying the law by
shutting tight the _amado_, or wooden sliding doors which formed the
outside of our sleeping apartments, and the human beings, who rather
than be suffocated, were willing to break the law; since, at best, a
_modicum_ of uneasy sleep was to be obtained only in this way. But such
petty annoyances are now forgotten; and nowhere else in the world is
travel freer and more of kindly pains taken by all classes to make it
comfortable and interesting, than in the Japan of the present day.
The policeman at the station being in time satisfied with the
legitimacy of the foreigner’s purpose to get where he could ascend
Asama-yama, both for purposes of scientific information and for his
health, my friend and I took the train for Yokogawa. The railway
journey was without incident or special interest. At that date there
was a break of about seven miles in the Nakasendō, or “Central Mountain
Road,”--the grading and tunnelling being far from complete between
Yokohawa and Karuizawa, from which point we intended to make the ascent
of the mountain. Although the Nakasendō seems to have been originally
constructed early in the eighth century, since it traverses mountainous
and sparsely cultivated districts, remote from populous centres, good
accommodations for travellers were at that time (1892) not to be
had. At present, Karuizawa is one of the principal summer resorts of
all this part of Japan; and several thousands of visitors congregate
there annually. Travel by jinrikisha up this mountain pass was then
difficult and expensive, and we wished to save both strength and time
for our walk of the following day. We had, therefore, only the tram
as a remaining choice. In the nearly twelve miles of tram-way there
were scarcely twenty rods of straight track; and the ascent to be made
amounted to some 2,000 feet in all. Yet the miserable horses which drew
the small car were whipped into a run almost the entire way. The car
itself resembled a diminutive den for wild beasts, such as menageries
use in their street parades, although far less commodious or elegant.
It was designed to hold twelve passengers; but this complement could
possibly be got in, only if the passengers were uniformly of small
size and submitted to the tightest kind of packing. By sitting up as
straight as I could, and sandwiching my legs in between the legs of the
Japanese fellow-traveller on the opposite side, it was barely possible
to bring my thigh bones within the limits of the width allowed by
the car. Plainly this vehicle was not planned to accommodate the man
of foreign dimensions. As we swayed around the perpetually recurring
curves of the narrow track, it was rather difficult to avoid slight
feelings of nervousness; and these were not completely allayed by
being assured that accidents did not happen so very often; nor, more
especially, by the sight of a horse and cart which had plunged off
the roadway to the valley forty or more feet below, where the animal
lay dying and surrounded by a little crowd of those calm and inactive
spectators who, in Japan, are so accustomed to regard all similar
events as _shikata-ga-nai_ (or things which cannot be helped). We
arrived, however, at Shin (or New) Karuizawa, somewhat jumbled and
bruised, but in safety; and here we at once took jinrikishas for the
older place of the same name.
[Illustration: “THE VILLAGES HAVE NEVER BEEN REBUILT”]
Asama-yama is the largest now continuously active volcano in Japan.
Its last great and very destructive eruption was in the summer of 1783,
when a vast stream of lava destroyed a considerable extent of primeval
forest and buried several villages, especially on the north side of the
mountain. Over most of this area the villages have never been rebuilt.
Even the plain across which we rode between the two Karuizawas, and
which lies to the southeast, is composed of volcanic ash and scoriæ;
and since 1892, stones of considerable size have often been thrown
into the yards of the villas inhabited by the summer visitors in
this region. Yet more recently, there have been exhibitions of the
tremendous destructive forces which are only biding their time within
the concealed depths of this most strenuous of Japan’s volcanos. On the
south side of the mountain rise two steep rocky walls, some distance
apart, the outer one being lower and partly covered with vegetation. It
is thought by geologists that these are the remains of two successive
concentric craters; and therefore that the present cone is the third of
Asama-yama’s vent-holes for its ever-active inner forces.
It had been our intention to follow what the guide-book described as
the “best plan” for making the ascent of the volcano; and this was
to take horses from the old village of Karuizawa, where it was said
foreign saddles might be procured, ride to Ko-Asama, and then walk
up by a path of cinders, described as steep but good and solid, and
plainly marked at intervals by small cairns. First inquiry, however,
did not succeed in getting any trace of suitable horses, not to mention
the highly desirable equipment of “foreign saddles.” After taking a
late and scanty luncheon in a tea-house which for Japan, even in the
most remote country places, seemed unusually dirty and disreputable, we
went out in further search of the equipment for the climb of the next
day. On emerging from the tea-house, right opposite its door, we came
upon a gentleman in a jinrikisha, who was a traveller from America--a
much rarer sight in those parts twenty years ago than at the present
time. Salutations and inquiries as to “Where from” and “What about,”
were quickly interchanged as a matter of course. It turned out that
we were making the acquaintance of the father of one of the Canadian
missionaries, who was visiting his son and who was at that very instant
on his way to the station to take train to Komoro, a village some
fourteen miles over the pass, from which that night a party of ten or
twelve were planning to ascend Asama-yama by moonlight. Permission was
asked and cordially given for us to become members of this party;
and the gentleman in the jinrikisha then went on his way as rapidly as
the rather decrepit vehicle and its runner could convey him.
As for us, all our energies were now bent on catching that train;
for it was the last one of the day and it was certain that our plans
could not easily be carried out from the point of starting where we
then were. Our belongings were hastily thrust into the bags and a
hurry call issued for jinrikishas to take us to the station. But our
new acquaintance had gone off in the only jinrikisha available in the
whole village of Karuizawa. What was to be done? A sturdy old woman
volunteered her assistance; and some of the luggage having been mounted
on a frame on her back, we grabbed the remainder and started upon a
sort of dog-trot across the ashy plain which separated the tea-house
by more than a mile and a half from the railway station. As we came in
sight of the train, the variety of signals deemed necessary to announce
by orderly stages the approach of so important an event gave notice
to both eyes and ears that it was proposing soon to start down the
mountain pass; and if it once got fairly started, the nature of the
grade would make it more difficult either to stop or to overtake it.
My friend, therefore, ran forward gesticulating and calling out; while
I assisted the old woman with the burdens and gave her wages and tips
without greatly slackening our pace. The railway trains of that earlier
period, especially in country places, were more accommodating than is
possible with the largely increased traffic of to-day; and the addition
of two to the complement of passengers was more important than it would
be at present. And so we arrived, breathless but well pleased, and were
introduced to several ladies in the compartment, who belonged to the
party which proposed to make the ascension together.
The route from Karuizawa to Komoro is a part of what is considered
by the guide-book of that period, “on the whole the most picturesque
railway route in Japan.” The first half is, indeed, comparatively
uninteresting; but when the road begins to wind around the southern
slope of Asama-yama, the character of the scenery changes rapidly. Here
is the water-shed where all the drainage of the great mountain pours
down through deep gullies into rivers which flow either northward into
the Sea of Japan or southward into the Pacific. From the height of the
road-bed, the traveller looks down upon paddy-fields lying far below.
The mountain itself changes its apparent shape and its colouring. The
flat top of the cone lengthens out; it now becomes evident that Asama
is not isolated, but is the last and highest of a range of mountains.
The pinkish brown colouring of the sides assumes a blackish hue; and
chasms rough with indurated lava break up into segments which follow
the regularity of the slopes on which they lie.
Komoro, the village at which we arrived just as the daylight was
giving out, was formerly the seat of a daimyo; but it has now turned
the picturesque castle-grounds which overhang the river into a
public garden. It boasted of considerable industries in the form of
the manufacture of saddlery, vehicles, and tools and agricultural
implements. But its citizens I found at that time more rude,
inhospitable, and uncivilised than those I have ever since encountered
anywhere else in Japan. Our first application for entertainment at an
inn was gruffly refused; but we were taken in by another host, whom we
afterwards found to have all the silly dishonest tricks by which the
worst class of inn-keepers used formerly to impose upon foreigners.
The plan agreed upon for the ascent was to start at ten in the evening,
make the journey by moonlight, and so arrive at the mountain’s top in
time to see the volcanic fires before dawn but after the moon had gone
down; and then, still later, the wide-spreading landscape at sunrise.
Six horses were ordered for those of the party who preferred to ride
the distance of nearly thirteen miles which lay between the inn and the
foot of the cone; while the other five--four of the younger men and one
young woman--deemed themselves hardy enough to walk the entire way.
As the event proved, a walk of twenty-five miles, half of it steeply
up hill, followed by a climb of two thousand feet of ash cone, while
not a great “stunt” for trained mountaineers, is no easy thing for the
ordinary pedestrian.
The horses had been ordered to be in front of the inn not later than
ten o’clock. And at that hour we all began to put on our shoes and
otherwise make preparations for a start at the appointed time. But who
in those days, or even now, unless it be by railway train, in Japan
would reasonably expect to start anywhere at precisely the appointed
time? At ten, at eleven, and at midnight, still the horses had not
come. At the later hour, the pedestrians of the party made a start,
bidding the others a pleasant and somewhat exasperating good-bye,
and exhorting them to bring along the luncheon baskets in time for
to-morrow morning’s breakfast. An angry messenger despatched to the
head-quarters of the “master of the horse,” brought back the soothing
message that men had some time before been sent into the fields to
gather in the animals, which had been at work all day; and that they
certainly would be forthcoming--_tadaiama_. Now the word “_tadaiama_”
for the inexperienced is supposed to mean immediately (although _jiki
ni_ or “in a jiffy” is really the more encouraging phrase); but the
initiated know full well that no definitely limited period is intended
by either word. At one o’clock in the morning, still the horses had not
arrived. At this hour, therefore, a more sharp reprimand and imperative
order was sent to the stables; and the same promising answer was
returned. At two o’clock the same performance was repeated, with this
difference that now the story ran: A second detachment of men had been
sent out by the master of the horse; and they would surely return with
both men and horses--“_tadaiama_.”
During these four hours I had been lying on the outer platform of
the tea-house, fighting mosquitoes, and trying to get snatches of
sleep; since my quota of this sort of preparation for a stiff day’s
work had been only three hours during the last forty-eight. A crowd
of villagers, of all sorts and sizes, had gathered in front of the
platform, which, of course, was open to the street, and were fixedly
gazing at the foreigner with that silent and unappeased curiosity
which need seriously offend no one who understands its motive and
the purpose it is intended to serve. One of the village wags and
loafers was continuously and monotonously discoursing to the crowd in
a manner so amusing as to call forth repeated outbursts of laughter;
and it was evident that the subject of the discourse was the strange
and ridiculous ways of foreigners in general; if not the strange and
ridiculous appearance of the particular foreigner just now illustrating
the characteristics universal with the race. Obviously such conditions
were not favourable to restful sleep.
Since, soon after three o’clock the horses had not come, my native
friend paid a visit to the stables in person; and fifteen or twenty
minutes later the six animals required were standing, with their
_Bettos_, before the inn, under the fading moonlight. When I inquired
how he succeeded in accomplishing so quickly what others had failed to
accomplish by hours of angry effort, his reply was that he told the
keeper of the stable there was a distinguished foreigner waiting at the
inn, who was very angry at being treated with such indignity; and that
he would himself report the matter to the authorities at Tokyo and have
his license taken away, if he did not furnish the horses immediately.
“Did you tell him,” I said jestingly “that such behaviour might lead
to serious international complications?” “No,” said my friend, “but I
did tell him that it would affect treaty revision very unfavourably.”
Such a statement was, at the time it was made, not so extravagant and
purely jocose as it might seem. For the nation was justly dissatisfied
and restless under the claims of foreign nations to the continuance
of ex-territorial rights for themselves; and even to the right to
regulate the import and export duties of Japan. It is to the credit of
the memory of the late American Minister, Colonel Buck, that he was
one of the first to express and to exercise confidence in the Japanese
to manage both their internal and their foreign affairs on terms of
a strict equality with all the first-class nations. At that time,
however, not a few foreigners, both within and outside of diplomatic
circles, were objecting to a fair arrangement of international
obligations, on the ground of complaints as trivial as mine would have
been, if it had been made _anent_ the delay of the horses.
Those who have never tried a ride of twenty-five miles on a Japanese
farm horse, with a wooden saddle but without either stirrups or bridle,
do not know what physical tortures may be involved in it. I was
assigned the youngest and friskiest beast of burden among them all; and
if I had been able to have any control over him, the choice would have
been somewhat to my advantage. But I had absolutely no control; for
each animal had its own special _betto_, whose duty was to lead it by
a long straw-rope; and as I have already said there was no bridle for
any of the horses. My _betto_ was a loutish, impudent fellow, who had
the unpleasant habit of throwing down his rope--sometimes at the most
ticklish places--and sauntering back to smoke with his fellows, leaving
me, of course, quite helpless before any fate chosen for me by the
caprices of my mount. And the mount was uncommonly high, for a large
supply of blankets had been placed beneath the steep wooden saddle,
for the protection of the horse’s back. Since I knew no Japanese words
of threatening or other vigorous protest, I was compelled for the most
part to submit in an alarmed quiet; but occasionally, as for example
when we were going along the side of the mountain, which was as steep
as gravity would let the scoriæ and ashes lie, and where the path
was scarcely more than a foot in width, I could invoke the aid of
my friend, who was generally within hailing distance. His effective
intervention, in a language understood by both persons, would then
usually bring my _betto_ sauntering back to resume again his neglected
duties.
The dawn, when we reached the uplands outside the village of Komoro,
was as beautiful as dawn in summer in Japan can ever be. Below us
lay the village with its surroundings; in front and at our side, the
mountain; and overhead the larks were singing, the stars were waning,
and the soft light and brilliant colouring of the early morning were
creeping up the sky.
As we rose higher and higher above the village, the view behind us
widened, and the way became steeper and more difficult for the horses;
perhaps in places also slightly dangerous. About half the distance of
the mountain’s height upward, all vegetation ceases, and the path,
joining that from Oiwake, a hamlet lying several miles nearer Karuizawa
than does Komoro, proceeds over a steep ascent of loose ash to the edge
of the outer ridge. This ridge appears from the villages below to be
the summit of the volcano, but is in reality considerably below it. It
was near this point that we learned the discouraging experiences of the
party of pedestrians who had started out at about midnight of the night
before. The native guide whom they employed had lost and then deserted
them; the young woman had fainted quite away with exhaustion; the men
detailed to procure assistance and have her conveyed to the nearest
farmhouse, several miles away, had of course abandoned the excursion;
while the others had been able only to have a glimpse from the
mountain’s top, and were now hastening down in the hope of meeting us,
who were ascending with the baskets containing a much-needed breakfast.
It was some satisfaction to know that the man whom we had earlier seen
wandering around in a clearing on the side of a lower mountain which
arose across a wooded ravine was no other than the faithless guide. He
had lost himself, after abandoning his charge!
When we came within a mile of the foot of the true cone the _bettos_
struck and demanded more _backshish_, under the pretence that this was
as far as they had been hired to go. Negotiations followed, accompanied
by threats, and resulting in our moving onward after another annoying
delay to the proper place from which to attack the mountain.
After a mid-day breakfast we began the last stage of our climbing of
Asama-yama; and indeed this can scarcely be called a climb in any
strict meaning of the word. It is rather a stiff walk--ankle deep
or more in scoriæ and ashes--up a cone some two thousand feet in
perpendicular height. It was obvious that we could no longer hope to
have the interesting experiences covered by the original plan. There
was no chance of seeing the volcanic fires made more impressive by the
darkness of night; and sunrise had already passed by many hours. What
was still worse, just while we were eating luncheon, a thick cloud came
down upon the mountain and completely shrouded objects even a few rods
away. There remained, however, the crater and its unceasing display of
the forces raging within. Plodding steadily along, with muscles stiff
and aching from the six-and-a-half hours of such a horse-back ride,
brought us to the top; and here, of course, the cloud had somewhat of
the same effect as that which we had expected to be furnished by the
darkness of night.
The side of the cone of Asama-yama is strewn with large, rough
fragments of loose lava, and unfathomable rifts extend for the greater
part of the distance down to its very base. The crater is almost
circular in shape, and nearly a mile in circumference. Its sides and
crest are horribly jagged; and its depths, as far down them as one can
see, give a lively picture of the popular conception of a veritable
hell. The coolies warned us on no account to throw any stones, however
small, into the crater; otherwise the god of the mountain might be
angered by the insult, and avenge it by overwhelming us with fire and
smoke. To escape any touch of such a fate, it seemed to us unbelievers
more necessary to keep as much as possible to the windward side of the
crater. And, indeed, even with this caution, it was not possible to
escape all discomfort. On approaching as near as was at all safe, one
saw, as far as sight could reach, great masses of sulphur on the rocks,
clouds of steam bursting from the sides and clouds of smoke rising
from lower down; while once in about every two minutes sheets of flame
sprang out and rose occasionally far above the crater’s mouth.
Coming down the cone, we were constantly losing the path, so thick had
the cloud surrounding the mountain become. The prospect of descending
at any other than the right spot was not at all attractive; for this
would mean wandering about indefinitely in those many square miles of
the region which had been desolated and rendered uninhabitable by the
eruption of more than a century before. This mishap we undertook to
avoid by the simple expedient of always keeping within easy hailing
distance of each other; and then when any one of the party picked up
the lost path, it was easy to reassemble the entire party.
The ride back to the inn at Komoro was even more tedious than the ride
upward had been. In places it was, as a matter of course, somewhat more
dangerous, considering the character of the _bettos_ and their horses.
Mindful of this and willing at times to escape the torture of the
pack-saddles, my Japanese friend and I walked a considerable proportion
of the distance; the missionary ladies trusted the Lord and never once
dismounted from their horses. In these different ways we all arrived
safely at the inn from which we had set out about fourteen hours before.
And now we were to have another specimen of the wisdom and morality of
the old-fashioned innkeeper in his dealings with foreigners in Japan.
For our host, through whom the contract for the horses had been made,
insisted that he must have double the contract price, on the ground
that the animals had doubled the distance for which they were hired, by
bringing us back again. Here, for the third and last time, the shaming
and threatening process was gone through with, and justice in dealing
reluctantly forced instead of submission to fraud. By the time this
unwelcome item of business was accomplished, however, it was necessary
for my friend and me to bid good-bye to the rest of the party and to
make all possible haste in jinrikishas to the station in order to catch
the last train for Shin-Karuizawa, where we intended to spend the
night. For we knew that here, in close proximity to the station, a new
tea-house had just been opened by a host who was desirous of catering
to foreigners and who had some faint notions at least of what was
necessary in order to realise his desire.
On arrival, our first inquiry was for that old-fashioned Japanese
bath, which, when followed by the native form of massage, excels, as
a remedy for exhausted nerves and sore and tired muscles, anything to
be found elsewhere in the world. The reply of the host was that, of
course, the bath had been prepared, but only one other guest had as yet
made use of it; if then the foreign gentleman had no objection on this
account, he could be served at once. It would take an hour, however, to
prepare a fresh bath. Under the circumstances, promptness seemed much
preferable to extreme squeamishness; and only an extreme of this trait
so inconvenient for the traveller in those days in Japan would raise a
mountain of objections, when one knew that every decent Japanese does
his washing of the entire body most thoroughly, before he enters the
bath.
After a bath and a supper of rice, eggs and tea, came _amma san_,
the professional blind _masseuse_ of the neighbourhood, who, for the
munificent sum of twenty cents--fee and tip of generous proportions
included--greatly relieved the tired pedestrians. The trip next
morning down the tram was much less uncomfortable than the upward trip
had been. In the evening of the same day I spoke in the theatre at
Maebashi, the principal centre of the silk trade of this region; and
then the following day we went on to Ikao. The fifteen miles between
these two places were travelled in jinrikishas or on foot,--a style
of journeying which was pleasant and more merciful, since the steep
rise of the latter part of the way made their work too hard even with
two men to each jinrikisha. And indeed, I have never been able to
be amused rather than angered at the sight, common enough even now,
of a fat English or American woman jabbing a little Japanese man
with her parasol in order to make him run faster. How can we modify
so as to cover a case like this, the motto: “A merciful _man_ is
merciful to his _beast_!” And here I should like to say a good word
for the Japanese jinrikisha runner. In the old-time treaty ports,
chiefly through the influence of foreigners, he has indeed been sadly
corrupted. But in the old feudal towns and country places he is in
general an honest, well-meaning fellow, who strives hard to give
satisfaction to his employer by doing his hard work faithfully. And
of the several whom I have had with me for weeks and months together,
there has not been one to whom I have not become attached.
[Illustration: “FOR CENTURIES LOVERS HAVE MET ABOUT THE OLD WELL”]
There is no need to describe the attractions of Ikao, with its main
street consisting of a nearly continuous steep flight of steps, and
its houses on the side streets hanging over each other as they sit on
the terraced slope of Mount Haruna, or border on the deep ravine of
Yusawa, through which rushes a foaming torrent. For centuries lovers
have met about the old well in the centre of its lower end. All this
will be remembered by those who have been there; or it can be read
about in the guidebooks. But other engagements prevented a long stay in
this delightful spot; nor could time be spared for a visit to Mushi-yu,
further up the mountain, where numbers of peasants were coming to
avail themselves of the sulphurous gases which were supposed to be
good for rheumatic troubles. The acuteness of our self-denial of the
last-mentioned privilege was enhanced by an advertisement which was
posted just where the path up the mountain diverges from the main way,
and where the Christian patriot Neesima spent some of his last hours.
This advertisement read: “Hot steam baths! uncommon to the World. Cures
rhumatiz, stummach-ake and various other all diseases by Cold caught.”
The return to Tokyo was wholly commonplace. In spite of numerous petty
annoyances and disappointments, such as are to be expected anywhere in
the world by the traveller in as yet unfrequented parts, and even when
recalling with a grimace the physical discomforts of the pack-horses
with their wooden saddles and their faithless _bettos_, my friend and I
are still fond of recurring in memory to the fun we had when, in July
of 1892, together we climbed Asama-yama.