PRIVATELY PRINTED FOR THE AUTHOR
CHICAGO
1902
DEDICATED TO MY
GRANDSONS
_John and Hunt Wentworth_
_Introduction._
_I must acknowledge that I hesitate to place this manuscript in print.
It has been a struggle for me in my declining days, with impaired health
and imperfect vision; but my desire is that my grandsons, John and Hunt
Wentworth, to whom I dedicate this book, may glean from its leaves some
knowledge and, perhaps, it may create a desire to take the same trip
some day, having first gained for themselves a storehouse of knowledge
with which they may be enabled to see the Orient and other foreign lands
with a greater degree of appreciation. By that time, the "Problems of
the Far East" may have been solved, and light divine will shine in the
dark places._
_If a few copies find their way into the hands of friends, those who
know me well will have charity, as they know the difficulties I have had
to surmount in accomplishing the work._
_E. H._
_July 31, 1902._
Wm. Johnston Printing Company
Chicago
_My Trip Around the World_
CHICAGO, August 19, 1895.
Have you ever had a desire so great that it became a controlling
influence, and when that desire or wish was gratified and that day dream
became a reality to feel an overwhelming sadness--a heart failure? If
so, you can realize how on August 19, 1895, at 6:30 p. m., I left
Chicago with a heavy heart for a voyage around the world in company with
my brother, his wife and son, the latter just relieved from college
life.
We arrived in St. Paul in time for breakfast, the train already made
up that was to convey us on the Canadian Pacific Railroad to Vancouver,
B. C.
Our attention was at once directed to the immense wheat fields of
Minnesota and villages few and far between. Through the endless prairies
of the Dakotas, with no signs of vegetation along the railway, and but
little animal life. A few Indians visit the station on the arrival of
trains; some to barter, others--blind or crippled--to beg. The third day
out, at 1:30 p. m., we reached the Glaciers, where we remained
twenty-four hours. Through Assinniboin, north of western Dakota, we had
noticed deep furrowed trails of the buffalo crossing the road from north
to south. Now and then, their bones were seen in white patches on the
prairies, and at the stations tons were ready for shipment east to make
tooth-brush handles and bone dust for soda fountains, etc. We had been
advised to stop at the Glaciers instead of Banff, perhaps by some
traveler who felt the inconvenience of getting up at three o'clock in
the morning to take the train. We regretted it, however, when we were
told that the hotel is nestled among the mountains rising over 5,000
feet above it, all of them snow capped and far down the sides of the
deep gorges was still seen the same white vestment. The Glacier House,
where we spent the night, is like a Swiss chalet in architecture. To sit
upon its piazza and gaze on the lofty mountain peaks is a sublime sight.
To watch the sun climbing its sides, rose-tinting the snows which lie
like a mantle over their height, is not soon forgotten; and to listen to
the mighty roar of the foaming cataract, which tumbles over the
precipitous foothills, one can but exclaim: Almighty One, how great are
thy works! The path leading through the forest to the glacier is most
picturesque, but not easily trodden. The constant fear of encountering a
wolf or bear, together with the sight of the great mountain of ice, soon
cools one's ardor, and we were content to retrace our steps and to
gather after dinner around an old-fashioned stove in the exchange of the
Inn with a score of travelers and listen to the stories of their
adventures and have for an object lesson skins of the grizzlies but
lately captured, which had not a soporific effect, but less terrific
than meeting their majesties face to face.
The scenery from the Glacier House to Vancouver, through the Selkirk
Mountains is overpowering; around countless curves, over lofty trestles
and ragged edges of fearful precipices the line of cars pursues its way.
The stupendous heights are at times absolutely shrouded in smoke; the
climb of twenty-seven hundred feet in thirty miles around the mountain
shelves and through vast snow sheds (most expensive in their
construction), to emerge again into the light for a glance down the
gorges into the glaciers, over and above to the lofty summits, is all
the imagination can picture, and the traveler feels like a "mighty atom"
in the midst thereof.
On the fifth day out from home we arrived in the city of Vancouver. Our
vessel, the "Empress of Japan," lay at anchor very near the wharf, and
after securing our cabins and seats at the table we returned to the
Hotel Vancouver, where we remained from Saturday till Monday morning.
Owing to a delayed train, we did not sail before midnight. We had
forty-seven out-going missionaries, some returning from a vacation
granted once in seven years, others were about to enter on untried
duties. The Rev. S. F. J. Schereschewsky, wife and daughter, were among
the number. He was a paralytic--the stroke was superinduced by a
sunstroke in China, where he had labored heroically in a translation of
the Bible into the Chinese language. He was taken to Paris where, under
Charcot's care, he recovered sufficiently to return to Cambridge, Mass.,
where his work was completed ready for publication. This he desired to
have done in Shanghai. We were told his translation would excel all
others that have ever been made.
At 10 o'clock each day, during the voyage of fourteen days the
missionaries would gather together for a short service in the salon,
where admittance was free to all. The ship averaged 370 miles a day; a
few of the passengers found the "rocking in the cradle of the deep"
rather disagreeable, but the majority of them kept their chairs and were
well repaid, for the air was a tonic too good to be missed. The ship was
well disciplined, the table inviting, the service entirely
Chinese--whose sense of decorum was most marked.
On Sunday evening, the thirteenth day out, we expected to anchor at
Yokohama, but a fearful wind arose; the captain left his seat at the
dinner table in haste and ordered the ship's course changed. We were
skirting a terrific typhoon. We were in sight of land, but instead of
reaching it at seven-thirty in the evening we did not accomplish it
until 10 o'clock Monday morning. The steamer "Belgic" was stranded that
night forty-three miles from Yokohama. The captain, who had for forty
years made successful trips, was destined to see his vessel wrecked; no
lives were lost but the rebuke he received cost him the loss of his
position--and much greater the loss of reason. He was taken to a
madhouse.
The 9th of September found us in the hands of our guide, who had been
engaged to meet us on board the vessel on our arrival. Jinrikishas were
in waiting, we rode to the custom house and from there to the Hotel
Grand, along the Bund skirting the water's edge. The sun shone
brilliantly, and all Nature seemed to bid us welcome. The hotel site is
unequaled; the gentle sea breezes seem to follow us; Englishmen and
Americans crowded the verandas, and apparently gave us a warm welcome.
Long lines of jinrikishas formed a barrier between the waters of Yeddo
Bay and the hotel, each in charge of a coolie, whose dress (if any)
shocked us; but to this nude condition we soon became oblivious.
A ride along the shore of the Mississippi Bay, and through the country
where rice and millet grow abundantly, in a jinrikisha with a good
natured coolie is a delight. The Bungalow of the native all exposed to
view is a sample of neatness, while the children, most gentle with each
other, play in numbers around the home.
On this drive and but a short distance from Yokohama is the English
concession, homes hidden almost from view by high walls and dense
foliage. In that land of sunshine, with the cool breeze from the sea,
the constant influx of European and American travelers, keeping one in
touch with the world and with the simplicity of the surroundings, one
can imagine a tranquilizing life and a happy coterie.
The streets of Yokohama are narrow, the houses of one, sometimes two
stories, all on line with the sidewalk and with apparently no privacy.
The gutters are flushed with water, which seems to be used for all
purposes, even to the bathing of children. The absence of horses gives
ample room for the masses of men, women and children who throng the
streets. No haste is manifested, save when a line of jinrikishas of
heavily freighted coolies appear, and then with perfect good nature the
right of way is given. No menace, no insults are heard. The perennial
smile of women and the submission of the men is enough to conquer all
antagonism to foreigners, if any exists. Nevertheless, a guide is
indispensable to protect against intrusive curiosity, for wherever you
stop, there the gaping crowd surrounds you.
The shopping fever seems to manifest itself almost immediately on
arrival at Yokohama; in fact, I heard of no epidemic so fatal to
visitors. Your guide, who has an eye to the commission he will receive
on all your purchases, gives you his advice as to where you shall
buy--to his best advantage. As truthfulness is not a Japanese virtue, it
is well to consult your fellow traveler and to use your own judgment as
to quality. Each city of Japan seems to have its specialty; for
instance: We found the handsomest kimonas, the finest cloisonais in
Yokohama: the best carving in ivory in Tokio.
As for a gentleman's outfit it would be advisable to go to Yokohama with
an empty trunk, for good materials and perfect fit are guaranteed for
marvelously low prices. There your duck suits, Pongees and silk
underwear for the tropics are laid in with great satisfaction. The
adaptation in imitation is most striking. A waist of a dress given the
tailor will be so closely copied in fit and style and delivered in so
brief a space of time that it makes you fairly sigh when you think of
the waste of time and mistakes that our own modistes often subject us
to, but there is no originality displayed by the Japanese.
The native woman is always clothed; the unmarried, known by the style of
hair dressing, are neat and gayly attired in their kimonas and bright
sashes, are attractive, but the absolute negligence of the mothers is
revolting. The hair if not in strings, is most loosely bound up; no more
pomade and bows; their teeth blackened, and their bosoms so exposed that
their elongated condition becomes revolting. We were told that supply of
the human dairy never ceases while the demand exists. No sooner does one
child let go, than another takes hold--hence the accessibility.
To visit the temples is of daily occurrence. There, hundreds of natives
are huddled together, prostrating themselves before the tinselled
altars, leaving behind them in the space they have occupied a coin, of
but little value, it may be, but something to denote their willingness
to support their religion. These coins are gathered by the priests, and
a theft is unknown.
Strangers are admitted without hesitancy to the rooms where cloisonai
and bronze are manufactured, the close quarters, the simplicity of
utensils, the perfection of workmanship, the untiring patience is to the
nervous American the wonder of the age.
At night the streets of the city are thronged. Along and outside the
curbstone are peddlers with their wares spread upon the ground with a
single lamp light, around which gather the customers. The jugglers
seated behind open lattice work perform their feats to admiring groups,
while theatrical performances all in full blast, shut up from view from
the street with but a slight screen, seem well patronized.
Many women are sold by their parents for the payment of a debt or the
support of their families. The government confines these characters to
their own quarters; they are not allowed on the streets of the city. We
turn willingly on the following day to something more elevating and
visit Enoshina, via the Imperial Railroad. The chief object of interest
at Kamakura, our first stopping place, is the "Dai Butsa"--"Great
Buddha." It stands alone as the highest embodiment of Japanese art;
height, forty-nine feet and seven inches; circumference, ninety-seven
feet and two inches; surrounded by beautiful Camphor and Echo trees.
This bronze image is supposed to have been erected in 1252. The temple
built over this image was destroyed in 1494. Since then it has remained
exposed to the elements. Within the image is a space containing a
shrine. The eyes of Buddha are of pure gold; the silver boss on the
forehead weighs thirty pounds--it signifies light, or wisdom. Not far
from this image of bronze stands the temple of Kovanon, the Goddess of
Mercy, whose image is seen indistinctly behind folding doors. It is of
brown lacquer, gilded and is thirty feet high. We enter and
involuntarily lay our hand upon it for the virtue that may arise from
our act of faith.
We again summon our coolies and, along the water's edge, are drawn to
the hillside on whose summit is one of the most picturesque tea houses
in Japan. The ascent is rather steep, but through shaded paths lined on
either side with stands where attractive souvenirs may be purchased,
chopsticks of fancy design, jewelry, shell ornaments, etc., etc. The
view from the tea house overlooking the sea is most charming. There our
guide has laid for us a tempting lunch brought from the hotel at
Yokohama. Tea and service is offered us by most graceful Japanese
waitresses, who have no hesitation in assisting our gentlemen change
their clothing for the bathing suit, that they may follow them to the
water's edge to see them sport like fish in the bright blue waters, and
were it not for the pestiferous fleas, one might declare the excursion
perfect.
The journey to Niko by rail is most diversified, shaded for miles by the
Cryptomeria trees. The pear tree, trellised with its luscious fruit
somewhat like our Russet apple or a taste akin to watermelon, is seen.
The day's journey is made all the more agreeable by the luncheon of
quail sandwiches, fruits and hot tea, the latter made by our guide in
our compartment. At five-thirty o'clock in the evening we arrive at the
Hotel Niko, the weather cold and rainy, a poor table and damp,
uninviting apartments. A brazier is at the solicitation of the guests
placed in the drawing room. There we barter all evening with natives for
furs of the monkey, idols of ivory and objects of interest of wood and
bronze. The trip to Lake Chuzendi, eight miles from Niko, is made by
chairs and jinrikishas carried and drawn by the coolies. For our party
of four we take two chairs and three jinrikishas and seventeen
coolies--four for each chair, two to pull and one to push the
jinrikishas. The third jinrikisha is for our guide and hamper of
provisions. The road zigzags in many turns up the steep sides of the
mountain, followed by a dashing stream issuing from Lake Chuzendi, known
as "Kenon-no-taks," which falls in beautiful cascades and seethes over
the dizzy heights, while our sturdy pullers keep up a tremendous pace
with a continuous cry of warning to a chance pedestrian or cart of a
street vender, whom we meet on the narrow ledges drawn by the same
patient coolie. Baskets hung on a pole and borne by two men often
contain a native woman and perhaps a child; mules with panniers so large
filled with vegetables and merchandise that you can scarcely see the
poor animal, slowly plodding along this highway led by a woman or more
often a small boy with a rain cloak of straw and a wide brimmed hat of
the same material, which are so cumbersome that you look almost in vain
for the wearer. We dismount wherever a fine view is obtainable, and
invariably find a tea house. Attentive waitresses, clad in their bright
kimonas, regale you with small cups of tea and cake, to say nothing of
the peppermint candies offered for a few pennies with a low bow and
bewitching smile. Cushions to rest upon--with invisible occupants
(fleas), who insist upon accompanying you during the journey,
notwithstanding your efforts to shake them off. If a bright day is
vouchsafed the traveler the view from the summit is glorious, the tea
house commodious; fishing with nets adroitly thrown brings in an
abundant supply for the table. Our curiosity led us into an apartment
where the noon meal was being prepared by a wife for her liege lord. The
cooking was done over a few coals in a brass brazier filled with ashes.
A steel skewer placed upright in the ashes on which was suspended a
fish, overhanging the coals, which by frequent turnings was most
effectually dried and apparently made a savory dish. An omelet most
tempting and a bowl of rice was then placed upon a low table before
which the husband sat upon his haunches and ate most leisurely, while
the wife retired into a corner endeavoring to satisfy a hungry infant.
The great question of the Orient is: Will the day ever come when an
equality of sex will be acknowledged? We put the question to our
well-educated guide, who shook his head and replied, "In America women
rule, but in Japan the master is man." A missionary told me that they
endeavored early to marry the converted man to the Christian woman and
to insist that they should sit together at their meals, but it was a
hard lesson and seldom adopted.
The temples of Niko surpass all others that we saw in Japan. Broad
avenues, well shaded, lead up to the hills upon which they were built.
In 1617 Hidetada, the second Shogun, removed the body of his father to
this spot. He was deified by an order of the Mikado, under a name
signifying "The Light of the East," the great incarnation of Buddha. His
grandson finished the temple erected in memory of his grandfather and
was himself enshrined there. The five-story pagoda, 105 feet high, lends
interest to this spot. The decorations of these temples are of carved
wood in panels, painted in gorgeous coloring. Much of this carving is
the handiwork of the celebrated "Hidare Jingoro," other work that of
"Tunza." The group of three monkeys, blind, deaf and dumb, and the
"sleeping cat," all have religious signification. The floors of these
temples are covered with padded matting; in consequence, no one is
allowed to enter without removing his shoes, or slipping a cotton
covering over those he has on. The altars are ornamented with immense
brass storks, with candelabra in their mouths, and tinselled lotus
flowers with leaves of brass are much in vogue. The tombs are guarded
with painted monsters representing gods of Wind and Thunder. The
services are not unlike those conducted in the Catholic Church by
continuous chanting. Pilgrims are coming and going, offering their
prayers after first signaling the gods by ringing a bell, the rope of
which is often made of human hair, a sacrifice made to appease the gods
during an epidemic. Near by and in the same enclosure is the sacred
horse, a stupid looking animal, guarded by an old woman, who for a
trifling recompense will feed it a few beans from a small saucer.
From Niko we go to Tokio, a city of magnificent distances, the home of
the Mikado. We stop at the Imperial Hotel, the best kept in Japan.
Temples and tombs set apart in sequestered groves, seem to be the resort
of pleasure-seekers and pilgrims. Once the ceremonial worship is over,
the people clap their hands to notify their god of their duties having
been performed, and turn for rice, tea or chat. Many of the petitions
are written on slips of paper and are left on the gratings that protect
the idols, and those frightful guardians at the entrance are frequently
covered with moistened balls of paper containing their written prayers.
Thirty years of civilization has not changed the agricultural
implements. The same plow that upheaved the soil one thousand years ago
turns it now; the same punt that furrowed the waters is the same to-day;
the style of architecture of the old Tartar order, derived from the old
Tartar tents, with immense curving and overhanging roof, repeats itself
in keeps and temples. Possibly this stereotype is the result of being
for ages cut off from other nations. The ponderous bells, struck by
great beams of wood swung from the outside, give forth mighty mysterious
murmurings.
The population of the city of Tokio is a million and a half (1895) and
covers a territory as large as London. The castle of the Mikado, in the
center of the city, occupies a space of several miles in circumference.
There are three castles, and between each a moat; the inner side of each
has a wall of sixty to ninety feet high, built of huge stones of massive
weight. The inner castle is surrounded by beautiful wooded grounds,
miniature lakes, streams and meadows. The public buildings and those
occupied by government officials are of European architecture. The
streets of the city are narrow, no sidewalks, and the one-story houses
serve as workshop and residence for the occupant. The inhabitants go
bareheaded, carrying umbrellas. The convenience of the river that runs
through Tokio and the canals that intersperse its streets is very
apparent. Public education is compulsory. Japan in its whole extent,
with all its islands included, covers about as much territory as North
and South Dakota combined. Although it has an immense system of
irrigation, only one-twelfth of its soil is under cultivation, and the
rice crop entirely dependent upon it. The population of forty million of
people of untiring industry is rewarded by a mere living. For centuries
the cultured class of patrons of the temples have given these people
work, for every rich temple adds to its wealth bronzes, lacquered work,
vestments of brocades, tapestries and carvings of images, each having
its fire-proof building in which its treasures are kept; they are not
seen in the temples. As for the missionary work, we visited the "Mary
Colby Seminary," a boarding and day school in Yokohama, Miss Grafton of
Vermont being principal. At that time there were fifty native children
as scholars, most of them able to pay for their own tuition. It is
impossible to calculate the strength and influence of these teachings,
and where the schools become self-supporting they must be strongholds.
We were told that demand for teachers was much less than the number
waiting to be called. At Kiota we visited the "Dobisha School," a
university started in 1875, under the auspices of the American Board of
Missions; connected with this institution is the girls' school and
training school for nurses; also a hospital. A warm reception by Miss
Benton, the principal of the girls' school, from Los Angeles, Cal.,
awaited us, and we were shown through the buildings, and were most
astonished at the well built and commodious edifices, surrounded by well
laid out grounds. There were not a half-dozen scholars. On inquiring why
the accommodations were so great and the number of occupants so small,
we were told cholera had kept many away. The few half-grown girls were
seated around the table intent in reading a translation from Shakespeare
of "King Lear," and others Walter Scott's "Lady of the Lake."
One of the girls played upon an instrument some four feet long with two
wire strings. Upon the third finger of her left hand she wore an ivory
ring, and with this she would strike the ivory knots placed at intervals
on the instrument, producing sounds not unlike a guitar. She sat upon
the floor and seemed sullen. The teacher remarked to us that many were
very obstinate. We saw the table prepared for their dinner--a large bowl
of rice in the center and small bowls at each plate, with a dried fish
upon it and a pair of chop sticks. One of the studies most enjoyed is
the arrangement of flowers, which is really a life's study. The
ceremonial tea is conducted with great precision and is regarded as a
graceful accomplishment. The price of tuition was 2 yen 80 sen per
month, caring for their own rooms and doing their own washing. It is
under the Congregational and Presbyterian auspices, and was not in a
flourishing condition financially. After this we visited a dancing
school which was most interesting. The teacher, a gray-headed woman, sat
upon the floor with a dozen or more pupils around her. In one hand she
held a wand, in the other a fan. Each child received individual
instruction, the scholar standing bare-footed, with her eyes fixed upon
the instructor; in her hand an oiled paper parasol, which when swaying
her body to and fro she handled most gracefully, while the only music
was the old woman's voice in mournful cadence, by the rhythm of which
her fan seemed in sympathy. With the wand she would strike her fan when
she wished an emphatic stamping of feet.
The bronze factories, open to the traveler, are well worthy of a visit.
The mixture of gold, copper, tin and silver into these ornaments are
regulated in price by the quantity of gold and silver used. The intaglio
figures are overlaid with these precious metals, and the deft hand of
cunning workmanship is perceptible in every article produced. The Rapids
of Katsuragawa (a famous resort in the maple season) is fourteen miles
by jinrikisha from Kiota, which takes about three hours and a half to
accomplish. Our party of five required five jinrikishas and ten men,
much of the road being upgrade and through tunnels. Rice fields abounded
and the scenery wild and picturesque. A tea house at the end of the ride
affords room for us to have our own luncheon spread, and after an hour's
rest we take a boat, to which our jinrikishas and coolies are
transferred. The descent of the rapids requires two hours' time. The
pilot stands half clad at the helm, while three men with long ropes
attached to the vessel run along the rocky shore, pulling with all their
strength. The bed of the river is rocky. Artificial improvements have
been made rendering the channel more navigable, but the weirdness of the
scene is heightened by the flashes of lightning and the low,
reverberating thunder claps that were followed by slight rain. The boat
trembles and bends before the fury of the waters. We are assured that
the pilot is skillful and an accident is the exception. We land at
Arashizama and resume our jinrikisha ride to Kiota.
Alternate days are spent in the shops. We find jade to be an expensive
article. The stone is very difficult to carve, hence its value. The pale
green in color is most desirable; a cup of cornelian red, very tiny, was
145 yen; a small figure of a lion, beautifully carved, 175 yen. There is
a superstition among the natives of Japan and China that anklets or
bracelets of jade keep off the evil eye.
We next visit Nara, the holy city. It is not to-day a tenth of its
former size, as it is no longer the imperial seat of government.
Situated at the foot of a range of mountains are beautiful groves,
through which wind broad avenues, shaded by the cryptomeria trees.
Temples are hid away in sequestered spots; in one of these the sacred
rite of an ancient dance is kept up by priestesses. For a stated fee you
can have it executed. The dress worn is of ancient type and bears the
Wisteria crest of the Hasaga temple. These dancers wear a white,
expressionless mask; their movements, together with the doleful music
furnished by the priests with kotos, pipes and drums, make you feel well
satisfied with a brief performance, the tune suggesting Watts' "Hark
from the tombs, the doleful sound," etc. Here we meet crowds of pilgrims
enjoying the beautiful groves with old trunks of trees covered with
camellias, wisterias, plum and wild ivy, which are the marvels of the
place. The great bell, thirteen feet high, containing thirty-six tons of
copper, an image of Buddha, fifty-three feet in height, and a museum
erected and sustained by the government are the chief attractions of
Nara. Together with the Temple of Taconda, with its fine wood carvings
and its beautiful little lake near by, with shoals of speckled fish
which are fed daily for the entertainment of visitors. Our inn was
strictly Japanese. The apartment set aside for us was partitioned into
rooms by mosquito netting. Imagine a room sixty feet long; at intervals
of fifteen feet were hooks, placed in the cornice, upon which were hung
mosquito nets with teaster-tops, forming, as it were, a square chamber.
On the floor of each, beds were made, which consisted of three or four
comforters or futahs, immaculately clean, placed one upon the other,
while one was rolled for our head rest. Before retiring we were asked to
place our valuables in the hands of the proprietor for safety, which we
did in part. Our dinner consisted of soup, chicken and potatoes,
beefsteak and onions. The curiosity of the waitresses of the inn is
laughable; nothing escapes their eyes; even the linings of our dress
skirts were investigated.
The founder of one of the temples is said to have ridden to this place
in 767 on a spotted deer. Since then the animal is almost deified and is
by some supposed to be a messenger from earth to heaven. The groves are
full of these favorites.
Osaka, the Birmingham of Japan, is built upon canals, on either side of
which are lines of storehouses containing cotton goods, chinaware and
wooden utensils. The castle here was occupied by a military force, and
all admittance was denied. Kobe, two hours' ride via railroad, is the
point of departure for us from Japan, after sailing through the Inland
sea and stopping a few hours at Nagasaki. Kobe has an English
concession. Club houses, banks and good hotels gives it a European
appearance. The Japanese portion has its bazaar, crematories and
temples. The hour for cremating is at six o'clock in the evening, and we
visited this place in time to see three bodies already placed in the
furnaces; two of these were in casks, as they were in a sitting
position; that of an infant in a rude box, in such as our oranges are
shipped, and tied with twine. The crematory was on the summit of a hill,
at the foot of which was the cemetery, where the ashes were interred.
The sailing of the "Empress of China" through the Inland Sea is lovely
beyond description. The sky cloudless, temperature about 72 (Oct. 1st,
1895); Americans and English crowded the deck. The harbor at Nagasaki is
fine. War vessels from almost every country lie at anchor in the
sparkling waters. The "Centurion" of the British line and the
"Charleston," of the American, commanded by Captain Coffin, Messrs.
Sharp and Littlefield, officers, gave us a courteous welcome. When the
day was far spent and the last rays of the setting sun reflected its
beautiful coloring on the waters, which glistened like diamonds in an
emerald setting around the vessels, our own flag waved its colors and
the soul-stirring strain, "Should Auld Acquaintance Be Forgot," aroused
all the patriotism and tenderness in our hearts. As we waved a good-bye
to the land of "The Rising Sun" it was with the desire that we might
return to the scenes that had contributed so much to our enjoyment. The
twelve guns fired from the "Centurion" in honor of the occasion seemed
as echoes from the hills bidding us adieu with an au revoir.