It seemed singular to me that, conservative as the Ainu are of their relics, even allowing for its brittle nature, no pottery of the kind found in pits is ever to be seen in any Ainu hut. Had they made the pottery themselves, surely some specimens or parts of specimens would have been preserved.
Comparing facts, we find, then, that the Koro-pok-kuru built their huts over pits, made pottery, and used stone and flint implements; while the Ainu have never been known to dwell in pits, have never made pottery, and have always used bone or bamboo implements. Moreover, Ainu traditions of internecine wars, vague as they are, and their designating the enemy by the name of Koro-pok-kuru, are further proofs that the Ainu themselves do not regard the pit-dwellers as their forefathers. As, then, the few facts collected tend to prove that the Ainu and the Koro-pok-kuru were two distinct races, it would be interesting to know who the latter really were, and what became of them. A learned missionary, Mr. Batchelor, writing on this subject, says:—"But I am of opinion that these pit-dwellers were closely allied to the Ainu in descent, and that the remains of them may now be seen in Shikotan and other islands of the Kurile Group. The inhabitants of Shikotan are much shorter in stature than the Ainu of Yezo. They are not so good-looking, and are said to be a very improvident race. The Ainu look upon the Kurile Islanders as the remnants of the Koro-pok-gurus; but this is a mere opinion, to be adopted or rejected at pleasure. That they are pit-dwellers is quite certain, for they live in pits at the present day."
Before being so certain as to what he was stating, it would have been well had the writer of the above lines visited the island in question. He would not then have committed so many blunders in so few lines. The inhabitants of Shikotan are not shorter than the Ainu of Yezo, and I cannot give a better proof of this than by asking my readers to compare the measurements which I took while there with the measurements of the Yezo Ainu. The medium height of the Shikotan Ainu is between sixty-one inches and sixty-two and three-quarter inches; the medium height of the Yezo Ainu is between sixty-one inches and sixty-two and three-quarters, or exactly the same. The chest inflated measures thirty-seven and a half inches with the Shikotan Ainu, and thirty-seven and a half with the Yezo Ainu, while the spinal column is only twenty-four inches with the Shikotan Ainu, and about twenty-six and three-quarters with the Yezo Ainu.
The Shikotan Ainu have the same structural peculiarity as the Yezo Ainu, namely, the length of their arms, which peculiarity, by the way, is greatly accentuated with them. The humerus is much longer than with the Yezo Ainu, while the ulna and radius are shorter; the hand is the same length. A Shikotan Ainu with outstretched arms is generally the length of one hand longer than his own height, which is more than is usually found with the Yezo Ainu. The medium foot is nine and a half inches with both Ainu. In the Ainu the tibia is rather flattened at its angular part, but the Shikotan Ainu have a nearly circular tibia. I do not know of any other existing race in the world in which such an extraordinary phenomenon occurs, and the tibia struck me also as being extremely long, while the femur appeared proportionately short. However, with the exception that the tibia is more circular than with the Ainu of Yezo, I could not see any material difference between them and the other Ainu. As we have already seen, each tribe in Yezo has certain characteristics which other tribes have not; each tribe has conformed its habits to the climate of the district in which it lives, as well as to other circumstances; and each of these tribes has adopted a slightly different architecture for its dwellings; but it is plain that all belong to the same original race. The same might be said of the Shikotan Ainu. At this point it is well to explain that the Kurile Islands not many years ago belonged to Russia; but they were exchanged for the southern half of Sakhalin, then belonging to Japan, and now form part of the Japanese Empire. The two larger islands—Kunashiri and Etorofu—are inhabited mainly by Ainu and a few Japanese, who migrate there from Yezo during the fishing season; while the Island of Shikotan is inhabited by sixty Ainu, brought there from the northern islands of Shirajima or Shimushir, and Urup, leaving thus all the islands north-east of Etorofu uninhabited.
Of Kunashiri and Etorofu I shall say no more in connection with the pit-dwellers, but a few more words on the Shikotan inhabitants may prove interesting, especially as people have been led to believe that they are the descendants of the Koro-pok-kuru, and not really Ainu.
I shall begin by saying that the Shikotan people call themselves Kurilsky Ainu, and that they speak both Ainu and Russian. Their features are not very massive, and their cheek and temple bones slightly project. They have strong mouths, and eyes identical in shape and colour with those of the Yezo Ainu. They are as hairy; they live by fishing and hunting; they clothe themselves in skins; and they are fond of beads and shining ornaments. Their huts have angular roofs, and are built in the same style as those of the Yezo Ainu, but on a smaller scale. The interiors are also alike, and equally dirty, if not more so. The Ainu huts at Shikotan are sixteen in number, and not one of them is built over a pit, thus showing that Mr. Batchelor was a little rash, when, relying on mistaken information, he drew a conclusion which is not in accordance with the facts. One thing that has misled most people as regards these Kurilsky Ainu is, that they were compelled to cut their hair and shave their beards. To the superficial observer this naturally gives them a different physiognomy from that of the Yezo Ainu, who let their hair grow long, and have flowing beards. Prof. Milne, who some years ago visited the Island of Shumshu,[29] relates that he saw there a small group of Kurilsky Ainu, who, all included, numbered twenty-two. Their dress, although made of skins, was European in form, and the upper garment, shaped like a shirt, was made of bird-skins (puffins) with the feathers inside. The back was ornamented with the plumes of the yellow puffin, and the edge was trimmed with seal-fur. The men wore garments tied at the waist with a belt of sea-lion hide. Their feet and legs up to the knee were covered with moccasins, also made of sea-lion skin, and their food consisted of a few berries, the eggs and flesh of sea-birds, seals, and other meat. They were few and migratory, and carried with them all their property when migrating. Prof. Milne, in a paper contributed to the Asiatic Society of Japan, thinks that the chief point in connection with these people is, that they constructed houses by making shallow excavations in the ground, which were then roofed over with turf, and that these excavations had a striking resemblance to the pits now found further south. I believe, however, that Prof. Milne never saw them excavating these pits, and the fact that hardly two dozen people in the extreme north-east Kuriles having temporarily adopted shallow excavations which they roofed over, is barely sufficient proof that they were pit-dwellers, and, as will be seen later, I had ample evidence afterwards that they were not. It is probable that this wandering band, owing to the scarcity or difficulty of procuring timber in those regions—the smallness of their canoes not permitting them to transport the materials for above-ground structures from one island to another—it is probable, I say, that, having come upon pits already dug, they had roofed them over and lived in them, finding them suitable to the severe climate. When I visited Shikotan (September, 1890), where not only these Shimushir people, but all the Kurilsky Ainu, numbering sixty, are now collected, and where they have built dwellings in their own style, the architecture and mode of construction were identical with those of the Yezo Ainu, and there were no pits whatever to their huts.
Had they been pit-dwellers, why should they have so suddenly modified their habits as to construct huts wholly above-ground without any reason for so doing? Supposing they were actually pit-dwellers, and had lived generation after generation in pits, why should they abandon this chief structural characteristic in a place where the climate is as severe as in the islands they formerly inhabited? I am willing to admit that the Kurilsky Ainu, like all barbarians, made the best of what they found in their migrations from one island to another, and that, having found pits already dug, they had lived in them simply for convenience, and to protect themselves from the cold. The impossibility of constructing their own style of dwellings, which would have required too much time and a great amount of timber and reeds—two articles scarce in the north-east Kuriles—may account for their being driven to occupy pits already dug; but I am certainly not inclined to admit that therefore the few remaining Kurilsky Ainu are in any way connected with or related to the Koro-pok-kuru. I believe that I have given sufficient evidence to prove this. At any rate, I have given such evidence as it was in my power to collect, and I have based my statements on what I actually saw, and not on what I heard people say. As others have speculated on this subject, I shall now ask the forgiveness of the reader if I am also dragged into a little pre-historic speculation as to who the Koro-pok-kuru were, and whence they came.
As I remarked at the beginning of this chapter, we find that pits are more numerous as we go in a north-east direction. Thus, few are found at Hakodate; and though none or few have been found along the south-west coast of Yezo, still, flint arrow-heads, pottery, and stone adzes collected here and there, show us that the Koro-pok-kuru had travelled along that coast, probably journeying in their canoes, landing to hunt, or to fight the Ainu.
Along the south-east coast the pits increase in number as we approach Kusuri, and at this place the largest number of pits in Hokkaido is found; then they are numerous all along the coast as far as Nemuro; and in the islands of Kunashiri and Etorofu the population must have been large, as there are numerous pits throughout. Pits are found in the smaller islands of the Kurile group, and I believe also in Kamschatka. From Nemuro, following the coast-line of Yezo, we find some along the north-east coast of Yezo, and none down the west coast until we reach the narrower part of the island near Sappro. This said, we have two points to consider:—
(1.) That the pit-dwellers moved from north-east to south-west.
(2.) That the main bulk of the population settled in Etorofu, Kunashiri, and at Kushiro. Few went further south to settle.
All evidence tends to show that they came either from Kamschatka, or perhaps more probably from the Aleutian Islands. It seems not improbable, looking at the volcanic formation of the Kurile group, that in bygone days Yezo was joined to Kamschatka, affording a land passage to the migratory people; but this we need not take into consideration.
From what one can gather of this race, the habits and customs of the Koro-pok-kuru must have had many points in common with the present Esquimaux. Very likely their pits were roofed over with a snow vault. They evidently lived by fishing and hunting, like the Esquimaux, and all that we know identifies them more with the latter race than with the Ainu.
I believe that the present Aleuts have a striking resemblance to the Esquimaux; and if this were the case, there is no reason why we should not suppose that they in former days inhabited the Kuriles, part of Kamschatka and the north-east portion of Yezo. It is a well-known fact that the Esquimaux formerly lived in corresponding latitudes on the east coast of America, and that they withdrew little by little to the more inhospitable regions of the north, and the same might have occurred here after the Ainu invasion of Yezo. The Koro-pok-kuru were apparently more civilised than their conquerors the Ainu, for they made pottery and worked stone; but owing to their retiring nature and weaker physique, and outnumbered by the savage hairy people, they became extinct. As to the Ainu, they also are undoubtedly a race of the north. Their music, their decorations, their habits, display characteristics of northern origin; but the Ainu, as we have seen from their structures and customs, were by no means accustomed to so cold a climate as their predecessors the pit-dwellers. In my opinion they did not invade Yezo from the Kuriles, but came from the continent of Asia, probably across Siberia, and descended as far as Sakhalin Island, where many Ainu are still to be found. As the Koro-pok-kuru resemble the Esquimaux, the Ainu have a striking resemblance in many ways to the Northmen of Europe, and this is what makes me suppose that they came across the northern part of the continent, and not from the northern islands of the Pacific. They made their way south, probably crossing over the La Perouse Strait, and the main contingent of them came down the north-east coast of Yezo. I base this theory on the fact that the strong current which passes through the La Perouse Strait from west to east would have made it impossible for the Ainu in their light "dug-outs" to navigate against it, or straight across from Sakhalin to Soya Cape, and in crossing they were undoubtedly drifted far south-east on the north-east coast, probably landing near Abashiri or Shari. Another evidence which made me think that the Ainu came from Sakhalin is, that all knew of another island besides Yezo, which they called Krafto, by which name they designate Sakhalin. Of the Kuriles no one knew except those in the immediate neighbourhood. At one time the Ainu are said to have inhabited the whole of Japan as far south as Satsuma. Archæologists are puzzled by the discovery in the main island of Nippon of various kitchen-middens, which include fragments of pottery identical with those attributed to the Koro-pok-kuru, and also of shell heaps, which some consider of Ainu origin, others as pre-Ainu. No pits, however, have been found near these shell heaps, nor on any part of Nippon. Thus another question is raised as to who the originators of these shell heaps and kitchen-middens were. Is it not likely that, as the Ainu proceeded south, they encountered the Koro-pok-kuru at Nemuro and then at Kushiro, and, having easily defeated them, forced some of them to retreat in the direction of the Kuriles, while the rest went towards the south? They probably fled along the coastline in their "dug-outs," those who moved south occasionally landing to hunt or to attack their pursuers. Thus we can account for the occurrence along that coast of some of their implements, but of no pits, which they were not likely to dig in such circumstances. Having then retreated as far south as Ushongosh (Hakodate), and with the conquering Ainu still at their heels, there was nothing more natural than that they should cross the Tsugaru Strait,[30] only a few miles in width, carrying with them their kitchen-middens and pottery.
The Ainu crossed after them, and, pushing the retreating Koro-pok-kuru further and further south, exterminated them, and became the masters of the whole of Japan, the Kuriles, and Sakhalin. As they were thus pursued by the Ainu, whom they knew as a warlike people, and stronger than themselves, there seems to me no cause for wonder that the Koro-pok-kuru did not dig any pits while on the main island of Nippon, first, because these pits would have been the sure means of bringing the Ainu on their track, to their certain annihilation; next, because the climate, being a great deal warmer, they had no need for them. On the other hand, it is more than probable that the retreaters carried with them their kitchen-middens and pottery, which constituted their treasures, and without which they could not have prepared their food. The barbarous Ainu then came in contact with the Japanese, at whose hands they received the same treatment as that which they had inflicted on the Koro-pok-kuru. Little by little the land so easily conquered was lost again, and the conquering Ainu were ere long in retreat towards the north. They were beaten and defeated by the more civilised Japanese, and the few who survived had to cross over the Tsugaru Strait back to Yezo. There is not a single Ainu now to be found in Nippon, with the exception of a child, a half-caste, whose mother was an Ainu, and who lives about sixty miles south of Awomori. The mother of this child was the last of her race who was born on and who inhabited the main island of Nippon.
Ainu blood can be traced in many of the Japanese in the northern part of Nippon, especially between Shiranoka to Awomori, and also some corrupted Ainu words are still in use in the dialect spoken in that part of Japan. Names of places, rivers, towns, etc., of Ainu origin, are common all over Japan. It was this former occupation of Japan by the Ainu that for some time led people to believe that the Ainu were the forefathers of the Japanese; and when pits were found in Yezo, the same hastily-judging people attributed them to the Ainu; and then, when mention was made of the Koro-pok-kuru and the Ko-shto, they affixed this name to the Kurilsky Ainu whom they had never seen nor studied.
I am not prepared to say whether or not traces of these Koro-pok-kuru are to be found in the Aleutian Islands, as I have not visited them; but it would prove interesting to trace a connection between them and some existing race, in case my supposition be not correct, though I am sure that it is nearer the mark than any of the conjectures made by others with regard either to the Ainu or the Koro-pok-kuru. At any rate, as I do not pretend to infallibility; should my supposition be wrong, the facts given above will remain, and a more successful student and investigator will be able to work on them with a decided advantage over the writer, who had to start from the very beginning, and work on information which was more of an obstacle than a help.
The Kutcharo River is of some importance, for though not of great length, it is navigable by small boats for nearly twenty miles from its mouth.
I left Kushiro one morning, and made my way up the river, not by boat but along its banks on horseback, so as to get a better idea of the surrounding country and its inhabitants. At Kushiro I left more than half my luggage, to be sent down to Hakodate by the first ship that happened to call, and this greatly changed my mode of travelling. Instead of two ponies, one pony would now be quite sufficient to carry my baggage and myself; and where ponies were not obtainable, I could carry all my paraphernalia on my own back with no very great difficulty, and in this way I should not be hindered on my journey.
I daresay the baggage I was carrying now weighed about forty-five pounds. It mostly consisted of painting materials, and wooden panels, on which I usually paint my sketches when travelling.
As to clothes and boots, I was beginning to be rather "hard up." No weaver's work, no tailor's garments, nor tanner's hides, can stand the wear and tear of such rough travelling as I had had, and the old saying, that a "light heart and a thin pair of breeches carry you a long way," is most decidedly not to be applied to anyone journeying to and fro on a pack-saddle in Yezo. My coat and trousers were showing signs of rapid decay, and I thought with vain desire of needle and thread, buttons and hooks. My boots were falling to pieces owing to their continual immersion in salt water. The impossibility of cleaning or greasing them added to the original damage; and, worse luck of all, they could not be replaced. Altogether, what with frayed garments, leaky boots, a battered hat, and a general out-at-elbows air, I was scarcely presentable in any society a grade above that of the hairy Ainu.
A road has been cut between Kushiro and Shibetcha, a distance of thirty miles; but though quite new, it is already out of repair, and it will not be long before it is washed away entirely. The Japanese Government does its best to open roads near the largest settlements, but Japanese officials do not seem to understand that after a road has been made it has to be kept in repair.
The country all along is good, and the soil seems rich and fertile. Nearly half-way up, on the east side of the Kutcharo River, are three lakes,—the Takkobe, the Tori Lake, and the Shirin. The Tori is the largest. Its length is five miles, its width about one mile. On the southern shore of this lake is a picturesque Ainu village, with its old tumble-down huts, and close to it is a group of Japanese houses. The contrast between the dirty and neglected old hovels of the Ainu and the clean, spruce, and somewhat finikin houses of the Japanese is very striking. In this difference we read an epitome of the way in which civilisation has travelled from primitive barbarism. The road runs through dense forests; but in several places, especially on its highest level, we come to lovely views of mountain scenery, towering over the shimmering water of the underlying lakes.
In the evening I reached Shibetcha, a nice little place, constructed on each side of a large road which rises considerably as it goes through the village. The village lies in a small valley surrounded by moderately high mountains, and is on the western side of the Kutcharo River, which intersects the valley. A wooden bridge and a three-storied Japanese tea-house are the two main structures in the place. There are sixty-eight houses in the village, and nearly half of them are houses of ill-fame, the three-storied tea-house being the principal.
At a distance of twenty-five miles from here is a sulphur mine, and the miners, after having amassed sufficient money, come and squander it at Shibetcha, thus supporting this nook of demoralization in the wilderness of these mountains. As the river becomes very shallow, the mineral from the sulphur mine of Yuzan was carried until quite recently on pack-saddles as far as here, whence it was brought down by boat to Kushiro for shipment; but a small railway, on which only a "truck train" is now running once a day from the mine to Shibetcha, has greatly simplified matters, and increased the export returns of the mine.
By the kind permission of the Mitsui Company I was allowed to travel on one of the trucks (no passenger carriages being provided), and the two and a half hours' journey was thus accomplished much more comfortably than if I had ridden the twenty-five miles on my pack-saddle. The railway took me to the foot of Mount Yuzan, and that same afternoon I made the ascent of the mountain. The most valuable sulphur deposits in Japan are found on this mountain, the quantity of the mineral being practically unlimited. The ascent was hard work, but it was interesting to see the fumaroles, whence the sulphur is extracted, and whence a dense smoke shoots out with great force. The whole mountain is covered with thick layers of sulphur of very good quality, and when more practical processes are employed for the extraction and carriage of the mineral there is no doubt that the sulphur trade will assume a very prominent place in the exports of Yezo. Dozens of men are employed now to carry the sulphur from the mountain to the railway, but there is work enough for hundreds and hundreds more. All the sulphur is at present carried on small wheelbarrows, which each man slings on to his shoulders when empty and he is going up the mountain. When the sulphur is reached the workman sits down, pulls out his pipe, which he fills from the folds of his tobacco-pouch, has a quiet smoke and a good rest, then he slowly fills his wheelbarrow with the primrose-yellow blocks, and comfortably wheels it down hill to the station, a considerable distance. Such a primitive fashion of carriage involves great loss of time, and a simple mechanical contrivance, by which a large quantity of mineral could be brought down at one time, would save an enormous amount of labour, and therefore expense. A cable railway would answer the purpose to perfection, and the cost of running the steam motor would be insignificant, owing to the amount of wood and coal found within easy reach. I passed through a large gorge in the mountain, and finally reached the summit of Yuzan. Walking on sulphur beds is like walking on ice, and many a time in the climb I landed on my knees. Near the summit is a huge pinnacle of volcanic rock, standing up perpendicularly, and of impossible access. From the foot of this pinnacle a lovely view of the Kutcharo Lake is obtained, and it has as a background chain after chain of thickly-wooded mountains, beyond which are visible Oakan and Moyokan, two volcanic peaks, respectively four thousand and three thousand four hundred feet above the level of the sea. On Moyokan are some hot springs and accumulations of sulphur. Both these peaks can be seen from the coast on a clear day. A small lake lies between Moyokan and Oakan, which takes its name from the latter mountain, and finds an outlet in the Oakan River. The Oakan joins the Kutcharo River not far from the sea.
The descent was easier than the ascent, and I put up at a small tea-house, the only one in the place. The landlord promised to get me a good pony early the next morning, but, like a true Japanese, he did not keep his promise. He called me at 5 a.m., saying that the pony would be ready in a few minutes, and at 9 a.m. the quadruped had not put in an appearance; and after numberless excuses, compliments, bows, and lies, the landlord acknowledged that no ponies were to be had. I gave my luggage to a railway employé, who undertook to bring it back to Shibetcha, and I started on foot for Lake Kutcharo. From Yuzan a track across the mountains goes due north to Abashiri, on the north-east coast. I went in a south-westerly direction, and as on the previous day from the summit of Yuzan I had noted the position of Lake Kutcharo, I had no difficulty in finding my way there; in fact, I came upon a small Ainu track leading to it. A delightful walk of ten miles in the forest took me to the Ainu village of Kutcharo, on the borders of the lake of the same name. The village is a miserable one; it differs from all other Ainu villages in its huts, which have semicircular roofs instead of angular ones, as is the case with the Ainu of Volcano Bay and of the Saru and Tokachi Rivers. I entered some of the huts, and in a few minutes I was surrounded by the small population—I daresay about twenty souls, all included—whom I led out into the open air to see what they were like. They appeared to me smaller than other Ainu, and their bones were less massive; they were not so hairy, and more inclined to baldness. Their garments were wretched, and resembled those worn by the Tokachi Ainu; namely, a few rags held together one could scarcely say how. Women were tattooed on their lips and arms, but less extensively than are those of other tribes, and the tattooing was not so accurately done.
Other Ainu whom I met in the forest in the neighbourhood of this village bore the same characteristics, and everyone seemed to be curiously melancholy and depressed. An Ainu existence is certainly not one's ideal of comfort and hilarity, but their gloom and melancholy seem to me to be purely racial and congenital.
The Lake Kutcharo is very large—too large to be seen to advantage from its borders, as one can see only parts, and not the whole of it at once. It has a pretty island in the centre, and on the west side is a peninsula projecting almost as far as the island. On this peninsula a small active geyser is found, which rises to a height of about twelve feet, and acts spasmodically. The high mountains which surround the lake would make the latter a pleasant summer resort were the place within the circle of civilisation. The scenery is very similar to that of Norway or the Scotch lakes. The Kutcharo River, as can be seen on the map, is an outlet of the Lake Kutcharo, into which the waters of the latter discharge themselves a few hundred yards west of the Ainu village.
An Ainu pointed out to me the track leading to Tetcha, or Tetchkanga, and I directed my steps in that direction, the Ainu having informed me that it was very far, and that I could only reach it at night. I crossed the stream in a "dug-out," and found the track on the other side. I walked fast, for the most part through a thickly-wooded country, and at about sunset I reached Tetcha. The distance from Kutcharo, I should think, is about ten or twelve miles. Tetcha is an Ainu village, near which a few Japanese houses have been built. The Kutcharo River intersects it, and the sulphur train from Yuzan stops here to take water on its way to Shibetcha. The train had gone through some hours previously, and I was left the alternative of walking on to Shibetcha, twenty miles further, or of sleeping at Tetcha. I had walked twenty or twenty-two miles already that day, and I felt in very good form. I knew that it would be full moon that night; and walking through a forest by moonlight has always had a great charm for me. Watching the shadows, with their thousand different fantastic forms, running in and out through the trees and playing round them, has the same weird fascination for me as one of Tieck's tales, or the suggestive music of an æolian harp. Some of the Ainu and a Jap entreated me not to attempt to cross the forest at night, for wolves and bears were numerous, they said, and in all probability I should be attacked by them. This last announcement, which I was destined to hear every day in Yezo, and which, of course, I did not believe, decided me to go, and I started.
"But," cried after me the astonished Japanese, "anata micci wakarimasen!"—"You do not know the way!"
"Kamaimasen, Sayonara!"—"It little matters; good-bye!" was my reply; and I left him standing there perplexed, looking after me as if I had been a phenomenon.
The Japanese in Yezo and the Ainu never on any account travel far at night; and as for going through a forest alone, unprotected, and without knowing the way, they evidently regarded it as something more reprehensible than folly. Two days previously, when in the train, I had noticed that the railway described a curve several miles long, and I knew then that by cutting across I could considerably shorten my way. When I entered the forest, the sun with its last rays was casting warm tints on the tops of the pine-trees. Everything was still, and only now and then some huge owl, awakened by the noise of my steps from its day's long sleep, would fly away, starting off on its night's peregrinations and depredations. I walked mile after mile, and finally struck the rails again. On a white post I saw a cipher in Chinese characters, which brought me back to the reality that I was still seventeen miles away from Shibetcha. I followed the line of rail as closely as I could, and late at night I reached Shibetcha. I roused the people at the Marui yadoya, and, having eaten some salmon and water soup, I retired to my foutangs, between which, it is useless to say, I slept well. I had walked forty-two odd miles that day, and it had been a pleasant change from the continuous riding on pack-saddles.
The next day I rode down to the coast to the bay of Akkeshi, about forty-two miles east of Kushiro. The road is very good all the way, and has on each side woods of oak and pine trees. The traffic on it is at present very small, and the only living creatures I saw during the twenty-eight or thirty miles were a beautiful long-tailed red fox and a number of Japanese convicts led by a policeman. These were dressed in red trousers and a short red coat made of coarse material. They were walking in a row, and they were chained two by two, and, moreover, a long rope joined the chain of each couple to that of the next, so that all couples were tied together. The end of this rope was held by the policeman. Some of them wore large hats entirely covering their face; others wore no hat at all, and had their head shaved in a peculiar manner. They were mostly bare-footed, but a few wore straw sandals. The Government wisely makes use of these convicts in opening roads and other public works, and after their term of punishment is expired, these men almost invariably become fishermen. A great part of the Japanese population of Yezo is composed of exiles and ex-convicts; in other words, Yezo is nothing more or less to Japan than what Australia was to England some years ago.
Nearing the coast I passed the "Tonden" of Hondemura, a colonial militia farming settlement. A long line of new houses, all exactly alike in shape and size, and built at intervals, stretches on each side of the wide road. Each of these houses is inhabited by a man who has served his time as a soldier, and who has now his family about him, and does work as a farmer in this settlement assigned to him. These "Tondens" were established by the Government, and I believe that the farmer-soldiers give fairly good results in the zeal and industry with which they cultivate the land, and the honesty and morality of their lives. I saw most of them occupied in stubbing up the scrub, and tearing or cutting down the trees, burning the more worthless parts; but it will be some years yet before they have cleared an area of cultivable land sufficiently large for profit, as the country is very thickly wooded in that neighbourhood.
Soon after I had passed the settlement, going down a steep hill I came upon a small and dirty semi-Ainu village, and ultimately reached the seashore.
The distance from Shibetcha is thirty miles, and the riding was beginning to be unpleasant, owing to the gathering darkness, which made my pony shy at everything it passed. At the mouth of the Pehambe Ushi River I had great difficulty in getting my pony on the ferry-boat, which was to take me across the mouth of the lagoon to Akkeshi. Several drunken fishermen came on board, and were disagreeably noisy. One of these fellows had a pony, which he tied to mine when on board. The ferry was to take us across the entrance of the Akkeshi lagoon, and it was more than a quarter of an hour before we reached the opposite shore. When we were still nearly twenty feet from terra firma, my pony, frightened at the cries of the drunken crowd, jumped overboard, carrying with him his companion steed. The sudden shock and lurch of the boat knocked down everybody on board, and nearly capsized us. As it was we shipped a lot of water. The ponies found the water deeper than they expected, and they had to swim for it. Having landed before he came ashore, I recaptured mine, gave him a sound thrashing, and rode on to Akkeshi, a few hundred yards from the landing-place. Akkeshi lies at the north-east side of the large bay which goes by the same name, and which, by the way, is probably one of the best anchorages on the south coast of Yezo. The mouth of the bay is to the southward; it extends seven miles in a northerly direction, and is about six miles wide in its widest part. The bay is prolonged further inland by a large lagoon, called Se-Cherippe, which contains many shoals and low islands, near which are beds of oysters of enormous size, the shells of some measuring as much as eighteen inches in length. The Koro-pok-kuru, by whom this district was formerly thickly populated, seem to have relished this diet, as we find thick beds of discarded shells on the top of some of the lower hills, and in many places, especially in the vicinity of pits. These shell heaps are similar to those found on the main island of Nippon, and attributed to the Ainu. (See Chapter IX.)
The country round the bay and the lagoon forms a high land or plateau between two hundred and three hundred feet above the level of the sea, and the higher ground is thickly wooded, thus supplying Akkeshi with abundance of timber, mostly of evergreen trees, as Todo and Yezo-matzu, two spruces common in other parts of Yezo as well. With its good harbour, its large export of oysters, salmon, herrings, fish-manure, and seaweed, besides its seal-fishery and the quantity of good timber easily cut and transported down the lagoon and across the bay for shipment, it is not surprising that Akkeshi has become, after Hakodate, the most important centre on the southern coast. It is nearly half as large again as Kushiro, and has as many as nine hundred Japanese houses, besides sixty or seventy Ainu huts.
The Ainu were formerly extremely numerous in this district; but few of them are left now, and those few are indeed poor specimens of their race. They have nearly all become bald, and they seem to suffer very severely from rheumatism. Thick fogs are very prevalent along the coast, and it is but seldom that one can obtain a view of the whole bay. These fogs naturally render navigation unsafe, and are one of the great drawbacks to the prosperity of the place. However, our good Londoners could tell us that greater evils than fogs can exist. I have no doubt that at some future date we shall hear of Akkeshi as being the most important port in Yezo, when a railway to join it to Shibetcha shall have been constructed. The sulphur of Mount Yuzan will probably then be taken direct to this place instead of Kushiro, owing to the safety of its harbour, an advantage which Kushiro does not possess. The Akkeshi Bay is also interesting from a picturesque point of view, when fogs give one a chance of seeing the surrounding scenery. Some fine headlands are found near the town of Akkeshi, and also on each side of the opening of the bay into the ocean. On the eastern side, the two islands of Daikuku and Kodaikuku, joined to the mainland by the low reef, slightly under water-level, which goes round the bay, are of some importance for an artist. This is especially true of the larger island of Daikuku, which rises at a considerable height above the sea, forming majestic cliffs, beautiful in shape and colour, on which myriads of seagulls, albatrosses, and penguins have chosen their abode, finding in these almost untrodden and picturesque cliffs a safe place in which to lay their eggs and rear their young. Here they live undisturbed, save for the dashing waves of the ocean, which make the earth tremble and the rock crumble to pieces, but only meet with a blithesome welcome from the screaming, light-hearted, fat, and lazy-winged inhabitants, to whom those waves bring good stores of daily food.
The road in the proximity of Akkeshi was extremely muddy and slippery, owing to the continuous fogs and rain. A north wind was blowing hard the day I left for Kiritap, and it drove the mist and drizzly rain right through one's skin into one's bones. The fogs, which are prevalent all along the coast, seem to excel between Akkeshi and Kiritap; so much so that the Japanese in the neighbourhood make them answerable for their baldness, and the local Ainu say they are so scantily hirsute because of the everlasting dampness in which they live. They clinch their argument by reminding you that when their forefathers came to this part of the coast they were as hairy as the bear, so what can have caused their own comparative smoothness but these everlasting fogs? I believe that to a great extent they are right, for when, after a day's wet ride, I have sat near a fire even for some hours, I have felt as if my skin were soaking with wet—as if I had been too long in a bath—and neither rubbing with cotton towels nor the warmth of the fire seemed thoroughly to dry it; and perhaps such an extraordinary dampness, constantly saturating the pores of the skin, may have an injurious effect upon the hair, and cause it to decay and fall off. It was in a thick fog like this that I had to find my way to Riruran, the next horse station, about eight miles further east. The road soon became a mere track, running through an undulating country, chiefly pasture land. As luck would have it, I had hired a pony which belonged to the Riruran station, and the beast was as anxious to get there as I was. He knew the way and I did not, so I let him guide me. Now and then, when the wind blew with increased strength, the fog lifted for a few minutes, and disclosed some pretty bits of landscape. The country all around was grassy, with the familiar densely-wooded hills in the background. It somewhat resembled the slopes and high lands of Cornwall, without, however, the herds of sheep and cattle, which in our country are connected with green fields; without the trim fences and stiles, the ploughed fields and meadows, the trim hedges and park-like trees, the bye-lanes and well-kept roads.
Hill after hill was ascended and descended, the sturdy little pony going well towards his former home; but as yet I had come on no signs of any living creature. No labourers are here to work and plough the dark rich soil. Potato fields; cottages with their plots of vegetable grounds; cows and sheep scattered over the green pastures—all signs of vigorous and successful husbandry—are things that an intending traveller to Yezo will miss. Everywhere are solitude and monotony. Still, even solitude and monotony are not always to be abhorred, and if they have their drawbacks they also have their advantages. You can go undisturbed for mile after mile; you can think; you can dream; you can sing; you can keep to the track or go across country; you can go fast or slow, and there is no one to object, to obstruct, or to comment. You breathe air that no one has breathed before, and you quench your thirst in a limpid stream unpolluted by sewage, chemical refuse, or poisonous dye-stuffs. You lead a simple life, and, what is more, an independent life. Many a time, when I woke up to the real state of my new condition, I could not help laughing at our civilised conceptions of what constitutes a free man in a free country, viz. that he can have a voice in choosing which of two men shall be sent as a member to Parliament.
Absorbed, now in my own thoughts on many subjects, and now in gazing at the monotonous scenes, which, as if reflected from a magic-lantern, suddenly appeared and as suddenly faded away, I had not seen how far my pony had hurried on, when, rapidly descending a steep hill, I discerned through the grey fog a solitary shed in the small valley below. The neighing of my steed, responded to by the neighing of his compatriots in the valley, told me that I had reached the horse station of Riruran, and a few minutes later my baggage and pack-saddle were removed from my steaming quadruped, and a fresh animal was burdened with my possessions. These horse stations generally consist of one shed, in which the owner and his family live; near it is a rough enclosure formed of branches and trunks of trees laid down horizontally, and strengthened at intervals by poles stuck in the ground. The ponies are kept in this enclosure during the day, but are let loose at sunset, when they go for their food wherever they can get it—generally on the near hills. Early in the morning one or two Ainu employed in the stations start off to recapture the ponies, and after a struggle bring back the herd to the paddock. My readers, who may not be well acquainted with the habits of semi-wild horses, will wonder that the ponies, once free in an unenclosed country, do not bolt away altogether inland, thus making it impossible to recapture them; and, moreover, these readers will think what a difficult task it must be for the Ainu horsemen to recover all the ponies, each one of which, they probably imagine, has bolted in an independent and different direction. This is not the case. When a herd of ponies is let loose they invariably all go together in one direction, generally following those of the older animals which have bells hanging to their necks. When they come to a proper feeding-ground they all graze within a few yards of one another; and the chances are that the herd will not go a step further than is necessary, as they are terribly afraid of bears, their most dreaded enemy, by which they well know the more distant hills are infested. When their hunger is satisfied they shoulder up together and form a circle, in the centre of which the young colts are placed, these being thus well protected from bears, who would find a sturdy resistance in the hind hoofs of the outstanding guard should they come to close quarters. The Ainu are good trackers, and have little difficulty in finding in which direction the herd has moved. When this preliminary is ascertained, the horseman, mounted on a swift pony, which he has taken good care to keep behind, starts from the station about an hour before sunrise, so as to allow himself ample time to reach the herd before the sun is up. He finds the ponies in this circular position of defence. With a long stick he breaks their ranks, and by shouting, and wildly galloping to and fro, drives them on in front till the station and the pen are reached. When they have all entered the latter, a heavy wooden bar is rested on two biforked poles, one on each side of the entrance, thus barring their way out; and there they are kept all day, waiting for such native travellers or traders as may require their services along the coast.
Most of the stations are owned by Japanese and by Ainu half-castes. Some have large numbers of ponies; some only a few, according to the wants of the neighbourhood.
The average market value of a beast is between five and ten yen, or about fifteen to thirty shillings in English currency.
At stations where the ponies are but little worked, good animals can sometimes be obtained for a small sum of money; but at stations near large settlements—where trade with other villages is carried on entirely by pack-ponies—they are mostly sorry beasts, with their backs one mass of sores, produced by the friction of the rough pack-saddles. Moreover, the cruel habit of letting colts follow mares for long distances—sometimes forty or fifty miles—is as painful a sight to witness as it is injurious to the breed. The Yezo ponies are characterised by their long hair and mane. They are short, sturdy, punchy brutes, not more than ten or twelve hands high, with a rather large and massive head, and thick, crooked legs. They are by no means fine-looking animals, nor are they well groomed—in fact, they are not groomed at all—but they serve capitally for the rough tracks and precipitous wastes of Hokkaido. They have none of the good qualities we require in our horses, but they possess others which fit them for the country they are in. Their enormous power of endurance, and the wonderful way in which they can go over the steepest tracks—almost unclimbable on foot; their sure step when going along precipices; and the marvellous manner in which they pick their way over rocky coasts, which the waves would seem to make impassable, and where none of our good horses could go without breaking their legs, are all endowments which I feel bound to quote in honour of the Yezo ponies. They are not shod, and they can hardly be called trained. Indeed, if a traveller be a good rider, it is advisable to obtain a perfectly unbroken animal, as from my own personal experience I can say that, though the riding was a little more exciting, I could invariably make better time with a totally unbroken beast, than with one of the worn-out, sore-backed "quiet ponies," which needed any amount of thrashing to make him go.
A curious method is adopted for directing the animal. It is as simple as it is ingenious. The necessary "bit" by which we control our horses is dispensed with, and it is replaced by two wooden wands about twelve inches long and two inches wide, tied together at one end, allowing a distance of three inches between them. In the middle of these wands a rope is passed which goes over the pony's head behind its ears; while the wands themselves, thus supported by it, rest one on each side of the pony's nose. Another rope, five or six feet in AINU BITS. length, and acting as a rein, is fastened at the lower end of one of the wands, and passes through a hole in the other, thus allowing this simple contrivance, based on the lever principle, to be worked exactly in the same way as a nut-cracker, the pony's nose being the nut. The disadvantage of the system is, that having only one rein, this has to be passed over the pony's head each time one wishes to turn to the right or to the left, as by pulling the rope hard, and thus squeezing the animal's nose, its head is turned in the direction in which it is pulled, and it is soon taught that this is the way it must go. Furthermore, should the pony bolt, it can be stopped by pulling its head close to its haunches, thereby making it impossible to continue its race. In the latter case it often happens, especially with an untrained pony, that it will spin round, trying to stretch its twisted neck by pushing its head away from the side of its body, and the result is generally a bad fall of horse and rider.
Another thing of which one ought to be careful is to keep one's legs out of the reach of the brute's teeth; for it is not infrequent that instead of the man punishing the animal, the animal revenges itself on the man; and the incautious traveller realises Sydney Smith's position, and finds that to a Yezo pony, as well as to an English cart-horse, "all flesh is grass."
From Riruran, for about fifteen miles, the way is merely a mountain track; and I dare say that in fine weather the scenery along it is picturesque. Unfortunately, when I went through, the fog had become more and more intense, and I saw very little of the landscape. At places the track led down to the sea, and then mounted up again over cliffs and high lands. As the mist, which came in gusts and waves, deepened or lightened in intensity, the rugged precipitous rocks, formed mostly of conglomerate, sandstone, and breccia, took all sorts of fantastic forms. Along the coast were many Ainu huts inhabited by half-castes and by Japanese. The Ainu were once very numerous in this district, but few of them are to be found now. The few remaining ones have yielded to the more civilised Japanese, and have become their servants. They are used as menials in most of the fishing stations, always acting under the directions of Japanese masters. Very frequently they are employed as tenders of horses, and in some places as guides for traders and travellers from one station to another.
Not far from Riruran the mouths of two lagoons have to be crossed, the larger of which is called Saruffo-Ko, or "Lake in a grassy plain." Cranes, swans, and ducks are numerous in these lagoons.
The track continues mostly over cliffs and mountains till Birvase, a small village of seaweed gatherers, is reached, and the next two and a half miles are along a sandy beach as far as Hammanaka. A short bridge joins this place to the island of Kiritap, which is separated from the mainland by a channel only a few feet wide. Towards the evening the fog lifted, and I caught a glimpse of the village.
The ponies of the Kiritap village had just been let loose, and were running over the small wooden bridge with great clamour. The houses, which number about a hundred and twenty, are all poor and dirty. There is a main street, and most of the houses are on each side of it. The people are fishermen, seaweed gatherers, and small traders; for Hammanaka Bay, being a good anchorage for junks and small craft under the lee of Kiritap Island, is a place of some importance for its export trade of seaweeds, fish-oil, and herring guano; these products being sent down to Hakodate.
If a few Ainu have adopted the Japanese language, clothes, and customs, there are also many Japanese who have taken up the Ainu language and ways. I noticed this more particularly in this district, where the Ainu have almost entirely disappeared. The older Japanese and many of the younger folks have Ainu features; and not only have they adopted a great number of Ainu words, but when talking Japanese they speak it with the peculiar intonation and accent pertaining to the Ainu. This is not surprising, nor yet peculiar to the Japanese or the Chinese; for we find that almost all English residents in Chinese ports adopt many of the words of our pig-tailed brothers, and have thus formed a kind of local English, besides the "pidgeon-English"—a corruption of "business English"—which almost constitutes a language of its own.
The Ainu, like the Scotch or the French, give a rolling sound to the "r." Thus, for instance, if I had written the word "Riruran" as it is pronounced I should have spelt it "Rrirrurran." Then the Ainu almost sing their words—the women in a falsetto voice, ending in a singularly mournful kind of cadenza. On his return from a journey, a hunt, or a fishing expedition, the Ainu squats down cross-legged in his hut, and, after the conventional introductory ceremony of rubbing the palms of his hands together and then repeatedly stroking his hair and beard, proceeds to relate the adventures that have befallen him during his absence. This he does by singing out his story in a sort of monotone, or sometimes chanting it. When conversing with Japanese the Ainu have slightly modified this habit, which gave rise to much mirth to the light-hearted sons of the Mikado's empire. However, like all people who are ready to laugh at everything novel, the local Japanese have now themselves fallen into that same manner of speaking, which, after all, has its charms, as it is rather sentimental in spirit, and so far pleasant to the ear. What is more, they have also acquired the slow ways of the Ainu.
All along the beach between Hammanaka and Hattaushi, a distance of nearly twenty miles, there are fishermen's and seaweed gatherers' huts; but none of them is inhabited by Ainu. Men, women, and children are all occupied in the seaweed gathering industry; and it is when the sea is stormy that the largest quantity of kelp is collected. The numerous reefs and rocks all along the shore-line afford suitable ground and bottom for its growth and production; and during a stormy sea quantities of kelp float on the breaking waves, to be finally thrown on shore. The industrious gatherers seldom wait for this "jetsam," as the long weeds, after they are washed off the rock, and before they are finally swept on shore, are apt to be damaged by the waves, and are therefore of less value for the export market than when long and fresh; wherefore, each gatherer provides himself with a long pole or hook, and from morning till night these half-naked "toilers of the sea" can be seen running to and fro in and out of the waves dragging bunches of long ribbon-like seaweeds, which are then carefully disentangled, stretched on the sands to dry, and, after several days of exposure, are packed for the market.
Some huge cliffs towering over the sandy beach make the track interesting; and here and there, scattered in the Hammanaka Bay, are some oyster-banks before reaching the single shed of Hattaushi. The following twelve miles were on an extremely bad track, partly over steep hills and partly on tiresome soft sand. Then I arrived at Otchishi—without exception the loveliest little spot in Yezo. It lies in the centre of a small bay, on the two sides of which are magnificent headlands with precipitous cliffs and rocks of volcanic formation. On a pretty bit of green grass in the foreground, only a few feet above the sea-level, were a shed and a storehouse. A reef and shallow water closed the entrance of the bay to the foaming waves of the Pacific. In the sheltered water, which was as smooth as a mirror, the dark rich colour of the overhanging rocks, caressed by the last warm rays of the dying sun, was reflected with absolute fidelity and almost increased loveliness. A cold whitish sky, and the white horses breaking on the reef, completed the ensemble of that lovely scene; and it was with great regret, after having attempted a sketch, that I was told my horse was ready, and I had to leave this poetical and exquisite scene.
On the slight elevations near Otchishi, and in the valley, pits are still to be seen, showing that the pit-dwellers were once numerous in this district. They are found both along the coast as well as slightly inland by the side of small rivers, and on the shores of the Saruffu lagoon. A well-kept road begins at Otchishi, and goes on to Nemuro. At first it runs over hilly ground and through an oak-wooded country, then through thick forests of spruce trees, the trees standing very close together. About four miles from Nemuro a military settlement—"Hanasaki"—similar to the one on the Shibetcha-Akkeshi road, has been established by the Japanese Government. Here, again, I was struck by the difficulty and the amount of labour involved in clearing the trees off the ground. It will take many years before the industrious farmers will have any return for their hard labour. I do not know what the object of the Japanese Government may have been in starting these two militia settlements in spots so unfit for cultivation, but it seems a great pity to see the Tokachi region, which has all the requisites for successful agriculture, quite deserted, while hundreds of men are wasting their strength and time at other places, where it will take several years to open enough ground for even a kitchen-garden.
Past the long row of houses at Hanasaki the road descends gently, and I arrived at Nemuro, a thriving place of about fifteen hundred houses, on the south-west coast of the plateau-like peninsula ending at Cape Noshafu. The general elevation of the plateau is between sixty and one hundred and twenty feet above the sea-level, and the high land is covered with undergrowth and stunted trees, such as scrub bamboo, oak, birch, and alder, the east winds and fogs no doubt preventing the latter from attaining a larger growth. Some low islands and reefs lie north and south off Cape Noshafu, and make navigation very unsafe for the small coasting crafts which sometimes during the summer call at Nemuro for sea-weed, herring, salt, salmon, and herring guano; the first exported chiefly to China, the others to Tokio and Southern Japan. Herrings are caught in large numbers during the spring and summer, and the export of fish-manure would be considerably increased if the harbour at Nemuro could be safely entered by larger ships. As it is now, though well sheltered by the small island of Bentenjima, it can only harbour small ships, as, besides not being deep, its entrance is narrow and of difficult access during the thick fogs of the summer. In the winter and part of the spring the harbour and the coast as far as Noshafu Cape are blocked with drift ice, thus stopping navigation altogether. The trade from the adjoining coast and the Kurile Islands concentrates at this port, and as a farming region the small portion of available land north-west of the town has given fairly good results. Horse-breeding has proved a success for the local wants, but hardly so in producing a fine breed of horses. Cattle-breeding, on the other hand, has been a failure all through, owing to the severe weather in winter, which the imported animals could not stand. In spite of strong easterly winds, heavy fogs, ice, and snow, fair crops of daikon, potatoes, turnips, barley, beans, wheat, and hemp are successfully raised here, as the soil is of extremely good quality. As to the town itself, it is prettily laid out, the streets crossing each other at right angles, while some of the houses are built in semi-European style, to meet the severity of the climate. A Shinto temple is erected on the high level; and from this is obtained a fine bird's-eye view of the harbour and town, with the numerous storehouses overlooking the sea.
As I have given a short description of the town—uninteresting save from a commercial point of view—I feel that I owe a few lines to its go-ahead inhabitants. Belonging, nearly all, to a young and adventurous generation, they reminded me of the same type of Englishmen who have abandoned their fatherland and settled in America and Australia, striving, and often succeeding, in making a fortune. Such men are invariably of a different "make" from that of the young fellows who are satisfied to drudge for life in a bank, a merchant's office, or a shop—vegetating rather than living; following their day's routine in a mechanical sort of way; grumbling continually, but never bold enough to attempt any improvement of their position. As one is born an artist, a musician, or a literary man, one has to be born a colonist to be a successful one.
The young Japanese whom I met at Nemuro impressed me as being thoroughly different from any I had come across in my one year's stay in Southern Japan; and I was agreeably surprised when I found that I was dealing with a lot of young, clever, and serious men, willing to improve their country and themselves, and anxious to accept any practical hint that would enable them to accomplish this in the shortest time possible. In other words, they had lost the slow, phlegmatic way of transacting business of the "stay-at-homes," and had accepted the quick perception of the true colonist, who is always ready to catch all the chances which will help him to get on in life.
I had been struck with this energy, this go-ahead faculty, several times along the south-west and south-east coasts, when conversing with the Japanese with whom I came in contact; but I was never so much impressed as at Nemuro, where, indeed, the men are of a superior class, well-educated, and belonging to good families, while most of the Japanese at fishing stations along the coast are taken from the scum of the towns. They are often escaped or ex-convicts, or else people who found it advisable to abandon the livelier shores of Nippon, leaving no trace of themselves rather than end their days in a prison cell.
Nemuro is a progressive place in every way, and had it been built five miles further west it would have been intersected by the Onnetto River—a short outlet of the Onnetto Lagoon, which would have formed a larger and safer harbour than the present Nemuro anchorage. As it is, prosperity showed itself in the usual way, by the number of eating-houses for all classes, a theatre, numerous guechas—singers and dancers—and a whole street of houses of light morals, in which, behind a wooden grating similar to a huge cage, dozens of girls are shown in their gaudy red and gold embroidered kimonos, with elaborate obis round their waist, and expensive long tortoise-shell hairpins artistically surrounding their heads like a halo. There in a line the pretty girls sit for several hours on their heels in front of a hibachi—brazier—smoking their diminutive pipes. They are fair game for now the compliments and now the jokes of the crowd promenading up and down the street in the evening. Every now and then, when an admirer approaches the cage, one of the girls gets up, refills her tiny pipe with tobacco, and offers it to him, not forgetting to wipe the mouthpiece with the palm of her hand before so doing. He (the admirer) puffs away, and returns the empty pipe with thanks, shifting on to another cage to have his next smoke. Japanese men cannot live without guechas, and it follows as a matter of course that Nemuro, being a prosperous place, there are many of them.
A guecha is a singer or dancer (posturing), or both, and one or more generally attend dinner-parties and festivities of any kind. Some sing with self-accompaniment of shamesen; others display their wonderful powers of mimicking and posturising, in which grace is never lacking. A long kimono, a carefully-arranged obi, and a pretty pair of white tabi—short socks with split toes—make up the graceful and simple attire in which they appear in the house. Their hair, plastered down with camelia oil, is a veritable work of art. It is carefully combed, oiled, and flattened behind the ears. A metal fastener at the lowest point of the curve keeps it in this flat position, and it is then raised again and fastened at the back of the head, first in a most elaborate twist, and then rolled up in graceful curves. A pretty, tasteful kanzashi—a long hairpin—is placed on the left side of the head, thus completing that part of a guecha's toilette.
The sallow complexion characteristic of the race is despised by the womankind of Japan, and all women are given to "painting" themselves. With us such a custom is not uncommon, but it is disregarded by most sensible women. In Japan it is part of the ordinary woman's daily toilette. A thick layer of white chalk is first smeared with a soft brush over the face, neck, shoulders, arms, and hands; then the pretty mouseme, dipping her first finger in red paint, gently rubs this on her cheeks, her temples, and over the upper eyelids. The middle finger is the "black brush," and adds sentiment to the expression by blackening under the eyes; and sometimes when the eyebrows are not shaved it is also used to accentuate them. A piece of burnt cork is often used as a substitute for black paint. The fourth finger has no occupation, but the little finger is for finishing touches, brightening up the mouth with carmine, and adding a bit of gold on the lower lip. A guecha paints herself to a much greater extent than other women, and with brighter colours. As to her moral qualities, a guecha is usually not immoral enough to be called "fast," yet too fast to be qualified as "moral." Their music and posturing have a great charm for Japanese; and when money is made, a good quantity of it goes to keeping up these feminine musicians and their establishments.
To show how enterprising and Americanised the Nemuro people are, I shall ask the reader's forgiveness for again relating a personal experience which at the time greatly amused me.
I was in the midst of my simple Japanese dinner in the Jamaruru tea-house, when four youths entered my room and offered to shake hands with me—a most unusual thing with Japanese. One of them handed me his card, on which I read, "K. Sato, Nemuro Shimbun" (Nemuro newspaper).
"Oh," I said in Japanese, "you have even a newspaper at Nemuro."
"Yes," answered in English one of his friends, a Mr. Yuasa, handing me his own card.
"You speak English, then, Mr. Yuasa?"
"Yes."
"Can I offer you and your friends anything to drink or to eat?"
"Yes."
"What will you have?"
"Yes."
"No, no; I come to speak to you."
"Thank you."
"No, no; I come to take your life in Nemuro newspaper. Please speak where come? How old? Where go?"
When I had sufficiently recovered from the shock of his announcement that he had come to take my life, and understood what he meant by it, I had a most pleasant conversation in English with him, and in Japanese with the others. Mr. Yuasa's English improved as his shyness wore off, showing that he had a very fair knowledge of the language. The interview lasted many hours, continually interrupted by the nara honto and the sajo deska—"really" and "indeed" of my visitors—while notes were taken by the editor and his staff. They finally departed, and early the next morning I received the following letter:—
"Sir,—I long that you will correspond to me any events wherever you have met them in your journey when you are not so awful busy, as I have to translate and write on the Nemuro News. I meet the first time here, and I hope to have your friendly favor hitherto, and thanks for your kindness I have received ever, believe me, your humble servant, F. Yuasa."
The same afternoon the editor and his staff called again, accompanied by the two Mr. Nakamuras, the richest merchants in Nemuro, and they insisted on giving me a European dinner. After my experience at Otsu as regards European cooking by Japanese, I was rather loth to accept their kind invitation, but I had to yield. The feast began with biscuits and jam,[31] and the soup was brought immediately after; then vegetables were followed by roast chicken, and the latter by salad and fried fish. With the exception of the somewhat inverted order of the courses, this time it was actually a European dinner, and even well-cooked; but my hosts were seen at a great disadvantage when using a knife and fork. As for the anatomy of the chicken, that was decidedly their weakest point. Those of the party who were shy gave up the carving as a bad job; the bolder only fought bravely; and every now and then a knife gave a terrible squeak on the plate, and half a leg, a wing, or a carcase was fired right across the table into one's plate, if not in one's face, or on one's lap.
"Honto taihen muskashi"—"Really it is very difficult"—said the wit of the party, helplessly putting down his knife and fork after trying to separate the two parts of a wing. "This bird's bones have lost all their joints in the cooking."
My hosts were extremely kind, and were, besides, so clever and bright that I enjoyed their good company immensely. At the same time I gained from them valuable information as regards the neighbouring country and the Kurile Islands.