JAPAN'S QUEER CREDIT SYSTEM--INTER OCEAN TOURISTS AT THE BURIAL
OF PRINCE KITASHIRAKAWA--A POINT FOR ALL AMERICANS.
The Club Hotel, which is the headquarters for American tourists
and residents, is situated only a block from the pier and adjacent
to the Consulates, shops and points of interest. The owners and
managers are Europeans, or "foreigners" as they are called in Japan,
but the service of the hotel is exclusively by natives. Your room
is cared for by a "boy," your meals served by a "boy" and "boys,"
sometimes 50 years of age, perform every possible service. There
are without doubt more courtesies shown a guest in Japan than in
any other country. Our reception in the city was all that we could
ask. The letter to Col. McIvor, American Consul, from friends at his
home in Cedar Rapids, Iowa, made us thrice welcome at that gentleman's
residence. The fact of our representing an American newspaper made
us at home in newspaper circles, which are controlled largely by
Americans. Our coming had been heralded to the wheelmen of Japan,
and as we were expected some weeks before we arrived, the coming was
of more than ordinary interest.
Bicycling, at the time of my visit, was just beginning to become
popular in Japan, and what machines were used were imported at great
cost from the States and Europe. But with commendable enterprise the
manufacturers of Japan now perfect their own machines, all parts
of which are made and assembled in local concerns, operated by
local capital and mechanics. In Japan it is not expected that cash
will be tendered for anything purchased or rented, with perhaps the
exception of "rickshas," which correspond in their common use to the
cabs of American cities, only that they are drawn by "boys" instead
of horses. There is an abominable system of credit established in
the empire by which all foreigners purchase and temporarily pay for
all articles upon bits of memorandum called "chits." If a gentleman
in Yokohama wishes a drink, a cigar, new hat or even a suit of
clothes, he steps into the nearest place of business adapted to
filling his requirements and, after making his purchase, signs a bit
of paper, giving date, price and buyer's name and address, and the
first of every month the "chit" is sent him as a receipt bill. To a
well-appearing foreigner reasonable credit will be extended without
question. My knowledge of this system was derived in the most peculiar
manner. Mrs. McIlrath and I were touring the shops, when her attention
was attracted by a shawl. She entered the shop, priced the article and
I advised the purchase, but our pocketbook had been left at the hotel,
she blushingly informed me. We thanked the shopman for his trouble
and promised to return the same evening. The price was six yen,
or about three dollars, as quoted by the dealer, and as we started
out of the shop he called to us, asking if the price was too much. I
explained our embarrassed condition, and he immediately wrapped up
the shawl, placing one of the printed slips upon the counter, asked
me to sign a "chit" for five yen. I was an entire stranger, yet upon
credit I obtained for one yen less that which I could not purchase
for cash. The most astonishing fact connected with this extraordinary
system is that no laws are provided to punish dead-beats or frauds.
On Monday, Nov. 11, we journeyed over to Tokio, eighteen miles distant,
to witness the funeral ceremonies over the body of His Imperial
Highness Prince Kitashirakawa, a commander of the Imperial Guard. In
tropical Formosa, under a fierce sun and amid miasmatic jungle, the
prince died of malarial fever Oct. 29. The sad news reached Japan
shortly after our arrival, but by a curious custom, was not announced
to the people as authentic or an accepted fact until officially
given out by the imperial authorities on Nov. 5. In fact the Prince
officially lived until that time. News of his victories in Formosa
brought forth new honors and distinctions, and upon Nov. 2, he, or
rather the corpse, was decorated with the Collar of the Chrysanthemum
and Grand Cordon of the Imperial Family. The service was simple, yet
impressive, without a shade of paganism or superstition. There was
much about it also that would befit countries, considering themselves
superior to Japan to imitate. One most noticeable was the order of
the assembled masses. Not a person offered to step outside of the
prescribed limit. There was no jamming or crowding. No voices spoke
louder than a whisper, and the presence of police and militia was
necessary only as an exhibition of official dignity. Where houses of
greater height than one story faced on the line of march, or porches
existed above the elevation of the street, the curtains at windows and
doors were closely drawn, and the occupants stood in the street. No
yelling, gesticulating mob filled the telegraph and telephone poles
and roofs, for it is not permissible in Japan that anyone look down
upon the funeral of a dignitary. The passage of the Emperor through
the streets calls into effect the same condition. He may be viewed
from an equal level, but never looked down upon from an elevation.
I am glad to record that it is a mistaken impression that there exists
in Japan a general feeling against Europeans and Americans. In any
part of the Mikado's realm the American is as safe as at home and the
European is comparatively as secure. Why is this distinction of a
degree made? During the late chastisement which Japan administered
to China the action was so one-sided that it could scarcely be
called war. As soon as the Russians interfered, threats were made
by a few anarchistic extremists in Yokohama, Tokio and other large
cities, against the "white man" and his property. The simple minds
of the rabble of oriental nations do not regard the English, French,
Russian and German subjects as belonging to distinctive nations, but
classify them as the "white man." The ministers and consuls at Tokio,
during this excitement, were brought under guard to Yokohama. Their
residences were guarded by police, and when any of these gentlemen
drove out in carriages, they were surrounded by detectives, who were
compelled to use force for the passages of their vehicles through
the streets. Not an act of violence occurred which reflected upon the
local government in the slightest degree, but the satisfactory ending
of threatened murder and riot was due entirely to the vigilance of the
secret service department. Upon the other hand, when the United States
Consul drove out there was no necessity of a guard. A sight of the
peerless colors of the United States emblazoned on the carriage door,
or the unmistakable uniform of the driver, and the sea of humanity
which filled the street would part, and with bows and cheers, allow
our representative to go his way. Policemen and officers saluted with
caps in hand, while perhaps only a half square away the guard of one
of the other consuls struggled fiercely with an unyielding mob. That
is the reason I say an American is as safe from personal interference
in any part of Japan as in the heart of any of our great cities. An
Englishman is, in fact, more secure here than he would be in any of
the acquired provinces of Great Britain.
The short rides of the Inter Ocean cyclists, taken in and about
Yokohama, Kanagarua, Mississippi Bay and Tokio, demonstrated to us
the truth that the Japanese have not only respect, but love for the
Yankee. The roads of Japan compare favorably with the boulevards
of American cities, except in matter of width. They are smooth,
hard and upon the sea coast quite level. One of the finest courses I
have ridden over is a six-mile run we took daily before breakfast in
Yokohama. The course begins at the Club Hotel, along the Bund to the
Yalo Bashi, following this to the Haz-Aso-No Bashi and from there to
Mississippi Bay, the Bluffs and back to the hotel.
The Inter Ocean tourists left Yokohama Monday, Nov. 18, having
secured new passports for the interior, where the treaty laws do not
extend protection or privileges to the foreigner. Our destination
was unknown even to ourselves, but as we were astride our wheels it
mattered little where we wound up, so long as interesting scenery and
incidences were daily occurrences. One point, in main, was to form the
center of a circle around which we intended to swing, and that center
was Fujiyama, the sacred mountain. To reach the lower slopes of Fuji
there are many pathways, but for cyclists there is but one that may be
practicably adopted, and that by way of Gotenba, Yamanka and Yoshida,
"the route of temples," the course traveled by the native pilgrims to
Fuji in summer months. We took a southwesterly direction from Yokohama
and came to a well ballasted wagon road, running almost parallel with
the railroad, connecting Tokio with Kobe, 400 miles south. We passed
through the villages of Fujisawa, Hiratsuka and Oisa, crossing the
River Vanugawa, and entering Kodsu, a village of large proportions,
at noon. Kodsu is about thirty miles from Yokohama, and it was here
we had hoped to eat our lunch and find drinking water in which we
could place confidence. The one drawback to tourists in the interior
of Japan is water. In their natural condition the waters are pure,
cool streams, coursing down snow-clad mountains, miles in the interior,
but passing through the villages, their course is diverted into ditches
and water-boxes, running through the gutters and sometimes under the
houses of the town. The sewerage of surface drains empties into these
streams. Cooking utensils and food are washed, fish are cleaned and
even dogs drink from and bathe in these gutters. The same system of
water supply exists in all of Japan, and after we had struck Kodsu,
Mrs. McIlrath and I drank only native-made beer during our stay in
the land of the Mikado.
At 1 o'clock we were again on the road, keeping with the railroad
tracks until we passed through Sakawagawa. Little was to be seen
but rice and vegetable fields, the mountains in the distance and
the swift rushing river coursing to the sea. We covered 72 miles by
7 o'clock, arriving at Gotenba, where we spent our first night in
a Japanese yadoyo, or inn. In a Japanese sleeping apartment there
is nothing to be seen as one enters the room except matting upon
the floor. There is not a table, chair, bed or any other article of
furniture visible. We had begun to think that we were to pass the
night on the floor as we had done in the section houses of Nevada,
when an attendant entered the room, bearing cushions, and a second
one came with a table, small affairs resembling unpadded foot-rests,
braziers with live coals and tiny bronze tea-kettles. The cushions
were piled into soft heaps about fourteen inches high, the tables
placed between, and we were motioned to a seat upon the cushions. To
the right and left were placed box-like trays and in these our food
was served in dainty bowls and dishes. At 9 o'clock, when I thought
it time to retire, I clapped my hands for a servant. To the girl who
answered I made known my wishes and she called two assistants, who
appeared, each bringing a pair of padded comforters. The comforters
were spread upon the matting in layers, and at the head of each was
placed the Japanese substitute for a pillow, a box six inches square by
twelve inches long, the upper edge slightly padded. We passed a most
comfortable night, and awakened only by the maid entering our room
with a tea set. After breakfast we called for our bill and the amount
rendered was two yen, or one dollar in gold. Bed, bath, breakfast
and supper, unequaled service and every attention in a first-class
inn to be had at the rate of sixty cents a day! By 9 o'clock we were
again on the road with Fujiyama looming up thirty miles away. From
the guide, who had previously given us instructions, we knew which
course to take, and so turned up the fork apparently leading to the
very root of the mountain. We did not stop at Yamanaka village, but
rode through the main streets, astounding the natives and passing
from their view, before they realized what had happened, except that
something unseen or unheard of before in Yamanaka had passed their
way. From Yamanaka to Yoshida our path was over level, smooth roads,
but in the latter place we were compelled to stop and consult our
guide-books and the police. At the police station, before we were
given any information, our passports were demanded. I produced mine,
but Mrs. McIlrath had left hers, the most necessary of her effects,
behind. The officer looked over my papers and then pointed to my
wife. The passports had been made separately at our request, and of
course mine made no mention of Mrs. McIlrath. To gain time and collect
my wits I took the paper from the officer's hands and glanced over
the copy attached, which was written in English. An idea "struck"
me. My name was "parted in the middle;" why not give my wife half
of it? Calling the attention of the official to the English copy,
I pointed to "H. Darwin," and then to my wife. Then laying my finger
upon the name "McIlrath," I patted myself on the chest. The official
referred to the Japanese copy, I repeated the pantomime, he smiled
and bowed, and making a few mystic characters upon the passport,
he altered it to read, "H. Darwin, female, and McIlrath, male."