I proceeded north. The Ainu scattered here and there on the coast seemed to be hairier and uglier than any of their inland brethren. Two or three women had already put on their winter fur garments, as the cold weather had begun; and they looked extremely picturesque in them. Most of the huts were uninhabited, and had been abandoned by their owners. The sky was whitish and cold, and here and there along the beach some huge bones of whales had been washed on shore by the tide. Some distance off an outcast horse was attacked by thousands of famished crows. It is not an uncommon occurrence in Yezo. The black scavengers generally attack very young animals, and, flying on the pony's head, peck out its eyes. The pony, frightened, and driven mad by pain, bolts, and in his blind and reckless race either falls down a precipice and is killed outright, or else is driven to the coast by these daring wretches, which continue to peck at him with cruel and ceaseless avidity. There, with its way barred by the waves, tortured to death, and neighing desperately, the helpless beast succumbs, and affords the hungry birds a good meal, while hundreds gathered thick on the body, peck the poor brute to death. Thousands of others sit screaming in long rows round the scene of the fight, attentively watching for the final result, when they too can join in, and experience the joys of sated hunger. Nature can indeed be cruel.
I stopped at a hut. My host was decidedly peculiar. For convenience we shall call him Omangus, which only means a "gone man," or a lunatic. I had heard of him further south, and I was anxious to make his acquaintance. I had not been five minutes in his hut before I perceived that he really was a lunatic. His head was of an abnormally large size; his skull was well developed at the back, with those prominent bumps behind the ears which show great love of eating. His forehead was high, and very slanting; the upper part was wider than near the eyebrows, which were so thick and bushy as nearly to cover the eyes. His nose, with its large nostrils, was stumpy and covered with hair, while his enormous projecting eyes were restless and fierce. His luxuriant moustache and beard matched the thick crop of long black hair which covered his whole body. His legs were short, wiry, with stiff and swollen joints, probably owing to rheumatism. His arms were very long, and his toes were also abnormally long. Altogether he had the appearance of a large orang-outang more than that of a human being. All his movements resembled those of a wild beast, and now and then, when pleased or dissatisfied, he would groan in a way not dissimilar to the growling of a bear. In fact, he was labouring under the belief that he was a wild beast of some sort, and apparently he regarded himself as a "bruin." I never heard him speak or utter words, but whether he was actually dumb or not I was not able to ascertain, as every time I tried to examine his mouth he attempted to bite me. His biting, however, was of a different nature from that of the sweet girl on the Saruma shores, and when he did bite he bit well. One day in a struggle I came off nearly minus two joints of the third finger of my right hand.
I several times attempted to take measurements of his skull and bones, but with no success. Once, as I had got hold of him and was feeling the "bumps" on his skull, he managed to disentangle himself, and grabbed me by the hair, which led to a conflict, and caused me a "très mauvais quart d'heure." We fought desperately, and I was thoroughly "licked"; not, however, before having found out that he had no bump of sensitiveness and none of philoprogenitiveness. He was pleased with his victory, and the hostilities ended. He hopped away cautiously, and I saw him climb on his hands and feet over the cliff near his hut, where he disappeared.
Some hours later I saw the monomaniac stealthily creeping back among the rocks. I was some way from the hut, in a place where he could not see me. He came slowly forward, watching the hut suspiciously, as he evidently thought I was still inside. When he got near he stopped to pick up a large stone, and with it in his right hand he sneaked along towards the hut. He listened, and crept in. I followed immediately after. He was furious when I entered, and tried to escape, but I barred his way. He retreated into a corner, crouched down groaning, and showed signs of impatience. I could see that he was frightened, and I went to him and endeavoured to soothe him; not without success, for he became quieter, and I once more noticed the great power that a stronger will can exercise over a weaker one. As long as I was staring at him he never dared to move, and I could "will" him to do almost anything I wanted by thinking hard that he should do it; but when once I turned my eyes away I had no more control over him.
This is just what happened that day. Thinking that he would keep quiet for some minutes, I got out my palette and brushes in order to take his likeness. I had till then relied on my power of "willing" people, when my host, seizing the opportunity of my turning my head away for one moment, grabbed the stone which he had picked up, and threw it with great force at me. I was hit in the ribs, and was hurt sufficiently to lose my temper. I went for him, and gave him a sound thrashing, which sometimes has more effect than all the "willing" in the world. He became docile after that, and I took him outside and forced him to squat down.
He was restless while I was painting him, and hundreds of half-starved crows, which seemed to be on good terms with my sitter, gathered round him, chatting in their incomprehensible and noisy language. Some of them even flew on to his back and shoulders, and he touched them without their flying away.
I was astounded at the familiarity which existed between the madman and the birds. They seemed to understand each other, and had I only been sufficiently imaginative I might have asserted that I even saw them kissing him. Unfortunately, when the first astonishment was over I understood the reason of the affection on the part of the scavengers, and the whole mystery was unveiled to me. Like all mysteries, the apparently extraordinary friendship between the madman and the black birds turned out to be a plain bit of literal prose, and, I must add, a very disgusting bit. The maniac was covered with vermin, and the affectionate kisses of the crows were not kisses of love or sympathy, but only mouthfuls of parasites, which they found among the thick hair of his body.
Two or three times the maniac crawled up to me, and seemed anxious to touch the colours on my palette, and also to put his fingers on the sketch. He saw that he gained nothing by being a foe, so he became a friend. He even became a great friend when I presented him with a shiny silver coin.
Though Omangus was undoubtedly insane, he was a very practical person. As will be seen by the illustration, his attire was simple, and no allowance was made for pockets. He looked at the coin, turned it over in his hands several times, and grinned; then he placed it in his mouth for safe keeping. His mouth was apparently his purse. As I saw that he was fond of silver coins, I gave him one or two more, and all of them were religiously kept in the same natural pocket, except at night, when he hid them under a large stone. At sunrise they were collected again and placed back under his tongue or in one of his cheeks.
I cannot say that my host was by any means brilliant, but, like most lunatics, he was a good soul apart from his little peculiarities. It was unfortunate that he had lost the power of speech, or I might have learnt some strange things from him.
Omangus was generally restless at night, and while asleep he seemed to suffer from awful nightmares. Most Ainu as a rule do not. One morning at dawn, as the first rays of light penetrated the hut, I watched him. He had been groaning frightfully all night, and I had not been able to sleep. He was lying flat on his back breathing heavily, and now and then he had a kind of spasm, during which he ground his teeth together with violence. It was during these spasms, or nervous contractions, that he groaned most fiercely. As he was so stretched I noticed how extraordinarily long his femur was compared to his tibia. I gently placed my hand over his heart, and found it was beating rapidly and irregularly. His forehead also was feverish and abnormally warm. He did not wake up, but as soon as the nervous strain was over he fell into a lethargic state. He appeared to have lost all strength, and it took me some time to awake him; but he finally opened his eyes, and, drowsily getting up, yawned to his heart's content, and went to fetch the hidden coins.
The more I saw of Omangus, the more he puzzled me. His faculties were defective; still, he seemed to possess a fairly good memory. If not, how could he remember the concealed treasure? Although he was not able to form ideas of his own, he could retain those which he had grasped. His hearing was extremely acute, and his inability to speak must have undoubtedly been caused by paralysis of the tongue and vocal organs. Several times he made violent attempts to utter words, which he would not have done had he been born dumb.
After the second day of my pleasant stay in Omangus' ten feet square sea-side residence my host became more genial and even affectionate. Instead of constantly running away from me he sat opposite me, attentively watching all my movements; and if I happened to be whistling, he slowly crept nearer, grinning with delight. Occasionally he crouched himself by my side, even resting against me. I did not approve of the latter proof of affection, not so much for his own sake as on account of the "large company" which he carried with him; but I had to put up with it until I found a counter-action in loud singing, which frightened him away.
Omangus had a quantity of last year's salmon, which he had dried in the sun, and which was now hanging from the roof of the little hut. The first day or two of my stay there I had but little to eat, owing to his belligerent behaviour. He rebelled every time that I attempted to touch his provisions, and what I had to eat was generally appropriated while my host was out. Afterwards, however, he became generous, and gave me more than I wanted. He took good care to draw the three coins out of his mouth while he was eating, but once, during a nervous fit, to which he was often subject, he swallowed one of them.
One morning, weary of my lunatic friend's company, I packed all my traps and went to fetch my pony. Omangus seemed aghast, suspecting that I was about to leave. He was restless, and followed me, moaning, from the hut to the pony and back, and, with a forlorn look in his eyes, watched me bring the baggage outside and lash it to the pack-saddle. I gave him a couple more silver coins, which I thought would make him happy; but he dropped them in the sand. I bade good-bye to him and left; and there poor Omangus stood motionless, gazing at me until the winding shore took me round the cliff. He was out of sight for some minutes, but he soon reappeared on the summit of the cliff itself, on to which he rapidly climbed, and from this point of vantage he could see the coast for several miles. There standing, a black figure against the rising sun, the hairy Ainu became smaller and smaller as I moved away from him, until nothing but a black spot could be seen against the sky; then even that spot disappeared. It was the last I saw of my host the madman.
The rivers were troublesome all along this part of my journey, and as most of them had quicksands, the safest plan was to cross them in a boat, when this was obtainable. However, as I went further north the boats became scarce and more scarce, and the small villages, few and very far between. I seldom came across a human being with whom I could exchange a word, and the constant solitude induced in me the bad habit of talking to myself, to animals, or to inanimate objects. My unfortunate pony was often lectured on different subjects, and the millions of seagulls and penguins all along the coast were asked questions of all sorts, which, however, they invariably left unanswered. It was strange to see the myriads of birds stretched in two or three lines along the shore. Like the "beasts which roamed over the plains" in Alexander Selkirk's lament, they had seen so few human beings as to be indifferent to me and my pony, and I could walk among them without disturbing them or causing them to fly away. The penguins were my greatest source of amusement, with their fat bodies and their funny way of lifting up one leg as I was approaching, in order to get enough spring to raise themselves from the ground had I attempted to capture them. I was soliloquising, according to my then custom, while watching these droll birds, when not more than two hundred yards ahead I saw two large eagles. One of them was perched on a low cliff, the other was flying about, now and then returning near to its mate. I dismounted, with my revolver in my hand; I had a pocketful of cartridges. I crept stealthily from rock to rock, keeping well out of their sight until I came close to the pinnacled rock on which they stood. I was then about fifty yards from them, and it was useless my firing at such a distance with a revolver. I peeped over the rocks, and one of them saw me and flew away, while the other remained where it was, stretching its neck in my direction. Its piercing eyes were fixed full on me as I was approaching; it understood that danger was imminent, and it seemed ready to resist the attack. I drew nearer and nearer, and when about four yards away I fired two shots, both of which went through its breast, and the eagle, with its widespread wings, fell from its lofty pinnacle and came down heavily on its back.
In its last convulsions it made desperate efforts to clutch me with its long sharp claws; but a couple more shots finished it. The male bird, which meanwhile had been describing circles high up in the sky over my head, plunged down on me with incredible velocity. I emptied the last chamber of my revolver into him, just as the wind of his large wings made my eyes twinkle; and to evade the grip of his outstretched claws I had to cover my face with my left arm. The report stunned him, and flapping his wings, he rose again, to resume his circling over my head, leaving a few of his feathers floating in the air. I reloaded quickly, and each time he attacked me he was received with a volley. Another bullet went through his wing, and his flying became unsteady; he flew on to a distant cliff, and there he remained. I seized this opportunity of carrying the dead bird away and lash it on to my saddle; but while I was so engaged the male eagle flew back to the pinnacle where I had first seen the two together, and stretching his enormous wings to their full width, screamed as if in despair. On the pinnacle was their nest and young, and that was why the female had kept watch and ward over her eyrie, and also why she had not abandoned it even when I approached.
I mounted my pony and away I rode with my prey. The male bird followed me for miles and miles, and now and then I had to fire to keep him at a respectful distance. Ultimately he left me, and my delight was immense when, instead of seeing him over my head, ready to plunge on me at any moment, I saw him disappear behind the cliff, flying rapidly but unsteadily back to his eyrie.
As I now made sure that he had no intention of pursuing me any longer, I dismounted, and proceeded to skin the eagle I had shot. It was decidedly a magnificent specimen. It measured seven feet from tip to tip of wings, and its claws were nearly as large as a child's hand. The semicircular nails measured two inches, and were extremely pointed, which fact made me feel very thankful that I had just escaped the grip of its male companion. The beak was enormous, of a rich yellow colour, the upper mandible overlapping the lower. The feathers were black all over, with the exception of the tail, which was white. I believe that this kind of eagle is generally called the "black sea-eagle," and is found in Kamschatka, Yezo, and also along the Siberian coast of the Japan Sea and Gulf of Tartary.
I found a sheltered spot, and with my large Ainu knife proceeded to dissect the bird. Each minute seemed as long as hours, for I feared the male bird might reappear on the scene as I was thus occupied in stripping the skin from the carcass of his beloved helpmate. There is no knowing what effect anatomical researches might have on a Yezo eagle. My heart bounded with joy when the operation was successfully completed, and I went to wash my hands in the sea. I came back to the bird, or rather its skin, and I was indeed proud of my work, when a horrid idea struck me. How was I to get the skin dried? I should be moving day after day, and it would not be possible to pack it in that condition among my sketches; I had no arsenical soap, and unless I dried it in the sun it would certainly rot, and get spoiled.
I resorted to a trick. I fastened two sticks crossways, and having stuck one up the eagle's neck, I fastened the two opened wings to the two side branches of the cross. The skin was thus kept well opened, and with two additional strings, one at each wing, the frame was fastened on to my back, the feathered side against my coat, while the inside was exposed to the sun and the wind. In wading a river I saw my own image reflected in the water, and I must confess the appearance was strange. A few hours after a group of Ainu were able to certify to this. I was riding slowly along the shore, when I saw a few of them not very far ahead. Two men were the first to notice me, and they seemed terror-stricken. As I approached they stood still for a minute, shading their eyes with their hands so as to make out what kind of winged animal it was they saw riding on horseback. When they discovered that the black wings were on a human being, the two brave Ainu fled, crying out, "Wooi, wooi!" the hairy people's cry of distress.
As I got nearer the village, dozens of wild dogs came to meet me, and, barking furiously, followed my pony, while the few inhabitants, frightened out of their wits at such an unusual sight, hid themselves inside their huts. Two or three hurriedly launched their "dug-outs" and put out to sea. When I passed the first hut some large salmon were thrown at me from inside, probably with the idea that I might satisfy my appetite on them, and spare the lives of the trembling donors. Food was not over-plentiful along that coast, so I dismounted and picked up the provisions so munificently provided by the scared natives. I tied them on each side of my pack-saddle, not sorry to be thus saved from the danger of dying of starvation—at least for the next two or three days.
As I was so occupied, a little child about four years old, evading the vigilance of his parents, ran out of one of the huts. I took him in my arms; whereat he cried bitterly, and when the people inside heard it there were screams of indignation and despair.
Maternal love is occasionally strong even among Ainu women, and while I tried hard to quiet the shrieking baby, his mother, as pale as the dirt on her face allowed her to be, came out trembling, and, offering me another large salmon, begged me to accept it in exchange for her child, who, she said, was not good to eat! It is needless to say that I was magnanimous enough to accept her offer, and thereupon handed the child over to his mother, who fled with him back into the hut. Then I took off my wings and went in after her, explaining to the frightened natives what I really was. It took them some minutes, however, to overcome their first impression, and then the men were pretty hard on the women for having given all the salmon away. The same scene was more or less vividly repeated when I came across any other natives during all the time that I wore the eagle-skin on my back. I have related this small anecdote, as, a few years hence, when some worthy missionary or imaginative traveller visits that barren coast of Yezo, it is not improbable that he may hear of some additional Ainu legend, which, the good missionaries will say, proves that the Ainu are fully aware of the existence of heaven and hell.
"A heathen child," the legend will very likely run, "whose parents had not embraced our Christian faith, was one day plainly seen by his mother in the arms of a black-winged devil. The devil was seen by many, and he came from the lower regions on an unknown animal with huge side paunches, in which he kept the heathen children he had eaten. The mother, who, through her wickedness, saw herself deprived of her child, gave offerings to the gods, some through the eastern window for the sun-god, and some through the door for the other gods. The offerings were accepted, but none of the gods came to her help, and the child was nearly lost. Her guiding star appeared to her in that supreme moment, and inspired her to reach down from the roof the largest salmon in store. She walked out of the hut and offered it to another god, whom she knew not before. Instantly the child was restored to his mother. (That the god took the salmon would probably be omitted in the legend.) The black-winged demon vanished, and the hut was visited by a white being (freely translated, "the guardian angel"), with a halo (my white terai hat) round his head. He rewarded them, and from that day the family has been happy in the faith which they learned in such a miraculous manner."
"Does not this legend speak for itself?" the good missionaries will tell us. "Does it not show that the savage Ainu are Christians without knowing it?"
I have given these two versions of the same story, as they show the reader how easy it is to garble accounts and misrepresent facts. It is a good illustration of what I say in my chapter on the Ainu beliefs and superstitions, and I must be forgiven if I have ventured to make fun of the missionaries. It is not because I dislike them, for I gladly admit that some of them out in the East have done good work; but, unfortunately, most of them will not take an open-minded view of facts. They are so wrapped up in their good work of converting people to Christianity that, outside of that, they occasionally have a tendency to tinge with their own preconceived ideas, facts which to a less biased mind appear simple enough.
It was late in the evening when I arrived at Poronai.[35] Saruru, the last village I had passed, had only six Ainu and three Japanese huts, and the nine or ten miles between there and this place were most uninteresting. I was taken across one of the quicksand rivers in the ferry by a lovely Ainu girl of about twelve years of age. I have never seen a more picturesque being than she was. She was partly dressed in skins, but half her chest was bare; her wildly-curled black hair fell over her shoulders, and while gracefully paddling across the ferry she occasionally threw back her head, thus shaking back the hair that the wind had blown over her eyes.
I have often noticed how supple the children of savages are, and how like in ease and grace and unconscious rhythm their movements are to those of wild animals. Sometimes, to be sure, they have the jerky, quick, and ungraceful movements of monkeys, but as a rule their actions are unconsciously graceful. Of course, with our children such unconscious grace is rare at any time, even when found at all, as from the day when they are born we train them to artificiality of all kinds, and this artificiality becomes in a sense second nature, overlaying, if not destroying, the original impress. And yet that impress is probably not wholly destroyed, for, so far as my own experience goes, I, who had from my birth led a civilised life, now that I had been for some months among barbarians had so little conventionality left in me as to be quite happy, or even happier than before, in leading a perfectly uncivilised existence. In the absence of chairs and sofas, instinct and the example of the natives taught me to squat as they did, and when I had once got into the way of it I found the position much more restful than any of our European so-called comfortable ways of sitting. It was the same thing when I had to sleep, either in the open air or in Ainu huts, where there was no more bedding than sofas or easy chairs. To protect myself from the cold I almost invariably slept sitting on the ground, with my head resting on my knees, just like the apes in the Zoological Gardens. I am sure that a good many of my readers, who have never gone through such an experience, will put me down as a "crank;" others will say that I am a worthy companion of my friend the hairy lunatic, and the most charitable will think that, bearing the name of "Savage Landor," I am only indulging in a new edition of "Imaginary Conversations," without the literary merits of the old. Such is not the case. I have mentioned these facts, not to amuse the reader, or merely for the sake of paradox, but to show how shallow is the veneer of civilisation which we are apt to think so thorough, and how a very short time spent unaccompanied by men of one's own stamp, and alone with "nature," rubs the whole thing away, and brings us back to instinct rather than education. I am willing to admit that not many people would care to follow in my footsteps, and live as I lived for months among the Ainu in order to prove whether I am right or wrong. Many who have only sat in comfortable chairs or slept in soft beds will hardly think my statements credible; but as the experiences, besides being of great amusement, were of great interest to me, I shall pass them on to my readers, no matter what opinion they may form of him who has written them.
Another quality, merely instinctive, which I developed in my lonesome peregrinations was the power of accurate tracking. Most people are astonished at the wonderful tales told of the tracking abilities of the Australian black fellows, and of savages in general; but few ever think that if when young they had led the same life as these savages they would be as good trackers as the best. As there were absolutely no roads, and I travelled with no guide, servant, or companion, the power of discovering traces became invaluable to me. It was instinctive in me, developed rather than acquired, and therefore I mention it in connection with the other facts relating to animal and human instincts. Furthermore, I may assert that, until I was thus compelled to make use of that faculty, I was not aware that I possessed it.
We find that horses, bears, and most animals are good trackers. Dogs, the nearest in intelligence to men, are better than any other quadruped. Then come savages, who are the masters of tracking among human beings; but as we rise in the scale of civilisation we find that this faculty of following a slightly indicated track hardly exists. Does, then, intellectual education destroy our instincts instead of improving them?
Tracking on sandy or tufaceous ground is an easy matter, as of course the foot leaves a well-marked print; but where I found real difficulty was over rocky ground, until I got used to it, and knew all the signs and what I had to look for. However, with a little practice, even over rocks which the sea has washed, it is not impossible to know if such and such creatures, human or animal, have passed that way.
One of the first things in tracking is to look for marks where they are likely to be; and this is just where the instinct comes in. Next to this, a clear knowledge of the person's or animal's way of walking and general habits is necessary. For instance, when I tried to discern tracks of Ainu, I invariably looked for them along the sea-shore, and failing that, on the adjoining cliffs, as I well knew that if any Ainu had passed by there he would have kept either along the coast or not far from it. By examination it is easy to see if the ground has been in any way disturbed of late. Sometimes a small stone moved from the place where it had been for years shows a difference in colour where it has been affected by the weather and where not, thus giving a distinct clue of some passer-by, man or brute; and when once you have found what the characteristics of the tracks are, the most difficult part of the task is accomplished.
On weather-beaten rocks the trail is more difficult to strike, and more difficult still on rocks over which the sea washes. "For," say the simple people, "how can you see tracks on hard stone? The foot certainly does not leave a print on rocks as on sand; and even supposing that the feet were dirty, the sea would wash away the marks, and you could not see anything."
In my case I limited my search to bare-footed marks, as the Ainu generally go bare-footed. Everybody knows that dogs track by scent, and this is a sure proof that every footmark must have a certain special odour, however infinitesimal. When we remember that the act of walking makes the feet warm and perspire, it is easy to understand that this perspiration, which is a greasy substance, leaves a mark on the stone—though to be sure it is sometimes almost imperceptible, especially when quite fresh. But most of us, when children at school, have noticed that touching a slate with moist fingers leaves a greasy mark, which could not be rubbed off again. The same thing happens when we tread on stones with bare feet. If the sea washes over the stones after the greasy impression has been thus made on them, it does nothing but accentuate these marks, and show them more plainly, as the salt water acts in one way on the untouched parts of the stone, but in a different way where the grease has been absorbed. These marks are generally very faint, and it requires some training before they can be discerned; but when the knack is once acquired, they become evident enough. To an observant eye, and with a little practice, it is not difficult to perceive whether one or more persons have tramped on a given place, and in what direction they have travelled. The marks on stones which are washed over by the sea are usually of a lightish colour.
I could almost invariably distinguish the footmarks of an Ainu from those of a Japanese, as the Ainu take longer strides, and their toes are longer than those of the Japanese. Moreover, with the latter, when walking the greater pressure is forward under the foot, and their toes are turned in; while in Ainu footprints the whole foot rests on the ground, and they keep it perfectly straight, moving the two feet parallel to each other.
I have given these few points on tracking, as it will explain to the reader how I was able to find my way from one village to another miles apart, to steer for huts where I had never been, and to overcome great difficulties, which I could not have surmounted if I had not learnt the art of tracking, and so far developed my natural powers. My ponies were also to a great extent my teachers; and by a close examination of their instinct I learned that I myself possessed it, and improved on it.
Between Sawaki, or Fujima, and Poronai there is a beautiful forest of oak and hard-wood trees on the hills and firs on the higher mountains, while the shore above the sea-wash is covered with thick scrub-bamboo, which reaches a height of about ten feet.
On the sandy beach, besides a large number of whales' bones, there is any amount of driftwood.
At Poronai, which consisted of only eight huts, the Ainu had adopted an architecture for their storehouses different to that of other tribes. The walls and the roof were made partly of wood, partly of the bark of trees. Heavy stones were placed on the roof to prevent it from being blown away during the strong gales so frequent along that coast.
The natives described the winter weather as very severe, especially during northerly winds, and they told me that some years the sea all along the coast is frozen for some eight or ten miles out, besides the drift-ice which sets in from the north and works its way along the coast as far as Cape Nossyap, in the neighbourhood of Nemuro. At the beginning of the winter this ice, probably drifted across from Sakhalin by the strong current in the La Perouse Strait, sets in from the north and works down all along the north-east coast of Yezo, filling up all indentations in the coast-line, and forming a solid mass on the surface of the water.
Seals are very plentiful on these shores as far as Abashiri, but the greatest number are found on the Saruma lagoon. In winter it is not difficult to come within reach of them, but even in September I saw many of them. They were, however, very shy, and when they caught sight of me instantly disappeared under water.
A few miles from Poronai I came to a headland, and about one mile from it lay the small island of Chuskin.
The coast again, instead of being sandy, showed traces of its volcanic formation, forming beautiful cliffs and a rugged outline, rising in terraces at places, or cliffs of clay and gravel sediments, with reefs extending far out to sea, while below them stretched a beach of coarse sand or pebbles, strewn with enormous volcanic boulders. These terraces are wooded mostly with alder, Yezo fir, and beech.
Soon after crossing the Porobets River I came across the wreck of a sailing ship, which lay flat on the shore disabled and dismasted; and at last I reached Esashi. There I again noticed a curious fact, which may be of some interest to anthropologists; namely, that Yezo is mostly formed of Tertiaries and volcanic rocks, and that the Ainu are mostly to be found in regions of Cainozoic or Tertiary formation. In volcanic districts they are very scarce. This is curious, for it is a well-known fact that the typical life-form of Tertiaries is anthropoid apes, and it is a remarkable coincidence that we should find ape-like men populating the same strata.
From Esashi the coast is extremely rough and rocky for about eight miles. I had to take my famished pony up and down steep mountains rising directly from the sea in places where the beach was impassable. Owing to the lack of grass my wretched beast had but little to eat; and what with the danger of riding, and the miserable condition my pony was in, I had to walk most of the way and lead him. Shanoi, about thirteen miles further, came in sight—a group of wretched fishermen's huts; and from here the coast was somewhat better. The scenery all along is beautiful, especially looking back towards the Shanoi Mountains. I saw one or two abandoned huts blown down by the wind, but no people.
Near Shanoi the eruptive rocks and granitic cliffs suddenly come to an end, as well as the mountainous character of the country, and for fifteen miles, till one comes to Sarubuts, the country is pretty flat and swampy, with a thick vegetation inland of spruce trees. There is a small lagoon formed by the Tombets River, and which often has its mouth blocked by the quicksands, which cause it to overflow.
I left Sarubuts in pouring rain, following the trail along the beach. The river forms a long narrow lake similar to that of Tombets, and at the back of it are terraces and high lands, but no very high mountains. Another wreck of a large boat lay in fragments on the sand, and after fifteen miles of very uninteresting scenery I arrived at Chietomamai, a group of four or five fishermen's huts. Here again the coast was rough, but my pony did not sink in the sand as it did on leaving Sarubuts, but it stumbled among large pebbles and stones as pointed as needles. Further on were grey and brown steep cliffs, which were extremely picturesque. The Mezozoic nature of this coast shows more distinctly between Chietomamai and Soya Cape, and a large rock emerging from the sea is both peculiar and picturesque with its numerous square sections. It is from this point that one gets the first view of Soya Cape. Going round a bay one passes a few fishermen's houses, and on the cliffs above them has been erected the Siliusi lighthouse. I cleared the Cape and rounded the bay on the other side, where I saw another wreck of a sailing ship dashed upon the rocks, making the scene a sad one. I still went on, and went round two or three smaller headlands, when the melancholy sight of a fourth wreck stood before me. This last ship had her stern out of the water, and a Turkish name was painted on it. Her appearance also was Turkish, and I was more than once puzzled as to what a Turkish ship could have been doing in the La Perouse Strait. Many months afterwards, on my return to Yokohama, but too late to be of any help to them, the sad story of the survivors of that ship was revealed to me. The mission of the ship in those far-off seas was a mysterious one. No one ever knew exactly whence she came, or whither she was bound. No one ever learned whether she had been disabled in a typhoon in the Chinese Sea, and had been drifted so far north by the strong currents, or whether the careless Turkish master had mistaken his course and had met his fate in the dangerous currents of La Perouse Strait. Only four of the crew survived. There they were on that deserted coast, with no clothes, no food, no money; but the few natives treated them kindly. Two of them wore "Tarbouches" (red caps), the only things they had saved from the wreck. The natives on the north-west coast told me of these men who were tramping their way south, unable to make themselves understood, continually asking for "Sekhara," or "Sakhara," which, I believe, in the Turkish language means tobacco or cigarettes. After months of privations, half starved, and worn out with fatigue, they reached Hakodate, where, having no passport, and not being able to explain themselves, they were duly arrested and sent down to Yokohama. Unfortunately for them, at that time the "Entogroul," a Turkish man-of-war, had come to Japan, a voyage which took her two years, to bring some decorations which the Sultan had bestowed on the Mikado. Osman Pasha, the Admiral, had the poor devils brought before him, and they told him their sad story, what they had suffered, and how they had lost their ship. The story was too true to be believed, or too strange to sound true!
"Impostors!" said Osman Pasha, and declining to listen any more to their tale of woe, which he called "pure lies," had them "put in irons," in which condition they were to be taken back to Constantinople. None of the foreign residents in Japan believed the story of these wretches, and all were glad to see the miscreants punished. "Impossible," said everybody, "that a Turkish ship should have been up there!"
As it so happened, the "Entogroul," on her return trip to Constantinople, was herself caught in a typhoon, and, steaming full speed to resist the force of the wind and the waves, her boilers burst, and Osman Pasha and nearly all hands on board were blown to pieces or drowned. If I remember right, over three hundred and sixty lives were lost, and no doubt the four men, whose prison, I was told, was near the boilers, thus found a tragic end to their life of misery.
When I arrived at Yokohama all this had already happened, and my evidence, which probably might have saved the life of these men, was therefore useless.
But let us return to Soya Cape, where we have left the wreck.
The rapid current which comes through the Strait gives a horrid look to the water, and I have never seen the sea look so vicious. The natives of the small Soya village told me that it is impossible to cross over to Sakhalin, the high mountains of which, covered with snow and glaciers, I could see distinctly. The distance from land to land is about twenty-eight miles, but no small boat can get across without being swamped. They told me also that often dead bodies of Russians are washed on shore, probably unfortunate convicts who found their death in attempting to obtain liberty. H.M.S. "Rattler" was wrecked in 1868 on one of the numerous reefs near this Cape, so the record of Soya could hardly be more mournful.
After the Cape has been well rounded one finds oneself in a bay opening due north. In the winter time this bay is completely blocked with ice, but the Strait itself is never entirely frozen, owing to the strong warm current from the Chinese Sea, which the Japanese call by the name of Kuroshiwo.
Soya village is a wretched place of thirty or forty sheds. A few planks, badly joined together, and with a kind of a roof over them, made my shelter for the night. Soya Cape is the most northern point of the north-east coast, and before we abandon it to move towards the south, along the west coast, it is important to mention the peculiar and conspicuous characteristic of the marked bending of watercourses in a south or south-easterly direction. They are forced that way by the drift-sand travelling along the coast from north-west to south-east with the Kuroshiwo current, which drift-sand is in such quantities as often to block altogether the mouths of some rivers, and form the large lagoons so common along this coast. The lack of harbours or sheltered anchorages, the inhospitable and unfertile shores, the quicksands, and the severe climate, besides the danger of being swamped and carried away by the overflow of a lagoon or lake, make this coast of little attraction for intending settlers or for pleasure-seekers.
Herrings are plentiful all along the coast, but fishing stations could not possibly pay, even if any were established, owing to the difficulty and expense of carriage and freight, and the risk that ships would run in calling at such exposed and unprotected shores.
From Soya the coast forms a large bay, which opens due north, and which ends in Cape Soya on the eastern side and in Cape Nossyap on the western. Almost in the middle is the small village of Coittoe, and from this place, towering beyond the flat Nossyap peninsula, one can see Rishiri Island. Near the western part of the bay are some small hills, covered mainly with fir-trees. Wakkanai, a Japanese village, is on the west coast of the bay, and north of it is Cape Nossyap. From this cape is a lovely view of Rishiri and Repunshiri Islands. Rishiri is a volcanic cone 6,400 feet above the level of the sea. It has the identical shape of the famous Fujiama in Southern Japan, and rising as it does in graceful slopes directly from the sea, has the appearance of being higher than it really is. Repunshiri is hilly and partly of volcanic formation, but none of its peaks rise to a higher altitude than five hundred feet.
Rishiri is almost circular at sea-level, and it has no well-sheltered nor safe anchorages; but Repunshiri has one good anchorage on its north coast. Rishiri is about six and a half miles in diameter and twenty-five miles distant, directly west of Cape Nossyap; Repunshiri is eleven miles long, about four and a-half wide, and eleven miles distant to Ikaru, its nearest point east on the Yezo coast. As the Kuriles are a continuation east of the volcanic zone of Yezo, there is no doubt that Rishiri and Repunshiri are the terminus of the same volcanic zone at its north-west end.
From Wakkanai a new horse-track has been opened to Bakkai, on the north-west coast. The ride for the first eleven miles was uncomfortable, as my pony, a worn-out brute, sank up to its belly in the mud; but in due course I came to the hilly part, and after having gone up one steep pitch and down another for a considerable distance, I rapidly descended a precipitous bank, and followed the soft sandy beach till I reached Bakkai. Here there is a large and peculiar stone, which the Ainu say resembles an old woman carrying a child on her back. It stands perpendicularly out of the ground at a great height, and it is of a rich dark-brown colour. If the north-east coast was barren and deserted, the western shore of Yezo was even yet more desolate. For thirty or forty miles, as far as the Teshio River, the beach was strewn with wrecks and wreckage. Here you saw a boat smashed to pieces; there a mast cast on the shore; further on a wheel-house washed away by the waves; then the helm of a disabled ship. It was a sight sad enough to break one's heart, with all the tragic circumstances it suggested.
Between Bakkai and Wadamanai especially, I do not think that one can go more than a few yards at a time without being reminded by the wreckage which is strewn thick on the coast of some calamity. A white life-boat, with her stern smashed, lay on the sand helpless to save, and as a kind of satire on her name; and at Wadamanai, a large Russian cruiser, the "Crisorok," dismasted and broken in two, lay flat on the beach half covered with sand. Her bridge had been washed away and her deck had sunk in. Some of the bodies of her gallant officers and crew had been washed on shore by the sea. No one knows in what circumstances the ship was lost, but it is probable that during last winter, when she came to her ill-fated end, her rigging and sails got top-heavy with ice, and that she capsized. Some of the wreckage one finds on that coast has been drifted there from the Chinese Sea by the Kuroshiwo current; and then, owing to the La Perouse Strait turning so sharply to the east, has been left on this last portion of the coast. Here and there a rough tent made with a torn sail, or a deserted shed knocked up out of pieces of wreckage, is a suggestive reminder that some unfortunate derelict seafarer had suffered and striven for life on these forlorn sands. An enormous quantity of drift-logs, and here and there some bones of whales, are strewn all along the beach.
At Wadamanai there is a mere rough shed under the shelter of the sand-hills. When I left this place, moving south, a strong gale blew, which made the travelling most unpleasant. It was getting fearfully cold, and now that I needed clothes so badly mine were falling altogether to pieces. My "unmentionables," which reached down to my feet when I left Hakodate at the beginning of my journey, had long since been trimmed and reduced to a kind of knickerbockers. Then the knees got worn out, and they became more like bathing-breeches; and finally I dispensed with them altogether, and made use of them to protect my sketch-book and diary, round which I wrapped what remained of the ex-garment. My boots, of course, were a dream of the past, and little by little I was getting accustomed to walking barefooted. Thus, dressed in a coat, a belt ... and nothing else, I moved along this inhospitable coast, half frozen, but not discomfited.
The mouths of some of the small rivulets were extremely nasty to cross, as my pony sank in the quicksands. I had to help him out, and that meant a cold bath each time. From Wadamanai I kept a little more inland, still steering for the south, and every now and then I again struck the beach. Still the old sad story of wreckages strewn all over the shore, sailing boats smashed to pieces, junks disabled and half buried in sand, met me at every turn, creating in my mind a very monotony of melancholy.
Late in the evening I reached the mouth of the Teshio River, a broad deep watercourse, one of the three largest rivers in Hokkaido, the other two being the Ishikari and the Tokachi. It has a long course in a general north-westerly direction, and then sharply turns southward, running parallel with the coast for about four miles, and forming a kind of lagoon at its outlet, which seems now to be working towards the northward again. All the other rivers on the west coast tend northward owing to the drift-sand which the current brings north. It is strange that the Teshio should partly be an exception to this rule, though we have ample evidence, even in this watercourse, of the movement of the sand, for the bar at its mouth almost entirely blocks its entrance, and rapidly works in a northerly direction. Thus there is no doubt that the sand travels towards the north all along the west coast.
Sea-trout is abundant in the Teshio River, but salmon, with which this stream formerly abounded, are now less plentiful owing to the sand-bar which blocks the entrance.
A gale was blowing fiercely when I crossed the lagoon in a small Ainu "dug-out," and my pony was made to swim across. Two or three times we nearly capsized, and we shipped a lot of water. It was just like sitting in a bath with water up to my waist; but the Ainu, who had as much as he could do to paddle me across and tow the pony as well, comforted me by saying, "Now that his 'dug-out' was full, we could not ship any more water, and that his skiff, being made of wood, could not sink!"
After a long struggle we got safely to the other side, and the Ainu boatman guided me for a mile or so to the fishing village at the mouth of the river. It has but ten huts, all more or less miserable. The pony was so done up that he was hardly fit to carry my traps, much less could he have borne my weight. I could not get a fresh animal, so I had to push forward walking, and dragging the beast on as well as I could. This had the advantage of keeping me warm, which I needed badly, for what with the cold and my dilapidated costume I was more nearly frozen to death than was pleasant. The track was heavy in the soft sand, and the dangerous and numerous quicksand streams were enough to make a saint swear—if swearing would have done any good. How unspeakably desolate it all was! Not a soul to be met; not a hut to be seen! Here and there more wreckage and drift-wood on the shore, telling of storms and death, and the absence of all human aid. At last I came in sight of an Ainu hut; but as I drew near I found that it was abandoned. My meals, never very plentiful, were now specially scanty—few and far between; and, taken altogether, this part of my travels in Ainuland was somewhat lacking in cheerfulness.
The cliffs near Wembets have the strange appearance of so many cones at equal intervals along the coast. On the Wembets River there were as many as two huts; and here again I had to cross in a boat, the stream being too deep to ford on foot or horseback; then again along the sand, dragging my pony, while I myself could hardly stand on my half-skinned feet, I went on and on, wearied of the monotony of my miserable experiences. The track grew narrow, and always worse. The high grey cliffs of clay-rock began, and the rough sea washed up to the foot of them, making progress more than ever unpleasant and dangerous. Each wave that came brought the water up to my knees, often up to my waist, and for about ten miles I was continually in and out of water. On a cold day my readers can imagine how pleasant it was! About sunset I came in sight of the two flat islands of Teuri and Yangeshiri, about fifteen miles off the coast. It then grew dark; but the moon came to my help, shining brightly on the greyish cliffs. The tide had risen, and in several places I had great difficulty in getting across on account of the furious waves dashing against the cliffs, and making a picturesque and living sheet of foam.
Late at night, as I had almost given up all hope of finding a shelter, I came upon a shed on the Furembets River, where I put up for the night.
My wretched pony was nearly dead with fatigue, and I let him loose so that he might get a feed of grass. The next morning, after the inmates of the hut had volunteered to go and bring him back to me, I heard them on the distant hills calling, "Pop, pop, pop, pop!" the Ainu way of approaching and calling horses. After a time they came back hopeless, saying that the brute had bolted, and there was no hope of getting him again. He could not be found anywhere! I was in the most awful dilemma, for had that been the case I would have been forced to abandon all my impedimenta, consisting of sketches and painting materials, and proceed as best I could on foot. Under other circumstances I could have carried the baggage on my back easily; but as I was half-starved, and had my feet badly cut, I was hardly able to carry my own weight; therefore this was not possible now.
As incredulity is one of the useful qualities I possess, I went to look after my pony myself. The shed was protected by a sand-mound at the back, and a small space was left between the mound and the wall of the shed. I do not know what made me go and look there, but sure enough there was my pony lying flat, and almost too weak to get up again. This was no horse-stealing ruse on the part of the Ainu; simply the wretched animal's own idea of good stabling and likely fodder. I dragged him out of his involuntary prison, and after having done what I could for his comfort and well-being, we set out once more on our melancholy travels. This may sound cruel to some who in the course of their life have never travelled in out-of-the-way places, and who are ready to condemn anyone who is the means of letting an animal suffer. It may sound cruel in our humane country, where animals are protected and prize-fights tolerated and enjoyed; so to avoid misunderstandings it might be as well for me to say, that as regards this tired pony it was simply the matter to push on with him as far as I could or lose all the valuable materials I had collected during months of sufferings and privations. No ponies were to be got for any money along that deserted coast, for there were none in existence. I did my best to alleviate the poor animal's sufferings by undergoing myself a considerable amount of pain, walking most of the way with my feet a mass of sores; and as winter was rapidly coming on, I was more than anxious to make my way south with all the speed I could, to prevent being blocked up with snow and ice and forced to spend the winter on this inhospitable coast. Consequently, I was, as a matter of fact, more cruel to myself than to my animals; to the others, those who will still cast the first stone at me, I can wish no better punishment than to be placed in the same position I was then. The trail became somewhat better, as it led over the cliffs for about three miles; then again it was on the beach. The high cliffs varied from a very rich burnt sienna colour to a nice warm grey, and in some places they are perfectly white, like the cliffs at Dover. Conical mounds frequently occur, and give a curious aspect to this deserted shore. Ten miles further on, at Chukbets, I found a couple of huts; then I walked and dragged the pony on the cliffs for about four miles; then again I resorted to the beach; and finally I entered Hamboro, a small village, or rather a picturesque group of sheds and huts, and a capital fishing-station. Shake, salmon, mashe, and herrings are caught in abundance at the mouth of this river. A short distance from here hundreds of carcasses of seals were scattered on the beach, whence emanated pestilential odours. On account of the slowness of my pony I had to-night a modified repetition of last night's experience, but neither was the sea so rough nor the trail so narrow at the bottom of the cliffs; and though my wretched animal was naturally in a worse condition than before, I was able to push on to Tomamai that same night, where I arrived at a small hour of the morning.
At Tomamai, the coast, which had described a long curve, the two ends of which are Ikuru north and this point south, turns sharply in a southerly direction, running straight for many miles from north to south.
From Tomamai southwards the coast is not quite as deserted as it was further north, for here and there are villages of fishermen's houses. The population, however, is a migratory one, and when I went through, the herring-fishing season was over, and consequently most of the houses were abandoned and the people had migrated south. The winter weather is very severe, and the houses have to be barricaded with thick piles of wood as a protection against the strong westerly gales. The boats had been drawn far on shore, where they were well fastened to posts, and rough sheds thatched with grass built over them.
Along the coast there was a string of these habitations, hut after hut, storehouse after storehouse, but hardly a soul to be seen. It was like going through the city of the dead. Many of the fishermen's huts were built on the side of the rugged cliffs, and they stood on piles about fifteen feet high, the back of the house resting on the cliff itself. Twelve and a half miles further another row of houses, similarly deserted for the winter, stood along the shore-line at Onishika. In this part of the coast salmon are very scarce, and the chief industry is the herring fishery. There are no Ainu to be found either at Tomamai or Onishika.
I continued my lonesome ride in the pouring rain, and soon came to a peculiar long tunnel, natural and partly excavated, between this place and Rumoi, a village prettily situated on the slope of a hill fifteen miles further. This place possesses a small anchorage at the mouth of the river, which is now only fit for junks and small sailing-boats, but could be considerably improved. Good coal has been discovered some way up the river. There is a track on the cliffs leading to Mashike. All along the coast are any number of fishermen's houses, but they were all closed and barricaded. Ultimately, descending from the cliffs in a zig-zag fashion, after another ten miles' ride I found myself at Mashike, the largest Japanese village in the Teshio district. Close to the tunnel there is a small Ainu village, where the natives let their hair grow very long, and then tie it up in a kind of knot, similar to the Corean fashion of head-dress, while the women have given up tattooing altogether. The fishermen at Mashike seem to suffer greatly from "Kaki," or rheumatism, and cancer, while consumption, malarial fever, and typhus are in a small proportion.
I had to stop over one day at Mashike, for the river was swollen by the heavy rains, and it was impossible to get across. On the other side of it stood Mashike-san, a huge volcanic mountain rising sheer from the sea, and forming Cape Kamuieto, under the shelter of which lies Mashike village; and further south Cape Uhui projects into the sea. It is the end of a mountain range which here runs north and then south again, in the latter part forming one side of the upper basin of the Teshio River. Mashike is the largest settlement either on the north-east or west coast of Yezo. Its population is partly migratory, but not so wholly as is the case with the villages I had previously passed. I was delayed still another day owing to the condition of the river; for the rain, instead of decreasing, poured down to such an extent that the stream could not be crossed, the current being too swift and the water too deep. The sea was also too rough to allow of my leaving Mashike in a canoe.
On the third day I rose early, and decided to attempt this much-desired crossing of the river. It had not rained during the night, and the waters seemed to have slightly diminished. As the stream runs down a very steep incline on the slopes of Mashike Mountain, the current rushes with tremendous force. It was about five in the morning when I took my baggage to the river bank. It was made up in two bundles, which I tied together firmly with a leather strap. Some of the natives who had collected round me entreated me to give up this foolish idea, for they said I should infallibly lose my life if I attempted to wade across the swollen river.
I saw at once that my pony would never be able to cross, so I left him, and, taking the baggage on my head, and passing my hands through the strap, I went into the water. The current was indeed so strong that, weak as I was, I could hardly stand against it. I had nearly reached the middle, with the water up to my mouth, when I fancied I heard the anxious crowd scream to me, "Abunai! abunai! abunai!"—"Look out! look out! look out!" Startled and alarmed at this piercing cry I turned my head, and saw within a few yards of me a huge trunk of a tree coming swiftly down with the current. There was a bump, and I saw nothing more. Half a minute later I was violently thrown on the opposite bank, and in trying to stand up on my feet in the shallow water my right foot unfortunately got jammed between two stones in the river bed; I was knocked down again, and broke my heel-bone just under the ankle. Several natives came to my rescue and I was lifted out of the water, half-stunned, half-drowned, but still holding fast to my load. I was nearly frozen, and trembling like a leaf from cold. When I tried to stand my right leg collapsed, and I had to lie down on the ground. What with the blow which I had received from the floating wood, what with the muddy water I had involuntarily swallowed, it took me some minutes before I could quite understand my situation, or what had befallen me. When I did I felt a terrible pain in my right leg. I looked, and there, on the sand, under my foot and leg, which were swollen up to an enormous size, was a pool of blood; the broken bone had penetrated the skin, and was exposed to the air. When I recovered my senses well enough I got a man to tear the wet lining of my drenched coat, and with it and a few improvised splints I proceeded to set my own broken bone. It was hard work; but with the help of some natives I bandaged it up as well as I could, and with the extra help of a coarse flaxen rope I made a fairly good surgical job of the whole thing.
Stopping there till I grew better would have been foolish, for winter was setting in; everything would soon be frozen and snowed up, and, far from all my friends, as well as from anything like civilised life or elementary comforts as I was, I should probably have died. As long as I had a spark of life left in me I decided that I would struggle and push on, come what might. Two men undertook to carry me over the Mashike Mountain, which rises to an altitude of 3,600 feet above the sea-level. The mountain is thickly wooded, and the trail is steep, heavy, and in many places dangerous, and when we reached a sufficient altitude the trail was merely in the bed of a rivulet composed mainly of huge stones. Travelling in the state in which I was, was something like going to one's own funeral. The jerking and the cold were excruciating; the continuous stumbling and unsteady walk of my men over the rough and slippery slopes did not improve my condition; but finally we reached the summit. What a lovely view! One could see far along the Teshio coast on the one side and down towards the Ishikari on the other, and towards the east rose up a picturesque chain of thickly-wooded mountains. Rising from the sea stood the fine Cape Airup, near Moi; then far beyond, dimly seen in the mist, was the towering outline of Shakotan. We went down the other side, and my men, poor fellows, did their best to cheer me up. One of them told me a cheering story of a grizzly bear—which, by the way, he said were numberless on this mountain—that had killed and eaten two children, and also their father when the latter went to their rescue. The other told me of the many men who had perished in crossing the mountain; some had been overtaken by a snowstorm, others had lost their way and fallen over precipices, while others again had been killed by avalanches in winter.
Listening to this lively conversation, shaken and suffering, I arrived late at night at Moi, having been carried over a distance of twenty-five miles, to do which occupied about eighteen hours. There was no possible way of getting across the mountains between here and Atzta, as the high granitic perpendicular cliffs are unscalable, and I was bound to entrust my life to a small Ainu canoe. Two other passengers, a Japanese woman and a man, asked if I would allow them to travel in the boat with me; and then we three, rowed by an Ainu man, put out to sea. The sea was rough outside, but as the large bay was well protected by the Aikap Cape, all went right at first; but in rounding the point we went too near the rocks, got caught in a breaker, and shipped so much water that the canoe began to slowly sink under the additional weight. The Ainu was pretty smart, and he put his skiff on the rocks. Between him and the two passengers I was helped out, and while the Ainu emptied the canoe, the two Japanese undressed entirely and spread out all their clothes and underclothes in the sun to dry.
We got on board again, and, coasting more carefully, passed several small fishing villages, of which Gokibira is the largest and most important. It is backed by high mountains ranging from twelve hundred to seventeen hundred and more feet above the sea. One of the mountains—the highest—is called Okashi-nae-yama.
Atzta is a long narrow village, of which almost all the houses are built against the cliff. From here I had to begin riding again along the bad and stony coast, among drift-wood, and up and down cliffs. Anyone who has ever had any broken bones will appreciate the tortures which I had to go through. Owing to pain, exhaustion, and fatigue I had no control over my pony, and could hardly stick on to the saddle. I took the precaution of tying the bridle to my wrist, for should the pony knock me off, he could not bolt away; but, unhappily, sometimes this was the means of his dragging me mercilessly on the ground for dozens of yards before he would stop. Then I had to wait for some charitable passer-by to help me into the saddle again, for I could no longer mount by myself. Day after day of this wretched life made me feel almost unconscious that I had a pain. I took things as they came, and I went on. Now that I sit here in a comfortable chair writing this by a cosy fire, I am myself astonished at my own perseverance. If I were called upon to go through the same experience now I could not. But in truth there are many things that one does not mind doing for motives of pleasure which one would never dream of attempting under the compulsion of an external will. Kutambets is picturesquely situated in a large gully formed by a break in the red-tinted cliffs. From Kutambets to Moroi the track is slightly better, and from this to Ishikari it is quite easy. The latter river, a very large one, has to be crossed by a ferry, as the habitations are on the south banks of the stream.