THEY had told the Tojin-san in Tokyo that he was to be the first white
man to set foot upon Echizen soil since that historical period when the
Jesuit fathers in the sixteenth century had come near to Christianizing
the nation. The subsequent edicts which expelled all foreigners from the
empire and made the study of Christianity a crime to be punished with
fire, crucifixion or torture, had had their due effect. All this was
long before the coming of the Tojin, however, and Japan had broken its
hermit-like seclusion, and now was fearfully and curiously holding out a
grudging hand to the Western nations pressing her on all sides.
The foreigner was already a familiar figure in the open ports, but so
far, in the interior at least, no white faces were to be seen. It was
therefore with amazement that the Tojin-san first discovered signs that
one of his race had lived recently in Fukui before him.
It was in the Season of Rain-water, the end of February, a dreary
period, when the inexhaustible store of drizzling gray rain dribbled
unceasingly from the skies. To break up the monotony and depression of
the period he had undertaken, with three favorite students, a short
pilgrimage up the Winged Foot River for the purpose of examining a cave
at the base of the mountains wherein, they said, had once been a curious
image. The country people had believed it to be the image of Buddha’s
mother, with her babe in her arms, and pilgrimages were made from all
parts of the country because of its supposed healing abilities.
As the Tojin-san examined the cave, with the interest and eagerness of
the born scientist and archæologist, the youths explained to him the
fate of the image in question. A learned Bonze of the Nichiren sect had
recognized it as an image of the “Criminal Faith,” and, in an excess of
rage, had broken it into fragments.
Over the entrance of the cave a large board was nailed, and on this was
emblazoned the same notice the Tojin had seen wherever he had
travelled—in every city, town or hamlet, at every entrance to temple or
palace, roadside or mountain-pass. He had often inquired what the notice
was, but his questions had always been politely evaded, and once he was
somewhat curtly told it was simply one of the laws of old Japan, now
rapidly becoming obsolete. Now he turned abruptly upon the young
students, who were all deeply devoted to him, and imbued with the new
spirit and thirst for knowledge sweeping like a fever over all the
empire. They, at least, would answer him.
“Higo, just what is this notice? Translate it for me, will you not?” for
the three youths accompanying him spoke the English language with
fluency.
Higo replied with a slight flush of embarrassment:
“It simply refers to the Criminal God, your excellency.”
“The Criminal God? You are very vague.”
“Condescend to pardon the allusion, honored sensei,” said the boy,
apologetically. “To-day, we are ready to repel all such unworthy
references to your exalted nation’s faith.”
“Indeed,” put in earnest-eyed Junzo, “we are not prepared to name any
religion or god criminal. Our august Emperor has set us a divine
example, since he has honorably thrown open the doors to any and all
sects, however odious.”
“And for my part,” contributed Nunuki in his brusque and somewhat surly
manner, “I agree with our ancient philosopher: ‘Dogma is a box in which
small minds are kept.’”
“Dogma is a form of superstition,” said Junzo, “and superstition awakens
the meaner, crueler passions. Do you not agree with me, honored sensei?”
But the latter, his brows drawn in puzzled wonderment, was examining
something which had been cut into the wood of the board on which the
notice appeared.
“What—” he began, when in a singsong voice, after a slight shrug of his
shoulders, Higo began translating the text:
“It reads thus, honored teacher: ‘The evil sect called Christians is
strictly prohibited. Suspicious persons should be reported to proper
officers and rewards given,’ but be not afraid,” he added hastily, “for
it is an old law, and even if still in force to-day your excellency is
exempt.”
“I am trying to decipher what is written under it—in English!” said the
Tojin-san slowly. He took out and applied a magnifying glass to the
board.
A swift, oblique look passed from one student to the other; but when the
American turned toward them for enlightenment, their faces were as
impassive as their feudal ancestors.
“It appears to me,” said he, thoughtfully, “as though some one had cut
words into the woodwork, and that—there are marks as if an attempt had
been made to blot out the words. Now let us see: ‘On—this—Thomas
Mor—18—’ Why, it is recent—within the last ten years!”
He turned about in a state of intense excitement. Something in the
averted faces of his companions increased his curiosity and suspicions.
Ere he could frame another question, Nunuki spoke up abruptly:
“It is well you should know the truth, Mr. Teacher. A Guai-koku-jin
[outside countryman] lived in Fukui before your time.”
“Recently?” demanded the Tojin-san eagerly.
“Seven years since,” said the boy shortly.
The Tojin-san drew a great breath. His eyes kindled. He looked
wonderfully pleased.
“Then that is why some of you students speak English so creditably?”
“No, teacher. Many of us studied in Yokohama. Many have learned by the
book alone. After the coming of your exalted Lord Perry, it became the
chief ambition of all thoughtful men of the New Japan to learn the
English language and its sciences.”
Higo volunteered the above information, but the gruff Nunuki quickly
followed him:
“Be not deceived, excellent sensei, in regard to the baku [fool] who was
here before you. He was not like you, honored sir.”
“No? What was he, then?”
“He was—damyuraisu,” blurted the boy angrily.
The Tojin-san burst into laughter. It was a colloquial word well known
in the open ports, and was applied to the foreign sailor of whatever
nationality. It was the Japanization of the sailor’s favorite
expression: “Damn your eyes.”
Suddenly his face went grave, remembering how the sailors of the white
nations had misrepresented their nations! How, in a constant condition
of drunkenness, they rioted around the open ports. The gravity in his
face was reflected in that of the students.
“It is a subject,” said Junzo gently, “ignored by common consent in
Fukui, because it is painful to our Daimio. He was the fellow’s patron
and protector till the time when the honorable beast betrayed him. Pray
thee, honored sensei,” he added almost pleadingly, “do not seek to know
further in the matter.”
“At least tell me what became of him.”
“Your excellency’s honored feet are surely tired. Your honorable insides
must be entirely empty. Food is good in that event. Let us call the
kurumma.”
They were moving along the road toward the waiting vehicles, which were
to carry them back to the little boat that had brought them down the
river. It was indeed chilly and dreary, and their rubber-coats and hats
of straw were dripping. The Tojin-san, his arm linked in that of the
gentle Junzo, cast a look back at the dimly shadowed mountains, and, as
he did so, the boy dreamily remarked:
“The Fox-Woman of Atago Yama will find wet passage back to Sho Kon Sha
this night. It is said the streams and rivers are all billowing over,
and not even a sprite may spring across them.”
“Have no fear,” said Nunuki gruffly, looking back over his shoulder.
“The fox-woman will find wings suitable to her degraded feet. She’ll not
lack the shelter so illy deserved.”
The words were so brutal, the tone of the boy so full of animus and
hatred that the Tojin-san stopped abruptly. He laid a firm, kindly hand
on either lad’s shoulder.
“Who was it spoke this afternoon of superstitions engendered by a
fanatical dogma?”
For a moment neither of the students answered, then growlingly Nunuki
snarled:
“It is hard to spit against the wind. Facts cannot be altered.”
“By facts—you mean the fox-woman?”
“Her origin, learned sir. It is impossible for the offspring of so vile
a union to be otherwise than unclean, as says the law.”
The Tojin-san said solemnly, his hand emphasizing with its pressure on
their shoulders his words:
“I know nothing of her origin, but to quote a favorite proverb of your
own Japan, remember: ‘The lotus springs from the mud!’”
The Japanese were silenced, deeply moved.
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