A NIGHT IN A JAPANESE TEMPLE--UNSUCCESSFUL ATTEMPT TO "KODAK"
THE MIKADO--LANDED AMONG THE "HEATHEN CHINEE."
The sun was setting when we left Yoshida, and with our path principally
composed of the narrow dikes separating the rice fields, progress was
painfully slow. Miyhoji, seven miles away, was our destination for
the night. We had an idea that Miyhoji was a village, and so clicked
off eight miles before we discovered that we had either passed the
town or were on the wrong track. About one mile back we had seen a
light and there we returned. We were at Miyhoji, one of the historic
old temples of Japan, and there we slept. The priest lived here with
his wife and two acolytes, and a cordial welcome it was they gave
us. At 5 o'clock on the afternoon of Nov. 20, we entered a forest
at the end of Lake Mishi-No-Umi. We had six miles yet to go ere we
sighted Shoji Lake and the hotel at that point kept by Y. Hoshino,
a naturalized Japanese gentleman, who was born in Scotland, and
having lived eighteen years on the islands of Japan, finally became
an adopted citizen. Traveling the forests at night in Japan over lava
beds with path illumed only by a cycle lamp is not the most pleasant
of journeys. The narrow way is uncertain, deep chasms appear upon
either side and I had several rocky falls. I was bruised and battered
when we came to Hoshino's residence and lost no time in taking to
my bed. At daybreak our host called us to view the silent volcano
rising in grandeur to the extreme height 12,365 feet. There is not a
peak in all the grand elevation of the Rockies that can compare with
Fuji. Pike's Peak, taken from its setting of lesser lights, which but
serve to destroy its beauty, and placed upon the plains of Illinois,
would not even prove a petty rival to the one before us. As we looked
upon Fuji that morning a spotless mantle of snow cowled her crest,
the scintillations of which formed a halo of prismatic light about
her, and it did not seem strange to realize that the natives worshiped
this wondrous monument of eruptive power and beauty.
It was our good fortune to be present at the greatest of all "war
holidays" held at Shokausha Park in Kudan, on Dec. 15, 16, 17 and
18. After leaving Hoshino's we returned to Tokio, and spent the time
in touring the vicinity until these great fetes at which the emperor
and empress are always present, were held. Dec. 17, the day upon which
His Imperial Majesty Metsu Hito, Emperor of Japan, was to appear at
Shokousha Park, dawned dull and threatening, and awakened within us the
dread idea that the mightiest of all Japanese would not be on view. At
the park the attendance was something incalculable. Tokio seemed to
have had its million souls augmented by the thousands of Yokohama,
Nikko and other surrounding cities. Our experiences in the vast crowd
were paralleled only by those in the dense throng at the World's Fair
on Chicago Day. Shortly before 11 o'clock, a tremor ran through the
crowd, then a hoarse murmur, and amid a cavalcade of gay lancers,
the carriage of the emperor swept through the lane of blue-coated
soldiers, and halted directly in front of where we were standing. As
the emperor turned and looked about him, I saw a Japanese of low
stature, dressed in the uniform of the commander of the army and navy;
his dark-complexioned face partly shaded by a peculiar hat, heavily
jeweled. The photographs of the Mikado represent him to be a slender
man, with a long face, but they are not true likenesses. The Mikado
has a round, full face, high intellectual temple, a black mustache
which droops over the gentle, pleasing mouth, and with soft eyes,
inexpressibly sad, his face appeals to one as that of a man suffering
under the royal chains which confine him to the narrow limits of the
palace grounds.
He stood but a moment in the roadway and surrounded by nobles of
various high degrees with bowed form, he moved up the graveled path,
ascended the steps of the temple and disappeared within. While he was
at worship my American instinct to obtain a souvenir of the occasion
got the better of my respect for royalty, and I unswung my camera and
prepared to make a picture of the scene. Almost directly two pairs of
brown hands seized the camera, turned it sharply upward, and held it
until the imperial carriage received the person of the emperor and
departed. The Mikado was not to be shot at even by a camera. It was
a keen disappointment to me, but I learned later that it was better
I did not succeed. Had I snapped the picture I should have lost my
camera and probably been roughly handled myself. I was told that I had
been followed all morning by the police, who knew what I would attempt
with the instrument, and who were detailed especially to frustrate
my plans. My camera was not only excluded here, but in all buildings
that held treasures or relics of the government and public departments.
We had spent two months on the volcanic island, our last few days
being fraught with interesting episodes and instructive visits. We
had received so many courtesies at the hands of the Japanese,
both from individuals and government, that we were loathe to leave
for the mainland of China. The final courtesy extended me by the
Japanese Government was the privilege of visiting the new prison just
completed, and as I was the first European granted such permission,
I felt bound to accept the unusual invitation. The precautions taken
against disease by germ in the penitentiary at Tokio are equal to
those practiced in the most famous hospitals and clinics in the United
States and Europe. The wards were models of cleanliness, well lighted,
well ventilated, warm and comfortable. The industrial features of the
institution, I am safe in saying, are superior to those of the vast
state prisons in my own country. There were seven workshops devoted
respectively to the manufacture of fire engines, to the weaving
and spinning of cotton and silk; the manufacture of silk umbrellas;
production of steel hairpins; bricks for the city; the weaving of cloth
and the manufacture of stockings, and one devoted to all branches
of carpentry and wood-carving. The governor of the prison presented
us with many valuable mementoes of our visit. But for that matter,
every Japanese gentleman of rank whom we visited sent us a little
souvenir of our meeting. We were compelled to purchase additional
trunks in which to store our "curios," and when we left on Jan. 12,
1896, on the City of Pekin, for China, we were forced to have our
"excess baggage" shipped to our home in America.
When the Inter Ocean cyclists reached Shanghai, one of the first
sights we wished to see was the people among whom we were to travel
for the next 2,000 miles of our trip, and we wished to see them at
home. To view them in all their glory as an uncivilized, barbaric race,
a trip to the old city was necessary, and on this errand Mrs. McIlrath
and I started Jan. 25. We had intended to ride our wheels, but were
dissuaded from doing so on account of the hindrance they would prove
in sight-seeing. Our friends strongly urged that we take a guide,
claiming it unsafe for foreigners to walk about the city alone, but as
we were perforce to travel in Chinese territory far less accustomed
to "foreign devils" than the inhabitants of Shanghai, we resolved
to make our initial bow among the vegetarians unprotected, save by
our nerve and a stout cane. Crowds gathered around us wherever we
stopped. When I pulled out my notebook and fountain pen, the masses
literally fought for places near in order to see me write, and when I
had finished and upheld the scrawled page for them to look at, a roar
of laughter went up, and several pointed to Chinese characters upon
the dead walls of a temple, and in pantomime asked if the ink tracings
on the page represented writing. The task of getting away from the
crowd was much more difficult than forming it, and we were escorted
the remainder of the afternoon by a monster band of chattering idlers.
In many of the shops passed we noticed little girls, mere babies they
were, standing on stools or leaning over railings, their heads on their
arms. The poor tots moaned constantly, their little tear-stained faces
depicting anguish seldom seen on the bright faces of children. Nothing
seemed to attract their attention, nothing pleased them, and little
wonder. Their tiny feet had been bound in unyielding rolls of cloth
since the day they were born, and already the bones and sinews were
crushing each other into a mass of unrecognizable pulp, held together
only by the skin and bandages. This practice is common among the
Chinese of all classes and produces the fashionable small foot of the
women. The bandages once placed on are never removed, except to be
replaced by others, and in result, hundreds of lives are sacrificed
annually, the children's feet mortifying and sloughing away. It is
erroneous to believe that only women of high caste have small feet. I
saw women whose feet were only two and a half and three inches long,
dragging drays.
For four hours we wandered through the dark alleyways and streets,
passing through tunnels and archways that were filled with noxious
vapors and used by the public for all manner of nuisances. We
experienced no interference with our progression, the only hostile
feeling being shown was by a few street arabs who pelted us with
stones and fruit skins. This treatment would be accorded a Chinese
by our own precious youth in the States and does little harm if no
attention is paid to the offenders. Dogs made several attacks upon
us, but the little ammonia gun I always carry effectually checked
all onslaughts and filled the observing Chinese with wonder. The
"gun" was one of my own manufacture, simply a rubber bulb with a
short glass nozzle. The bulb I kept filled with ammonia, and when
dogs annoyed me, either on my wheel or afoot, the bulb, concealed
in the hand, with the nozzle projecting between the fingers, made a
most effective weapon. Directing the nozzle in the dog's direction,
a slight pressure sent a tiny stream into the yelping cur's mouth
and eyes. The dog's violent breathing invariably caused him to take
a full inhalation before he was aware of the evil designs upon him,
and the effect was instantaneous. He would close his mouth with a snap
and then perform a wild side somersault on his back. Several times I
used the gun upon dogs in Shanghai and did it in such a manner as to
conceal the act. The masters of the animals, who stood grinning while
the brutes yelped and snapped at us, were unable to comprehend the
reason for Fido's acrobatic feats, and in each instance after looking
the dog over to find some injury, laughed heartily, and addressed to
us words in reference to the dog which were no credit to man's most
faithful friend.