Two strangers to Sendai, tall and uncouth-appearing foreigners, came
down the main street, walking in the swift, swinging fashion peculiar to
the Westerner, so totally unlike the shuffling slide of the native.
They seemed both amused and irritated at the sensation they were
creating, for a veritable little procession followed at their heels.
Small, solemn, and mystified Japanese boys they were for the most part,
who regarded them with the same awesome curiosity they would have
bestowed on a wild beast. A round-eyed, startled little boy of twelve
had followed them all the way from the station, through which they had
entered the city. Others had quickly joined him, until gradually the
following had increased uncomfortably for the foreigners, since these
astonished and curious Japanese ran sometimes ahead of them, to stand in
their track and gaze up at their faces.
Annoyed, the strangers quickened their speed to a rapid gait, which
forced the sandal-wearers into a run in order to keep pace with them.
It was noonday and very warm. No jinrikishas were in sight. The
strangers would have welcomed the piping cries of the numerous
jinrikisha men of Tokyo, who had pestered and swarmed about them there
like flies. Here in the City of Sendai there appeared to be no public
jinrikisha stand as yet, and the “tavern” to which they had been
directed had not as yet dawned upon their vision.
“We seem to be on the chief street,” said one of them. “Better turn
here.”
They turned swiftly down a cross-street which seemed rather a long road,
on the sides of which tall bamboos sprang upward to a great height,
bending at the top into an arch which cast its shade below. The houses
were set back some distance from the road, though garden walls, in which
were small bamboo gates, isolated each dwelling.
The foreigners had now slackened their speed. Their following had
diminished considerably, and those who remained were now keeping at a
respectful distance from the heavy cane which one of the two swung back
and forth in his hand with apparent carelessness. There was a hideous
head on the knob of this stick. Was it possible that this might be a
fiend whose touch would kill any little boy venturing too near? So the
strangers, less troubled by their dwindled following, began to look
about them with some interest.
The street upon which they found themselves appeared cool and refreshing
because of its shadowing trees. There was an atmosphere of refinement
and aestheticism about it that delighted the appreciative foreigners.
“Do you see where it leads?” said the one of the cane, pointing with his
stick down the thoroughfare.
“Straight down to the water. What a wonderful sight!”
At a point where the street curved upward to a slight elevation,
Matsushima, still at a good distance from them, burst upon their view.
The visitors stood as if entranced. One of them lifted a pair of
field-glasses to his eyes. After a full minute’s use of the glasses, he
passed them silently to his companion. The other regarded the scene with
equal admiration.
“We must go up there to-morrow without fail,” he said, waving his hand
towards the heights on the opposite shore.
“Yes,” assented the other; “I understand there’s quite a party coming
along to-morrow.”
“Yes, some Tokyo priest is escorting them. Well, a tourist might well
visit the cemetery of his household.”
The other regarded him with some bewilderment.
“The cemetery of his household?” he repeated.
“This is the place where, three hundred years ago, a Japanese feudal
lord, named Date, I believe, sent an envoy to Rome acknowledging the
Catholic supremacy. This is practically the birthplace of Catholicism in
Japan.”
“Well, this is all very interesting, I must say. Yet I understand the
only mission here, at present, is Presbyterian.”
“Exactly. Catholicism has been practically stamped out. There was a
horrible massacre of the Jesuits here at one time, I believe. This visit
by the priest and the party may do something for the place.”
They resumed their walk in silence.
“I don’t fancy,” said the elder one, “that it will be possible for us to
shake off this little herd behind us. The thing for us to do is to find
that will-o’-the-wisp of a tavern or the mission-house. Where do you
suppose the place is?”
“The mission-house, rest assured, is elevated on some hill. Suppose we
turn upward and—”
He broke off, at the same time stopping abruptly in his walk.
They were before a little garden composed of white stones and
fantastic-spreading trees, seeming to bend their boughs over the
miniature lake as if to regard their own reflected beauty. But it was
not the distinction of the garden which attracted and startled the
strangers, but the little figure which leaned over the gate.
Filtering through the tree-top by the gate, the sun slanted full upon
the head of the girlish form, bronzing the hair almost to the color of
deep gold. The girl’s eyes were wide open as if with faint surprise, her
lips were apart, and she was plainly flushed with some unwonted
excitement. She wore a plum-colored kimono, simple and exquisite. About
her waist was an old-gold obi, and there was a flower ornament in her
hair. The wings of her sleeves fell backward, disclosing arms of perfect
whiteness and little hands which clung in tremulous excitement to the
bamboo railing of the gate.
The tourists had been some months in Japan. One of them was an attaché
to an American consulate. Well acquainted as they were with the
soft-eyed, cherry-lipped beauty of young Japanese girls, they stood
speechless, startled, before the picture that Hyacinth presented, as she
in her turn gazed in wide-eyed astonishment at them. The mission-house
folk were the only Westerners she had ever seen. These strangers did not
at all resemble the Reverend Blount or his friends who came at different
times to visit him. Even their clothes had a different cut, and their
pleasant faces, in spite of their light eyes, to which she could never
become accustomed, were shaven smooth and clean. No devils, thought
Hyacinth quickly, would have such countenances. A mistake had been made
in the popular impression. Nevertheless, the strangers were certainly
odd curiosities.
She blushed all rosy red, even her little ears and neck tingling with
pink, as they paused before her. Half unconsciously she bent her head
and made a timid little motion of greeting to them.
The younger man, the one with the huge stick, said, in an undertone,
“I’m going to speak to her,” and he went a pace nearer.
“Can you tell me where the Dewdrop Tavern is?” he asked, in atrocious
Japanese.
For a moment she hesitated. Then the faintest smile lurked at the
corners of her mouth and a dimple peeped out in her chin. Her voice was
sweet and low.
“The humble one cannot understand such language,” she said, pretending
ignorance of his words, and secretly hoping that she might provoke
further speech from these strange men.
Before the stranger could frame his question in plainer language, Aoi
appeared in the path, hastening down anxiously to the gate. She was
overwhelmed with distress, she declared, that the august ones were
followed so rudely by the children of the community. Would not the
excellencies condescend to pardon the little ones? They must appreciate
how strange they appeared to them. But as for her, Madame Aoi, she was
well acquainted with their people, since her own lord had been English
also.
The two men looked at each other and then at the young girl, as though
understanding now her strange beauty.
“What,” asked Aoi, “is it the excellencies desire that they have deigned
to halt before our insignificant abode?”
“We wish to be directed to some tavern—some place where we can secure
accommodation.”
“Ah, yes, exactly. In the village on the shore of Matsushima there is
the Dewdrop Tavern, but that is some distance away. If the excellencies
will follow the street for a little while longer they will come to the
Snowdrop Hostelry. There the honorable ones would be welcomed with
august hospitality.”
The strangers lingered a moment, watching the two figures at the gate,
now courtesying very deeply. Then they turned slowly and resumed their
walk.
Hyacinth turned to Aoi in great excitement.
“I am going to follow them also, mother. I wish to hear them speak
again. What strange, deep voices! It was enough to make a maiden jump
ten feet with fright. And _how_ the gods have blasted their
countenances! Did you notice, mother, how their skins were bleached like
white linen?”
She shuddered.
Aoi smiled indulgently.
“When one becomes accustomed to the white skin, little one, it appears
very beautiful.”
“Ah, not on a man!” said the girl, with immeasurable disgust. “But
perhaps it is a custom of their country. Who knows! They are barbarians,
are they not? Perhaps these men whiten or chalk their skins like the
priestesses at the temple.”
“Nay, it is all natural.”
But Hyacinth shook her head, still uncertain. Such beings were
unnatural, more so even than the Reverend Blount or the mission men.
Curiosity stirred within her. She must know if the strangers acted as
the human beings she knew. Quickly she formed a plan. She would follow
them at a distance and slip in at the back entrance of the Snowdrop
Hostelry. Then surely her friend, Miss Perfume, the daughter of the
proprietor of the tavern, would permit her to listen behind the shoji,
and to watch these curious strangers, unperceived, through peep-holes in
the wall.
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