The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Japanese empire
This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and
most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms
of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online
at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States,
you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located
before using this eBook.
Title: The Japanese empire
a geographical reader
Author: Harry Alverson Franck
Release date: July 25, 2026 [eBook #79183]
Language: English
Original publication: Dansville: F.A. Owen Pub. Co., 1927
Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/79183
Credits: Richard Tonsing and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This book was produced from images made available by the HathiTrust Digital Library.)
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE JAPANESE EMPIRE ***
_TRAVELS IN MANY LANDS_
THE JAPANESE EMPIRE
A Geographical Reader
BY
HARRY A. FRANCK
WITH MANY ILLUSTRATIONS, LARGELY FROM PHOTOGRAPHS BY THE AUTHOR
F. A. OWEN PUBLISHING COMPANY
DANSVILLE, NEW YORK
COPYRIGHT, 1927
F. A. OWEN PUBLISHING COMPANY
_Travels in Many Lands—The Japanese Empire_
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
FOREWORD
The very best way to give boys and girls a clear idea of just what life
is to their brothers and sisters of other lands is to take them through
those lands. If they cannot go in person (and of course few can), a
well-written story of travel will be a valuable substitute for personal
experience.
To be of educational value to the reader, a book of travel must first of
all be authentic. It must have been written by one who knows at first
hand the things about which he writes. A superficial knowledge gained by
flitting through a country along its main traveled routes is not
sufficient to enable a writer to tell a complete story about it.
Among the notable travelers of our time, probably none has more
thoroughly covered many countries than Harry A. Franck, the author of
this book. His travels have not been mere sight-seeing tours. He has
gone into the out-of-the-way places and lived in the homes of the common
people, to study their habits and manner of living. He has visited their
temples and schools. He has learned something of their language and
talked with them on all manner of subjects so as to become familiar with
their views of life.
From boyhood, Harry Franck had a desire to know about the great outside
world. In 1900, during his first summer vacation while attending the
University of Michigan, he set out, with only $3.18 in his pocket, to
see something of Europe. He worked his way across the ocean on a
cattle-boat, visited the principal cities of England, then Paris and the
Exposition that was being held there. He signed as an “able seaman” for
the return trip and reached Ann Arbor for the fall term, only two weeks
late.
Mr. Franck worked his way through college and intended to make teaching
his profession, but that first European trip gave him an appetite for
more travel. When he was graduated, he started out, with only enough
money to buy supplies for his camera, to work his way around the
world—which he did in sixteen months. After this trip he wrote “A
Vagabond Journey Around the World,” which is regarded as one of the most
remarkable books of the kind ever published. Since then he has written
many other volumes telling of his experiences.
During more than twenty years of travel, Mr. Franck has covered half a
hundred countries. He has journeyed 50,000 miles on foot and at least an
equal distance by primitive native methods. In gathering material for
this volume and for “China” (in the same series), he traveled for two
and a half years through the Far East. He often endured hardship and
faced danger to give the world the truth about the Oriental lands.
This book may be given to children as supplementary geographical reading
with the assurance that every statement is based on actual facts gained
by recent travel. The world to-day is not what it was even a decade ago.
Conditions, customs, the very people themselves have changed; some
greatly, some slightly. A book of this kind to be really helpful must
reflect these changes. The author, having recently returned from the
Orient, is able to write and show pictures of the Far East as it now is.
Mr. Franck carries equipment for taking the best possible pictures and
most of the illustrations in this volume are from photographs taken by
him personally, often under conditions that involved difficulty and
sometimes danger.
As children read this book on the Japanese Empire, we feel sure they
will be impressed with the fact that the people of the whole world are
one great family; that what affects one nation affects all nations to a
greater or less extent. They will realize that while certain lands may
seem “backward” to us who enjoy the conveniences of Western
civilization, we are indebted to them for many things that have made our
civilization possible. For example, the compass, which was essential to
the development of navigation and which, as improved by the Italians,
enabled Columbus to make his great voyage of discovery, was invented by
the Chinese nearly 4000 years ago. Children, like adults, must be led to
see that people everywhere have their virtues and ambitions, their
trials and hardships, and that the misfortune or the prosperity of one
country is reflected in other countries far away.
Knowledge of these facts should prompt us to work for the peace and
well-being of all peoples, particularly through the channel of our
schools. In this connection, Payson Smith, Commissioner of Education for
Massachusetts, has aptly said: “Education in all lands should lead the
youth to recognize those interests which are common to humankind, to
magnify the virtues which all men hold in common, to minimize those
differences and distinctions which divide, and to interpret the history
of race and nation in those terms that are helpful to world progress as
well as to national self-respect.”
THE PUBLISHERS.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Grateful acknowledgment is made to The Century Company, New York, for
their courtesy in allowing us to use the illustrations on the following
pages of this book: 89, 91, 92, 99, 101, 102, 105, 109, 110, 113, 114,
119, 124, 126, 128, 131, 133, 134 (right), 137, 140, 144, 145, 147, 157,
158, 159, 160, 165, 169, 171, 178 (right), 186, 193, 197, 211, 219, 223,
233, 235, 240.
Acknowledgment is made also to the South Manchuria Railway Company, New
York, for their kindness in providing the illustrations used on the
following pages: 213, 242, 244, 245, 247, 248, 249, 250, 253.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I WESTWARD TO THE FAR EAST 11
II WE LAND AND GO TO TOKYO 17
III LIFE IN THE JAPANESE CAPITAL 35
IV LIVING WITH THE JAPANESE 45
V THE JAPANESE AT WORK AND PLAY 61
VI JAPANESE EVENINGS 78
VII I TRAVEL INTO THE NORTH 88
VIII AMONG THE “HAIRY” AINU 98
IX WESTWARD HO! 108
X SOME HOLY PLACES OF JAPAN 122
XI WESTERN AND SOUTHERN JAPAN 139
XII FORMOSA, JAPAN’S TROPICAL ISLAND 151
XIII JAPAN’S WILD MEN 162
XIV KOREA OR CHOSEN 175
XV HOW THE PEOPLE OF KOREA DRESS 185
XVI HOW THE KOREANS LIVE 194
XVII KOREA UNDER JAPANESE RULE 207
XVIII COUNTRY TRIPS IN KOREA 214
XIX THE DIAMOND MOUNTAINS AND NORTHWARD 229
XX JAPAN’S RENTED TERRITORY 243
PRONUNCIATION LIST 255
MAPS
THE JAPANESE EMPIRE 10
THE HEART OF THE JAPANESE EMPIRE 28
FORMOSA 152
KOREA 174
[Illustration: The Japanese Empire]
THE JAPANESE EMPIRE
CHAPTER I
WESTWARD TO THE FAR EAST
For five days we had been rolling across the United States in a Pullman
car, on our way to the opposite side of the globe. We might have set out
from New York across the Atlantic, changing steamships in some European
port and going the whole distance by water. But we had decided to see
our own country first, and after our long journey across the continent,
here we were at last rumbling into the city of Seattle.
The Pacific Ocean was spread before us. Perhaps more people sail from
San Francisco than from Seattle in crossing this largest body of water
on the globe, but the farther north one crosses, the shorter is the
trip. If you will look at your school globe you will see why ships can
reach Japan more quickly from Puget Sound than from the Golden Gate.
Mother Earth’s waistline, the Equator, is the greatest distance around
the world (east and west), and the nearer to it one is, the longer the
distance. So you will understand how we saved a few days on our journey
to Asia by sailing from Seattle; but it hardly paid, for we had winter
weather in April, all the way across.
How limitless the sea about us seemed morning after morning! It was not
hard to realize that this body of water, which often does not live up to
its name (Pacific means “peaceful”), is greater in area than all the
land on the globe. And we were on our way to the largest piece of land
on the earth, the continent of Asia. Years ago, I went eastward to the
Far East. In returning to America, I crossed the Pacific as a sailor on
a sailing vessel and we were more than a month without a glimpse of
anything but the sea and sky. My journey home seemed long indeed.
On this trip westward we did not see another ship for more than a week,
to say nothing of sighting land. Then one morning we saw north of us to
starboard (the right-hand side of the ship as one faces the bow) what
looked like a great motionless iceberg. The Japanese “boy” who tended
our cabin and waited on us at table called it “American country,” and he
was right. For it was one of the Aleutian Islands, a great string of
which stretch southwestward from Alaska and, like it, belong to the
United States. Yet it was a whole week since we had sailed from Seattle,
thinking we had left our native land behind. If we had gone from San
Francisco we should have seen other islands belonging to us, the
Hawaiian group. There we should have stopped for a day, and enjoyed a
delightful run ashore in a garden spot of the tropics. But only seals,
and now and then a few fishermen in the summer time, or navy men flying
across the Pacific, think it worth while to land on the Aleutian
Islands, so closely does each resemble a glacier or a mountaintop
emerging from the sea.
My Son Loses a Birthday
The rest of the trip was the same, day after day, except for one curious
incident. My son, who was born on a British steamer in the Caribbean
Sea, lost his second birthday! When a ship westbound crosses what is
called the international date line, it must move its clocks forward
twenty-four hours, so to speak. Otherwise its calendar will not agree
with the calendar of Asia. It happened that we crossed the international
date line on Tuesday evening, April 24, and when my son woke up next
morning it was Thursday, the 26th! His birthday, the 25th, had
disappeared without a trace, a cake, or a candle, and if he lives to be
a hundred he will have had only ninety-nine birthdays. Had we been
traveling eastward instead of westward, he might have had two
birthdays—two April 25’s—for in that case the ship, on reaching the
international date line, would have added a day to fit the calendar of
the western hemisphere.
[Illustration:
Japanese artists delight to paint the sacred mountain Fujiyama.
]
Another week and we sighted Japan, the eastern edge of the great
continent of Asia which contains almost one-third the land and fully
one-half the people of the earth, a continent larger than both the
Americas plus all other land in the western hemisphere. It was not
really the continent of Asia, of course, that we saw growing ever larger
on the horizon ahead. It was merely one of the islands off its eastern
coast—just as Bermuda, the Bahamas, and the West Indies lie off the
coast of the United States. These islands stretching along the coast of
Asia, however, are not like most of the West Indies politically, for
instead of being colonies of other nations, they form an independent
empire.
Japan has often been called a great string of pearls flung down along
the western side of the Pacific. The Japanese have a legend that their
islands were formed of water dropped from the spear of Izanagi, one of
their gods. Scientists explain the islands in a way much easier to
believe, saying that they are the tops of ancient volcanoes. According
to them Japan is a great mountain chain rising from very deep water.
These mountain tops that are islands stretch all the way from the
climate of Greenland in Sakhalin to that of Cuba in Formosa, a sort of
stepping stone to our Philippines. Some of the “pearls” are large, some
of the others are very small, mere rocks on which no one lives. The
Kuriles hang like a necklace from the peninsula of Kamchatka, and the
Riu Kiu or Ladrones connect the southern end of old Japan with Formosa,
which also belongs to the Empire now. If we could count them all we
should find nearly three thousand islands!
Yet all of them together do not give room enough for the sixty million
people who live on them. Besides, being the tops of mountains, only a
small part of the islands of Japan can be cultivated. But for the same
reason they have many forests, nearly all minerals, countless mountain
streams to furnish water power, and beautiful scenery almost everywhere.
The most important of all the islands that make up Japan is Honshu, on
which at least half the Japanese live. North of it, where the winters
are cold and snow often caps the mountains, is the second largest
island, called Hokkaido, Yezo, or Hokushu. South of Honshu come two
middle-sized islands, Kyushu and Shikoku, and after that the islands
dwindle down through all sizes to those mere uninhabited rocks in the
sea which make Japan the most broken-up country in the world.
How Japan got its present name is interesting. Once the country was
called Yamato, but centuries ago a Chinese emperor sent a man there to
look for medicine or the elixir of life or something of the sort. As the
emperor did not know what name to give it, he had to say Jrr-pen, which
would be translated as “native of the sun” or “place the sun comes
from.” Gradually the Japanese themselves adopted this new name for their
country, and to-day they write those characters for it which in their
language are pronounced Nippon. So it is natural that Japan should be
called the “land of the rising sun,” and that its national flag should
be a white banner bearing a red sun, either round or with rays.
CHAPTER II
WE LAND AND GO TO TOKYO
No matter by which route one crosses the Pacific, he is almost sure to
land first in Yokohama. It is the chief doorway to Japan, at least from
the west. Only about fifty years ago it was not much more than a fishing
village. But here the American Commodore Matthew C. Perry landed in
1854, and since then it has become one of the world’s great ports. For
more than two hundred years before that Japan had been a tightly closed
country. Some unfortunate impressions gained of Western people and their
ways had made the Japanese Government decide that it would be best to
have nothing whatever to do with the rest of the world. So no Japanese
were allowed to go abroad, and no foreigners were permitted to land in
Japan, except a few traders from Holland, who were kept much like
prisoners on a little island in Nagasaki harbor.
[Illustration:
Two Japanese girls may ride together quite comfortably in a rickshaw.
]
But sometimes it was impossible for foreigners not to land in Japan.
There might be a storm at sea, or American fishermen on the ocean might
have to stop at one of the Japanese islands to get drinking water. It
was not right that these seamen, forced to land in the island empire,
should be treated as criminals, sometimes even executed. So the United
States Government sent Commodore Perry, first with a few ships, the next
year with a whole fleet, to try to persuade the Japanese to make a
treaty with us. The Japanese were asked to allow Americans to trade with
them, and to promise that they would treat properly any of our sailors
who happened to land on their shores. To show the Japanese what the
outside world had learned since Japan had shut its doors, Commodore
Perry brought and set up on the beach of Yokohama a whole railway train,
though of almost toy size. The curious Japanese used to sit on the top
of the cars for a ride, in order to try out this strange invention. The
Commodore showed them many other interesting things. Finally the treaty
was signed that opened Japan again to the outside world, and to-day it
has railways and other Western conveniences, and foreigners of any
nation now travel as safely in Japan as at home.
About the only reason for not landing first in Yokohama after crossing
the Pacific would be because it had been destroyed, and that is exactly
what happened to that great port at noon on September 1, 1923. A sudden
earthquake, followed by a great fire, almost completely destroyed the
city in an hour or two, and for some time after that ocean steamers went
right past, and made Kobe their first port of call. There have often
been earthquakes followed by fires in Japan, but this one that fell upon
all the region about Tokyo Bay on that late summer day was not merely
the worst Japan had ever known but has been called “the greatest
disaster in history.” How many thousands of people were crushed or
otherwise killed in the thousands of buildings that fell, never will be
exactly known. Hundreds of people were saved by the American and British
ships in the harbor; thousands of others rushed away into any open space
they could reach, while the ground was still heaving like a sea under
their feet. For days, in fact weeks, afterward the people who remained
had to live as best they could among the tumbled ruins, and eat whatever
the government and other agencies could get to them. For days there was
not even water. All the water-mains had been broken, and all sorts of
diseases broke out among the houseless survivors. The Japanese
government finally announced that 192,000 people had been killed by the
earthquake, in one way or another. Some people claim there were many
more than that. Among those killed were the American consul and his wife
and most of the other American residents of Yokohama, as well as
foreigners of many other countries.
Great Changes in Two Years
I have been through Japan three times, the first and last visits twenty
years apart. But of all changes I have seen, those in Yokohama—between a
year before the earthquake and a year after it—were the greatest. The
big modern city had become a large scattered village of low wooden
houses, almost shacks. Eight-story buildings of brick and stone were
either gone entirely or were smoke-blackened shells half filled with
heaps of bricks and what had once been office walls and furniture. Even
the big foreign steamship lines now had offices in little low wooden
buildings such as the people were using for houses and shops.
[Illustration:
© E. M. Newman, from Publishers Photo Service
The 101 steps of Yokohama, at the top of which is the 101-Step Tea
House. From this height Commodore Perry viewed the city at the time
he was successful in having Japan opened to the world.
]
Funny as well as terrible things happened during that great earthquake.
For instance, an American lady who had been out shopping was just taking
a bath before lunch when the crash came. Her house fell down, and she
went sliding, still in the bathtub, down the slope of the Bluff (the
higher part of Yokohama, where nearly all foreign residents live),
landing at the edge of the bay unhurt but much embarrassed.
I once had an amusing experience on that same Bluff. It was during my
first trip around the world, back in 1905, just after I finished my
college course. In those days I was a sailor looking for a ship. I was
wandering along the Bluff, among the several streets of big foreign
houses, when I discovered that I was lost and did not know the way back
to the harbor. I stepped into one of the many neat little police
stations that are to be found all over Japan, to inquire the way. But I
did not know a word of Japanese, and the courteous policemen knew no
English. To-day thousands of Japanese speak our language, and I now know
enough of theirs to ask a simple question. But that time we were
“stumped.” Then suddenly the head policeman picked up the queer looking
Japanese telephone and called a number. When he got it, he handed the
instrument to me. Someone at the other end asked me in English, though
with a Japanese accent, what I wanted. Later I learned that he was the
chief interpreter at police headquarters down in the main city. I
explained my trouble, and he asked me to hand the telephone back to the
police sergeant beside me. Then he explained to him, in Japanese, what I
had come for, and a policeman was sent to show me the way back to the
harbor.
But this time we were landing in Yokohama instead of leaving it. We
found the great harbor really a part of the large bay of Tokyo, and
filled with all kinds of steamers from many countries. A Japanese doctor
looked at all of us for signs of illness, since of course no one with a
contagious disease could be allowed to enter the country. Then polite
Japanese customs officers examined our baggage, to see if we were
bringing in anything that should pay duty. For some reason apples are
not allowed to be brought in. Perhaps it is because up in the island of
Yezo the Japanese themselves raise many good apples (which came
originally from American seed). My little boy is very fond of apples, so
we had stocked up at Seattle, but the customs officers took away our
last half dozen. Yet Japanese returning from California were allowed to
bring in whole crates of oranges.
Our passports were soon stamped, and then we were free to go anywhere we
liked in Japan. The only thing we must not do, besides the things one
should not do in any land, was to take photographs anywhere near forts.
I recalled how near I had come to having my camera taken away from me
years before in Nagasaki because I did not then know that rule.
The Rickshaw
There were automobiles, and even a few queerlooking horse-carriages
waiting for passengers, but we preferred to take rickshaws. At first it
seems very strange to ride behind a human steed, to be able to talk to
your horse and, instead of using reins, tell him which way to go or when
to stop. But the traveler in the Far East soon gets used to it, for
wherever he lands he is sure to find a crowd of men with these queer
carriages rushing forward to offer their services.
[Illustration:
Fourth and first pages of our passport, signed by Charles E. Hughes,
Secretary of State.
]
[Illustration:
Second and third pages of our passport. The visas were stamped in many
different colors.
]
[Illustration:
When it rains, the rickshaw is a very handy vehicle, for it can pick
you up at the very door and keep you as dry as a limousine, though
the poor runner may get soaked before your trip is done.
]
“Jinricksha,” the rickshaw’s full name, means “manpower carriage.” The
_kuruma_, as the Japanese still more often call the rickshaw, is
something like the little sulkies to which trotting horses are hitched.
It has wire wheels and pneumatic tires, the wheels much larger and the
tires much smaller than those of an automobile. The shafts between which
the man runs are, naturally, shorter than those for a horse; there is a
comfortable seat wide enough for one person or even for an adult and a
child, and a top that can be raised and lowered. The _kurumaya_, or
rickshaw-man, usually wears a black jacket like a smock, reaching to his
knees, and long tight trousers, ending in black cloth shoes or slippers
with a separate compartment for the big toe. When the weather is very
warm, his sunburned legs are bare and his feet are simply thrust into
sandals made of rice-straw.
The rickshaw is not a Japanese or even an Oriental invention. It was
originated by an American missionary. His wife, who was an invalid,
found it painful to ride in a _kago_, or seat between two poles on men’s
shoulders, such as Japanese used in olden days. So he arranged a kind of
enlarged baby-carriage in which she could be pushed or pulled, and from
this has developed the rickshaw that has spread over much of Asia and
some of Africa. The man from the Western world is reminded of this
origin during his first few rides in one of these vehicles. He feels
very much as if he were being wheeled about in a baby-carriage. But he
quickly finds that the rickshaw is very comfortable and convenient. Its
rubber tires and the soft-shod feet of the runner make it almost
noiseless; it will take him through narrow streets and into many places
where a horse-carriage or an automobile could not go. In time he may
even become fond of “widin’ man,” that is, “riding man,” as my small son
began calling this means of travel soon after we reached Japan.
[Illustration: The HEART of the JAPANESE EMPIRE]
Yet most of us from the West never get so used to it that we are not
rather sorry for the men who have to play horse to earn their living.
Even in Japan, where they do not run very fast and are so well paid that
it costs more to cover the same distance in a _kuruma_ than in an
automobile, they often cannot do this hard work for more than eight or
ten years. In China, where there is so much competition among the
millions of rickshaw coolies that they have to run very fast indeed to
keep their customers, and where their pay is pitifully low, many of them
do not last even that long. There are other dangers in rickshaw running,
especially in Japan. For there the roads often go up or down steep
hills, and the runner with a passenger heavier than himself is sometimes
injured by the _kuruma’s_ running away with him or overturning upon him.
When the Prince of Wales was in Japan a few years ago he put one of his
companions in a rickshaw and started to play rickshaw-man. But the
street in Nikko where he tried this new occupation became steeper and
steeper as he neared the bottom, and the Prince was lucky to get off
with only a broken rickshaw.
Japanese Railways
Wise people do not go to foreign countries just to see ports, for ports
are never as different from the rest of the world as the country itself.
The people who live in seaports meet so many foreigners that they
acquire foreign ways. If one wishes to know something about the real
people and their country, he must travel inland, far from the places
where ocean steamers dock.
Soon we were on our way to Tokyo, the Japanese capital. There are swift
electric and steam trains between Yokohama and Tokyo, leaving a very
Western-looking station every fifteen minutes or half-hour during the
day and much of the night. We might have gone by automobile, perhaps by
trolley, even by rickshaw if we had had plenty of time to spare. We
chose the train. The railway cars reminded us a little of the toy train
that Commodore Perry took with him when he opened Japan to the outside
world. The cars were not only small compared to those in America, but
they were drawn by a small engine that had no bell and seemed to screech
rather than whistle. The Japanese copied their railways mostly from
those of England, yet unlike the typical European railway “carriage”
their cars are not divided into compartments with two doors to each
compartment. Each car is a single room, like our own, with a door at
either end. In the third class, where most of the Japanese ride, there
are hard wooden seats, set crosswise, with a central aisle, as on our
trains. In second and first class, in which most foreigners and the more
wealthy Japanese travel, there is one seat along each side of the car,
as in old-fashioned street cars.
A Touch of The West
On these long upholstered seats we saw Japanese business men, professors
and government officials, dressed almost exactly as such men would be in
America or Europe. But many of the passengers were in the costumes of
their own country. Almost never did we see a Japanese woman dressed in
European fashion, though the Empress and the ladies of the Court dress
that way on important public occasions. The women in our car had on long
kimonos, some of silk, richly embroidered, with the _obi_, a great sash
of bright colors, wrapped about their waists and fastened behind in a
bow so enormous that it looked like a sofa pillow. Their jet-black hair
was done up in a very elaborate manner, and they wore no hats. Many of
the men also wore kimonos, with a sash belt in place of the obi, and the
little boys and girls were dressed much like their elders, though in
brighter colors.
[Illustration:
A railway station in Japan, showing how closely such places resemble
our own stations. Passengers cross the tracks by the covered bridge.
The men in white are Koreans.
]
All these men, women and children stepped out of the wooden sandals worn
in place of shoes, and squatted on the long seat with their stockinged
feet drawn up under them. The long seat close to the side of the car is
more convenient for them than for us of the Western world, for when they
wish to look out, they simply kneel with their faces to the windows,
their feet and legs under them. Even some of the men in European dress
take off their shoes. Beneath the seats are two long lines of shoes and
_geta_, or wooden sandals, waiting until their owners want them again.
When passengers are ready to leave, those having the native footwear
simply step into their clogs (held by a cord passing between the big toe
and the other toes) and away they scrape.
Until we got used to it, perhaps the queerest thing about being in Japan
was to realize that now it was _we_ who were the foreigners, instead of
those who would have been so in our country. We were objects of
curiosity to these almond-eyed, yellow-faced people who to us seemed
queerly dressed. If you were like some foreigners in Japan, you might
think that the Japanese were sorry not to be like you, that they would
prefer to be American or English or French. But you would soon find that
they are just as proud of being Japanese as you are of being American,
and that they would not change any more than you would. You can see that
this is just as it should be, for the people of every country should
think of it as better than any other—and strive to make it better still.
[Illustration:
A bride being taken by her mother to her future husband. She wears a
white headdress and keeps to the old customs and costume, even
though she rides in a very up-to-date train.
]
As we looked out the train windows we noticed that Japan had copied many
things from the West. There were big warehouses and factories and scores
of telegraph lines carried on several rows of poles, such as one would
see in America or Europe. To be sure, the bright green rice fields were
not like our fields, and certainly the men and women were very different
in appearance from those we had seen working in American fields as we
raced across the continent. They wore great straw or woven-reed hats
that looked like parasols without handles. Their kimonos or smocks were
pulled up about their waists and tucked into their belts, and their bare
legs were often knee-deep in the muddy fields as they hoed or weeded the
growing rice. Women work in the fields as much as the men. There were
many villages of small thatched houses and some orchards in which the
trees seemed strangely tiny. We noticed that some of the trees were
trained on a trellis so as to form a shady roof over summer houses or
verandas.
The trip was swift, however. In less than an hour we found ourselves
racing between unbroken rows of little houses, some of them dark with
age, since they had seldom been painted. Big western buildings rose
about us again, we stopped at a suburban station or two, and suddenly we
reached the huge stone Shimbashi Station of Tokyo. Outside its entrance
rows of automobiles and scores of rickshaws were waiting, and before and
around us were the sights and sounds of a big city. It was almost
bewildering, even to us who were quite used to traveling in foreign
lands.
CHAPTER III
LIFE IN THE JAPANESE CAPITAL
Although it is one of the great cities of the world, with more than two
million people, Tokyo is mostly a low, flat city. The people long
thought that by building very small houses they would not suffer so much
from the frequent earthquakes. But in the great disaster of 1923 it was
the American-style buildings, of stone or brick with steel frames, that
stood up best. Even if the little wooden houses were not overthrown by
the earthquake, they were quickly devoured in the great fire that
followed it.
We saw many signs of the earthquake in Tokyo, as in Yokohama. Whole
sections of the city were still gleaming new, because the hundreds of
little unpainted wooden houses in it had so recently been rebuilt. In
places only the charred walls of big stone or brick buildings remained.
But Tokyo was not so completely destroyed as its port, and much of the
city looked quite as it had on an earlier visit. Perhaps because they
are so used to fires and earthquakes, the Japanese had quickly restored
their capital after the great calamity. Certainly it was surprising to
see how much of the city was rebuilt only a year later.
The streets of the Japanese capital have rougher pavements than our own,
and no sidewalks. The people simply walk in the street itself, mingling
with the hundreds of rickshaws and the many automobiles, which, we
noticed, are almost all American; the Japanese do not seem to make motor
cars. Trolley-cars run everywhere, but these we found more uncomfortable
than in our American cities. They are small and short, so that they bob
about a good deal. The hard wooden seats are not easy to sit on—but the
cars are so crowded that most of the passengers have to stand up anyway.
Besides, whenever it rains, as it does often in Tokyo, the car floors
become covered with mud carried in by the passengers’ wooden clogs.
However, it is always delightful to travel by rickshaw, or even on foot
when the sun is bright and the sky clear. In wandering about the city,
we saw tall, slender towers high above everything else, with what seemed
to be policemen peering out of them. Our Japanese friends told us these
were places from which to watch for fires, somewhat like the lookouts of
our forest rangers. It is a question whether a fire could burn faster in
one of our great forests than in these patches of thousands of little
wooden houses that the fire-watchers of Tokyo look down upon day and
night. We came across several big parks, with many splendid trees, and
one of them was a sea of pink cherry blossoms. Japan is a beautiful
place indeed during cherry-blossom time in the spring, and the people
have many festivities. Once I was there in the autumn, when the
chrysanthemums were in bloom, and in the midst of these big bright
blossoms another festival was held.
The Imperial Palace
[Illustration:
© E. M. Newman, from Publishers Photo Service
The moat, walls, and watch towers of the imperial palace at Tokyo.
]
The Emperor’s palace, within its two moats and walls in the center of
the city, is not open to anyone who wishes to visit it. Not only
foreigners but the Japanese themselves have to wait for a formal written
invitation to visit even the grounds. Such invitations are sometimes
sent for lawn festivals. As Emperor Yoshihito was ill for some years
before his death in 1926, his eldest son, Crown Prince Hirohito, was a
leader in state and social affairs even before succeeding to the throne.
Hirohito once made a trip around the world, the first future Emperor of
Japan to leave his native land. He visited New York, and a few other
American cities; but he is said to feel much more at home within the
walls of the imperial palaces. The people of Japan greatly honor their
Emperor. Most of them, in fact, consider him sacred, descended from the
Japanese gods, and worship him in their temples and schools. He is so
holy to them that the common people cannot call him anything more
familiar than “Mikado,” which means “honorable gate”; that is, the gate
of the palace or of the palace grounds.
The earthquake, however, had no such queer notions, and it did some
damage in the palace grounds as well as outside. We saw workmen
rebuilding a part of the great outer wall that had been overthrown. The
moats about the imperial grounds are broad, and the water seems to be
deep, though lilies and other flowers blossom on the surface of it at
certain seasons. The walls are massive, made of large stones carefully
set together; and the grassy slopes beyond them show that crowds are
never allowed to intrude upon the imperial household. In the olden days,
when guns were unknown in fighting, these moats and walls were a real
protection to the Emperor. Now he must depend more on his big modern
army, and the respect his people have for him.
The Japanese Government
One can hardly be in the capital of any country without wondering just
how it is governed. Except that it is hard to imagine the Japanese
having a president in place of their sacred Mikado, there are many
things about the government similar to our own, though it is even more
like the British Government. The two Houses of Parliament resemble our
Congress, and the Cabinet has very nearly the same officers as ours,
except that they are called Ministers instead of Secretaries. Back of
all the other parts of the government, and not often seen, is a small
group of wise old men called the “elder statesmen,” who have much power.
The common people of Japan do not have as much to do with governing
their country as our people do with governing ours, but they are
gradually gaining in influence. Recently nearly all men were given the
right to vote, and there are some who believe that before many years the
women, too, will be allowed to go to the polls. That would be a great
change indeed from the day, hardly three-quarters of a century ago, when
Commodore Perry came to Japan. Then there was a feudal system, like that
in Europe in the Middle Ages, and the ordinary people had very few
rights. The lords, who were called _daimyos_, had divided the country up
among them, and ruled it with their _samurai_, a caste of men who could
never be anything but soldiers. The Emperor was then considered too
sacred even to rule, and was kept shut up in his palace in another part
of Japan, while the _shogun_, or head of the Japanese army, was the real
ruler. The people had nothing whatever to do with the government except
to obey the laws and pay very heavy taxes.
[Illustration:
A venerable Japanese man, wearing his hair in the style of olden days.
]
Roaming about Tokyo, and later about the rest of the Empire, we often
saw things to indicate that the government of Japan is a very good one.
Its army and navy look just as well disciplined and equipped as our own
or any in Europe. Its postal system is quite as efficient as any other.
In the streets of the capital we sometimes saw the postmen in their blue
cotton uniforms and straw sandals, running from house to house, or from
one corner mail box to another, in their hurry to get all their work
done. In Tokyo and the other cities, and sometimes out in the country,
we saw policemen in spotless uniforms who did their duty seriously and
efficiently. In fact, all the Japanese who work for the government are
very diligent, for they consider that they are working for their sacred
Mikado.
An Interesting Experience
I had quite a long experience with the policemen of Japan at the time of
the war between Japan and Russia. Toward the end of that war I landed in
Nagasaki on my way homeward in a trip around the world. As I had been
earning my way, much of it as a sailor, I suppose I must have looked
like a suspicious character to the Japanese police. To make things
worse, I was wearing an old khaki uniform, and as I had little money I
set out to walk through the country, or at least through the main
island. Nearly every policeman I met seemed to take me either for a
Russian spy or an escaped prisoner of war, and during my thirty-six days
in the country I was arrested forty-eight times!
But the situation was not as bad as this sounds, for the Japanese police
are courteous as well as efficient. If I went out to see the sights of a
city, to visit a temple or take a train, or started into the country on
foot, a policeman was almost sure to step up to me and tell me by signs
that I was under arrest. But he did not shake a club at me or drag me
off by force to the police station. (Japanese policemen do not carry
clubs, anyway, but short swords.) Instead, he would trail along beside
or behind me until he met another policeman, and then one of them would
run off to the police station while the other stayed with me. By and by
the man who had gone away would come back with a police interpreter, who
would read questions in English to me out of a little book, pronouncing
the words very queerly. As soon as he found that I could speak English,
he took my word for it that I was an “Amerikajin,” or American man, and
would apologize for having troubled me. Yet perhaps within half an hour
another policeman would start following me, and the whole thing would
happen over again.
Several times policemen in civilian clothes trailed me from one town to
another, and once I walked forty-six miles in a single day in an attempt
to tire out the man who was following me. But even then he continued to
be polite, and the country people who crowded around me, although
believing I was a Russian, never tried to do me any harm. Only once
during these forty-eight arrests did the police stop me from going where
I wished. That time they insisted that I get off a train before they
would let it start, and kept me in the station waiting-room until the
interpreter came; and when he came he apologized.
Japanese Stores and Streets
I suppose most Americans visiting Tokyo are more interested in the
people and their streets, shops, and homes than in the Mikado and his
palace. I am sure we were. Most of the stores are small, like the
houses, and open wide on the street, for the front wall is pushed aside
like a great door during the day and evening. The floor is raised two or
three feet above the ground and is covered with grass mats; and on this
the shopkeepers squat, whether they are attending to customers or
writing up their accounts. They have tiny little desks, without legs, to
write upon. Their wooden sandals are left on the ground before the shop.
Generally the customers stand in the street at the edge of the shop
floor and do their buying there. If they go inside, they also step out
of their sandals and walk about or squat on the mat-covered floor in
their stocking feet. The stockings are always mitten-shaped, and usually
they reach only to the ankle.
There are also some big department stores in Tokyo, one or two of them
several stories high. In these also the floors are covered with mats, or
are as highly polished as a piano, and Japanese customers leave their
clogs at the door. There, as in our check rooms, boys or girls take care
of them. When a foreigner, or a Japanese in American dress, comes in,
the employees cover his shoes with cloth overshoes so that he may walk
about without soiling or scratching the floor. These department stores
are very neat, and as orderly as a museum. Nearly all their goods, of
course, are Japanese, but the stores themselves are just as up-to-date
as our own, even having interpreters who speak English.
The streets of Tokyo have their own special noise, which is not like the
noise of our cities. As nearly everyone wears _geta_, or wooden clogs,
the scrape of these on the pavements raises a great din wherever there
is a crowd. When it rains, nearly everybody carries an umbrella, usually
one made of waterproof paper. In order to keep their feet out of the
water and mud, the people put on higher and higher wooden clogs, so that
in very bad weather they all look as if they were walking on stilts. The
high clogs seem very awkward and a foreigner could hardly walk in them
at all; but nearly all Japanese prefer them to shoes. The rickshaw-men
and those who draw carts or canal boats, not being able to carry
umbrellas, wear raincoats or capes made of grass or palm leaves, and
splash along barefoot or in straw sandals.
When rain does not settle the dust, the streets of Tokyo are sprinkled
by hand. They swarm with people who would look very strange indeed in
the streets of our own country. Hawkers run about shouting strange words
to attract customers. The newsboys of Tokyo run too, but instead of
calling out the names of their papers they wear a cluster of bells that
jingle as they trot, and everyone knows what they have for sale. But,
unlike many other cities we were to see before leaving Asia, the
Japanese capital has telephones and telegraph stations, plenty of
electric light, and other things which Westerners expect in a big busy
city.
CHAPTER IV
LIVING WITH THE JAPANESE
When my family and I reached Tokyo, the largest hotel in the city had
recently burned down. Since there are few “foreign” hotels in the
capital, and many foreigners had come for the cherry-blossom season, we
could not get a room. Fortunately I had a letter of introduction to a
Japanese business man, and when he had telephoned to every foreign hotel
he could think of, without success, he asked one of his employees to
give us lodging. The man sent word to his wife that we were coming, and
by and by we were taken to our host’s home in the merchant’s automobile.
The house was in Ushigome-ku, one of the most densely populated wards in
the Japanese capital. It was much like the homes of thousands of his
neighbors, resembling a large wooden box with a tile roof, and set back
from the street in a pretty little garden. Across the front of it was a
veranda, raised about two feet above the ground and carpeted with grass
mats, like those in the Japanese shops.
When we approached, the whole family came out to the edge of the veranda
to greet us. There was the old grandmother, the wife, and three
children, all dressed in kimonos and in their stocking feet. Even the
man, who had hurried home ahead of us, now wore a kimono. For, while
many of the business men of Japan, and the government officials, wear
European clothing at their offices, they change to their more
comfortable native costume when they get home in the evening. All the
family stood in a row and bowed very low to us several times, each time
rubbing their thighs with their hands, which is a form of Japanese
politeness. We had to sit down on the edge of the veranda and take off
our shoes. To go into a Japanese house with shoes on is very bad manners
indeed. We were ashamed to find that there was a hole or two in our
stockings. That never happens among the Japanese, for they know that the
feet of their stockings will be seen by other people many times a day.
When we had left our shoes on the ground along the edge of the veranda,
we went inside.
Downstairs this family had a small living room with a wooden floor. In
it were a foreign table and chairs, contrary to the Japanese custom.
Bowls of sweetmeats—candied fruits, preserved ginger, and other Japanese
delicacies—were set before us. The family were very kind, but as we
could not talk to them we had to do the best we could with signs. The
Japanese do not often use signs, and they had hard work understanding
ours. If we pointed at a thing, they might come and examine the finger
we were pointing with, rather than notice what we were pointing at. Our
little boy became very restless and wanted to run about the house. But
we had to stop him, because all the inside walls were made of paper and
he might have run through them.
[Illustration:
© E. M. Newman, from Publishers Photo Service
Japanese ladies in their best dress gathered about the tea service or
dinner, which is always eaten on the floor.
]
By and by we were taken to our room upstairs, reached by a very steep
and narrow stairway. It was large enough for a dozen people, yet there
was not a single piece of furniture in it, nor anything else! The floor
was covered with thick, soft grass matting, the walls were of rice paper
on little wooden frames, and the ceiling looked quite frail. On some of
the walls bamboos and flowers and birds were painted. These surroundings
interested us, but we were all hungry and we looked forward eagerly to
supper.
A Japanese Meal
Presently a servant girl entered noiselessly with three cushions and
laid them on the floor. We were expected to kneel on these instead of
sitting on chairs. Quite a time went by, and then the girl appeared
again, carrying a little table, with legs hardly a foot high. Before
long she slipped in a third time and brought us food. There was a small
wooden tub with a cover, which she placed on the floor beside the table.
On the table itself she put several dishes of strange looking food and,
kneeling down beside us, began to serve our dinner. When she took the
cover off the wooden tub we saw that it was full to the brim of steaming
hot rice. She ladled some of this into three bowls, using a wooden
scoop, and set them before us. There was no sugar, no milk, no water, no
salt and pepper, no butter, no bread; and there were no knives, forks,
or spoons. Instead, we were each given two slender sticks, like long
lead-pencils. Fortunately we also had a utensil made of porcelain that
looked something like a spoon, or our small boy, at least, might not
have been able to eat at all.
We were supposed to begin with bowls of soup, an almost raw egg in each.
Then we had stewed seaweed, black beans that rolled around as we tried
to pick them up one at a time with the chopsticks, and several other
things that were not at all like our American food. The pickled raw fish
we simply could not eat. Our distaste for this dish amused the servant.
She kept filling our rice-bowls from the wooden tub every time we had
eaten a few mouthfuls of the soft but almost dry rice. The Japanese
often eat five or six bowls of rice at a meal, and the servant could not
understand our small appetite for what in Japan takes the place of
bread. If you have been used to bread all your life you will be
surprised to find how hard it is to eat a meal without it. There is some
rather poorly baked bread in Japan, but outside the foreign hotels not
many people eat it.
In time we became quite used to Japanese food, and liked some of it,
especially the omelets that are not very different from ours. But that
evening I am afraid we went to bed rather hungry, in spite of the
kindness of our hosts. It was a long time before we got to bed, too, and
to tell the truth what we finally lay down on were not really _beds_ at
all. The servant carried out all the food, all the dishes, and even the
table. While we squatted rather forlornly in the middle of the big bare
room, my son fell asleep, with his head on his cushion.
To pass the time we stepped to the half-open paper wall at the back and
looked across the garden and a little gorge behind the house, upon the
crowded ward of Ushigome. Hundreds of electric lights shone among the
thousands of little wooden houses, especially along the streets lined
with shops. There a great crowd seemed to be moving back and forth, for
we could hear the scraping of thousands of _geta_, mingling together
like a great chorus. Later I went out to one of the shopping streets and
found it completely filled with Japanese, all in their native costumes,
from one side of open shop-fronts to the other, so that it looked like
an endless river of people flowing back and forth.
How They Sleep in Japan
[Illustration:
Photo from Keystone View Co., Inc., of N. Y.
A Japanese bedroom, which will be a living room in the daytime. The
bed consists of quilts laid on the mat-covered floor, with a pillow
as hard as a brick to protect the women’s hair-dress.
]
But at last the servant came in again, this time bringing a huge armful
of thick quilts. She laid these, one on top of another, on the floor,
and placed at one end of the pile three hard little bags that seemed to
be filled with dry beans. These we were expected to use as pillows. The
Japanese are so fond of hard pillows that many of them use wooden ones.
Then she put up a huge mosquito-net, fastening its corners to the
corners of the room, which was almost completely filled with it. Before
she had quite finished, however, the grandmother came in and ordered her
to take all the quilts out again. Though we could not understand the old
lady’s words, we made out from her actions and her voice that she was
scolding the servant for having given guests from far-off America cotton
quilts instead of the best silk ones. The girl then brought beautiful
silk-covered quilts and made the bed all over again.
The grandmother gave us to understand that there was a bathroom
downstairs, and I decided to have a bath before retiring. I found a long
narrow room, with a wooden floor containing several little tubs. One
side was taken up by a large square wooden tank filled to the brim with
steaming water and almost five feet deep. This water was heated by a
fire under the tank, beneath the house, and it was so hot that I nearly
scalded a foot when I started to step into it. The Japanese like their
baths very hot, and they get used to bathing in water which an American
could hardly dip his hands in. Their way of bathing is to fill one of
the little wooden tubs with hot water from the tank, soap and scrub
themselves thoroughly, rinse, and then get into the tank and soak until
they look as if they had been boiled. When the soaking is finished, the
bather pours cold water over himself with another of the little wooden
basins, and dries and dresses himself. Several persons may use the tank
at the same time, but we do the same thing in our swimming pools.
When I returned to our room it seemed very “stuffy.” I found that the
servant had closed all the paper walls, and also the sliding wooden
walls on the outside of the house. These wooden walls are made of many
sections, and during the day are kept in narrow spaces partitioned off
for them at the corners of the house. At night everything is shut as
tight as a drum, for the Japanese think it is not good for the health to
let night air into a sleeping-room. I noticed that the bright electric
light hanging from the ceiling had not been turned off and remembered
that most Japanese do not like to sleep in complete darkness. There are
many people like that, in all lands, just as there are millions who shut
out the night air when they sleep.
As our family’s likes and dislikes were the opposite, I turned off the
light and found a way to open the wooden outer wall. But our hosts must
have been watching, afraid, perhaps, that some harm would come to us
under their roof. For I had hardly dropped asleep when I heard someone
come in, close the wall again, and turn on the light. I saw it was the
grandmother. Two or three times more I switched off the light and let in
some air, but the worried old lady would not let us run such risks. At
last I took the electric bulb out of its socket, and she finally seemed
to understand that we did not like to sleep in a lighted room. But I
could not find any way to persuade her to let the night air come in, and
we therefore had a very restless sleep.
Up with the Sun
We were not allowed to lie abed late in the morning. Almost before
daylight, we were awakened by a great banging and slamming, and found
the servants opening the outer walls and putting them away section by
section in the places for them at the corners of the house. The _shoji_,
or paper walls, were also opened all about us, and we felt so
embarrassed, lying on the floor in the center of the open house, that we
quickly rose and dressed. The tub of steaming rice, and some other food
much like that of the evening before, was brought in, and we did our
best to breakfast on a meal that was not in the least like the one we
would have had at that hour at home. It was delightful now to sit on the
soft mats and cushions—for the servant had carried off the quilts and
beanbags that had formed our bed—and look out into the garden, its
flowers and shrubs brilliant in the sunshine, a bird here and there
gaily singing.
We decided that there are pleasant and unpleasant things in every land.
When I am asked in which of the many countries I have visited I would
prefer to make my home, I answer that I would like to take certain
things from this country, and that country, and other countries, and put
them all together into one that would have only pleasant features and no
unpleasant ones. Some of the nice things I would borrow from Japan. For
instance, it seems very good to leave one’s shoes, with all the dust and
mud of the street, at the door rather than to bring them into the house.
Frail paper walls are fine when a bright sun is shining through them, or
when they can be opened wide on a pretty garden. But it is not so
pleasant to have to be careful all the time not to put your hand or your
elbow through the wall of the house! It is convenient to be able to fold
one’s bed and lay it away out of sight during the day, and furniture
sometimes is a bother. Still, one would like a few bureau drawers and
closets and hooks, instead of having to hang everything on the floor, so
to speak. Those of us who have not been trained to it from childhood
find it rather difficult, also, to squat on our haunches on a cushion
instead of sitting in a chair. When the average American man stands up
in a Japanese house he feels enormous, like Gulliver among the
Lilliputians. Perhaps the most unpleasant thing about Japanese living,
to us of the western hemisphere, is that there is never any privacy
about it. Nobody knocks and there are no doors to lock. Anyone in the
house may push aside the walls of your room and leave it no room at all!
Someone may even walk into the bathroom when you are taking a bath! The
Japanese think nothing of being seen without their clothing, perhaps
because they have lived all these centuries in paper houses, with
sliding walls. Then, too, the houses are seldom quiet. You can hear
everyone else every time he moves or speaks. So, though the Japanese are
not a noisy race, seldom quarreling and not much given to chatter,
people who mind noise will not enjoy living in a Japanese house.
Japanese Hotels
We never again lived in the home of a wholly Japanese family, but in
traveling about the country I stopped in many a Japanese hotel or inn
that was quite like that Tokyo home. The hotels for foreigners in Japan
are stone or brick or wooden buildings such as we have in America. I
always feel sorry, however, for the traveler through the Japanese Empire
who stops only in these, living much as he would at home. He misses a
great deal that is interesting by not staying in genuine Japanese inns,
which he would find not at all bad when he got used to them.
The typical Japanese hotel is a building much like one of the family
homes, except that it is larger. It has the same sliding paper walls,
the same wooden outer walls that can be pushed aside during the day. The
floors are covered with mats, the chairs are cushions and the beds are
quilts piled one on top of another. As in the home, the electric lights
are kept blazing all night and not a crack is left for the night air.
Let us suppose that we have just stepped off the train in some Japanese
city where there is no foreign hotel, or that we have decided to stay at
a Japanese inn. We might call the city Hiroshima, since that is where
all that is to follow first happened to me, many years ago. As I was
weary of sitting still on the train, I declined the offers of the half
hundred rickshaw-men at the station, and walked to the hotel. I knew I
should have to depend on the sign language there, but I thought I could
manage it. The front of the hotel I chose was wide open, with a raised,
mat-covered floor the whole length of it. I had hardly stepped up to
this when the hotel owner or manager, several young men who seemed to be
his assistants, and half a dozen servant-girls ran forward noiselessly
and all began bowing to me, over and over again. They were all smiling,
for it is a part of Japanese politeness to show only a happy exterior,
no matter how sad one may be.
This time my shoes, and the _geta_ of the other guests, were put into a
kind of closet near the door; perhaps to prevent their being stolen, for
of course there are thieves in Japan, as in every other country. The
room to which I was taken upstairs was very much like that in the home
of our Tokyo hosts. Along one side of it was a little veranda
overhanging a large and busy street of the town. On the opposite side
was another veranda, above a pretty little courtyard which was
completely surrounded by the hotel. In this courtyard there were dwarf
pine trees and other small trees trained into strange shapes, a little
fountain with its jet of water flashing in the sunshine and, of course,
many flowers and some birds.
In Japanese hotels there are no dining rooms. Each guest has his dinner
served in his room, at any hour he likes. When he wants it, he merely
claps his hands together three times, and a _nesan_, or “older sister,”
appears. That is merely a polite Japanese name for the hotel servant.
She falls on her knees, bows her head almost to the floor matting, and
then goes to bring the dinner.
[Illustration:
© E. M. Newman, from Publishers Photo Service
Many Japanese homes, as well as hotels, parks and other public places,
have little ponds, fountains, evergreen trees, flowers, lanterns,
and other things to beautify them. This is the garden of the hotel
at Miyajima. (See Chapter XI.)
]
The food and the way it was served were much the same in that Hiroshima
inn as in the Tokyo home. The servant-girl kept filling my rice-bowl
before it was half empty, and as soon as I had drunk my tea from the
little cup without a handle, she poured out more. This time there was no
seaweed, but there were pickled radishes and lily bulbs, and a kind of
salad made of the heart of a small palm tree. One or two of the hot
dishes were so much like some we have in American restaurants that they
hardly looked strange at all. All the food was brought on a little
lacquered tray, except of course the tubful of steamed rice. Then the
dining service was whisked away again, and the quilt bed was made up.
A Scarcity of Furniture
There is little more furniture in a Japanese inn room than in one at a
home. Sometimes there is a kind of clothes rack, and a curious wooden
thing upon which to rest your elbow while you squat on a floor cushion.
Possibly there is a tiny writing desk without legs. If it is cold, the
servant will bring in a _hibachi_. This is a big brass vase or a square
wooden box, filled half with ashes and half with glowing charcoal, which
takes the place of a stove in heating a Japanese room. The Japanese have
no furnaces, and their houses have no chimneys. Yet all except the more
southern islands of the empire have real winters, with snow and ice.
Having only these poor little charcoal burners, the people would suffer
severely from the cold if it were not for another custom. As the weather
becomes colder and colder, they put on more and more cotton-padded
kimonos one outside another, so that in midwinter the Japanese look like
a much fatter race than they do in summer. Even so, their costumes,
their paper houses, and many of their customs are not suitable for
wintertime. This fact has made some scientists think that the Japanese
must originally have come from islands farther south, where it is always
summer.
Before turning off the light in my hotel room at Hiroshima, and crawling
into my stack of quilts, I noticed that the paper walls were painted not
merely with trees and flowers and birds, but with several upright rows
of Japanese letters. These were sacred texts or moral sayings taken from
the classics, or perhaps pretty poems, all meant to make the guest feel
more comfortably surrounded. In the morning the usual early noises
wakened me, for the Japanese do not believe in sleeping late, though
they often doze during the day.
All Expect Tips
When a guest in a Japanese hotel pays his bill, he must remember that
everyone who has in any way served him expects a tip, not even excepting
the owner or manager himself. Guests in Japanese inns often pay out as
much in presents to the people who have waited on them as they do for
the night’s lodging and food. The inn people will all be there to wish
the traveler good-by, just as they welcomed him, all standing in a row
at the door, bowing low and rubbing their thighs politely. In olden
times no guest ever left a _yadoya_, or Japanese inn, without also being
given a present. It might be a fan, a small towel with a bit of Japanese
scenery painted on it, or a brightly colored yard of cloth for carrying
small articles in the way they often are carried in Japan. But things
have grown so expensive in Japan, just as they have in other countries,
that now the innkeeper can hardly afford to give a departing guest any
souvenir more expensive than a tissue-paper napkin or a painted card.
Yet he cordially invites the guest to come again.
There are some things about Japanese hotels with which a fussy person
can find fault. There are a few things that are very annoying. But of
one thing the guest may be sure—there will be no indifference shown him
by the hotel people. All, from the manager to the coolie or _nesan_ who
tries to help him take his bath, will do their best to serve him
perfectly, foresee his wants, and keep cheerful and smiling in his
presence. Therefore one does not begrudge the tips.
CHAPTER V
THE JAPANESE AT WORK AND PLAY
When we landed in Japan from our voyage across the Pacific, huge, gaily
colored paper fish were flying like banners in the breeze above
thousands of houses. Some were in clusters; some were so large that they
might have been taken for whales. When we inquired, we learned that they
were displayed in honor of the boys. In Japan each person does not have
an individual birthday, but certain dates in the year are considered the
anniversary of everyone, no matter on what particular day each was born.
A Japanese baby born in December is said to be two years old in January,
because it was regarded as a year old as soon as it was born and
everyone is considered to be a year older each New Year’s Day. But the
birthday celebrations of the girls are in March and those of the boys in
May. Therefore, as it was now May, every family with a boy, especially a
new baby boy, flew a paper fish in his honor.
This fish is supposed to be the carp, though the big paper things,
swollen out with the wind that blows in from the sea, sometimes look as
much like pickerel or bullheads. The carp is a sturdy fish, which fights
its way even up high waterfalls, and is not easily discouraged.
Therefore it is regarded by the Japanese as a symbol of courage. They
think, quite properly, that all boys should be as brave and persevering
as the carp.
[Illustration:
During the Boys’ Festival, every family in which there is a boy honors
him by flying a paper fish.
]
A Display of Toys
If we had gone into some of the houses over which the fish were flying,
we should have found all sorts of toys and boyish treasures laid out to
make the boys happy. The Japanese are great makers of toys. There are
whole shops given over entirely to playthings, most of them very gay in
color. Because they are more easily broken than our toys, the boys
become more careful of them. The usual reason for their flimsiness is
that they are sold very cheaply. Some of the things that are laid out on
the “fifth day of the fifth moon,” as the Boys’ Festival is called, are
very old, for they are handed down from father to son, sometimes for
many generations. Most of the toys are military ones, such as soldiers,
weapons and flags. The Japanese have always been warriors, and every boy
is expected to become a soldier, if necessary, and fight for the Mikado.
As it is not much more than half a century since the Japanese began to
dress, equip, and drill their armies like those of America and Europe,
many of the old toys represent the curious armor, swords, and gaily
dressed generals of the ancient days.
At the Girls’ Festival in March, dolls take the place of the paper fish.
This time all the dolls in the house, some of them old ones that have
been used for many generations, are set out. They remain for three days,
and the girls pretend to feed them three times a day. Some of the dolls
represent the Mikado and the Empress and the royal princes. These are
especially honored.
The Schools of Japan
No one can be long in Japan without seeing groups of children on their
way to school. Every child in that country is expected to stay in school
at least until he finishes what we would call the grammar grades. Girls
in school do not wear kimonos, as they do at home, but skirts, jackets,
long stockings, and usually leather shoes like ours. On their way to and
from school they wear hats, although at other times they do not.
Boys and girls both carry their books and other school things in
knapsacks held by a strap over one shoulder. If a pupil came to school
carrying books under one arm, or swinging them from a strap, he would be
scolded by the teacher and perhaps be punished. Because the Japanese are
a very orderly people and like things done in an almost military way,
the boys and girls on their way to school remind one of squads of
soldiers. The boys often wear a kind of uniform, of dark cloth in cold
weather and usually white during the summer. But whether or not they
wear a complete uniform, almost every schoolboy, from the first grade to
the last year at the university, has a uniform cap, something like those
of our policemen, or of the officers of our navy. The teachers, who are
nearly always men, also often have a kind of uniform. In some parts of
the empire the teacher wears a sword, but this is only a sign that he is
an officer of the Mikado. (You will find pictures of Japanese pupils and
a teacher in Chapters XII and XIII.)
[Illustration:
Photo from Maude W. Madden
Suppose we call the little Japanese girl who owns these dolls Haru-ko
San. They are mostly ancestral dolls (she calls them O-hina-sama),
with the Emperor and Empress at the top under the canopy, and lower
down courtiers, court musicians and others. On the lowest shelf is
probably such a figure as a maiden carrying a water pail to remind
Haru-ko San of household duties. And on the floor are three ordinary
“play” dolls, which perhaps she really loves best, for the others
must not be played with. The ancestral dolls are often dressed in
handsome brocaded robes, and may cost a great deal. They are kept
very carefully so that once a year, in March when the Doll Festival
occurs, they may all be brought out and displayed. With them are
shown the lacquered chests, kimono racks, trays, tables, and vases
that the ancestral dolls would need for housekeeping. These too are
very beautiful.
]
In the olden days Japanese schools were very different from our own.
Then the pupils studied very much as many Chinese boys still do. That
is, they all squatted on the floor, rocked back and forth, and shouted
at the top of their voices the words they were trying to learn. These
words were taken from the old Japanese or Chinese classics, the ancient
books of the Far East. Even small children were expected to learn long
sentences and sometimes whole pages from solemn volumes either of poems
or of morals, resembling sermons. When they learned to write, it was by
holding sheets of tissue paper in the hand and painting upon them with a
little brush made of camel’s hair.
The Japanese school children still write with such a brush, but they
also learn to use a pen and even the typewriter. In the schools, more
than anywhere else, we can see the influence our Western world has had
on Japan. In all the cities big stone and brick buildings that look
almost as if they had been brought bodily from America are filled with
school children. There are benches and desks, blackboards and chalk
boxes. The lessons are on many different subjects, just as in our
schools, and not merely the old classics. Nor do the children any longer
shout their lessons and memorize long passages. They learn to read much
as American children do, though it takes them longer, and no wonder!
Japan still has the written language of the Chinese, with every word
represented by a very intricate sign, instead of separate letters that
can be made up into all kinds of words. In place of an alphabet of
twenty-six letters, the poor Japanese pupil has to memorize hundreds,
and later thousands, of these queer drawings. It is easier to write
these with a little brush than with a pen. Gradually, however, the
Japanese are getting away from the difficult Chinese signs. In place of
them they use much simpler ones called _cana_, which look something like
our shorthand. Much of what now appears in Japanese newspapers and other
popular publications is printed in _cana_.
[Illustration:
These lines, which to us look so odd, would mean a great deal to a
Japanese child. Together, they make a poem on “Spring,” which was
written on thin paper with a little brush and handed in by a
schoolgirl as an exercise in penmanship. The girl was a pupil of an
American teacher in Japan, Mrs. Maude W. Madden. You will be
interested to know that this “writing” received a prize. Here is the
poem, in English:
]
When Spring comes
And her flowers I see,
With the mists of the fields
My cares vanish away.
The Use of the Abacus
The study of arithmetic in Japanese schools is still very different from
what it is in ours. That is because even grown-up people of Japan do not
do their figuring with pencil and paper but on the _abacus_ or
_soroban_. This has a frame like that of a slate. In place of the slate,
however, there are stiff wires running from one side of the frame to the
opposite side and on these wires little wooden balls are strung like
beads. When a Japanese schoolboy, or a Japanese merchant or business
man, wishes to add or subtract, to multiply or divide, he moves these
balls back and forth skillfully until he finds his answer. He has to
think, of course, when he is doing a sum, just as we do. But the balls
show the result of each operation and he does not write it down. He gets
the answer quickly.
[Illustration:
Keystone View Co.
Japanese schoolboys are very fond of flying kites. Do you see the
“rising sun” of Japan on these kites?
]
The _soroban_, or calculating-board, as it is sometimes called, is used
not only in Japan, but all over China, and even in Russia. The Russians
have much larger ones, as if the little wooden balls of the Japanese and
Chinese were not large enough for their bigger fingers. It is amusing to
see how helpless the people of any of these lands are when they are
asked to do even a simple exercise in arithmetic with pencil and paper.
But then, you can imagine that an American professor of mathematics
would not do any better if he were told to add or subtract on one of
these frames that the Orientals find so simple.
After reading, writing, and arithmetic have been learned, the upper
classes in Japanese schools go on much as ours do. There are
laboratories, and lectures, and oral and written recitations, and
mid-term and final examinations. There are gymnasiums, too, for the
Japanese believe as throughly in building up strong bodies as did the
ancient Spartans. I am reminded of the Spartans because that is what the
Japanese are trained to be. A boy is not expected to cry out, no matter
how much he is hurt. Nor, for that matter, is a girl expected to cry.
All through life the people show themselves cheerful, however they may
feel. To let one’s face show suffering or sorrow is regarded as bad
manners.
Fencing and Jiu-jitsu
[Illustration:
Japanese youths become quite expert as baseball players in spite of
their hampering costume.
]
One of the oldest forms of exercise in Japan is fencing. Japanese
fencers do not use thin, slender foils such as are common in Europe and
America. When the Japanese schoolboy goes to the gymnasium for a fencing
lesson, he puts heavily padded garments about his head and shoulders and
a kind of armor about his waist. He wears thick gloves with padded
gauntlets reaching to the elbows and a mask much like that of a baseball
catcher. All this protection takes danger out of the sport, though to
see two boys at it you would hardly think so. Instead of the steel sword
of ancient Japan, each boy is armed with a bamboo shaped like a sword.
With this each tries to strike the other as often as possible over the
padded head or neck, on the wrists, or in the ribs. That is because in
real fighting those would be the most vital places. The players dodge
and shuffle back and forth on their straw sandals or bare feet,
thrusting and striking at each other, and parrying as many blows as
possible. The bamboo swords make a terrific noise every time they
strike. To add to the uproar, the masked fighters howl fierce warlike
cries of olden days as they leap about. This is an excellent form of
exercise, because it gives the boys both agility and strength. Not only
in the schools, but in the army and navy and in young men’s clubs and
other organizations, fencing is part of the training and recreation.
Even more common is what the Japanese call _jiu-jitsu_. Almost every man
in Japan knows how to use this ancient form of self-defense. It is not
boxing and it is not wrestling, though it sometimes looks like both.
_Jiu-jitsu_ is the art of knowing just when and how to use slight
strength in a way to make a stronger opponent defeat himself. Suppose a
large clumsy boy tried to bully a small agile boy. The small boy, if he
had been trained in this Japanese science of tricks, would know just
when to give the big boy a pull or a push that would make him sprawl. Or
if the small boy, at just the right moment, were to twist the arm or the
neck or the back of the big fellow, the latter might find himself down
before his greater strength could help him. After the defeat of great
Russia by little Japan in 1905, some people called that a case of
_jiu-jitsu_ among nations.
Other Games
Other games and exercises on Japanese playgrounds and gymnasium floors
are more like our own. Schoolboys and university students play some
football, though it is rather the English game of soccer than ours.
During the last few years baseball has come to be quite a favorite sport
among students in Japan. One of the universities in Tokyo held the
baseball championship of the Far East for several years, defeating even
the American teams sent out there to play. Its team, in fact, came to
America, and won about as many games as it lost. As they are small and
sinewy and quick on their feet, it is natural that the Japanese should
be good baseball players.
Before we leave the schools we must not forget to mention the military
games and drilling given to all the boys, and sometimes to the girls, by
their gymnasium instructors. Because Japan has been a nation of soldiers
for many centuries, it is natural that these instructors should often be
men from the army. Then there is swimming. Every boy and girl in Japan
is expected to learn to swim, which of course is an excellent idea,
especially for a people that live on islands. I have seen a whole class
in a pond or a little lake in a Japanese city park. The swimming teacher
stands at the edge of the pool giving his lesson very much as he would
at a desk. Pupils who have not yet learned to swim well wear red caps,
and go only a little way out into the pond. The teacher can see them
easily, and quickly help anyone in danger of drowning. The children who
have learned to swim wear white bathing-caps, and are allowed to swim as
far out into the little lake as they wish. The Japanese will not
graduate a pupil until he or she learns to swim.
The Wrestlers of Japan
There is little if any boxing or prize fighting in Japan. But wrestling
is an ancient Japanese sport, and the men who become best at it are as
popular as champion boxers are in the United States. All other games
played by the Japanese are for amateurs, but the wrestlers are
professionals—that is, they make a business of wrestling. In fact, they
are in a class by themselves, quite separate from the rest of the
people. This difference is quickly seen, for though the Japanese as a
whole are small, wiry people, the wrestlers are enormous men, often six
feet tall and heavily built. Not only are they easily recognized by
their great size, but they have special marks on their kimonos and they
wear their hair long. Before the coming of Commodore Perry, all Japanese
men let their hair grow to its full length and did it up in a topknot at
the back of the head. To-day a man with long hair is usually a wrestler,
and in a crowd of modern Japanese he looks like someone brought back
from ancient times.
[Illustration:
A group of Japanese wrestlers strolling between bouts. They are
aggressive beings, who look down upon the ordinary people.
]
Great wrestling matches are held in Tokyo twice a year. We had arrived
at the time of the spring games, and managed to get seats quite close to
the ring. This was a raised platform, made of what seemed to be bags
filled with sand or earth. (Perhaps if it were made of wood the
wrestlers would be more likely to get hurt.) It stood in the center of
an enormous auditorium that was shaped much like a circus tent. Hundreds
of rows of seats, rising from the platform in the center, surrounded it.
There were a number of boxes partitioned off for parties.
[Illustration:
Japanese wrestling pavilions remind one a little of an American circus
tent. The banners or signs advertise the attractions.
]
The wrestling lasts from morning until late at night. During the
evening, or even in the afternoon when the best wrestlers get together
in the finals, the auditorium is packed with spectators. Then the uproar
must be great, for even with a smaller audience there was as much
excitement as at one of our Big League baseball games. Many of the
audience seemed to stay all day and evening, for tea and food were
constantly being brought them from little restaurants and booths around
the edge of the arena.
The first two men to step into the ring were large, but they seemed
small by comparison with those who came later. The bouts are arranged
just as they are in our boxing rings, starting with the less important
wrestlers and working up to the biggest and most famous ones. When he
first stepped into the ring each wrestler had his hair very carefully
oiled and combed and tied in its topknot, and he wore what looked like a
big apron, made of thick, costly cloth and gorgeously embroidered in
gold and bright colors. These aprons, which are a symbol of the vocation
and highly prized, were taken off, and the wrestlers stepped toward each
other clothed only in a stout pair of trunks and a heavy belt.
Wrestling in a Queer Way
The Japanese way of wrestling is quite different from our own. As soon
as the referee had given the signal, the two men began raising first one
leg and then the other, bringing each foot down on the earth-bag floor
with a great stamp. They did this so many times that they suggested
angry bulls pawing the earth. Then each took some salt and threw it
about him in the ring, for they have a superstition that they cannot win
a wrestling bout unless they do this. Finally each crouched with his
knuckles on the ground, in the position of “On your mark!” Instead of
pitching into each other at once, however, they remained perfectly
motionless, staring at each other, for some time. Then they shifted
about, stamping their bare feet some more, but still did not lay hands
on each other. In Japanese wrestling, starting properly and getting the
right holds are considered more important than the wrestling itself.
Several pairs of these men spent five, six, even ten minutes crouching
and eyeing each other and shifting about, and sometimes hardly that many
seconds in actual wrestling when once they had come to grips.
When they finally did begin, we understood why it is more necessary for
Japanese wrestlers to be heavy than to be muscular and well trained. The
men usually grasped each other by the trunks they wore or by the belt.
There was a sharp, swift tugging and pushing, with a loud slap now and
then as one struck the bare skin of the other with his open hand.
Suddenly the bout would be over, for the instant one man makes the other
fall inside the ring or touch a foot or a hand outside it, he has won.
Therefore the man who is heaviest and bulkiest and hardest to move has
the advantage. In spite of their weight, however, the wrestlers are very
hard, for they train by beating themselves against posts, and by similar
forms of exercise.
To be the greatest wrestler in Japan is much like being the champion
heavyweight boxer of America. The best wrestlers make large sums of
money, and as they are men who give more attention to their physical
than to their mental training, they do not always use good sense in
spending it. Groups of them may sometimes be seen strutting about town
as if they thought themselves very much above the ordinary people. But
when they are in the ring they always instantly obey the referee, even
though he is armed only with an old-fashioned fan.
[Illustration:
The ticket booth of a wrestling pavilion. Contrast the garb of the
ticket seller, squatting, with that of the two patrons. Western hats
and caps seem to be popular even though the kimono may not be
discarded in favor of coat and trousers.
]
CHAPTER VI
JAPANESE EVENINGS
Every land has evening entertainments of some kind. In Japan people go
to theatres, including the movies, and attend banquets in tea houses
where there are _geisha_ singers. Plays in the theatre, however, often
begin at noon and last until midnight. One evening a Japanese friend
took me to the Meiji-za, a great theatre of Tokyo. First of all we had
to check our shoes at the door, as we might our hats and coats in
America. To reach our box we went up a passageway covered with grass or
reed matting. It was quite a different box from those in American
theatres, for it was only about a foot deep, and in place of chairs
there were half a dozen cushions on the matting-covered floor. We sat
down cross-legged on these and looked about us. Most of the house was
filled with long, shallow inclosures divided by what looked like low,
narrow benches, and the floor sloped gently toward the stage. But the
hundreds of people who were watching the play did not sit on the
benches. They all squatted in the shallow inclosures, and used the
benches as tables. The aisles, instead of being lower than the seats,
were wooden runways raised above them. Boys in bare feet, or wearing
foot mittens, ran noiselessly back and forth along these aisles,
carrying tea and rice and other kinds of food and sweetmeats to the
spectators. Many of the people sat in family groups, men, women, and
children, sipping tea and eating with chopsticks while they watched the
actors.
All the actors were men, but some of them played women’s roles. They
were dressed in strange and gorgeous costumes, such as are never seen
now in real life in Japan. The Japanese have a different taste in plays
from that of Western peoples. They do not seem to like plays on modern,
everyday subjects, but prefer the stories of ancient times. Probably
that is the reason the actors do not look or act or speak like the
people of to-day. If a Japanese actor walked out upon the stage in
ordinary clothing, and spoke as he would talk on the street or in his
house, he would be considered a very poor actor, or no actor at all.
There are now a few theatres in Japan where plays of modern life are
given, but nearly all the people prefer the old kind.
Instead of speaking in his everyday voice, each actor tries to talk deep
down in his chest, so that he sounds like a giant down a well. When the
part he is playing becomes very exciting, as during a fight with another
character, he may roar like a lion. If he is playing the part of a
woman, or a comic role, he turns and talks with a falsetto screech that
suggests a boy whose voice is changing. To foreigners all this seems
very queer indeed, but the Japanese think it is just the thing to do,
and the more a man roars or screeches the more he is applauded. When
they are pleased, the people do not clap their hands, and of course they
cannot stamp their feet. Instead they shout louder and louder words that
mean “Good!” or “Well done!”
Playing in a Way All Their Own
In the play we saw, there were battles on the stage, with many generals
in ancient costumes and much waving of strange old flags. Soldiers armed
with spears and other ancient weapons, and dressed as Japanese soldiers
were a thousand years ago, swept back and forth across the bare boards.
There was almost no scenery. A paper arch set up in the middle of the
stage was supposed to represent the gate of a city encircled by a great
stone wall, and half a dozen sticks represented a forest. Sometimes the
actors ran back and forth along the raised aisles, still reciting in
their strange voices. Several times two of them, or even whole bands
representing _samurai_ (ancient warriors), fought with swords out on the
runways, right over the heads of the audience. The spectators did not
seem to mind this at all, but continued to sip tea and eat food from
little bowls.
No audience ever gave better attention, however, for all the eating and
drinking. When rival bands of warriors fought, the people watched every
movement of their swords, and shouted with excitement when one man or
another pretended to be killed. In our plays such a man would have lain
where he had fallen until the curtain came down. But here there was no
curtain, and the dead man merely got up and walked off the stage. The
play that seemed to affect the audience most was one having a scene
between a small boy and his father, who had promised to let himself be
killed for the Emperor. There was much blowing of noses all over the
house, and many of the spectators were almost crying out loud. Yet the
play was very old, and had been given so often that probably every one
in the audience knew what it was all about and what would be the ending
of it. When one play was over, another began immediately. In one of the
great theatres of Tokyo there is a revolving stage, so that the instant
one set of actors finishes playing another group is swung around before
the audience. But I did not enjoy these strange plays as much as the
Japanese audience did, and after watching them for a couple of hours we
went out, recovered our shoes, and took a rickshaw home.
The Popular Movies
The Japanese like old stories in their movies also. Passing along one of
the theatre streets of Tokyo, or of Osaka, the second largest city of
Japan, you would see long rows of posters. But instead of showing modern
people in everyday dress, using telephones and automobiles, the posters
are pictures of actors in ancient costumes, with strange old weapons.
Men, you can see, have played the women’s parts in the film, and even in
the picture you can make out that the actors had their faces painted
white, as do those on the stage. Nowadays one hears occasionally of a
Japanese screen actress, but it will be a long time before many enter
that field.
If you went into one of these motion-picture houses with the gay posters
and Japanese lanterns before it, you probably would not understand much
of the picture. The titles, being in Japanese, you could no more read
than you could read hen tracks in the sand. Besides, the story of those
ancient days in Japan, with the queer customs and point of view the
Japanese then had, would be very different from any American story. Yet
probably it would be as familiar to the Japanese children in the
audience as the story of Washington crossing the Delaware is to you, and
they would understand it even if there were no titles at all.
Those same children, however, have almost as hard a time understanding
the kind of film-stories Americans know so well as we would to
understand theirs. There are now quite a number of Japanese makers of
their own kind of motion pictures. But often, when there are not enough
films on hand to fill out the evening, the manager puts on an American
film or two. So thousands of Japanese children have seen our American
movie stars. Since few of the audience can read the English titles of
these films, a man usually stands at one side of the darkened stage and
shouts out the story in Japanese as it goes along. But perhaps he also
cannot read English, and is not very sure what some of the action in the
picture means. In many little ways Americans act quite differently from
Japanese, and all such things are puzzling to a Japanese audience when
it sees them on the screen. For instance, the Japanese do not shake
hands, but bow up and down to each other, rubbing their thighs. So the
small boys in the audience wonder what in the world the strange people
in this picture mean by grabbing one another by the hand. Perhaps they
are going to wrestle! But no, they are smiling at each other, and look
very friendly, and before long they let go, without either one having
tried to throw the other.
The Japanese Do No Kissing
In Japan a man and woman, if well bred, do not speak to each other on
the street; a wife would not take her husband’s arm in public and they
certainly would not kiss each other good-by at the railway station. The
Japanese do not kiss, anyway; a mother shows affection for her child by
rubbing her cheek against his, and even that she does not do when
strangers are looking. So you can imagine how odd American or European
films seem to the Japanese, especially to the boys and girls, or to
those grown-ups who have never traveled in other countries or read much
about the ways of other people. Of all the motion pictures America sends
abroad, the Japanese, and a great many other foreign peoples, seem to
like best the Wild West films in which there is much horseback riding
across rough and mountainous country. Perhaps this is because such films
are easy to understand, as well as because any people as sturdy as the
Japanese like what we sometimes call red-blooded action. It is
interesting to know that such films are as popular in Japan as they are
in America.
The Geisha Girls of Japan
[Illustration:
Keystone View Co.
Geisha girls in their gay costumes on their way to entertain guests.
]
When a Japanese business man wishes to entertain a client from another
city, he does not invite him home to dinner, nor even to his club.
Instead, he offers him an expensive meal at a restaurant or tea house,
and has several _geisha_, or “accomplished persons,” in to help amuse
his guest. The _geisha_ are a class of women who sing and dance and play
on instruments such as the _koto_ and _samisen_, perform the elaborate
tea ceremony that has come down from olden times in Japan, and do other
things of that kind. Although they are, in a way, actresses, they do not
appear on the stage, but at evening parties. The Japanese business man
would almost certainly not bring his wife or daughters with him to the
dinner he had arranged. He would, however, have at least one _geisha_ to
do nothing but wait upon his guest, to pour out his tea or wine, help
him to choose the best food from what the regular waiting-girls of the
restaurant brought, and so on. Others would arrange the flowers, squat
on their cushions and thrum the _samisen_, sing the queer music of
Japan; some, probably the youngest and most lively, would dance.
A Tea-House Dinner
The same man who had his employee take us into his house invited my wife
and me to a tea-house dinner in our honor. There were of course polite
servants at the door to take our shoes, as well as our hats and coats.
Soon we were all kneeling on cushions in a very fine room ten or twelve
mats square, as the Japanese would say, and with beautiful paintings on
the oiled paper walls. Three young women, in much more gay and costly
kimonos than one sees on the streets or in the homes, at once began
making us comfortable. They had their jet-black hair done up in the
elaborate Japanese fashion, like a great Russian wool cap, with a few
flowers in it. They showed much surprise at and interest in my wife, for
Japanese wives do not come to dinners given for their husbands, and it
seemed very strange to them that foreign women could. They stared a
great deal, for that is not considered impolite in Japan, and they asked
many questions about the foreign clothes that looked so queer to them.
They wished to know whether there were _geisha_ in America also, and
were very curious about all our customs.
While we ate, the oldest girl played and sang, the other two serving us
tea and food. The head _geisha_ acts as hostess, and does her best to
make her guests enjoy the evening. When the two younger ones began to
dance, their dancing was not what we would call by that name at home.
They moved slowly back and forth, squatted, bowed down to the ground,
rose again, slipped to and fro across the matting in their foot-mittens,
opened and closed and waved and turned a fan that each held in her hand.
When it was time for us to go, all three saw us to the door, and kneeled
to touch their hair to the floor as a way of saying _sayonara_, the
Japanese good-by. Though we had not seen him do so, we knew that our
host had given, or would give, them plenty of money for their evening’s
entertainment. For though they had smiled and acted all the time we were
there as if they were high-class ladies who took great pleasure in
entertaining us, they make a business of hospitality.
Girls who are to become _geisha_ begin their training early, often when
they are eight or ten. There are training schools for them, where they
are usually taken by their parents. The head of the school pays for
everything, but the _geisha_ girl must pay him back after graduation. It
is often ten years or more before she has earned enough to be out of
debt for her training and can begin to give money to her parents. The
Japanese hold their fathers and mothers in great honor, and most of the
girls who become _geisha_ do so either to save their parents from
supporting them or in order to be able to take care of their parents in
old age. So, under the smiles and the cheerful exterior of the _geisha_
who sings or dances for you, there may be deep sorrow. When their youth
is gone and they are no longer attractive to hosts and guests, some of
the _geisha_ marry and go back to their native village; others become
head _geisha_, and help in the training and managing of the younger
ones.
[Illustration:
One of the favorite actors of the Japanese stage, in his most famous
role. In Japan, the old national legends are played over and over,
year after year, and the people never tire of them.
]
CHAPTER VII
I TRAVEL INTO THE NORTH
We took the train out of Tokyo one morning and started for the big
northern island of Yezo, or Hokkaido. My wife and little boy went only
as far as Nikko, because traveling in Yezo is not very comfortable.
Nikko is one of the sacred cities of Japan, and a very beautiful place
besides. It is among high hills, about five hours by train from Tokyo,
and is surrounded by evergreen forests. Some of the trees are hundreds
of years old, and those called the cryptomeria are enormous, reminding
one of our California redwoods. There is an old road leading to Nikko
that runs for twenty miles between rows of these great trees. Their
branches, arching high above it, make it seem like the aisle of a
cathedral.
About three hundred years ago Nikko was chosen as the burial place of
the warrior who founded the Tokugawa dynasty. The Japanese, who consider
him one of their greatest heroes, have made a god of him. About his tomb
have been built many splendid temples, to which thousands of pilgrims
come every year. The temples are set back against the wooded hills
across a little river from the town of Nikko. A red lacquered bridge
crosses this river, but no one except the Mikado is allowed to use it.
For ordinary people there is a simpler bridge. Hundreds of stone steps
lead up to the temples, which are on different levels, so that at the
topmost a person is high above the town. The temples are made of wood,
with tile roofs, but are so wonderfully carved and painted that it is
hard to believe the materials are so simple.
[Illustration:
This sacred red lacquered bridge across the small stream between the
town of Nikko and the temple and monastery grounds to which
thousands of Japanese pilgrims come every year, is opened only for
the emperor or Mikado, an ordinary bridge for ordinary people being
available near by.
]
All sorts of strange Japanese gods, of wood and stone and bronze, gaze
placidly at the pilgrims who come to pray and the tourists who come to
see the wonders of Nikko. One of the most famous things there is a
frieze with three stone monkeys on it. One has its hands over its eyes,
another over its ears, and the third over its mouth. They point a moral,
which is, “See no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil.” That, of course,
would be a good motto for any people. The Japanese hold these temples
and tombs in such reverence that, though the public is allowed to go
anywhere in them, not a thing has been stolen or even damaged in
hundreds of years.
On the Way to Hokkaido
The scenery of Japan is beautiful almost everywhere, and the ride from
Nikko to the northern end of the largest island is through very
attractive country. On the way I stopped to visit Matsushima, as most
travelers do and should. _Matsu_ means “pine trees” and _shima_ means
“islands.” The journey by small boat among the scores of little islands
covered with evergreens will be remembered all one’s life. The Japanese
call Matsushima one of the four scenic wonders of their country.
[Illustration:
When we found this ugly stone man of long ago in Nikko, my naughty son
called him “Dada”—though how much he resembles me you can easily
guess.
]
[Illustration:
A Shinto priest in full regalia before one of the great temples of
Nikko.
]
But because I like best to see places that few other people have seen, I
was very much on the alert when, next morning, a not very comfortable
Japanese steamer carried me across Volcano Bay to the big northern
island. Not one in a hundred foreign travelers in Japan ever sees it. As
I could see three volcanoes smoking, it was easy to understand why the
Japanese had given this bay its name. Hakodate, where we landed, was
similar to other Japanese cities, but the train soon carried me away
into a country that was quite different from the older and better known
parts of Japan. Here it was still cold at the end of May, though most of
the Empire was having summer weather. Instead of the rice fields the
traveler sees everywhere on the main and southern islands, Hokkaido
grows corn and potatoes. I saw corn shocks like those of the United
States still standing in the fields. In some places spring plowing had
already begun, and shaggy little horses were doing the work—a contrast
to the little rice fields of the south, where men and women with hoes
wade in mud up to their knees. Herds of cattle, hardly ever seen in the
rest of Japan, gave the landscape still more the appearance of America.
[Illustration:
A quiet corner among the temples of Nikko, sacred city north of Tokyo.
Here thousands come in pilgrimage every year, yet they never do the
buildings any harm, because they consider them holy.
]
Sometimes, however, the train went along the edge of the sea, and then I
realized that I was still in Japan. The towns were crowded collections
of small, poorly made huts, the kind of houses that might do well enough
farther south, but too flimsy for the long, cold winters of the big
northern island. The Japanese do not like very cold weather, any more
than they do the tropics, so Hokkaido has not nearly so many inhabitants
for its size as the old and more familiar part of Japan. The efforts of
the government to persuade people to go to Hokkaido where land is
plentiful have not entirely succeeded.
The poor villages along the seacoast could not only be seen but could be
smelled from the train. For the inhabitants live almost entirely from
fishing, and there were thousands upon thousands of herring, split in
two and hung on lines to dry. But we were soon back in an American
landscape again, sometimes with hills that reminded me of New England.
Gradually, high mountains, their tops and sometimes their whole sides
covered with snow, began to surround us. Some of these mountains were so
high that their peaks were lost in the clouds, and there was one almost
as symmetrical as Fujiyama, the famous “peerless mountain” of the main
island of Japan. But while Fujiyama is known the whole world round, this
close rival is unknown even to most Japanese, because no poets have sung
about it and no steamship lines have advertised it.
A Western City in Japan
It was evening when I reached Sapporo, capital of the northern island.
That city, too, reminded me of my own country, and I soon realized why.
When the Japanese Government decided to induce people to migrate from
the crowded part of the country to thinly populated Hokkaido, they
employed American experts to help them. Some of these laid out the
capital with streets that are wide and straight, with American street
cars along them.
There are sidewalks, and rows of trees between them and the roadway,
clapboard houses with shingled roofs, an agricultural college copied,
even to its baseball field and cinder track, after that of
Massachusetts, and many other reminders of our own land. Paper walls are
not used. Instead of carrying their babies in a kind of hammock on their
backs, most of the Japanese women of Sapporo use baby carriages. Many
even do their hair almost in American fashion, instead of in the
elaborate Japanese style, which costs so much in both time and money.
American apples grow almost as well near Sapporo as at home, and that
can hardly be said of any other place in the Orient.
To be sure, there are still many Japanese customs left in Sapporo. There
are rickshaws, and two or three Shinto temples; and perhaps as many of
the men still wear kimonos as have adopted Western clothing. One scene
which I saw was very Japanese indeed. Several new buildings were being
put up, and when the framework was finished each had to be blessed by
Shinto priests, according to old custom, before the work could go on.
The carpenters had erected a platform along the rafters, and had placed
several flags and banners bearing Japanese text above and about them. A
Shinto priest, with a shaven head and a garb that reminded me of a gaudy
dressing gown, climbed up to this platform and held a kind of church
service. The workmen helped him, like altar boys, and all the children
and most of the grown people in the city formed a congregation down in
the streets below.
[Illustration:
The streets of Sapporo, capital of the northern island, Hokkaido, are
quite American, though the rickshaw and the native style of
street-sprinkler, and Japanese shops, are still in vogue there.
]
Sweets for the Boys and Girls
There was good reason for the children being there, I soon found. For
when the more solemn part of the ceremony was over and the priest had
climbed down to go to another building ready to be blessed, the men left
on the platform opened sacks of Japanese candy and began throwing it in
handfuls to the crowd below. There must have been at least two bushels
of sweets thrown down upon us. The throwers seemed to want everyone to
have a share, for when I let the children near me catch all the pieces
that came our way, two of the workmen began throwing at me alone until I
had caught and eaten some. Evidently they wanted everyone present to
feel grateful so that all would wish the building and its owner good
luck. Besides the candy for everyone, there was one valuable present for
whoever in the crowd was most agile and lucky. It was a silk kimono, but
as that could not be thrown to us like the candy without being torn to
bits, a wooden ticket with a Japanese character written on it was used
instead. The owner of the building himself threw this, after smilingly
making a speech to the applauding throng below; and the scramble for it
in the dusty street was very much like what a football game would be if
all the spectators should come down from the stands and take part.
Long Distances in a Small Country
Small as Japan seems on the map of the world, I rode another whole day
by train northward from Sapporo without coming to the end of the island.
Farther north still there are smaller and smaller islands. Some of the
smallest of these islands are not inhabited at all, and the others have
only little villages of fishermen.
Since Japan’s war with Russia, the Japanese have also owned the southern
half of the slender island of Sakhalin, long considered a part of
Siberia. There are many minerals in it, as well as plenty of farming
land, and the Russian Government seems willing to lease the rest of the
island to the Japanese. But if the Japanese dislike cold weather so much
that they have left even Hokkaido as thinly settled as our western
prairies, it is easy to see why only a few fishermen and miners, with
the shopkeepers and others who cater to them, have left the comfortable
if crowded part of Japan for this still colder island. Hokkaido is no
farther north than Maine or Minnesota, but Sakhalin is as snowbound
during the long winters as northern Canada.
CHAPTER VIII
AMONG THE “HAIRY” AINU
The most interesting thing about Hokkaido or Yezo, the big northern
island of Japan, is that it is the home of the Ainu. This primitive race
are not at all like the Japanese. No one knows exactly where they came
from. They have no written language of their own and therefore all that
is known about their history is in the form of legends and traditions
told by father to son, or mother to daughter. The Ainu were living in
almost all the islands of Japan when the Japanese came up from the
south, or wherever it was they came from, and conquered them.
If you see an Ainu and a Japanese side by side, the Ainu looks larger
and stronger, with features more like our own. He does not have
almond-shaped eyes. But his race was no match for the Japanese. They
were like prize fighters or football players who have trained only their
bodies and given little attention to their minds. While the Japanese
were studying and becoming more and more civilized, the Ainu were
improving only their muscles, so that when the clash came they were
almost helpless against the more clever invaders.
Hundreds of years ago the Japanese drove them entirely off the main
island, and now Japanese settlers are crowding them still higher into
the hills of the cold northern island, planting the fertile lowlands
themselves. So you find hamlets, clusters of huts, of the Ainu among the
uncultivated hills, and in places along the seacoast of Hokkaido, and
sometimes even on the Kuriles and Sakhalin. In a way they are treated by
the Japanese as we treat the Indians on our reservations; but they are
left more to shift for themselves.
[Illustration:
An Ainu house, thatched with straw, looks very primitive. The children
look primitive too, but very likely they are just as happy as if
they lived in a more civilized way.
]
I visited several Ainu villages during my journey through Hokkaido. You
can tell them as far off as you can see them, because the houses are
different from those of the Japanese. The walls are usually made of
reeds, almost like cornstalks, set upright and bound together with
poles. The roof is made of coarse straw, and generally put on in thick
layers overlapping one another, so that at a distance it seems to be
covered with huge shingles. Inside, there is no floor, only the earth,
and few beds or other furniture. There may be a small garden about the
house, tended by the women more often than by the men. However, the men
are good fishermen, and groups of them could be seen mending their nets
and big trays woven like baskets, which are used for the drying of fish.
The Ainu men are brave hunters, often using only spears, or knives, or
bows and arrows to kill the big savage brown bears that inhabit the
forests of Yezo. Curiously enough, they not only kill and eat bears but
worship them. Their religion is a very simple one, a kind of
nature-worship, such as the traveler often finds among people who have
always lived out of doors. A part of their worship is to put a bear cub
in a crude log cage before the house and fatten it at the same time that
they worship it, finally killing it for a great religious feast and
putting another cub in its place.
This curious tribe is often called the “hairy” Ainu and sometimes the
“white men of Japan.” Though their features are heavy and their noses
blunt, some scientists think that they are really Caucasians, like us,
rather than Mongolians, like the Japanese and Chinese. But we would
hardly call them white men, though a few generations of living indoors
and using soap and hot water might make a great difference. Nor did they
seem to me especially hairy. To be sure, the old men all had long thick
beards, but such beards used to be popular among old men in America. The
young Ainu seem to be sensitive about this reputation for hairiness, and
most of them now shave, and dress like the Japanese. But to their
Japanese conquerors, who, like the Chinese and other Mongolian
neighbors, hardly have any need for a razor, these primitive bearded men
seem very hairy.
[Illustration:
Ainu fishermen mending their trays for drying fish.
]
I was not nearly so much surprised by the beards of the Ainu men as by
the long mustaches of the women! For hundreds of years it has been an
Ainu custom to tattoo the faces of the girls, especially on the upper
lip. It is said that kitchen soot is used for this, along with some
native dye that gives it a bluish color, so that by the time she
marries, the Ainu girl has a blue mustache flaring up at the ends in a
very jaunty way. Sometimes there is a little tattooed beard on the lower
lip also, and blue decorations on other parts of the face and body. But
the Ainu girls seem to be giving up this interesting custom, and even
the old women often hold a corner of their garments across their faces
to hide their mustaches from the stranger.
[Illustration:
Here is an Ainu who has welcomed Japanese ways and adopted some of the
clothing introduced from Europe and America.
]
Queer Customs of the Ainu
The Ainu, especially the old chiefs, have some very ceremonial ways. If
the visitor knows how to win the friendship of primitive people, he may
persuade the chiefs to put on their elaborate tribal robes instead of
the commonplace, everyday garments they seem to have taken partly from
the Japanese and partly from the Western world. The women have gaudy
costumes that include huge beads and queer earrings. When the men visit
one another and engage in formal conversation, they spread a grass mat,
take off their sandals, and squat with their feet in front of them, not
on their heels, like the Japanese. When they meet, they show politeness
by stroking their beards and rubbing their own palms together.
The Ainu are decreasing so rapidly that scientists fear they will soon
disappear entirely. Their miserable straw huts without floors are not
suitable dwellings for the long, cold Hokkaido winters. They have no
doctors, and when a man, or even a child, falls ill they do nothing but
wrap him in a blanket and let nature cure him if it can. The typical
Ainu are disappearing also because many of them have intermarried with
the Japanese, and their descendants have some of the qualities of each
race. But the chief cause of their decrease is that they drink too much
hard liquor.
Anyone who gives or sells liquor to our Indians is likely to be severely
punished; but the Japanese do not take so serious an attitude toward
strong drink. Their Indians, as we might call the Ainu, drink on every
possible occasion. Drinking is a part of the ceremonial at weddings,
funerals and religious feasts. The drink is usually _sake_, or Japanese
rice-whiskey, and for the ceremonies there are very elaborate wooden
cups, with a thin flat stick to keep the beard and long mustache out of
the way, reminding us of the “mustache cups” that used to be given our
bearded grandfathers at Christmas and on their birthdays. The men drink
slowly, but as they also drink often and usually for long periods, they
do themselves much harm.
The women are not allowed to drink, at least during ceremonies; besides,
they have very little time for such things, because they have to do
almost all the work, except hunting and fishing. In some parts of
Hokkaido they still make the ceremonial garments of elm bark, weaving
and embroidering it to look like cloth. But most of the Ainu now wear
cheap Japanese cotton, and are losing many of their picturesque customs.
An Amusing Occurrence
The Ainu did not seem at all savage, but rather friendly. It would have
been hard for me to realize that they are really savages, had it not
been for a certain experience with one of their chiefs. I had been
wandering most of the afternoon about a large village, taking
photographs. Some of the people ran away at sight of my camera, and some
merely stared at it as if wondering what that strange little machine
could be. But many people in other parts of the world act in the same
way. Either they do not know what photography is or they are afraid that
anyone who gets a picture of them on a film can do them harm by hurting
the picture.
[Illustration:
The old Ainu chief who later threatened to strike me with a plow,
standing before a typical Ainu house roofed with overlapping layers
of thatch.
]
Suddenly an old chief who must have been a very strong man indeed in his
prime, came running down one of the sandy lanes that take the place of
streets in an Ainu village. A small boy who had been following me made a
queer noise that was part grunt and part shriek, as if he were trying to
warn me of trouble. I had already photographed this old man, so I could
not imagine what had made him angry, unless perhaps he had just
discovered what my camera was. He walked up to me and thrust his face so
close to mine that I could feel his breath and see the separate hairs in
his great bushy snow-white beard and his long uncut locks. His liquid
black eyes, which reminded me of the eyes of a wild animal, were blazing
with rage. He did not seem to know a word of Japanese, so the little I
knew of that language did not help me to find out what he was angry
about. In a great bass voice that could be heard all over the village,
he shouted something in his own tongue, which, of course, I could not
understand.
Apparently he was ordering me to do something, and became more and more
angry because I did not do it. Suddenly he ran to a house near by and
picked up a plow! It was merely a wooden plow, with no iron about it,
yet it was heavy for all that. But this sturdy old man lifted it high
above his head in one hand and acted as if he were about to strike me
with it. Because it makes any American feel cowardly to run away, I
stood my ground, half turning to close the camera before he could break
it, ready to dodge if the plow began to descend. The chief was shrieking
like a true wild man, quite different from the angry tones of civilized
races. Yet he had perhaps been somewhat tamed by being all his life
under the rule of the Japanese, for instead of striking me he merely
continued to flourish the plow. Finally he threw it down and grasped me
by my coat lapel.
I tried to pull away, but his grip was like that of a tiger’s claw. I
caught him by one thumb and gave it a quick twist, as boys in a quarrel
sometimes do. He grunted with pain and let go. As I walked away, he
continued to bellow, with most of the people of the village gazing at us
from their doorways. Savages are like children in many ways, and this
one acted so much like a boy who wanted to fight but was afraid to do so
because the teacher might catch him at it, that I could not help
laughing.
Generally the Ainu are such simple, kindly people, even though the
Japanese do call them “barbarians,” that I was sorry not to be able to
understand and obey the old chief. I had no desire to offend this
ancient leader of a much abused yet very likable race. But you will
agree with me that no one likes to have a plow waved over his head.
CHAPTER IX
WESTWARD HO!
Back once more in Tokyo, we took an express train westward. We might
have traveled by automobile, though the bridges of Japan are small and
the roads not very good, or we might even have gone by rickshaw. But the
part of Japan west of the capital is quite modern, with many trains, and
large cities, and so many telegraph wires on several rows of poles along
the way that you wonder how they can all be needed. Most travelers to
Japan know this part of the country along the Tokaido, the route between
the new and the old capital. There you are much more likely to meet
people from your own land than in the northern or the southern islands.
As we wanted to see everything worth seeing we had to stop often. There
was Kamakura, for instance, a pleasant little town with a sea beach, not
far from Yokohama. It is famous all over the world because of its great
bronze Buddha, so large that even grown men look like Lilliputians
beneath it. Then we had a very pleasant day strolling on the island of
Enoshima. The Japanese, living on larger islands, are very fond of this
tiny one at the shallow edge of the Pacific. Many thousands come to
visit its temples and shrines cut in the rock and to wander along its
streets of booths, shaded by arbors. Women as well as men keep the
little open-front shops, and sell religious trinkets and all kinds of
Japanese things to eat. When we saw, down on the rocky edge of the
little island, fishermen busy at their calling, we were reminded that
Japan, with its thousands of miles of seacoast and its many bays and
gulfs, is perhaps the greatest fisherman’s country in the world. No
wonder the Japanese almost always eat fish with their rice and very
seldom taste meat.
[Illustration:
The Daibutsu, or great bronze Buddha at Kamakura, not far from Tokyo,
is one of the sights of Japan.
]
Some of you might have been more interested in Nagoya than we were. It
is a big industrial city, with modern factories and great mills into
which thousands of workmen pour every morning and out of which they pour
every evening. While we were glad to know that Japan is as up-to-date in
her factories as other modern countries, naturally we did not care much
about seeing the same sort of things that we could see at home. We were
more interested in the ancient castles of Nagoya, and in the men who
hauled boats along her canals by poles over their shoulders.
Through an Interesting Country
[Illustration:
Japanese women as well as men work in the deep slime of the rice
fields, wearing a parasol-hat made of last year’s rice-straw.
]
[Illustration:
Plowing in southern Japan. Domestic animals are so rare in Japan that
this peasant is in luck to have one to help him prepare his rice
field. Most of his neighbors have to do the work by hand, with the
help of their wives and children.
]
Yet as we rode on westward through endless rice fields, with tea bushes
climbing some of the hills, and mulberry orchards for the silkworms
between, we were forced to realize that Japan is a great industrial and
commercial country, as well as a land of delightful scenery and quaint
customs. Especially when we reached Osaka we saw how modern it had
become. Not only is Osaka the second largest city in Japan, but there
are only three cities in the United States that are larger. Its factory
chimneys belching smoke and its docks heaped with imports and exports,
its noise and its rush, made us feel almost as if we were in Chicago or
Pittsburgh. But we had only to step into a rickshaw, or stroll along
Theatre Street, with its rows of strange posters before the many movie
houses, to recall that we were still in Japan. Just a little farther on
is Kobe, the greatest port of Japan, which is also quite modern, and
rather ugly.
[Illustration:
Generally the sheaves are brought in on the backs of men or women in
Japan, but this peasant near Beppu in the southern island of Kyushu
is wealthy enough to own a young steer.
]
As we looked out of the car windows on our journey, we noticed that the
peasants do not live at all like our farmers. There are no houses
standing alone on their own farms. Even the country people are crowded
together in villages. That is because land that can be cultivated is
precious in mountainous Japan, and the mouths to be fed are many. So the
people build their villages on hillsides or rocky ridges—anywhere within
reach of their fields—so as not to waste useful land. The fields are so
small compared to ours that American farmers would probably consider
them gardens. On this largest island there are a great many farmers and
not much fertile land for any one owner. Yet because of the cold they do
not like to go to the northern islands where there is much more room.
[Illustration:
A Japanese usually threshes his rice by beating out the heads on a
stone in the little courtyard of his house. Then the grain is
winnowed by throwing it up into the air with a wooden scoop, and
finally it is spread out on grass mats to dry in the sun. So the
Japanese peasant really earns his “daily rice.”
]
Since his farm is so small, the Japanese peasant usually has no animals
to help him work it. We seldom saw a horse or an ox. Most of the
farmers, both men and women, were wading about their fields, up to their
knees in water and mud, working with hoes or with bare hands. The
planting and weeding of rice can perhaps best be done by hand. As rice
is almost the only crop, and it is so thirsty a plant that it must be
covered with water all the time it is growing, most of the country looks
like a great shallow lake, or as if the rains had been so heavy that all
but the hills had been flooded.
The Rice Harvest
[Illustration:
After it has been threshed by beating the heads out on a stone, and
winnowed by throwing it up in the wind, the rice of Japan is laid
out on grass mats to dry in the sunshine.
]
If we were to come back through Japan a couple of months later, we
should find the fields no longer flooded but waving with a yellow grain
that would remind us of wheat. By June or July the rice is ripe, and
then it is no longer thirsty. But the peasants of Japan do not use
reapers or binders, any more than they do tractors and threshing
machines. When the proper day comes, the farmer and his wife, even his
older children, go out into the little field with curved sickles hardly
a foot long and cut down the rice handful by handful. As for planting,
in Japan and throughout the Far East every sprig of rice is set out by
hand. Bundles of half-grown rice from crowded seed beds are thrown out
into the flooded fields, to be poked into the soft earth stalk by stalk.
By the time we had seen thousands of miles of rice fields in Japan and
the countries on the mainland, all planted in the same way, we realized
that the country people of eastern Asia can hardly be called lazy.
[Illustration:
Water runs this old mill for hulling rice, in the country district
near Beppu, the “Hot Springs” of Kyushu. A small stream flows into
the paddles or boxes of the crude homemade wheel and turns the
mill-stone.
]
When the rice has been cut by hand and tied into bundles, the Japanese
peasant still has much hard work to do. He has no wagon on which to
bring the grain home, and he will be luckier than most of his neighbors
if he has one little horse or even a cow over whose back he can hang a
few bundles. Most Japanese farmers, bent nearly double as they toil
across the fields to the communal village, bring in the sheaves on their
own backs. Sometimes the farmers let their wives carry the heavy burden.
Then comes the threshing, but with no engine, no threshing machine, no
neighbors or hired men to help. The Japanese peasant threshes his rice
by catching a handful of it at a time by the butts and beating the heads
off on a round stone or other good striking-block. The _paddy_, or
unhulled rice, thus beaten out is then swept up with a broom on the bare
hard earth of the threshing ground. It is winnowed by throwing it into
the air with a shovel, so that the wind will blow away the chaff, and
then it is spread on grass mats to dry in the sun. Finally it has to be
hulled, by another laborious process. The Japanese peasant works harder
for his daily rice than most of us do for our daily bread.
On the hillsides, where rice cannot grow, one sees women who appear to
be picking berries. Closer examination shows that there are no berries
at all on the waist-high bushes, planted so carefully in parallel
hedges, but that the women are picking the leaves, and stuffing them
into sacks at their waists. Recalling what is one of the most important
exports from Japan to the United States, one suddenly realizes that
these women are all picking tea. It is easy work, surely, compared to
wading in the rice fields, with the water throwing the blazing sunshine
into their faces.
[Illustration:
Photo from Maude W. Madden
Big trays made of straw matting are filled with silkworm cocoons. The
cocoons desired for breeding purposes are picked out and put on
another tray. The others go into a pot of boiling water to prepare
them for having the silk unreeled.
]
How Silk is Obtained
A Japanese journey at the right season will show men and women, boys and
girls, picking other leaves, this time from small trees. If one follows
them home, he will find the people feeding the leaves to worms. Whole
buildings are filled with crudely made trays, set one above another on
racks, and in the trays are quantities of great whitish worms. They are
very hungry worms, all eating the mulberry leaves as ravenously as a
healthy baby drinks from its bottle. The tiny eggs from which the worms
are hatched are laid on the bamboo shelves covered with sheets of coarse
paper. Especially at the time of hatching, the temperature must be
carefully controlled. Japan has grown so modern that a thermometer is
now generally used; but in olden times a man stripped off his clothes
and entered the room naked to test the heat. This is still done on the
Asiatic mainland. By and by, when they have eaten their fill of mulberry
leaves, the worms will begin to spin a sort of house about themselves—a
cocoon we call it—in which to sleep, and if left alone they would, some
day, suddenly burst out as butterflies. But these worms will never reach
that stage. While they are sleeping snugly in their winter coat, someone
will throw them into boiling water and begin to unwind the fine tough
threads of the cocoons. Thus we get our silk, much of which comes from
Japan. In Japan the dead worms are usually thrown away, but in China
they are eaten, being considered a great delicacy.
[Illustration:
Photo from Maude W. Madden
The silk as it is unwound from the cocoons is first rewound on large
reels, then onto smaller ones. If it is to be used as thread, it is
wound on spools, if as embroidery silk, it is made into skeins. If
it is to be used in weaving, it is wound on great bobbins ready for
the factory machines. In this picture the woman is rereeling onto
small reels.
]
Manufacturing in Japan
[Illustration:
The Japanese make coarse brown paper out of rice-straw by soaking and
then rolling it out into sheets spread on boards set upright, as in
this case, or sometimes on smooth banks of earth.
]
[Illustration:
A Japanese saw-mill, the common way of making lumber not only in Japan
but in Korea and China. It takes days to saw up one large timber.
]
Besides the employees in her great modern factories, and her
hard-working peasants, Japan has millions of village craftsmen. That is,
in almost every village larger than a mere farm hamlet, men and boys,
and often women and girls too, make many things by hand, just as they
have done for centuries. Here we see a wood carver making jewel-boxes,
or miniature figures of people. He squats on his heels on a mat, perhaps
with no front wall between him and the crowd clacking up and down the
narrow street outside in their wooden _geta_. Farther on, a number of
men and boys are making paper lanterns, pasting the paper over little
ribs of split bamboo, and painting figures and characters on them. Even
the paper is probably made of bamboo, and certainly it is made by hand.
In many villages of Japan the chief occupation of the people is to shave
bamboo strips as fine as hair, soak the shavings in water, and roll them
out into sheets like our brown wrapping paper. These sheets, still
soaking wet, are then laid on walls or upright boards, until they are
dried and ready for use. Small or large, delicate or massive, the things
made by Japanese craftsmen are so well done that we marvel at the
dexterity of their fingers no less than at their endless oriental
patience.
CHAPTER X
SOME HOLY PLACES OF JAPAN
The Japanese go to church quite as much as do most other peoples. In
their case, however, it is really to the temple, for while there are
thousands of Japanese Christians, there are more than a hundred and
fifty times as many who are not Christians. Sunday is not different from
any other day in the temples of Japan. On certain days of the year
special celebrations or festivals bring larger crowds, but most temples
have their worshipers every day of the week. Very seldom is there
anything like a sermon, or what we would call a service, and hymns are
not sung.
Instead, the Japanese boy or girl who goes to a temple finds priests in
long robe-like kimonos, generally with shaven heads, sitting or
strolling in various parts of the great building. They sell prayers
written on tissue paper, and other religious things which the worshipers
may want to buy. Sometimes they do hold a kind of service, at which they
chant. But such a service is usually for themselves, with few if any in
the “congregation.” Each worshiper himself calls upon the gods, which
are represented by great gaudy images, some of them gigantic. In many of
the temples there are wooden slats in the floor before the altar. The
man or woman, and even the child, who is about to pray to one of these
gods claps his hands three times to call the god’s attention, drops a
copper coin between the slats into the hollow underneath, and then bows
low several times and goes away, perhaps to pray to another god farther
on.
Most of the Japanese are Buddhists or Confucianists, that is, followers
of the Hindu philosopher Buddha, or the Chinese philosopher Confucius,
who lived thousands of years ago. But they are also nearly all
Shintoists, seeing no reason why they should not have two religions.
Shintoism is really patriotism turned into a religion. The Mikado or
Emperor is called the Son of Heaven, and many of the Japanese still
believe that their ruler is descended from the gods. Just how sacred
they hold their Mikado is shown by the proclamation issued in Formosa,
the most southern island of Japan, when Crown Prince Hirohito, who
became Emperor in 1926, stopped there. The people were ordered:
Not to get sick and start an epidemic during the imperial visit.
To fly the Japanese flag from every building along the Prince’s route.
To dress neatly, to wear their stockings and geta, to take off their
hats when the procession was passing, and not to use spyglasses or
look down upon the Prince from upstairs or any other elevation.
Famous Temples of Kyoto
Kyoto, which means “western capital,” as Tokyo means “eastern capital,”
has the finest temples in Japan. No one who visits the Japanese at home
should fail to see that splendid city of sacred buildings; and you may
be sure we did not. For all its size, it is a quiet, gentle city, that
center of the Buddhist faith in Japan. Formerly the mikados lived there,
and travelers are allowed to visit the imperial palace, now seldom used.
A great wall and moat surround it, and there are large gardens with many
trees and flowers. The palace itself is also large, though much simpler
than we expect emperors’ palaces to be. The floors are covered with
thick mats, like any other Japanese floor, and on the paper or frail
wooden walls are painted bamboos and trees and flowers, with birds here
and there. Even the room where the Emperor or the Crown Prince sleeps
when he comes to Kyoto contains nothing that Westerners would consider
furniture.
[Illustration:
Within the grounds of the finest of Kyoto’s temples.
]
But the temples, some of them with one great tile roof above a lower
one, are the chief sights of Kyoto. In them are some of the most
artistic things in Japan—big, richly colored statues of the gods, or of
the disciples of Buddha. These disciples correspond to the saints in the
Christian religion. The altars of carved wood, the great pillars, the
brightly colored yet restful interiors, are all worth going a long way
to see, and we were tempted to stay longer than we should. There are
gnarled pine trees, spreading cherry trees said to be hundreds of years
old, thousands of goldfish swimming in the sacred ponds. All in all, the
ancient capital is a place where the days seem to slip past without
regrets.
Not far from Kyoto there is a mountain river with many rapids down which
it is great sport to shoot, in little boats cleverly handled by expert
Japanese boatmen. Nor should one leave the region of the city of
magnificent temples without a trip to Lake Biwa, returning by canal.
This canal runs straight through a mountain, and for nearly half an hour
you can imagine yourself in the heart of the earth, or in a gigantic
watermain, riding along as smoothly and pleasantly as if on an outdoor
river.
My small son still remembers Nara, another city of pine forests and many
temples, an hour or two by train south of Kyoto. Nara is noted for its
tame deer, and one of these in a playful mood bowled the boy over and
gave him the scare of his young life. It is forbidden to harm the pretty
brown deer of Nara in any way, for they are considered sacred. Up in the
shaded hills of Nara is one of those enormous bells that are to be found
among the temples of Japan. I cannot tell you just how many tons it
weighs, but it is so large that half a dozen of you could crowd together
inside it. This bell is rung by striking it with a great pole, like the
mast of a ship, suspended horizontally beside it, and its boom can be
heard for many miles in every direction.
Shinto Temples
[Illustration:
In Nara the sacred deer run everywhere about the town. They have been
so carefully protected and are so well treated that they are as tame
as pet dogs.
]
By accident I came to Yamada-Ise, the Shinto center of Japan, just in
time for a great celebration that takes place only once in twenty-one
years. I could hardly have waited around for the next celebration if I
had missed this one. Many thousands of pilgrims were already there and
thousands more were arriving on the trains. In general, the Japanese are
great travelers, often going on pilgrimages to their holy places. Even
school children go on pilgrimages, and, far from trying to stop them,
the government helps them by offering very low excursion rates on the
railroads. The rulers of Japan are wise in considering travel an
important part of education.
The Shinto temples of Yamada-Ise are made of wood, and in theory they
are rebuilt every twenty-one years. The thousands of pilgrims had come
to see, and take part in, this important ceremony. Those who had come on
foot, as true pilgrims are supposed to do, were washing their weary feet
in wooden tubs in the many small inns. In the street in front of these
inns, and in the shops selling food and sacred relics, were men who
acted like “barkers” at our American fairs, all shouting for customers
at the top of their voices. You can imagine what an uproar there was in
this placid village that had suddenly become an overcrowded city.
The holy city of Yamada-Ise is divided into twenty-one wards, and the
people of each division vie with those of the other wards in doing all
they can for the rebuilding ceremony. Each ward makes a great cart with
solid wooden wheels on which to haul logs from the river to the temples
that are to be rebuilt or repaired. I came upon one of these soon after
I arrived, a cart so heavy that it seemed to crush the cobblestones in
the streets. A huge rope, nearly a quarter of a mile long, was attached
to it, and on this nearly all the inhabitants of the ward were pulling.
First there were little girls, then larger girls, then little boys and
larger boys, then hundreds of men, pulling for all they were worth. Yet
even so the cart moved very slowly. It was gaily decorated, but not yet
loaded, for the logs were still down on the bank of the river on which
they had been floated from the imperial forests farther upstream.
[Illustration:
One of the many sacred timbers at Yamada-Ise, each carried on a huge
cart, and pulled by the united strength of many men.
]
A Great Celebration
That evening each ward paraded with a great float. In some of them men
and women and children stood motionless, grouped in tableaux. In others
there were musicians, playing and singing as they were pulled along; or
sometimes they were only pretending to be pulled along as they walked
inside the float. The musicians and those in the tableaux wore costumes
such as were worn in Japan hundreds of years ago. In the morning nearly
all the people of the town, but especially the boys and girls, appeared
in queer, gay garments. Some of the girls had big baskets of flowers on
their heads in place of hats. Most boys carried one of the symbols of
Shintoism, a stick with a bundle of torn papers attached to one end of
it—somewhat resembling a feather duster.
[Illustration:
A family in the town of Yamada-Ise dressed up for the celebration
which takes place there every twenty-one years.
]
There are two great shrines, miles apart, at Yamada-Ise, each with many
old and new temples among great pine and cryptomeria forests. Just
inside the outer gates of the most important shrine flows a sacred
river, and every pilgrim stops to wash in it before going on to the
temples. These are huge structures, made entirely of wood. In a way
Shintoism holds forests sacred, and the Japanese are very wise in
conserving their great woods. When the forests begin to thin out, trees
from nurseries are brought and replanted. This shrine at the base of a
mountain was in a park of immense trees, bigger than any we have outside
California. Because superstitious Japanese believe that the bark of
these trees is a protection against evil spirits, the government has
erected tree guards, similar to those in our parks, but made of bamboo
splints instead of wire. These make it difficult for pilgrims to injure
the trees.
The temples must not be painted, and the builders of new ones must
follow the old architecture. For this reason, not only the aged and
weather-blackened temples but the gleaming new ones just built look very
old-fashioned indeed. In one of the temples there was a sacred horse.
Once you have seen how scarce horses are and how much horse-work the
Japanese peasant has to do himself, you do not wonder that many Japanese
almost worship them. But the pilgrims did not bow down before this
horse, or do any of the other things which the more superstitious Hindus
do before their sacred bulls. They only halted to buy and feed him a
penny’s worth of beans, much as you might offer peanuts to a monkey or
an elephant at the zoo. I wonder if travelers from far-off lands who see
Americans doing that suppose we worship elephants and monkeys.
Hauling Logs for the Temple
[Illustration:
Two girls of Yamada-Ise, the sacred Shinto city of Japan, dressed for
the great log-hauling festival. Their hats are covered with real
flowers.
]
When I got back to the town of Yamada itself early that afternoon the
great festival was at its height. Each ward had taken its ponderous cart
down to the river, stripped off all the decorations, and loaded one of
the logs for the rebuilding of the temples. These great logs are of
_hinoki_ wood, cut in the imperial forests, and they are considered so
sacred that they were all wrapped in grass mats to keep them from being
injured. Not only the carts but even the people pulling them had done
away with their finery and looked very serious and determined. The small
girls and boys, who might have been more hindrance than help, were no
longer pulling. But all the larger boys and young men in the ward were
tugging at the great rope. Clouds of dust surrounded them. Sweat poured
down their grimy faces. The great carts ground over the cobblestones,
groaning under their heavy loads. The crowd of people was so great that
policemen had to drive them back often—and those same policemen tried to
prevent me from taking photographs.
[Illustration:
At the foot of the sacred mountain of Koya-san this Japanese boy asked
for the job of carrying my baggage to the top, thus earning a _yen_,
worth about half an American dollar.
]
Finally each cart was dragged into the grounds of the second most
important shrine of Yamada-Ise, and the pullers could lie down on their
backs and rest. But the next day and the next would be the same, for
this ceremony lasts a full week. Then the pilgrims recede, like a
retreating tidal wave, and leave the village of Yamada to twenty-one
more years of quiet.
Pilgrims to Koya-san
Not very far away from sacred Yamada-Ise is another very holy place. It
is Koya-san, or as we might say “Mount Koya,” at the top of which is the
most venerated shrine of Buddhism in Japan. I climbed the mountain on
foot, along with hundreds of pilgrims. But those who do not like three
or four hours of steady climbing have to be carried up in a sort of
hammock swung from a big bamboo pole that is carried on two men’s
shoulders. Most of the pilgrims walked, but the more wealthy ones at
least hired a porter to carry their baggage. There were many of these
porters, women and boys as well as men, ready for such a job anywhere
along the foot of the mountain.
[Illustration:
Japanese women reaching the top of the long climb to the sacred
Buddhist shrine of Koya-san, in _kagos_, or mountain chairs borne on
the shoulders of stout coolies.
]
[Illustration:
Two pilgrims to Koya-san. The one on the left has just arrived by
train at the foot of the sacred mountain and is about to begin the
ascent. The pilgrim on the right has equipment consisting of a staff
with bell, a sack for food, and a box of sacred images. See how well
the hats protect their wearers from the sun.
]
Before I finished my pilgrimage to Koya-san I found that there were all
kinds of people among the pilgrims—doctors, professors, business men
from Osaka, steamship managers from Kobe. But you could hardly have
guessed it from their appearance, for they all wore queer pilgrim
costumes that made them look like peasants on a holiday. On every little
piece of projecting ground along the mountain road stood a tea house or
an outdoor restaurant, where climbers could rest in the cool breeze and
look down upon the great carpet of rice fields far below.
Beggars sat here and there asking for charity. Some of them were badly
crippled or had dreadful diseases, but they were not so unfortunate as
thousands we saw later along the way to pilgrimage places in China. Some
of them were comedians, and tried to win coppers by amusing the
pilgrims. One fellow wearing white fingerless “mitts” had slung around
his neck a great wooden box with a coin-slot in it, and walked on _geta_
so high as to be almost like stilts.
Entertained by Buddhist Priests
Before I reached the top of the mountain I had made friends with some
pilgrims from Osaka, and not far from the summit we were all met by a
young Buddhist priest, who invited us to come to his monastery. Formerly
no women were allowed to enter Koya-san; they had to say their prayers
and turn back from the ancient gate. Now women are gaining more freedom
in Japan, and the two in our party went on to the monastery with us.
The rooms where we were invited to take off our shoes and squat on
cushions were much like those of a good Japanese hotel. In fact, some of
the monasteries of Koya-san might be considered hotels, for though the
monks invite pilgrims to be their guests they expect them to pay. After
a very good Japanese dinner, which of course I had to eat with
chopsticks, two of the young priests took us on a tour of the place.
There were many aged temples, rather different from the Shinto temple at
Yamada-Ise. Some of them contained wonderful examples of old Japanese
art. There were tapestries, paintings, illuminated texts, carvings by a
famous man named Unkei who lived hundreds of years ago. But most of the
summit of Koya-san is a great cemetery. It did not look much like our
cemeteries. Not only are Japanese tombstones different from ours, but
most of these had been standing since long before our forefathers came
to America. So, of course, they were blackened with time, and some
looked ready to drop of old age.
Every great man of old Japan, from mikados to famous monks and priests,
has a tomb at Koya-san. This does not mean that they all are buried
there, but that in memory of each a tomb has been erected under the
great cryptomeria trees. Since even the ordinary Japanese likes the idea
of having some reminder of himself in this sacred spot after his death,
a _Kotsu-do_, or “Hall of Bones,” is provided where every year a bone,
or perhaps only a lock of hair, of each of thousands of dead Japanese is
thrown. Thus they also have a share in the great national Buddhist
graveyard beside the remains of the monk who founded this sanctuary of
Koya-san nearly eleven hundred years ago.
[Illustration:
One of the beggars on the climb to Koya-san wore a strange costume and
high _geta_ having one support instead of two, in order to appeal to
the charitable.
]
But life is not all funereal at the great cemetery of Koya-san. The
young monks in my temple had their jokes and their games, much like
youths in other parts of the world. One of them was the tennis champion
of all Koya-san; for there were a number of tennis courts among the
monasteries. The young monks were very friendly, too, and sat, or rather
squatted, with me in my room until bedtime, telling me stories in the
little English that some of them knew.
Next morning, however, they were very solemn during the early service
that I had been invited to attend. Dressed in their most religious robes
they paraded with the older monks round and round an altar, some of them
ringing bells and all of them chanting old Buddhist texts. Sometimes
they all sat down on their heels before the altar, and then got up and
slowly marched around it again. There were only a few pilgrims at this
ceremony, and toward the end of it their names were called out one by
one and each stepped up to the altar and sprinkled a pinch of incense
into a bowl where more incense was burning. If I understood the
explanation of one of the young monks who spoke a little English, these
pilgrims were saying prayers for the souls of their ancestors.
Then we had breakfast back in my room, and half a dozen of the younger
monks put on their sandals and went with me to the beginning of the road
down the mountain. During the ceremony and in the guest rooms they had,
of course, been in their stocking feet. They all bowed low and bade me
_sayonara_ (good-by), and then shook hands in our Western fashion. This
“strange foreign custom,” as it naturally seems to the Japanese, made
several of them giggle with amusement. But as I made my way down through
the splendid forest toward the rice field plain below, I could not help
wondering if American boys would have been as kind and hospitable to a
stray Japanese traveler who visited one of our out-of-the-way villages.
CHAPTER XI
WESTERN AND SOUTHERN JAPAN
Those who leave the beaten track of foreign travelers through Japan,
that is, the main route between Nikko and Nagasaki, find that the
Japanese are generally polite but have great curiosity. Sometimes they
are angry at Americans, as when we pass laws to keep them from migrating
to our country, and then they are not so courteous to us for a few
weeks. In the ports and large cities, where many foreigners are seen,
some of the Japanese men and boys are rude. But perhaps that is partly
the fault of foreigners, who sometimes forget that visitors in another
people’s country should be as careful as if they were visiting in
another person’s home.
Most of the time the Japanese of all classes show great courtesy to
travelers and to one another. It is very interesting to see a group of
them bidding a friend good-by at a railway station. As the train starts
they bow low, all together, so many times that they make you think of a
field of wheat with strong gusts of wind blowing over it. Often when I
have been walking through parts of Japan where foreigners are seldom
seen, a whole village would leave its work or its play to crowd about
me. The inhabitants were merely curious, without any intention of being
rude. Many of the boys and girls, and sometimes even a few of the men
and women, would follow me out into the country. It made me feel like
the Pied Piper of Hamelin!
[Illustration:
This queer vehicle is called a _basha_. In out-of-the-way parts of
Japan it is still the most rapid and aristocratic means of
conveyance.
]
But that was long ago, and now the Japanese everywhere are a little more
familiar with foreigners. Yet crowds often surrounded us on our later
trips. They might be only schoolboys, in their uniform caps and queer
plaid kimonos. Nearly every pupil in the high schools of Japan wishes to
learn English, and they are not so bashful or diffident about it as many
American boys and girls are in practising a foreign language they are
studying. They take every opportunity to learn more English by trying
out, on any foreigner they see, what they have learned in school. So we
were often surrounded, even on railway platforms, by boys who were
speaking English slowly and often poorly, yet who did not give up even
when the others giggled at their efforts. On the whole perhaps the
Japanese are less bashful than we are. Or it may be that they are so
much more eager to learn that they swallow their bashfulness. We were
also often surrounded because of our small boy, for many Japanese have
never seen a foreign child. The fact that his hair is very blond
doubtless increased the size of the crowds, because many Japanese seem
to think that only jet-black hair is real.
[Illustration:
© E. M. Newman, from Publishers Photo Service
Fujiyama, the “Peerless Mountain” of Japan, is a perfect cone,
perpetually capped with snow and ice and often reflected in the
lakes near its base.
]
[Illustration:
© E. M. Newman, from Publishers Photo Service
A happy crowd of Japanese children near the great _torii_ of Miyajima.
]
On Foot Through the Mountains
Walking is a pleasant and a profitable way to travel almost anywhere,
but particularly in Japan, that empire of mountainous islands. One
especially beautiful section, about in the center of Honshu, the largest
island, is called the “Japanese Alps.” If ever you go to Japan, do not
forget to spend a few days tramping in those splendid forested
mountains, inhabited by simple, good-hearted people. Another delightful
walking trip is to roam about the base of Fujiyama, the “Peerless
Mountain,” so dear to the Japanese that they almost worship it. On a
clear day the traveler may see that perfect snow-capped cone even before
he reaches Yokohama, and behold it all the way to Kyoto, perhaps, though
it often hides its head in the clouds for weeks at a time. It is hard
work, yet very much worth while, to climb to the top. That, however, can
only be done in midsummer, when the snow cap is not so deep.
Whether you ride or walk along the shore of it, or take a steamer
through it, you will always remember the Inland Sea of Japan. It is a
great stretch of blue water, dotted with islands and sailboats, between
the western end of Honshu, the largest island, and Shikoku, the fifth
largest island of Japan. One of the most beautiful sights along it is
Miyajima, a kind of holy village, with a wonderful old _torii_, or
Japanese square arch, standing out in the sea at high tide but on land
at low tide. Miyajima is one of the “Great Sights” of Japan. First and
foremost among these is of course Fujiyama. The others are Matsushima,
those pine-tree islands off the coast in the Bay of Sendai, and
Ama-no-hashidate, on the western coast of the biggest island. The name
of this last one means “Bridge to Heaven.” There is a Japanese legend
that the god Izanagi stood on this “bridge” when he shook from his spear
the drops of water that turned solid and became the islands of Japan. It
is really a narrow pine grove on a sand bar, and the Japanese make it
look like a bridge to heaven by stooping down and gazing at it between
their outspread legs. The name of Ama-no-hashidate and the legend show
how imaginative are the Japanese.
[Illustration:
The Inland Sea of Japan at Miyajima, showing the famous _torii_
reflected in the water at high tide. The picture on page 142 is a
nearer view and gives a good idea of the great size of this
religious arch of which the Japanese are so proud.
]
Kyushu Island
[Illustration:
My son at the Japanese shrine in the garden of the native hotel at
Beppu, where there are natural hot baths for everyone.
]
Most foreign travelers in Japan either do not see Kyushu, the big
southern island, at all or they hurry across it to or from Nagasaki. We
spent more than two weeks on it. At Beppu, celebrated for its hot
mineral baths, using water from a near-by volcano, we found a hotel
where we could live in a little Japanese “annex” set in a garden of
flowers and pine trees, with the privilege of bathing in a great tank of
naturally hot water and of eating in the foreign-style main building.
You can always have your bath as hot as you like at Beppu, without
heating it. Thousands of Japanese go there every year to soak themselves
in the hot water or hot mud from the volcano and cure themselves of
rheumatism and other ailments. In places the peasants do not have
cooking stoves, for they have only to set their kettles over steaming
fissures in the rocks. There are many of these natural hot baths in
Japan, because it is a mountainous country with many volcanoes. Next to
going on religious pilgrimages, the Japanese travel most to such “water
cures” as Beppu.
I think the new railway down the eastern side of Kyushu is finished now,
but when I traveled over it there were still half a dozen tunnels to be
dug in the great granite mountains. Railroad travel in Japan sometimes
seems like a succession of smoky tunnels. I had to bump along a bad road
in an old Ford between the two parts of the line that were running. In
this part of Japan there were many little rice fields laid out like
shelves or stairs on the terraced hills. The blue sea looked so like a
great mirror whenever we caught sight of it that it seemed as if a
steamer or sailboat would scratch it.
[Illustration:
In Kagoshima, southernmost city of Japan proper, the work horses wear
elaborate harnesses, gaily decorated in red and gold. Perhaps the
owners are more pleased with such display than the horses are.
]
There is another and older railway line down the other side of Kyushu,
and both that and the new one end at the famous old city of Kagoshima.
For centuries this was the most southern Japanese city, and it was there
that St. Francis Xavier, the first Roman Catholic missionary to Japan,
landed centuries ago, before Japan turned hermit and shut itself off
from the outside world for more than a hundred years. There also,
according to Japanese legend, the divine couple from whom the emperors
of Japan descended, landed to found the great empire of Nippon. Queerly
enough, though Kagoshima was the first place to welcome foreigners, or
at least Westerners, it was there that the last stand was made against
copying the modern Western world. The Satsuma lords of Kagoshima who
opposed the other rulers of the country in this matter were defeated,
and committed suicide. But their rebellion is completely forgiven now,
and statues of the greatest of them, in ancient _shogun_ costumes, rise
among the trees and ponds in the hillside park of Kagoshima.
[Illustration:
Looking across Nagasaki, one of the best known cities of Japan, which
is built on a number of hills.
]
As a city Kagoshima was hot and dusty, now that May was almost over, and
many of its people went nearly as naked as the Hindus. What made it seem
still hotter was that the volcano island of Sakurajima out in its harbor
was smoking as if there were a great furnace beneath it. Kyushu is so
far south that great quantities of bamboo grow there. That most useful
plant, which sometimes shoots up a foot in twenty-four hours, is one of
the best friends Japan has. If I merely listed the things the Japanese
make of bamboo, I could cover several pages.
[Illustration:
At Nagasaki, Japanese women as well as men work in loading coal onto
ships. Two passengers on my ship were so curious that I had to
include them in the picture—partly.
]
Even though one leaves Kyushu by another way, one should not fail to
visit Nagasaki, its principal port. It is not only a pretty city among
its many wooded hills, but it has a very interesting history. During all
the years that Japan was closed to the outside world, a few Hollanders
were allowed to live on a tiny island in Nagasaki harbor and trade with
the Japanese. They could not go anywhere else in Japan, and only the
merchants who had business with them could visit their little island,
which is now just a commonplace part of downtown Nagasaki. So they sat
and smoked their pipes with Dutch patience, waiting for the day when
they would be rich enough to go back to Holland. Though it is many years
since Japan opened its doors to the outside world, the children of
Nagasaki still call any foreigner they see, “Horando-san,” that is, “Mr.
Hollander.”
The traveler who goes in or out of Nagasaki on a steamer will probably
see one of the strangest sights in Japan. There is so much coal in the
island of Kyushu that even our American warships on the way to or from
the Philippines stop there for it. But as Nagasaki still has no modern
coal chutes, the coal all has to be loaded by hand. There are almost as
many women as men among the hundreds of workers who swarm down to the
ship that is to be loaded. They look like human ladders on the gangways,
for when the barges arrive the coal is passed in baskets from one person
to another, over their heads, and the empty baskets are thrown down upon
the barge again. With a dozen of these lines all working as fast as
possible, the air seems to be full of baskets, and the workers get so
thoroughly covered with coal dust that you might almost think they were
negroes.
CHAPTER XII
FORMOSA, JAPAN’S TROPICAL ISLAND
Although it is very old, the Japanese Empire is still growing. In 1895
the Japanese had a war with China, and before they would make peace they
forced the Chinese to give them the largest island belonging to that
ancient country. Perhaps they thought that as their empire was entirely
made up of islands they could govern this one better than the Chinese
had done. The truth is that the Chinese had not governed it very well,
and in many ways its people are better off under the Japanese.
I have already told you how the Japanese took the lower half of the
island of Sakhalin from the Russians. That was ten years after they
obtained the largest Chinese island. Later I shall explain how in 1910
they added a whole country. So you see the Japanese Empire has been
growing even during our own days.
If only our legs were long enough, we could use the string of little
Japanese islands the Spaniards named the Ladrones (“Robbers”) as
stepping-stones from Kyushu to Formosa. But as they are not, we are more
likely to find a steamer for Formosa sailing from Nagasaki than from
Kagoshima. The Portuguese gave Formosa the name we know it by; it is
their word for “beautiful.” The Japanese also at first called it
“beautiful island,” in their language Takasagoshima; but now they call
it by its Chinese name of Taiwan, or “Terraced Bay.”
[Illustration: FORMOSA (TAIWAN).]
A Tempest in a Teapot
Beautiful things are sometimes hard to manage, and this egg-shaped
island, about as large as Massachusetts, and in one place barely a
hundred miles from the coast of China, has given the Japanese plenty of
trouble. In fact it has always had a troubled history. The Portuguese
and the Dutch fought over it; the Dutch quarreled about it with the
Chinese; a great Chinese pirate captured it; the United States ruled it
once for a year; and now the Japanese are not finding it easy to
control. Half in the tropics and half in the temperate zone (the Tropic
of Cancer crosses the middle of it), Formosa is full of mountains,
jungles, and savages. The mountains are heaped up until the topmost is
reached in Mt. Morrison, which the Japanese call Niitakayama, 14,270
feet in height. This is the highest point in the Japanese Empire, almost
as high as our Mt. Rainier. When an island reaches such a height as this
it means that most of it is very mountainous. At first sight of it from
the sea I was not surprised that at least two different races called it
“Beautiful Island.”
Though Takao at the southern end of the island has a fine harbor, and
there are a few other ports, almost everyone who comes to Formosa lands
at Kiirun on the northern end. There is a saying that it rains in Kiirun
four hundred days a year! I passed through it twice without seeing a
drop of rain; still, I did not stay twenty-four hours either time, so
perhaps the saying is almost true. The Japanese have made Kiirun, which
the Chinese call Keelung, a very modern port, with wide paved streets
and big brick buildings, landing wharves and drydocks. But what
surprises the traveler still more perhaps, especially if he comes from
China, so backward in such things, is to find that there are fourteen
passenger trains a day to the capital, eighteen miles away.
A Modern City in an Old Country
Taipeh or Taihoku, capital of Formosa, is sometimes called the most
modern city in Japan. After the Japanese took the island, they tore down
the old Chinese slums and anything else they did not like, and rebuilt
the city according to the latest ideas. They could not have rebuilt a
city of old Japan so well, for the owners of houses and shops would have
kept them from tearing down as much as they wished. Taipeh has wide,
straight streets, crossing one another at right angles. They are well
paved, and most of them are lined by fine trees or parks. Down in the
business section the sidewalks are covered with arcades built out from
the shops. In so hot a country it is very pleasant to be able to stay in
the shade while shopping among the modern Japanese stores. Besides a
great government building, there are museums and banks, excellent school
buildings, a botanical garden, modern water supply and sewers, and many
other things to prove that the people of Formosa have gained much by
being taken over by the Japanese.
[Illustration:
Taipeh, or Taihoku, capital of Formosa, is very up-to-date under the
Japanese; in fact, with its wide business streets lined by arcades,
it is called the most modern city in Japan.
]
There are no street cars in Formosa, but good Japanese railways run the
whole length of the island. Several trains every day cover the 257 miles
from the northern to the southern port between daybreak and dark. The
trains are like those elsewhere in Japan, for all are government owned.
The first and second class cars have upholstered benches along the
sides, the third class have hard wooden ones arranged like the seats in
our trains. The Japanese remain polite even down here in their hottest
island. At the door of each car the guard or conductor takes off his
hat, bows, and says he is sorry to trouble the honorable passengers to
show him their tickets. Now and then a train boy comes through, but he
is not the kind of train boy we have in the United States, for he has
nothing to sell. Instead he keeps the cars always clean by using a broom
and dustpan, sometimes a sprinkling can, and collecting rubbish left by
passengers.
A Hot Meal in Wooden Boxes
In Japan the people who sell things to passengers are not on the trains
but on the station platforms. Boys in green caps or bearing other signs
of their business, march back and forth past the train windows, selling
tea, hot milk, fruit, rice cakes, California raisins, native jams and
doughy candy, cigarettes, beer, newspapers and magazines, and especially
_O bento_. Among Japanese travelers the “honorable bento” takes the
place of our dining cars. It is a package of two very thin wooden boxes,
one containing hot rice and the other several kinds of Japanese food,
such as fish, raw or cooked, omelet, beans, pickled bamboo, and many
other things familiar in Japan. With this package comes a fresh pair of
chopsticks, not quite broken in two, so that we know no one can ever
have used them, and between them (“like the baby between mamma and
papa,” the Japanese sometimes say) a toothpick! The Japanese consider a
toothpick very necessary after a meal. There are paper napkins, too, and
once you get used to the food of Japan and learn to use the chopsticks
you will enjoy one of these station meals.
Who Likes “Aisucureemu”?
Some of the words used by the Japanese for modern things are taken from
our own language. If we listen closely we may be able to understand what
the boys on the platform mean by “matchee,” “tabako,” “see-dare,”
“beeru,” and “aisucureemu!” On the important station platforms there are
long rows of washbasins with towels. The names of all stations are
written on large signboards in English as well as in Japanese. These
same signboards tell the distance to the last and to the next station
and mention, also in English, all the places of interest that can be
seen near by. In this respect Japanese railroads are more enterprising
than our own.
[Illustration:
Formosan schoolgirls jumping the rope between classes, in the yard of
a former Confucian temple that the Japanese have made over into a
school.
]
On the way south we shall see the famous old city of Tainan, capital of
the Dutch and then of the Chinese pirate leader, and a dozen or more
other cities and large towns, all made very clean and modern by Japanese
rule. Perhaps we shall find some Confucian temples made over into
schools, and here and there an old city gate standing as a kind of
monument of Chinese times, the wall having been torn down. We may even
catch glimpses of Japanese and Formosan boys and girls, with their
leather book sacks on their backs or over a shoulder, going to school in
the same kind of uniforms the school children of old Japan wear during
the hotter months.
[Illustration:
Japanese schoolboys in Formosa, in the uniforms most Japanese pupils
wear, with the sacks in which they carry their books.
]
[Illustration:
Japanese girls on their way home from school in Formosa. They wear
much the same uniform as the girls in Japan proper, and like the
boys they carry their books in orderly knapsacks.
]
More interesting than the towns, perhaps, are the country scenes along
the way. There are fields of sugar cane as well as rice; many banana
plants show their huge leaves and big purple blossoms; tropical bamboos
as big as trees wave their plumes lazily in the breeze. The country
women are dressed so much like the men that we can hardly tell them from
their husbands. Descended from Chinese immigrants, perhaps several
generations back, they have the Chinese women’s custom of wearing
trousers. But there is no foot-binding among the women of Formosa; that
dreadful custom the immigrants left behind. The women along the way are
therefore able to work side by side with the men, carrying loads on
poles across their shoulders and pushing cars of country produce on tiny
railroads that run toward the mountains. Some of the women in the train,
especially on the hard benches of third class, have their hair done up
in a very elaborate fashion, as if trying, not very successfully, to
imitate the ceremonial hair dressing of Japanese ladies or of _geisha_.
[Illustration:
Educated Formosan youths. They had been members of the same class in
school in one of the interior towns, and had come together for a
reunion.
]
After we have passed Kagi and the signboard that marks the Tropic of
Cancer, we find many of the people chewing betelnut. It is not really
that, though that is the name by which we call it in Europe and America.
It is really the nut of the very slender arec palm and the leaf of the
betel vine that climbs it, mixed with a little lime. Betelnut chewing is
common among both men and women in the oceanic part of Asia.
All day long we notice that the government railways of Formosa stay
close to the seacoast and on level ground. The fact is that the Japanese
have modernized only the flat fringe of the country. Here there are
modern towns and railways and roads and capable police, and all the
other usual evidences of civilization. But the three-fourths of the
island which piles into the sky in great forest-covered mountain ranges
is much as it was before the Japanese came; in fact, much as it was
thousands of years ago. Among the foothills there are the Hakkas, a kind
of Chinese people, who plant and cultivate, like the real Chinese of the
lowlands. But among the mountains live the wild tribes that were there
when Formosa was all a wilderness. It is these that make beautiful
Formosa so troublesome to the Japanese. In order to find out what the
problem is, suppose we leave the tame level coast lands and climb into
the mountains. There is a little risk involved, as you shall see, but we
know that genuine travel, like any other real accomplishment, has its
toils and its dangers.
CHAPTER XIII
JAPAN’S WILD MEN
No one knows surely the origin of the wild tribes living in the
forest-covered mountains of Formosa. Scientists think they are of the
Malay race and came centuries ago from other islands farther south.
Perhaps they are related to the wilder tribes of the Philippine Islands.
Some people, indeed, believe that the Formosan tribes were originally of
the same race as the Japanese, but that they got lost in the mountains
and remained savages while the others, led by the ancestors of the
Mikado, went on to less mountainous islands and became the civilized
Japanese of to-day. It is true that if you dress one of the wild men of
Formosa in Japanese clothes even a Japanese can hardly tell him from one
of his own people.
Because of this possible race connection the Japanese should have a
double desire to civilize the Formosan natives. The principal reason,
however, for looking after them is to prevent their interfering with
something very important to Japan. There are all kinds of tropical trees
in the great crumpled-up part of Formosa, but one of them is more
important than all the others—the camphor tree. You may know that moth
balls contain camphor, but did you know that six million pounds of
camphor are used every year in making celluloid, two million in
perfumery, a million in drugs, and several million in other ways? When
you discover that the world uses twelve million pounds of camphor every
year for these various purposes, and then find that Formosa produces
nine of those twelve million pounds, you will see why the Japanese were
forced to tame the savages.
The camphor trees grow only in the mountains. There are a few single
trees down on the narrow flat edge of the island, just as there are a
few huge ones about the temples of China. But in order to get even
thousands of pounds of camphor, to say nothing of nine million pounds
every year, the Japanese had to send their camphor gatherers high up
into the mountains. There the wild men used to attack them; even now
they sometimes descend upon a camphor camp and kill the workmen or
destroy the simple machinery.
A Campaign Against Head Hunters
For this reason the Japanese were forced to start a regular campaign
against the wild tribes. The worst of them are head-hunters, like some
of the people living in the wilder parts of the Philippines. The various
tribes have had wars among themselves for centuries, and when they kill
a man they carry home as a souvenir to prove their bravery, not his
scalp, but his whole head! At home the savage lays his enemy’s skull
away in his “skull shelf.” This is made of flat pieces of stone and has
many pigeon-holes, somewhat like the boxes at the post office. In former
times at least, the man who had the most skulls was considered the
bravest, and became chief of the tribe. The Japanese have sent soldiers
into the mountains to destroy the skull shelves, but some of them still
remain.
It is only the men and boys who hunt heads, but the women and girls are
partly to blame. No girl will marry a youth until he has gone out and
killed at least one man and brought home his head. So the young Formosan
who falls in love must hide in the woods along the “guard line” of the
Japanese, and stay there until he can shoot a tame Formosan or a
Japanese or some savage of another tribe than his own. Then he can march
home in triumph, knowing he will no longer be treated as a child by his
tribe or (particularly) by the lady of his choice.
Fencing in the Wild Men
The guard line is a wide cleared strip through the forest, with sentry
posts and provision houses at intervals, and in some places with barbed
wire fences that can be charged with a deadly electric current. When the
Japanese first tried this scheme of fencing in the wild men among their
high mountains, several head-hunters were killed by the electrified
wires. But savages are not fools—they can learn by experience even if
they do not go to school—and those of Formosa soon found that it was
dangerous to touch the wire fences. They have for many generations built
very clever bamboo bridges across the torrents and chasms of their
mountains, so now they build a stile over the electrified fence, or dig
a tunnel under it, and still occasionally take a head on the other side.
No one knows how many they take inside their inclosure.
[Illustration:
The head-hunting savages of Formosa build their houses of flat slabs
of stone.
]
When I was in Formosa, not long ago, the government records showed that
thirteen heads had been taken during that year, not counting those the
head-hunters took from one another. Two of the victims were Japanese.
The others were savages who had submitted to the new rulers and were
allowed to live outside the guard line, or descendants of Chinese
immigrants who lived among the foothills or down on the flat edges of
the island. No one has ever heard of the Formosan savages taking the
head of a white man. Whether this is because they do not consider the
white race enemies or merely because a white man has never come near
enough to risk his head, we are not sure. So far no American or European
has volunteered to go inside the guard line to find out.
As a matter of fact, the Japanese would not allow the traveler to risk
his life among the savages, even if he wished. There are so few white
people in Formosa that it is easy for the government to keep track of
them all, and before the traveler can even visit a camphor camp he must
get permission from the foreign office in Taipeh. It is hard to believe
that the wild tribes are so close to the capital of the island that if
they had field glasses they could almost make out the despised tame
people down in the streets. The places where one is allowed to go into
the mountains are all farther south. Up Arisan, a mountain peak almost
as high as Mt. Morrison, runs a cog-wheel railroad that brings down
valuable timbers from the interior. But as the savages are now almost
tamed in that region, I obtained permission to go instead to a camphor
camp farther north.
My Trip to a Camphor Camp
Early in the morning a servant came to me in the Japanese inn room where
I had spent the night and said that my “train” was waiting at the door.
I found it to be a little wooden platform about five feet square,
mounted on wheels made to run on a track. A kind of chair was fastened
on it. This is what the Japanese call “first class” travel on the little
narrow-gauge railways that run up into the foothills. The main purpose
of these railways is to take supplies to the camphor camps and bring
down the camphor products. The same car without a chair is called “third
class” and is used by the natives, who pay much less than a white man.
My “engine” was a stout coolie, one of the tame immigrant Chinese people
of the coast, who ran behind and pushed the car, now and then jumping on
and riding a little when there was a down grade. For two hours he
trotted across an almost flat plain, nearly all planted with rice. Then
came a village that must have been a division point, for there I changed
“locomotives.” Farther on, where it became more and more hilly, I had
two “engines,” just as our trains do in going through the Rocky
Mountains. Sometimes a man and his wife, dressed so much alike that it
was hard to tell them apart, pushed at the same car. Now and then we met
other push-cars, nearly all loaded with freight. They were shooting down
the mountain side with a man clinging to a kind of baseball bat used as
a brake. As it was a single-track railway, we were in danger of being
hit before a descending car could stop. Because I was a first-class
passenger, the cars we met all had to be lifted off the track to let me
pass, unless they were so heavily loaded that it was impossible, or were
coming down the mountain side so fast that we had to snatch our car off
to avoid a wreck.
It made me think of the difference between the inhabitants to see the
lower hillsides covered with tea bushes in such exact rows as to look as
if the landscape had been tombed with a gigantic comb; while the
mountain tops reminded me of the savages’ uncombed mats of hair. But the
tea plantations from which the famous Formosa tea comes are not so
exciting as the camphor camps higher up, both because tea is grown in
many more parts of the world than camphor is, and because it is only at
the camphor camps that there is any danger.
[Illustration:
A tea plantation in the Formosan foothills. The tea bushes are planted
in long even rows, up among the hills that are too steep and high
for rice, yet not high enough for head-hunters.
]
It was after noon when I reached the camphor camp, a large village of
several hundred people. Most of them had once been savages, but having
surrendered to the Japanese they were allowed to live outside the
electrified guard line. As fast as a new village promises to give up its
head-hunting and behave, the guard line is moved beyond it, so that the
savage territory is gradually becoming smaller.
Civilizing the Savages
[Illustration:
A Japanese teacher and his class of mountain savages. The fathers of
the children were all once head-hunters, and some still are. The
teacher wears a sword because he is an officer of the Mikado. The
man on the teacher’s right was in the same class, the first grade,
as his own small son who stands in front of him.
]
In this camp there was a kind of boarding school for savages. Of the
forty or fifty children of wild men who attended it, nearly all lived in
a row of wooden huts on the edge of the school field. The chief Japanese
teacher wore a white military uniform and carried a sword, and evidently
he was very busy, for he had not shaved in a week. The boys and girls
were dressed in Japanese school costumes—dark skirts over gay kimonos;
but not all the pupils were boys and girls, though this was a primary
school. Some of the men and women savages who could no more read and
write than their children could, had come to school also. In a single
class there were boys of ten and men of twenty; and in what we would
call the first grade a man and his little six-year-old son were both
learning their Japanese letters out of the same book.
A Japanese official who kindly asked me to stay with him while I
remained in the village went out with me later to see some of the wild
men. Most of the afternoon the rain poured in torrents. The paths to the
savages’ houses were narrow trails up steep mountains, and downpours of
rain covered them with mud as slippery as ice. Besides, Formosa is far
enough south to be very warm during the day, even if the nights are cold
high up in the mountains. So this was not an easy trip. At last we came,
soaking wet and smeared with mud, to some one-room huts built entirely
of flat stones, with a crude slate roof on top. Some of the tamer
savages, who worked for the Japanese in the camphor stills, were quite
friendly. They even joked with us, and offered us the long pipes with
tiny bowls that both the men and the women smoked. These particular
savages had completely surrendered, sending their children to the
Japanese schools and themselves working at gathering camphor. Some
become so tame that they go down to the cities, even to Taipeh the
capital, and become rickshaw-pullers.
Not far beyond we found some untamed men. But they did not dare do us
any harm, because they were allowed on the Japanese side of the guard
line only on the understanding that if they started any trouble the
Japanese and Formosan soldiers would treat them like wild animals. The
Japanese like to have a few of the wild men at a time visit their
camphor camps, and even the cities down on the plains if they can be
coaxed that far from home. For they hope in that way to get word to the
people of the mountains that they will have an easier life if they
submit to the new rulers. But there is something in the black eyes of
those visitors which makes one feel that they would like to take a few
heads back home with them.
[Illustration:
Real wild men of the head-hunting tribes of the Formosan highlands.
They looked as if they would not mind taking a head or two home with
them, but before being allowed outside the electric-wired guard line
put up by the Japanese, they had promised to behave in a civilized
manner.
]
How Camphor Is Obtained
[Illustration:
A brick-kiln in Formosa. The bricks made here are much the same as in
southern China, no doubt because the Formosan lowlanders are almost
all descended from Chinese immigrants. The bricks are larger than
ours, dull gray in color, and rather soft.
]
Nothing would have been more interesting than to have gone on up into
the mountains, if the Japanese had allowed it. As they would not,
nothing was left but to see how camphor is gathered. Camphor trees have
become very large during the centuries when only the savages lived among
them. Now they are chopped down, to be cut up into little chips with a
small scoop-shaped ax. These chips are put in bags and carried down to
the push-car railway, from which part are transferred to a steam railway
and taken to the capital. Sometimes the camphor is distilled in the
field, that is, in towns like this one I was visiting. I saw stills
roughly made of mud and bricks and looking like Chinese brick-kilns. In
these the chips are boiled, and the liquid that comes from them is run
through bamboo pipes to be cooled. This colorless camphor oil is put in
tins or cans like those in which American gasoline and kerosene come to
Asia, and is shipped down to Taipeh.
Camphor is a government monopoly in Formosa. Therefore no one can sell
either camphor chips or camphor oil to anyone except to the government
officials in the capital. The Japanese Government puts whatever price it
sees fit on the nine million pounds of camphor furnished to the world
every year. So you see it has been worth while for the Japanese to take
over the island which the Chinese ruled so badly. Whatever else the
visitor to Formosa may see or miss, he should not fail to go through the
warehouses of the Monopoly Bureau in Taihoku, containing tons of
snow-white camphor in great bins. While he wonders how men can shovel
the stuff back and forth all day in air that seems filled with the
pungent odor of millions of moth balls, he will realize why Formosa is
so important a part of the Japanese Empire.
[Illustration: CHOSEN (Korea)]
CHAPTER XIV
KOREA OR CHOSEN
Though her specialty is islands, Japan now has a large slice of the
continent of Asia in her empire. During her war with Russia she found
that the peninsula we usually call Korea was a “convenient springboard”
from which her enemies could jump upon old Japan. Also the Koreans, who
were formerly a part of the great Chinese Empire, had a very corrupt
government. So the Japanese decided that it would be safer for
themselves, and perhaps better for the Koreans, if they took charge of
the peninsula. First they called it a “protectorate,” and left the old
Korean Emperor on his throne in Seoul, requiring him to reform his
government so as to be more like their own. But in 1910 the Emperor was
deposed and the Japanese made Korea a part of their own empire, with a
Japanese governor-general as the chief ruler.
From Shimonoseki, at the western end of the largest Japanese island, it
was a comfortable one-night trip by a big Japanese steamer across to
Fusan, at the southern end of Korea. We found this latest addition to
the empire very different from the rest of Japan. The Koreans in some
ways resemble the Japanese and in others the Chinese, yet they are
enough different from either to be quickly recognized. Moreover, their
costumes and customs and indeed the landscape of their peninsula are
quite new to one who has been traveling through Japan.
American Trains in a Far-away Land
Instead of the little Japanese trains with long upholstered seats on
either side of the cars, Korea has regular American trains. Hearing the
loud whistle of a locomotive made in Philadelphia, so different from the
screeching little engines of Japan proper, we could almost imagine
ourselves back home again. But the people in the train, and the scenes
that raced past the windows, were not a bit American. Korea is a land of
villages that look like clusters of great mushrooms, for their roofs are
thatched with rice straw. There are a few cities, and in them many
buildings have tile roofs and resemble the houses of China. The
continental part of the Japanese Empire, almost as large as its biggest
island, yet only about half as large as our similar peninsula of
Florida, has a very much greater population. Most Koreans are peasants
living in villages near their fields; so you can understand why those
mushroom villages are so numerous.
It was June now, and the sun beat down from a sky without the least
little cloud in it, upon almost endless rice fields. The Koreans grow
cotton and tobacco also, and some wheat, millet, and barley in the
northern part of their peninsula. But we might have fancied, seeing
these fields hour after hour, that they grew nothing but rice. If we
could have seen the peasants eating their dinners we might have formed
the same impression, for the great mass of the people eat very little
except rice.
Countryside and City
There were almost no trees to break the sun-flooded rice lands. One of
the weaknesses of the old Korean Government was that it let the people
cut down all the trees. Knowing that the loss of forests means that
there will be both droughts and floods, the Japanese protected theirs,
so that they not only have much finer scenery than either Korea or China
but they possess the water supply so necessary for growing food. In
Formosa they even replant camphor trees to take the place of those they
cut down. In Korea the Japanese have started tree nurseries, like those
of Germany, and in time they hope to have the peninsula well forested
again.
One thing about Korea that strikes every traveler from America or Europe
is the scarcity of real roads. Before the Japanese came, there were only
trails in most parts of the peninsula, so that travelers had to go on
foot or horseback, and produce on animals’ or men’s backs or on
wheelbarrows. Now the Japanese are building modern roads, but they are
not very good road-builders, and floods in a treeless country quickly
fill the rivers and tear out the bridges. We did not see an automobile
all day long, and very few other vehicles. Later I found that Fords
sometimes run to towns at a distance from the railway. But even those
often have hard work getting over the rough earth roads, and have to be
ferried across rivers where bridges have been washed out or have never
existed.
[Illustration:
Two Korean salesmen on the streets of Seoul. The one on the left has a
load of firewood (small branches of evergreen trees), which he has
brought to the market-square on the back of his patient bull. The
peddler on the right has chickens to sell. The fowls are carried in
a network frame or cage which has legs so that it may be set down
when a customer is found. The roosters crow as if they enjoyed the
ride.
]
Seoul, the Capital City
[Illustration:
A Japanese woman (in front) and a Korean woman (behind) in the streets
of Seoul show rather different costumes.
]
We rode ten hours on our American train, reaching Seoul, the capital of
Korea, only as the sun set. Yet this city is in the middle of the
country, and it takes even longer by train to get to the northern
boundary. Once Seoul had a great wall all around it, like the cities of
China. But the Japanese do not believe in city walls. They know those
old walls that were once so useful in warfare are of no use whatever
against the great guns of to-day. Moreover, they say the Koreans cannot
fight unless behind walls, and naturally they would not want their new
subjects to have any advantage in case of a possible attempt to drive
the Japanese out of the peninsula. So the picturesque walls of old Seoul
have all been torn down. Some of the great ornamental gates have been
left, but only as monuments.
Those who came to Seoul fifteen or twenty years ago found the streets
very narrow, and deep either in mud or in dust, depending on the
weather. Even rich people went about the city on foot or on horseback,
or perhaps in sedan-chairs, and it took them hours to get from one part
of town to another. Some of these quaint little streets are still left;
but there are many wide paved streets now, with automobiles, and
electric street cars running from one end of town to the other.
The Koreans like to sleep during the hottest part of the day in summer,
and they can sleep almost anywhere, with the ground as a bed and a brick
as a pillow. When the street cars first came, Koreans who wanted a nap
thought the high rails made a fine pillow, and some of them were killed
by the cars. All that is changed now, and Seoul is a busy and quite a
modern city.
[Illustration:
Beneath this famous old kiosk of Seoul, with the lines of monkeys in
tile running along its four ridge-poles, there is a monument on a
great stone turtle. The turtle, which means long life to Koreans and
Chinese, is often seen as a monument or as the pedestal of a carved
slab of granite.
]
Yet one still finds much that is picturesque in the capital. The palaces
of the former rulers, where the deposed Emperor (who has since died)
lived even after the Japanese took his power away from him, are very
gaudy buildings, with flaring tiled roofs, inside high walls with
ornamental wooden gates. Quaint old temples filled with statues of gods
and demons in all the colors of the rainbow still peer out from among
the low houses and from groves on the surrounding hillsides. But the big
modern government buildings of the Japanese overshadow the old palaces,
and when you climb a hill and look down upon Seoul you will be much less
likely to see the temples than the bulking red brick churches built by
Christian missionaries. The mythological stone animals of the old Korean
city are not nearly so conspicuous as the big new wheel-shaped prison
built by the Japanese, and the once sacred Temple of Heaven is now an
ice-cream pavilion in the garden of the best Japanese hotel!
Funeral Customs
Sometimes we heard in the streets those weird sounds which the Koreans
think are music, and looked out to see a funeral passing. The Korean
hearse has no wheels but is carried on men’s shoulders. Although some of
the mourners now may ride in rickshaws, most of the people behind the
hearse are on foot. At least half of them are men and boys hired to
carry the many strange things that must go in a Korean funeral
procession. They are dressed in red and green and other gaily-colored
garments, sometimes rather worn and dirty, which belong to the director
of the funeral rather than to those who are wearing them.
Once I followed one of these queer funerals out over the hills. When it
had left the city it moved more and more slowly. Some of the mourners
and other followers dropped out and went back home. Far out among the
rice fields the rest of the procession sat down for a while to rest, and
then went on again, the queer music still howling and squeaking and
banging. In former days the Koreans buried their dead wherever the “wise
men” who make that their business told them to, so that the hills about
Seoul are covered for miles and miles with little green knolls. But now
the Japanese allow them to bury only in certain places, and are inducing
some to follow the old Buddhist custom of burning corpses. Many of these
processions end at an ugly brick building with a tall chimney, looking
like a little factory lost among the green hills. There the bodies are
cremated.
Korean hearses are made so that they can be taken apart. After each
funeral, those in the procession wander back to Seoul by short-cuts over
the high hills, the pallbearers each carrying a part of the bier, and
laughing, chatting, and smoking their little pipes. In among the hills
there are little monasteries, where Korean Buddhist monks with shaven
heads lead rather an idle existence, though they pray often before their
gaudy wooden and plaster gods. Here and there is a royal tomb, quite
different from the simple grass-covered and often unmarked graves of
ordinary people. There was one of these royal tombs on the trail we
sometimes followed from the city to the home of the missionaries with
whom we lived beyond the hills. First, behind a wooden memorial arch,
there was a great cut-stone platform with two or three stone steps
leading up to it. Part of this was covered by a small wooden temple
topheavy with its great tile roof. It is here that the spirit of the
little dead prince who is buried farther back is supposed to make its
home. But we could see, through the torn paper panes that took the place
of glass in the doors and windows of the temple, that there was nothing
but a dirty bare floor inside.
Higher up on the grassy hill, a hundred yards from the temple, was the
green mound of the grave itself. It was several times as large as the
grave mounds of ordinary Koreans. There was a high gravestone, with a
few words in Chinese characters and a top that looked like a roof, or a
hat. Around the grave stood the guardians of the dead prince, all badly
made of stone. There were two horses, two sheep, two queer things
supposed to be lions, and several other pairs of protectors. The most
imposing and best made were two stone mandarins, or high officials, in
long robes and high headdresses, who gazed kindly at the grave of the
little prince, without ever taking their eyes off it from one year’s end
to another.
[Illustration:
Such strange stone figures as these guard a royal grave in Korea.
]
Back of the grave was a semicircular brick wall, such as the Koreans
think protects the dead against evil spirits coming from the north; and
surrounding the place was an old pine forest, with a caretaker’s house
set in the edge of it. The Koreans, who have destroyed their trees
nearly everywhere else, are very careful of the sacred groves.
CHAPTER XV
HOW THE PEOPLE OF KOREA DRESS
Sometimes, returning to Seoul from over the hills, we stopped at a
shaded spot to look down upon and _listen_ to the city which spread far
and wide in the valley below. Did you realize that different cities have
different voices, just as people do? Seoul’s voice is rather quiet,
except that there is a constant rat-a-tat, rat-a-tat, reminding one of
an automobile engine with too much carbon in its cylinders. You can hear
that rat-a-tat all day long, Sundays almost as much as week days, more
or less of it even at night—not only in Seoul but all over Korea,
wherever many people live. I am sure it will surprise you to learn that
this noise is made by the women ironing clothes! The ironing is done not
with flatirons but with sticks that look like small baseball bats.
Among grown-up Koreans, the everyday clothes are white, in winter as
well as in summer. In the islands of Japan and in China to wear white
means that one is in mourning, and this used to be the case in Korea.
But because the Korean people were expected to mourn for three years not
only after a member of their family had died, but after the death of
each royal person, the wearing of white came to be habit with them.
(Now, for mourning, the Koreans wear a light brown coarse cloth.) In
winter the white garments are padded with cotton, like our quilts.
Children, especially girls, sometimes have bright garments of green,
pink, and other gay colors. But their parents and other adults almost
always dress in white—farmers as well as city dwellers. If it were not
for variety provided by their hats, and by the dress of Japanese and
foreigners, a Korean crowd would look like a snowdrift.
[Illustration:
This is the way the women and girls iron clothes in Korea. You can
hear the pounding of these small baseball bats or policemen’s
billies in any town day or night.
]
Always “Spick and Span”
White clothes are so easily soiled that a great deal of washing is
necessary. The Korean housewife does not care so much about her own
appearance as she does about her husband’s. When he goes out into the
street, to squat on his heels with his cronies and smoke his pipe, she
would be ashamed if his long coat and his baggy trousers were not at
least as clean as those of her neighbors’ husbands. So every day you
will find her down at the bank of the river, or at the edge of some
little pond, washing clothes by pounding them with a flat stick like the
Englishman’s cricket bat. The dull thump-thump of this pounding is not
so noticeable as the rat-a-tat of ironing, but it is just as familiar a
sound in Korea.
[Illustration:
Wash day in Korea. Korean women wash their clothes, and especially
those of their husbands, by beating them with wooden paddles on flat
stones on the bank of some stream or pond.
]
Most of the white clothing of the Koreans is made of what we call grass
cloth—woven from the fibers of a kind of wild pineapple leaf. I do not
suppose it is really easier to iron this cloth by folding it over a
roller and beating it, but the Korean woman still clings to her bats
when she could have flatirons if she wanted them.
Although the national dress is not one of the really important things
about any country or people, travelers are almost sure to notice strange
costumes first. They could not help doing so in Korea, for in some ways
the Koreans dress more oddly than any other people on earth. In summer
many of the men keep their thin white garments away from the body by
wearing rattan underwear! They have an undergarment shaped like our
vests, long detached cuffs, and a high collar much like the ruffs worn
in Queen Elizabeth’s day, all made of splints, loosely woven. Japanese
and foreigners who have tried this basket underwear say that it is very
cool, but I did not try it.
[Illustration:
Sometimes the Korean costume does not quite meet in the middle, though
it must be snowy white if the wearer is not to be considered a very
low person, indeed.
]
The very loose white trousers, which may be bound close about the ankles
with black bands, are covered by a long garment called the _turamaggie_.
It is the tails of this that probably give the Korean wife the most
washing and ironing to do, for whenever the husband squats down to
gossip with his neighbors he spreads the _turamaggie_ out behind him
without always picking a clean spot. The women wear a very short waist
and a long skirt that is pulled up under the arms. Formerly all the
better class women covered themselves from head to foot in a great white
cloak out of which only an eye peeped as they made their way through the
streets.
[Illustration:
Some of the country boys of Korea still wear their hair long and in a
braid, as all men formerly did until they were married, when it was
put up in a topknot.
]
Queer Hats
I have left to the last the most astonishing part of the Korean costume,
the hat. The women do not wear any, except sometimes a kind of straw
parasol when working in the rice fields. The boys, we notice, often have
their hair cut. But that is a very recent custom, brought in by the
Japanese and foreigners. A few years ago no boy in Korea ever thought of
letting anyone cut his hair, and in the country districts he often does
not yet. Many a Korean mother has wept and many a father has been very
angry when a son, returning either from Japanese public school or from
one of the schools of the Christian missionaries, has appeared with
short hair.
[Illustration:
The old Korean on the left is wearing the horsehair hat which most men
in Korea still wear, in the belief that it will protect their
topknots from evil spirits. The Korean on the right, by wearing a
big straw or bamboo-splint hat, shows that he has lost a relative
within three years. In Western lands, the parallel of this custom is
the wearing of mourning veils by women who have recently been
bereaved.
]
So precious was the braid of hair once worn by all Korean men and boys,
and still very general among the men, that a special hat was contrived
to protect it. As soon as he was engaged to be married, often by the
time he was fifteen, the Korean boy’s braid was twisted into a tight
knot four or five inches high, standing upright on his head. At the same
time a wide black band was placed so tightly about his head that at
first the boy had an all-day headache. This band is not something to put
on in the morning and take off at night or indoors. It is put on “for
keeps,” and the great majority of Korean men wear one to the day of
their death.
Over the topknot which many Korean men still have goes a funny little
skull cap, and above that a hat shaped much like the high silk hat that
Western men wear with formal evening dress. But the Korean “plug” hat is
much too small for the head and has to be held on by a string under the
chin. Both it and the skull cap are made of loosely woven horsehair, so
that they look like fly traps made of mosquito screening. There is a
narrow brim on the hat, not wide enough to shade the face. Most Korean
faces are burned a deep brown by the cloudless summer sun, especially
those of the men and women who toil in the rice fields.
The fact is that the Korean hat is not for the same purpose as our hats.
It is worn merely to protect that precious topknot from the evil spirits
which, according to the Koreans, are always flying through the air,
though they cannot be seen. If he were to hear a radio, I am sure the
Korean peasant would believe the sounds came from those unseen spirits.
Since the hat is a horsehair screen, the topknot can always be seen, so
that the owner need never worry about its safety. Many Korean men,
especially of the cities, now have short hair, but most of them go on
wearing the queer hat, just as we keep up old customs after the reason
for them is forgotten.
You can easily imagine how queer it looks to see farmers who are wading
up to their knees in the paddy-fields, or threshing their rice with
flails much like ours, or carrying a load on their backs on a wooden
framework called a _jicky_, dressed in white clothes topped by a high
black hat. Yet they are seen all over Korea. The white garments and the
“plug” hat are worn even by a blacksmith at his forge and by the teacher
of the old fashioned Korean school at his desk. In fact, Korean men
become so used to these hats that they wear them even while they sleep,
pillowing their heads on a brick or a stone that does not interfere with
them.
There are other queer hats in Korea, though few by comparison. When a
man is in mourning, he wears a hat much like a bushel basket, clear down
over his face, so that others shall not see his grief, which is supposed
to last for three years. The farmers sometimes wear another hat almost
as big, as a protection against the blazing summer sun. Until a few
years ago, the girls of some parts of the peninsula were supposed to
hide their faces modestly under immense hats. When entering a church
they used to pile up these hats outside, covering the ground about the
building. At the other extreme in size, is the rainy day hat-parasol,
yellow in color and about as big as a quart jar, though cone-shaped.
Every Korean man carries one of these, folded up to the size of a ruler,
and whenever rain threatens to ruin his precious horsehair hat he slips
this tiny waterproof parasol over it. The rest of him does not matter,
for the thin white garments will soon dry out again.
[Illustration:
If it rains the least bit, out comes the yellow waterproof hat-parasol
which the Korean man carries folded up.
]
CHAPTER XVI
HOW THE KOREANS LIVE
If the peninsula of Korea were moved to the western hemisphere it would
stretch from Massachusetts to North Carolina. So of course there are
differences in its climate. But on the whole it is very cold in winter
and very hot in summer. Sometimes there are heavy rains and often severe
droughts. Once, toward the end of July, when we were still living over
the hills from Seoul, the rains were so heavy that all the lower part of
the capital, along the Han River, was flooded, and we could get to town
or to the railroad only by wading, sometimes up to our knees, in mud and
water.
In a great many ways the Koreans are a sort of halfway people between
the Japanese and the Chinese. This is especially true of their homes,
which are not well adapted to the climate. The Chinese have chairs, but
Koreans squat on the floor like the Japanese. Their wooden floors are
raised above the ground, again like the Japanese, but they are covered
with a kind of heavy varnished brown paper, instead of the thick straw
mats of Japan. At one end is the kitchen, with a very crude mud-brick
stove and oven, and in place of a chimney a flue carries the heat and
smoke under the house and out at the other end. This device, which is
used also in the north of China, warms the floor, and as the Koreans
sleep on the floor, like the Japanese, it keeps them warmer than if they
used the little charcoal-burning _hibachi_ of the Japanese. Foreigners,
however, sometimes wake up on a Korean floor dreaming that they are on
top of a stove. In summer this scheme is not at all good. Of course it
is just as necessary to cook in summer as in winter, and the flue from
the kitchen keeps right on heating the floor-bed and the house when they
are already too warm without it. Perhaps that is why we saw so many
Koreans sleeping out on their porches, or sitting up talking at all
hours of the night. Whatever the reason, Koreans are regular nighthawks.
[Illustration:
The interior of a Korean house. The floor, raised above the ground, is
covered with heavy paper. Koreans take off their shoes in the house,
as do Japanese.
]
[Illustration:
If grandfather and grandson are too old or too young to work in the
fields, they can at least be baby-carriages.
]
Korean babies, like those of Japan and China, are not put into cribs or
cradles but are tied to the back of mother, grandfather, or a small
brother or sister. So they learn to sleep under any conditions, even
while the mother is going about her work in the rice field or house or
hurrying along the road. Naturally, when they grow up they can sleep
anywhere, at any time. They do not have to have a soft bed and a dark,
quiet room with everything just right, as most Americans do. Korean
mothers do not send their children to bed with the chickens. They do not
seem to care when the youngsters go to sleep, or when they get up. We
often saw children suddenly lie down on the floor under everyone’s feet
and go soundly to sleep, and almost as often we heard them talking in
the middle of the night. It may be, too, that the curious old Korean
custom of making the men stay home after the city gates were closed at
nightfall and allowing only the women to go out after that gave the
Koreans the habit of gossiping so much when other people would be
sleeping.
[Illustration:
A Korean washerwoman takes her son along to the stream where she will
beat out her clothes on the rocks. Carrying burdens on the back or
on the head is easy for Koreans.
]
Some Contrasts
The houses of the Koreans are small, one-story cabins of from three to
five rooms. They are generally half as wide as they are long, with no
doors or windows in the back wall. The better-class houses have sliding
walls, as in Japan, so that the whole house can quickly be made into one
room, or the whole front of it can be opened when the weather is fine.
But the dwellings are more solidly built than those of the Japanese,
stones and mud, or mud bricks, often being used in construction. More
wooden than paper walls are used. When he enters his house the Korean
steps out of his shoes, or rather his slippers. These slippers turn up
at the toe in a way that makes one think of a Venetian gondola. For
rainy weather and mud the Koreans have, in place of the Japanese _geta_,
boat-shaped wooden shoes, much like a Hollander’s. The carver, in making
these, leaves on the bottom two stilts several inches high to lift the
wearer above the mud.
For all their white garments, the Koreans are not so clean as the
Japanese, though they are cleaner than the Chinese. As they have no
bathrooms in their houses, or even in their public inns, the daily bath
of the Japanese still seems very strange to them. In olden times they
were careful to bathe on a certain day every year, because it was part
of a religious ceremony, and I am afraid there are some who even now do
not take baths at other times.
Korean Food
Just as the children of Korea sleep anywhere, and at any time, so they
eat anything and everything. Mother never seems to worry about the
smallest infant getting the colic. Babies not old enough to walk munch
cucumbers or turnips or anything else they get their hands on.
Foreigners often do not enjoy Korean food. First of all there is rice,
boiled soft but eaten almost dry, as in Japan and China. Like his
neighbors the Korean eats with chopsticks, but he uses a flat spoon for
his rice. His various vegetables are not very different from our own,
but he prepares them in styles we might not like. Fish, cooked in
several queer ways, is eaten by everyone who can afford it, and the mass
of Koreans probably eat more meat than the Japanese do.
[Illustration:
A jar store in Seoul. The Koreans use a great many brown earthenware
jars of all sizes, especially for preserving their _kimchee_, a kind
of Korean sauerkraut, made of turnips, cabbages, and other
vegetables. This is put up every fall and eaten with great relish
during the winter.
]
Brittle sheets of seaweed cooked in oil, black lettuce, pickled
vegetables, hot red peppers, and some other things that do not even have
a name in our language are found on the Korean table—or, more exactly,
floor—along with such familiar vegetables as celery and green onions.
Koreans hardly use sugar at all. In place of salt they are very fond of
_chang_, a sauce made from pressed and fermented soya beans. Most
Koreans dip every chopstickful of food in a bowl of this on the way to
the mouth. Unlike both the Japanese and the Chinese, they do not often
drink tea, but they like plain water or water in which barley or millet
has been cooked. Some of them are rather too fond of _sool_, an
intoxicating drink made of rice. It corresponds to the _sake_ of Japan
and the _chiuh_ of China.
Interesting Street Scenes
[Illustration:
Market day in a town of interior Korea brings out strange displays of
all sorts of new and second-hand wares.
]
It is always interesting to wander along the streets of Seoul, or the
other large cities of Korea. Not only are there always many strangely
dressed people constantly passing in rickshaws or on foot, but all the
queer things they wear and eat and use are displayed in the long rows of
shops. As in most of the Orient, the shops have no front walls, at least
during the day and evening, when they are open for business. The
stroller can see, and handle too, if he likes, the wooden mud-shoes and
horsehair hats, the tiny chests of drawers bound in brass, the great
brown jars for pickling vegetables, and the thousand and one other queer
Korean things that are offered for sale. If it is one of the
old-fashioned shops that are still most common, the shopkeeper and his
clerks will probably be squatting on the varnished-paper floor, just as
they would in their homes. But nowadays there are also many quite modern
Japanese stores.
[Illustration:
This is a shop and factory of Korean “plug” hats, such as nearly all
the married men in the peninsula still wear. The horsehair from
which these strange transparent hats are made is kept in rolls until
it is needed.
]
The Koreans, like the Ainu, are larger than the Japanese who have
conquered them, but they are a more simple and childlike people. Until
the Japanese put a stop to it, their favorite game was throwing stones.
Two gangs or two villages would line up against each other, much like
American boys in a snowball battle, and throw stones until one side or
the other was driven off. The women picked up stones and piled them in
heaps where the men could reach them, and often these battles became so
savage that men were not only seriously hurt but sometimes killed. You
might think that with all this practice for generations, perhaps
centuries, the Koreans would make good baseball players. Possibly they
will some day, but at present they are not nearly so clever at it as the
Japanese.
[Illustration:
Korean coolies carrying grain to a ship in one of the most important
harbors of the country keep track of their loads by getting a little
bamboo stick as a tally on each trip.
]
In his readiness to make and laugh at jokes, the Korean is more like the
Chinese than the Japanese, although you cannot make him laugh as easily
or as heartily as you can the hard-working people of China. But one
little story will show that he is born with a sense of humor. An
American missionary stepped off the train in Seoul and, having an
appointment somewhere soon, looked at his watch. It was a large,
old-fashioned watch which had been given to the missionary by his
grandfather years before. Near by was a Korean boy with a _jicky_ on his
back. Immediately the boy backed up to the missionary and with a very
solemn face asked him if he did not want the watch carried!
The Korean girls who entertain dinner parties by singing and dancing are
called _keesang_, but they are not so well trained as the Japanese
_geisha_, and the custom seems to be rather dying out. Now there are the
movies, a Y. M. C. A. building (given by an American), and other modern
attractions to draw the young men of Seoul away from the _keesang_
entertainments. Another class that is disappearing are the old women
whom we would call sorceresses, since they pretend to drive sickness out
of children and evil spirits out of insane people—by dancing and
shrieking and waving swords and spears and other weapons about them. The
building of modern hospitals by the Japanese and by American and British
missionaries has brought medical care to take the place of sorcery.
Koreans as Christians
[Illustration:
The Korean coolie fastens a _jicky_, something like an artist’s easel,
on his back, to carry loads. This one is armed with a fan to ward
off sunstroke.
]
There are now many Christian churches in Korea and thousands go to them
every Sunday as regularly as people do in the United States. Some think
the Koreans are converted to Christianity more easily than the Japanese
or the Chinese because they are sad and troubled at their country’s loss
of independence. Others say the Koreans are easily led by kindness, and
still others, especially the missionaries, claim that Christianity
appeals to them as the true faith as soon as they learn about it.
[Illustration:
Korean girls leaving church. The American and British missionaries
have had much success in Korea, and great numbers of the people go
to church every Sunday, in their snow-white garments. Little girls
may have garments of green, red, and other gay colors.
]
A Korean church service is very interesting, even if you cannot
understand the language in which the foreign missionary or the native
pastor in his snow-white garments is speaking. There are no chairs or
other seats. Everyone sits on the floor. Behind the pulpit or along the
walls beside it there may be one or two wooden benches, but these are
for the few foreigners in the congregation. The Korean men keep their
hats on, for it is nowhere the custom in Asia to uncover the head
indoors. They do look odd in those bonnet-like little hats of theirs and
their white garments, as they squat, gazing up very solemnly at the
preacher. They alone are solemn. Hungry babies cry and squirm until they
are fed, and small boys and girls play and whisper and even run about
over the legs of the audience. This is not because they are naughty, but
because the Koreans have had so many centuries of wandering through
temples and saying their own prayers to the gods, that they do not know
how to act in the way we think appropriate to a church. Besides, any
child could be excused for becoming tired of squatting on the floor to
listen to a long sermon, perhaps by a foreigner with a dreadful accent.
But the Koreans are anxious to do as the missionaries wish. They have
women in their churches whose business it is to run after scampering
boys and girls and make them squat down again and behave themselves.
CHAPTER XVII
KOREA UNDER JAPANESE RULE
Those of us who travel often wonder about the names by which we know
countries and cities. Where do they come from? If you mentioned the name
Korea to a Korean he would have no idea what you were talking about,
unless he had studied English in school. It seems that centuries ago the
word “Korai” was used for a while, but even that meant only a part of
the peninsula. Our custom of calling all the people Koreans is much like
that of the South Americans in calling all of us in the United States
“Yankees,” even those who live in Virginia or Texas. The real name of
the country is Chosen, which means “The Land of Morning Calm.” That has
been the correct name of the peninsula for hundreds of years, yet the
Japanese are having a hard time getting the rest of the world to accept
it.
The Koreans themselves and the foreigners in Korea—who are mostly
missionaries—have much trouble about names. This has come about in a
curious way. The Koreans have a very old civilization. Most of that
civilization they got from the Chinese, and much of it they passed on to
the Japanese, centuries ago. Therefore all three of these peoples have
the same written language, made up of the queer Chinese characters that
you all have seen. Each character means one particular thing, but as
there are no letters in it there is no way of telling by looking at it
how it should be pronounced. So the Koreans, and the Chinese, and the
Japanese all pronounce those characters to suit themselves, and while
they can write to one another they cannot talk to one another at all. It
is very amusing to see a Japanese and a Korean, or a Chinese and an
Annamese (from French Indo-China), talking to each other by pretending
to write characters with a forefinger in the palms of their hands. In
fact many a Japanese servant tries to talk that way to Americans who
cannot understand his spoken words.
Two Names for Each Town
Now when the Japanese came to Korea they found each city and town with a
name of one or two Chinese characters. But the Koreans pronounced those
characters one way and the Japanese quite another. So each race
continues to give them its own pronunciation, and the names in the
Japanese time-tables are often so entirely different from those by which
the Koreans and the missionaries know the same places that the poor
traveler might easily lose himself entirely. Thus the Japanese call
Seoul “Keijo”; Chemulpo is “Jinsen” to them; Song-do is “Kaijo,” and so
on through every city and town and province in the peninsula. I once
asked an old American missionary if he had ever been in Heijo. “Never
heard of it,” he replied. “Oh, come!” I could not help saying; “it is
the second largest city in Korea.” “Oh,” exclaimed the missionary, “you
mean Pingyang! Why of course, I have lived there most of my life.”
It is hardly flattering to us to know that the ancient nations of the
Far East did not at all want to be introduced to us upstart people of
the West. Japan, Korea, even China, had to be pried open like oysters
before they would have anything to do with Occidentals (that is,
Westerners). You remember that it was our Commodore Perry who induced
Japan to open her ports to American trade and travelers in 1854. Well,
it was the United States again that opened Korea to the world, by the
Treaty of Chemulpo, as recently as 1883. It is not strange if in some
ways the Koreans are still more different from the rest of the world
than are the Japanese. Chosen was shut up so long and so thoroughly that
it was once known as the Hermit Kingdom. There was a time when
foreigners were not welcome. But nowadays they can travel anywhere in
the peninsula just as safely as in their own country, more safely in
fact than in some American cities after dark. The Koreans may not love
the Japanese, and some of them may even dream of driving out the
conquerors and regaining their independence, but they are learning so
much about good government that they would never again allow themselves
to be ruled as corruptly as they were under the old emperors. They know
more about sanitation, too, and about reforesting their treeless hills,
and they realize how much better it is to have good schools than bad.
The Japanese have done some foolish things in Korea, just as we have in
our island possessions. They tried, for instance, to force the Korean
men to cut off their topknots. The Japanese now admit this was a
mistake. What does it matter, after all, how people wear their hair? To
many foreigners it seems just as unnecessary for the Japanese to try to
make all Koreans Shintoists, building Japanese temples and _torii_
(square arches of evergreen logs) all over the peninsula. For while
Shintoism means patriotism, loyalty to the Mikado, it is also a
religion. Religion cannot be forced upon people, and patriotism is not
worth much if there is no feeling behind it. You stand up and take off
your hat when “The Star-Spangled Banner” is played because you respect
and love your country, not because a policeman might arrest you if you
did not.
Some Japanese Improvements
Many Koreans already realize that Japanese rule has done them much good.
They have good railroads, some good highways and bridges, modern
streets, courts, and schools. Japanese and Korean policemen keep order
in even the small towns. In Korea the Japanese find good commercial
opportunities for their own people, but it should be said, in fairness,
that the Koreans themselves now have better opportunities and are in
less danger of being robbed of what they earn than they were under their
old corrupt imperial government.
[Illustration:
An old-fashioned Korean school is a sad place. The boys sit on the
floor and rock back and forth reciting the classics, which they do
not understand, from dawn until dark, while the teacher drowses or
smokes, and the flies swarm.
]
The difference between old Korea and the Chosen of Japan can quickly be
seen in the two kinds of schools in the peninsula. You would be greatly
interested to see one of the old-fashioned Korean schools, but you would
certainly be glad you did not have to try to get an education there.
Some such schools are still left, for a few old fathers in every large
town think their boys should study the way they once did. These schools
are miserable little hovels, with dirty floors and walls, swarming with
flies in summer and bitterly cold in winter. The teacher squats at one
end of the room, with a row of boys on the floor on either side. (Girls
do not need an education, say old-time Koreans.)
The boys come as soon as it is daylight and usually stay until dark,
seven days a week, with sometimes no recess at all. Each has a
tissue-paper book filled with those intricate Chinese characters which
it takes so many years to learn. The books are not on subjects such as
American boys are interested in, but are ancient Chinese classics, older
than our Bible. Yet the teacher does not teach them; he merely squats at
the end of the room, smoking his long pipe and sometimes dozing off to
sleep. The boys rock back and forth, each one shouting at the top of his
voice the characters before him. They may all be shouting different
ones, and most of the pupils may not know what the characters mean. The
only requirement is to keep on shouting. If the deafening chorus dies
down for a moment, the teacher wakes up and rushes at the boys with a
stick until they begin to shout again.
You can hear one of these old-time Korean schools blocks away. Is it any
wonder that the boys who came out into the sunlight for me to photograph
them looked pale and tired, and bewildered with the constant uproar in
which they were expected to learn? Every week or every month each boy
must bring the teacher some money, for the town does not pay him, and
the teacher must have something with which to buy his rice and tobacco
and a new white grass-cloth suit now and then.
The Japanese schools in Korea, in contrast, are big modern brick
buildings. They have seats and desks, and laboratories and gymnasiums,
and the teaching is very much as it is in your own schools. It is true
that the Japanese have not yet built enough such schools to care for all
the Korean children who want to attend. These have to take what room is
left after the Japanese boys and girls are provided for. The language of
the classes is Japanese, too, rather than Korean. For these reasons the
American and British missionaries insist that they also be allowed to
have schools for the Koreans. The Japanese, however, are building more
and more modern schools, the teachers being paid by the government, and
they say that the time will come when all Korean children will have the
same educational opportunities as the Japanese children.
[Illustration:
The primary school at Antung, built and owned by the South Manchuria
Railway.
]
CHAPTER XVIII
COUNTRY TRIPS IN KOREA
One morning I left Seoul with an American missionary who had lived for
more than ten years in a small Korean town far from the railroad. He had
a Ford, but we were not sure we would ever reach his home in it. I have
already mentioned that although the Japanese are trying to give Korea
good modern roads they are not very expert road builders. Besides, the
soil of Korea is a kind of half sand that does not stand up well under
wheels or rains and in many places there is no stone near by.
It must be very disheartening to try to build good roads in Chosen, for
in the rainy season whole treeless hillsides are sometimes washed away
in a few hours, leaving no sign of a road that took long to construct.
More than once my missionary friend had been compelled to leave his Ford
and walk home. After I had seen at close range some of the bridges of
Korea, I was not surprised that they are so often destroyed. Many of
them were merely logs covered with branches and earth or sod, and even
those of concrete usually had flimsy wood and earth foundations. The
rivers in this mountainous country, rising several feet in a few hours,
tear out such bridges easily. We saw some bridges which, although still
standing, were left without approaches, the river having washed away the
bank on each side. Such bridges are not of much use to the automobile
traveler!
[Illustration:
This is the Korean way of carrying water, with the help of the
Standard Oil Company! In the Orient cans are used for every purpose
after the kerosene shipped in them has been sold. The frame on the
back is what the Koreans call a _jicky_.
]
During the day we crossed several rivers by crude ferries. The Ford
would snort its way down through deep sand and out upon what looked like
an old raft trying to be a boat. If the front wheels did not run off the
far end of the ferry, or if our weight did not ground the odd craft, we
would begin to crawl across stream, pushed by two or three countrymen
using long bamboo poles. Then up the other bank we would snort through
the sand. Sometimes we barely missed sliding off into the water between
the ferry and the shore.
There are so few automobiles on the country roads in Korea that many of
the people, especially the women and children, began to run as soon as
they heard us coming. Some of them became so confused as our strange
machine rushed down the road toward them that they dodged back and forth
in front of the car like scared chickens, until we had to stop entirely.
But automobiles are becoming more and more familiar to the country
people of Korea and before long, no doubt, they will be taken for
granted.
[Illustration:
One of the many ways of irrigating the rice-fields of Korea is to hang
a huge wooden spoon from a framework and have a man—or a woman—scoop
up water all day long, carrying it from a lower field to a higher
one.
]
Some Koreans, however, run in front of a moving train or automobile on
purpose. They think that an evil spirit is always pursuing them and
trying to do them harm, and that if they dodge in front of a moving
vehicle the spirit will either attach itself to the people in the
vehicle or become confused and lose track of the man or woman it has
been pestering. Down in the island of Haiti off our southeastern coast
the black people often do the same thing for the same purpose; and
sometimes I wonder if the foolish boys in our cities who dodge in front
of moving cars are risking their lives in order to get rid of their evil
spirits.
[Illustration:
Unlike the Japanese, the Koreans use flails similar to ours to thresh
their rice, after which it is thrown up in the air with a wooden
scoop so that the wind can blow away the chaff.
]
Foreigners who travel through Korea often go home thinking that the
Koreans are lazy. But those who live among them for years (missionaries,
for example) do not think so at all. It is true that in the cities you
see many men squatting in the streets in their snow-white garments
(making you think of penguins on a rocky coast) to dream and smoke or
gossip with their fellow loafers. Some of these men are _yangban_, that
is, nobles or officials under the old corrupt government, who learned to
loaf while in government employ, and who now have no work anyway. The
Japanese Government pensioned many of them, so that they are supported,
and the others probably could not keep a job even if they could find
one.
[Illustration:
In preparation for rice-cutting, this Korean man is sharpening his
sickle on a stone. Notice his topknot.
]
The man who thinks Korean workmen and farmers are lazy, just because he
sees some of them taking a nap in the daytime, or because they do not
rush around in the hot summer months, need only work with them for a day
to find he is wrong. Would you think it easy work to drive a bull
hitched to a plow through rice fields, knee deep, or claw all day long
in the mud at the roots of the rice plants, with the lukewarm water
throwing into your face the reflection of the sun that pours its rays
down on your back? Or would you call the man lazy who carries on his
back, sometimes all day long, a load weighing seventy or eighty pounds?
[Illustration:
“The plowman homeward plods his weary way,” Korean fashion, carrying
the plow and driving his unburdened ox before him.
]
In June the peasants were spreading over their fields the oak leaves
they use as fertilizer. But now in early July most of them were
transplanting rice. Bundles of young rice, about six inches high, were
carried from the seed-beds and thrown out into the flooded fields. As
the roots are heavier, each bundle landed right side up, and everywhere
men and women, sometimes a dozen of them in a row, were moving slowly
across the fields, transplanting the grasses one by one. As land is
precious in so crowded a country, most of the peasants plant beans on
top of the little mud dikes separating the flooded paddy-fields. One
hears frogs croaking and sees a beautiful white bird called the ibis
stepping about in the water on its long legs, looking for frogs to eat.
[Illustration:
Shoeing a bull in Korea. The Koreans use big bulls and tiny stallions
as their chief beasts of burden. In addition they have their own
backs, and now some Fords. The author remembers his father, who was
a blacksmith and horseshoer in his younger days, shoeing oxen in
Michigan in much this manner.
]
[Illustration:
A Korean method of bringing in the sheaves. The carrying basket is
made of bamboo splints.
]
No, you could not call the Korean peasants lazy, even if some of them do
carry a fan while working in the fields. One of the hardest jobs in
raising rice is to get enough water to flood the fields, and on this
trip I saw all sorts of schemes of irrigation. One man had what looked
like an enormous wooden soup spoon suspended on a framework, and all day
long he spooned the water from a lower field that was too wet into an
upper field that was too dry. How amused an American farmer would be by
the sight of three men instead of one using a shovel to dig a ditch! One
man held the shovel and thrust it into the ground, and the other two
lifted out the shovelful of earth by ropes tied to the handle. But I
have seen that in Syria, way over on the other side of Asia.
[Illustration:
Grinding grain in Korea. The young ox marches round and round under
the circular thatched roof, drawing a huge stone roller which is
smaller at one end than at the other so that it will keep its place
on the platform on which the grain—in most of Korea rice—is spread.
]
It made me think of Gray’s “Elegy” to see a Korean farmer carrying his
big wooden plow home at night on his own shoulders and driving his
unloaded ox before him. The Koreans are noted for the kindness they show
their bulls and the little stallions which are their only draft animals.
In the middle of the day we often had to stop suddenly because a man lay
asleep in the middle of the road. Others slept on the paddy-dikes and in
all sorts of positions that we should have found very uncomfortable. But
to make up for this midday nap they begin work at the first peep of dawn
and do not stop till the last flicker of twilight. I am sure you would
have laughed with me to see men in the rice fields who, though naked to
the waist, still wore their precious “plug” hats. Their skins were
burned by the sun to the color of brown shoes. It was amusing also to
see the village blacksmiths, in the missionary’s home town, dressed in
white and squatting on their heels as they heated their irons in the
forge.
[Illustration:
The village blacksmith in Korea squats at his forge in white garments,
his topknot neatly done up on top of his head, and sometimes with
his black “plug” hat on.
]
Rural Customs
Beside the road near the town there were stone monuments like
gravestones with little roofs over them. Some of these were in honor of
magistrates who formerly ruled the village. Although the Chinese
characters on the stones tell those who can read the language that they
were erected by the people “out of gratitude,” the truth is that often
the magistrate was a thieving rascal who forced the people to contribute
money for a monument to him after misruling them for years. Other stones
were in honor of “virtuous widows,” that is, wives who had refused to
marry again after their husbands died and who spent most of their time
weeping for them or praying for their souls. In Korea and China such
grief is considered one of the highest virtues, but how dismal we should
find it to have so sad a person in the house!
[Illustration:
When crops begin to ripen, watch towers spring up all over Korean
fields. The old man stays here every night (and most of the day) in
order to guard the fields against crop-thieves.
]
[Illustration:
An American carpenter would find the Korean adze awkward, for it is so
much more crudely made than his own.
]
The missionary and his Ford were not going back to Seoul for a month or
two, so I returned by autobus. It seems strange to think of anything so
up-to-date in the ancient land that a few years ago was the Hermit
Kingdom, but the autobus has come to stay. To see one piled full of
Koreans in their native costumes looks queer indeed. The worry and hurry
that make many people old before their time in our own land are rare in
Korea. When we broke down, once in climbing a rocky mountain ridge and
once in getting off a miserable old ferry, the Korean men did not show
any signs of being angry because they were losing time. Instead they
climbed out of the car and went to squat at the roadside until we were
ready to go on again, placidly smoking their long-stemmed pipes.
[Illustration:
Do you wonder that we sometimes had trouble in crossing a river on
such a ferry as this?
]
Later in the summer, when I made another trip across Korea, I noticed
that a great many little watch towers had sprung up over the fields. It
seems that when the vegetables and fruit begin to ripen thieves come in
the night. So the peasants build a platform on bamboo poles, eight or
ten feet high, and put a thatch roof over it and sometimes straw walls
around it. From up there they can see all over their fields and also
catch the cool breezes. Sometimes a whole family sleeps in one of these
tiny houses, one member sitting up to watch. The Koreans are much afraid
of spirits, especially of those which they think fly about at night. So
one of the persons in each watch-tower usually pounds on the edge of it
every few minutes all night long, to frighten the spirits away. It is a
very weird experience to walk across country in Korea long after
midnight, as I once did, and hear the thump, thump, thump from dozens of
little watch towers scattered all about in the darkness.
[Illustration:
A Korean gentleman, in his flowing white _turamaggie_, enjoying
practice in archery.
]
[Illustration:
Above: The living room of a Korean monastery, showing the drum which
calls the monks to their prayers. Below: Korean gods, gilded and
garbed in bright colors, in a monastery.
]
CHAPTER XIX
THE DIAMOND MOUNTAINS AND NORTHWARD
Korea is quite a mountainous country, though not so much so as Formosa,
or perhaps even old Japan. But it has one cluster of mountains that are
considered more picturesque and beautiful than any others in the
Japanese Empire. Yet few travelers through Korea see Kongo-san—the
Diamond Mountains, we might call them in English—for they are far over
on the eastern coast of the peninsula, many miles from the main railway
line.
The branch line to Gensan, however, will bring you quite near them. You
can either get off at a town along the way, taking a Ford or a rickshaw
from there or traveling on your own feet, or you may go on to the end of
the line, as I did, and catch a queer little Japanese coasting steamer
down the edge of the peninsula. In either case you will soon find
yourself in the midst of ancient Buddhist monasteries.
If the Diamond Mountains were in China, probably there would be coolies
waiting to carry visitors all about them in chairs; and certainly if
they were in Japan hundreds of tourists would come to them every year.
But the Koreans do not like to carry people, and only those who are very
good climbers and walkers can get about Kongo-san at all.
I had the good luck to find a coolie to carry my baggage, however, and
one who not only was good company but who could keep up with me. I
happened to have only four days to spare, and it takes eight or ten to
make the circuit of the mountains properly, so we had to move rapidly. I
was very sorry for this, because nothing would have pleased me more than
to be free to wander for a month through that wonderful cluster of
mountains which so few people ever see.
[Illustration:
Looking up a valley in the Diamond Mountains of Korea, where nature
shows striking beauties that even the camera tries in vain to
picture adequately.
]
Many centuries ago, when the Buddhist faith came from India across China
to Korea, the kings of Chosen, as it was called even in those early
days, all helped the priests and monks to build monasteries and temples
in this fantastic group of peaks on the eastern coast. Later many of the
buildings were burned, and as they are made entirely of wood a great
many have simply fallen away in decay. But there are still dozens of
quaint old structures tucked away in all sorts of queer places among the
mountains. The region has become the holy land of Korean Buddhists.
[Illustration:
Needle-pointed peaks of the Diamond Mountains. Photographs give but a
poor idea of how wonderful these mountains are.
]
The Scenery and Temples of Kongo-san
I wish I could describe the steep trails of Kongo-san, its raging
mountain torrents, the narrow log bridges over great chasms, so that you
could get some idea of how hard it was to visit all its most important
places in four days. But I should be still more pleased if I could
picture to you the beautiful forests piled into the sky all about those
trails, the great stone cliffs rising high on either side of the rushing
streams. Some of those cliffs are carved with gigantic figures that have
been there more than a thousand years. The little finger of one such
Buddha was longer than my coolie was tall.
[Illustration:
One of the many beautiful old temples or monasteries scattered through
the Diamond Mountains (Kongo-san). They are made entirely of wood,
but are richly painted and decorated.
]
In the ancient temples, with their upturned roof corners and their gaudy
wooden gods, live monks who take care of visitors, even foreigners.
Perhaps they are really glad to see outsiders, for though they have
tried to get away as far as possible from the rush and troubles of the
world, they must sometimes long for a bit of news from it. Especially in
winter, when snow makes it impossible to enter or leave the mountains,
the monks can imagine themselves on quite another planet. I saw great
piles of firewood ready for the next winter, and other supplies were
hidden away in the storerooms and in the queer denlike kitchens.
[Illustration:
This kitchen of a Buddhist monastery in Kongo-san (the Diamond
Mountains) is made of stones and mud, like all Korean kitchens, yet
it seems to be satisfactory for cooking the food of the monks, of
whom there are thousands scattered through these beautiful
mountains. The monks eat no meat.
]
But now it was summer; pilgrims came every day, and sometimes a foreign
traveler. We had to eat just the same food as the monks. Although they
are not allowed by their religion ever to eat meat, you would be
surprised to see how many appetizing dishes their cooks can prepare
entirely from vegetables. The Korean style of bed, however, which is
nothing but the floor, without even the thinnest mattress on it, you
would probably not find so pleasant. I certainly did not. Often, too, I
was awakened by the ringing of gongs and the pounding of drums, for the
monks have services every few hours during the night as well as during
the day. I think they actually sleep more in the daytime than at night.
[Illustration:
The young monks of a monastery in the Diamond Mountains are fond of
tennis.
]
Wonderful Mountain Scenery
[Illustration:
These huge figures were carved in solid rock in the Diamond Mountains
of Korea many centuries ago. They are connected with the Buddhist
religion, of which Kongo-san is a sanctuary.
]
I have seen many mountains, in many parts of the world, but I do not
remember any that have such hundreds of marvelous peaks as Kongo-san.
Most of them are of granite so clear that it looks like white marble.
Some are piled up in dozens of sharply pointed steeples; some have the
form of strange animals; some look like the skyscrapers of New York in
ruins. Wonderful as they are, the highest is only three or four thousand
feet above the level of the sea, which is not very high as mountains go.
But climbing them was almost like going up the side of a hundred-story
building, with each brick and window ledge sharpened to a needle point.
When I got down to earth again hardly enough of my clothing was left to
be worth throwing away.
[Illustration:
Going through the Diamond Mountains the author carries his coolie’s
load for awhile, in order to see how the Korean _jicky_ feels on the
back.
]
Small Japanese steamers run from Gensan on up the coast, touching at
several little ports, and sometimes going on to Vladivostok in Russian
Siberia. From one of those ports a little railway line goes almost to
the northern frontier. Along this, between the Japanese Empire and
Russia, stretches a great range, which the Koreans call the Ever White
Mountains. Even during the hot Korean summers their tops are always
covered with snow. In the heavy forests on their sides there are many
wild animals, such as great hunters like to track. Antelope and foxes
you expect to find in such a place, and also bears, perhaps even
leopards. But it seems strange that in so cold a region there should
also be fierce man-eating tigers.
[Illustration:
A fencing match in Seoul, at a Japanese school.
]
From Seoul Northward
[Illustration:
Looking across Song-do or Kaijo, once a capital of Korea, now a
typical medium-sized town, having many more roofs smoothly thatched
of rice-straw than tile roofs which cost so much more.
]
If we had time to stop, we should find many interesting things in the
cities and towns and villages on the long railway journey northward from
Seoul into China. There is Song-do, for instance, formerly the capital,
with the foundations of ancient palaces scattered for miles about it.
Comparatively speaking, Seoul is very young; it has been the capital
only since a hundred years before Columbus crossed the Atlantic.
Song-do, or Kaijo, is also famous for its _gin-seng_. This is a plant
the root of which the Chinese and Koreans consider very valuable as
medicine. As it takes seven years to grow, and must be protected from
the direct rays of the sun during most of that time, the people have
built endless rows of tiny _gin-seng_ sheds. The train passes mile after
mile of these on either side of the ancient capital.
[Illustration:
A tennis game with wooden rackets in the back streets of Song-do, one
of the several former capitals of Korea.
]
At some stations there are great bales of silk cocoons. The people of
the surrounding villages, especially the women and children, will throw
these into boiling hot water, unwind the fine threads which the worm
inside spent so much time in weaving into a nest for itself, and finally
will eat the worm itself. Of all the cities north of the capital the
most important is Pingyang. That also was once the capital, but now it
has more factory chimneys than loafing ex-officials. There are more
clipped heads and fewer topknots than in Seoul, and there do not seem to
be so many “plug” hats. Among the many long streets of shops in Heijo,
as the Japanese call Pingyang, I saw a great many knitting machines,
making stockings and similar things. The workers still wind their thread
on queer little bamboo wheels such as were used hundreds of years ago;
but it was a very up-to-date sound that came from those knitting
machines, clashing away in hut after hut. It made one feel that perhaps
Korea will soon be one of the modern manufacturing nations of the world,
as Japan proper has become. In some ways this will be fortunate and in
some unfortunate.
[Illustration:
Winding thread in a machine-fitted stocking factory of Pingyang,
second largest city of Korea and formerly a capital of the “Land of
Morning Calm.” Though the stockings are now made by machinery, and
the town sounds very busy as you make your way through the streets,
the thread is still wound in the old-fashioned way, by hand.
]
Farther north there are fields of corn and of millet, then fields of
_kaoliang_, much like the sorghum of our own South. Two or three large
towns slip past, but they are so much like the other towns of Korea that
we do not lose much by not stopping. Then suddenly we come to the great
Yalu River. Here the Russians and Japanese had one of their bloodiest
battles during the war of 1904–05. Huge rafts of logs from the forests
on the slopes of the Ever White Mountains come floating down the Yalu on
their way to China. But the most interesting thing about this big
stream, wider than the Connecticut River, is that it is the boundary
line between Japan and China. Manchuria on the other side of it is as
Chinese as Chosen is Japanese. The traveler is startled at the
suddenness of the change from one people to another. The white garments
and “plug” hats disappear as quickly as if a fog were to sweep them from
view, and dirty Chinese streets, along which hobble women in bound feet,
spring up to give us a hint of the sights to be seen in the ancient land
of China.
[Illustration:
The Central Circle of Dairen, surrounded by handsome buildings,
reminds one of a European city. This view shows the Yamato Hotel.
]
CHAPTER XX
JAPAN’S RENTED TERRITORY
Although the Japanese Empire of to-day really ends in the middle of the
Yalu River between Korea and Manchuria, Japan has a lease on another
piece of territory on the continent. In order to understand the position
of Japan in Manchuria, which the Chinese call their “Three Eastern
Provinces,” we must look a little into recent history.
In 1904, as I have mentioned before, Japan had a war with Russia. Before
that, Russia was very powerful in northeastern Asia. It had forced China
to let a Russian railroad be built the whole length of Manchuria, from a
Siberian junction to the southern end of Manchuria. The Russians already
had a Far Eastern port at Vladivostok, but as that freezes up completely
for about half the winter they desired a Pacific port that could be used
all the year round. This the railway down through Chinese territory was
intended to provide. At the southern point of Manchuria, on what is
known as the Liaotung Peninsula, the Russians had built a commercial
city and ocean port, which they called Dalny, and not far from it a
fortress city named Port Arthur. Other European powers did similar
things on Chinese territory, so Russia was not so bold in this matter as
you might think.
Russia was beaten by Japan in the war between them. The treaty ending
that war (which, by the way, was made at Portsmouth, New Hampshire, with
the assistance of our President Roosevelt) turned over to Japan all the
rights and properties of Russia in the southern half of Manchuria. In
theory the Liaotung Peninsula had only been rented to Russia by China,
and the lease went to the Japanese.
[Illustration:
Dairen is called the gateway to Manchuria. It has one of the finest
harbors in the Far East and ranks next to Shanghai as a trading
port. About 6,000,000 tons of merchandise are handled annually on
its wharves.
]
The Japanese have given the two former Russian cities new names. Port
Arthur they officially call Riojun, though it is very generally spoken
of still as Port Arthur. Dalny they renamed Dairen. Both the cities have
been greatly improved by the Japanese. Dairen, especially, is now one of
the best-built cities of the Far East. From its central circle, with
radiating cement walks, trees and shrubbery, and the statue of a famous
Japanese, the streets extend in every direction, like those of
Washington. Some of the government buildings, banks, hotels, and
business structures look as if they had been brought from a handsome
European city. The smaller buildings, stores, and homes are much better
than those in most of China, or indeed in the average city of Japan
proper. The well-paved streets are kept clean, and the police maintain
as nearly perfect order as in any large city elsewhere.
[Illustration:
Several steamship lines run from Dairen to other ports, one of the
longest lines being to Shanghai across the Yellow Sea. It is no
hardship to wait for a boat in such a pleasant room as this at the
Dairen wharves.
]
But it is especially down along the wharves that we see how important
Dairen is to the Japanese. There are long rows of docks just as up to
date as any in the United States or Europe. All the products of
Manchuria may be seen there, being loaded into Japanese steamers by huge
cranes under the most modern methods. Our attention is likely to be
attracted first by great soya bean cakes that look like grindstones.
Chinese coolies carry these, one at each end of their supple shoulder
poles, from the warehouses to the dock-side, and whole steamers are
loaded with them. The cakes, which consist of the pulp or residue of
soya beans from which the oil or edible part has been squeezed in huge
presses, are used for fertilizer, especially in the southern half of
China. Sometimes the beans themselves are sent to Dairen in bags like
those in which we ship wheat. Whole acres may be covered with such bags,
stacked higher than a man’s head.
THE USES OF SOYA BEANS
{Manure {Hay.
Plants.{Forage. {Ensilage. {Breakfast foods. {Bread.
{Pasture. {Soiling. {Diabetic foods. {Cakes.
{Flour ............{Muffins.
{Human food.......{Infant foods. {Biscuit.
{Meal......{Stock feed. {Macaroni.
{ {Fertilizer. {Crackers.
{ {Milk.
{ {Glycerin.
{ {Explosives.
{ {Enamels.
{ {Varnish.
{ { {Butter substitute.
{ {Food products.....{Lard substitutes.
{ {Waterproof goods. {Edible oils.
{Oil.......{Linoleum. {Salad oils.
{ {Paints.
{ {Soap stock........{Soft soaps.
Seeds. { {Celluloid. {Hard soaps.
{ {Rubber substitute.
{ {Printing inks.
{ {Lighting. {Soy sauce.
{ {Lubricating. {Boiled beans.
{ {Baked beans.
{ {Dried beans.......{Soups. { {Fresh.
{ { {Coffee substitute. {Cheese. {Dried.
{ { {Roasted beans. { {Smoked.
{ { {Vegetable milk......{ {Fermented.
{Food......{ {Breakfast foods. {Condensed milk.
{ { {Fresh milk.
{ { {Green vegetables. {Confections.
{ {Green beans.......{Canned. {Casein.
{ { {Salads.
[Illustration:
Soya beans, which form one of the great staple food products of Korea
and Manchuria, are stored in mat-rush bins that look somewhat like
our silos.
]
As may be seen from the table on page 246, the soya bean has a great
variety of uses. It is one of the most important products of Manchuria.
Since 1905, the Japanese have established excellent industrial schools
in Dairen, an experimental laboratory, a big glass factory, and many
other features of modern civilization that are found in few parts of
China. Most of the common labor in this great port city is done by the
Chinese, while the skilled workmen are mainly Japanese.
Over at Port Arthur life moves a little more slowly, at least in times
of peace. Perhaps when Japan is at war that is as busy and bustling a
place as Dairen, for it is a fortified city, as well as the center of
government of the leased territory. During the war with Russia great
battles took place all about it, and some of the old fortresses and
underground galleries that were broken down by Japanese shells are still
kept as they were at the end of the war. Tourists go there not only to
see the ruins but to bathe at the fine beaches near by. We found the
ocean water very comfortably warm as early as May. Japan has scattered
monuments to her war heroes far and wide over the hills about Port
Arthur. As in the case of other Japanese fortified places no photography
is allowed anywhere in or near the city.
[Illustration:
Near Dairen, at Shakako, are the great car and locomotive shops of the
South Manchuria Railway. In this engine erecting shop, great
traveling cranes pick up locomotives as if they were toys.
]
The Japanese have not rebuilt the houses and streets of Port Arthur as
much as they have those of Dairen. In Port Arthur we may still stop in
hotels built by the Russians, and see many a home that is just as the
former occupants left it. Instead of electric street cars there are
rickshaws. But there are automobiles too. Under the rather stern
Japanese government, the rickshaw runners are much more orderly than
those in Chinese territory usually are.
[Illustration:
An embroidery class in a girls’ school at Mukden, maintained by the
South Manchuria Railway. It is plain that bobbed hair has not yet
become popular in Manchuria.
]
In traveling northward from the end of Liaotung Peninsula, we shall find
other Japanese towns, even though, in a sense, we are then in China.
[Illustration:
Terraced open-cut coal mines at Fushun, showing tracks on different
levels. Elsewhere in this region are mines deep in the ground. There
are estimated deposits of 1,200,000,000 tons of bituminous coal.
]
A Railroad on the American Model
The South Manchuria Railway, which extends as far as Changchun, has a
branch from the Korean border, and one from Port Arthur. These join at
Mukden, and also connect there with the Peking-Mukden line. This road is
more like our American railroads than almost any other line in Asia. It
has the same width track as ours; the engines come from locomotive
factories like ours, and the trains are very American, even to sleeping
and dining cars.
The Japanese run the railroad without outside help, except for Chinese
laborers. They have big shops, at Mukden and other places along the
line, where they not only repair engines and cars but build new ones on
the American model. The Japanese who come to Manchuria must find
railroad travel there much stranger than Americans do. The equipment is
certainly in great contrast to the little trains, with screeching
engines and lengthwise seats, that are found in Japan proper.
A strip of land along the South Manchuria Railway is held by Japan to
protect it. Wherever there is a station of any size, a Japanese town has
grown up close to the railroad, with perhaps an old walled Chinese city
back of the modern development. At Mukden, the capital of Manchuria, for
instance, we must cross nearly three miles of Japanese city, built in
the European style, before we come to the walls of the old Chinese city
in which the Manchu emperors ruled before they conquered China. Many
Japanese soldiers, with their red cap-bands and very modern rifles, may
be seen along the whole length of the railroad.
A branch line from Mukden runs out to the coal mines of Fushun, which
are also Japanese. These are queer looking mines, for instead of going
down into the earth in deep shafts, the miners dig the coal out of great
quarries open to the sky. Some of these coal quarries, their terraced
sides reminding one of a huge stadium, are so large that long coal
trains run back and forth in them. Some of the coal is used as fuel by
the trains of the South Manchuria Railway and by the Japanese factories
and institutions along the line; and some of it is sent to Japan on
ships calling at Dairen. The miners who do the actual digging are
Chinese, but Japanese hold all the higher positions.
In many Japanese towns along the railway there are Shinto temples, tea
houses, and most of the other things found in Japan itself. Now and then
Japanese actors come to give plays in the theaters, and groups of fat
Japanese wrestlers match their weight and skill in temporary buildings
made of boards and mats.
The signs at the railway stations are in English as well as in Japanese,
just as they are in Japan proper. English, indeed, is the most important
language, next to that of the country itself, throughout most of the Far
East. It makes us rather proud to find that our language is really a
kind of world language, much more useful the world over than any other
tongue. But when we come to Changchun, where the Japanese part of the
railway ends and the Russian part begins, our English is much less
useful. From there on, the station signs are in Russian and Chinese, and
it is about as easy for us to read one as the other. So when we reach
Changchun, in traveling through the Japanese Empire, we rather naturally
turn back to Mukden and take the Chinese railway westward toward the
Great Wall of China and on to Peking. For if the empire of modern Japan
is full of interest to the traveler and important to the world at large,
the great land of China is no less so.
[Illustration:
The big station at Mukden where the traveler takes the Chinese railway
westward toward Peking, and bids good-by to the Japanese Empire.
]
PRONUNCIATION LIST
Symbols of Webster’s New International Dictionary used in indicating
sounds.
abacus (ăb’a-kus)
Ainu (ī’noo)
Ama-no-hashidate (ä-mä-nŏ-hä-shē-dä’tā)
Arisan (ä-rē-sän’)
Beppu (bĕp’poo)
Biwa (bē’wä)
cana (kä’nä)
chang (jäng)
Changchun (chäng’choon’)
Chemulpo (chē-mul’pō)
Chishima (chē’shē-mä)
chiuh (jē-yoo’)
Chosen (chō-sĕn’)
cryptomeria (krĭp’tō-mē’rĭ-ä)
daimyos (dī’myōs)
Dairen (dī’rĕn’)
Dalny (däl’y’-nĭ)
Enoshima (ā-nō’shē-mä)
Formosa (fôr-mō’sä)
Fujiyama (foo’jē-yä’mä)
Fusan (foo’sän’)
Fushun (foo’shoon’)
geisha (gā’shä)
Gensan (gĕn’sän’)
geta (gä’tä)
gin-seng (jĭn’sĕng)
Hakkas (hä’käs’)
Hakodate (hä’kō-dä’tĕ)
Han (hän)
Heijo (hē-jō’)
hibachi (hē-bä’chē)
hibochi (hē-bō’chē)
hinoki (hē-nō’kē)
Hiroshima (hē’rō-shē’mä)
Hokkaido (hōk’kī’dō)
Hokushu (hō-koo’shoo)
Honshu (hŏn-shoo’)
Horando-san (hō-rän’dō-sän)
Izanagi (ē-zä-nä’gē)
Jinsen (jïn’sēn)
jiu-jitsu (joo’jǐt’soo)
Kagi (kä’-gē’)
kago (kä’gō)
Kagoshima (kä’gō-shē’mä)
Kaijo (kī’jō)
Kamakura (kä-mä’koo-rä)
Kamchatka (käm-chät’kä)
kaoliang (gou-lē-äng’)
Keelung (kē’loong’)
keesang (kē-säng’)
Keijo (kā’jō)
Kiirun (kē-ē-roon’)
kimchee (kïm-chē)
Kobe (kō’bē)
Kongo-san (kôn-gō-sän’)
Korea (kō-rē’ä)
koto (kō’tō)
Kotsu-do (kōt-soo-dō’)
Koya-san (kō-yä-sän’)
Kuriles (koo’rǐlz)
kuruma (koo’roo-mä)
kurumaya (koo-roo-mä’yä)
Kyoto (kyō’tō)
Kyushu (kyoo-shoo’)
Ladrones (lä-drōnz’)
Liaotung (lē-ou’toong’)
Matsushima (mät’soo-shē’mä)
Mukden (mook’dĕn’)
Meiji-za (mā-jē-zä’)
Mikado (mĭ-kä’dō)
Miyajima (mī-yä’jē-mä)
Nagasaki (nä’gä-sä’kē)
Nagoya (nä’gō-yä)
nesan (nā-sän’)
Niitakayama (nē-ē-tä-kä-yä’-mä)
Nikko (nēk’kō)
obi (ō’bĭ)
Osaka (ō-zä’kä)
Pingyang (pĭng’yäng’)
Riojun (rē-yō’joon)
Riu Kiu (rē-oo’kyoo’)
sake (sä’kĕ)
Sakhalin (sä’kä-lyēn’)
Sakurajima (sä-koo-rä-je’mä)
samisen (săm’ĭ-sĕn)
samurai (sä’moo-rī’)
Sapporo (säp’pō-rō)
Satsuma (sät’soo-mä)
sayonara (sä-yō-nä’rä)
Seoul (sĕ-ool’)
Shakako (shä-kä’kō)
Shikoku (shē’kō-koo)
Shimbashi (shĭm-bä’shē)
Shimonoseki (shē’mō-nō-sā’kē)
shogun (shō’goon’)
shoji (shō’jē)
Song-do (sông-dō’)
sool (sool)
soroban (sō’rō-bän’)
Taihoku (tī-hō’koo)
Tainan (tī’nän’)
Taipeh (tī’pā)
Taiwan (tī-wän’)
Takao (tä’kou)
Takasagoshima (tä-kä-sä-gō’shē-mä)
Tokaido (tō-kī’dō)
Tokugawa (tō-koo-gä’wä)
Tokyo (tō’kē-ō)
torii (tō’rē-ē)
turamaggie (too-rä-mä’gē)
Unkei (un-kā’)
Ushigome-ku (oo’shē-gō-mä-koo’)
Vladivostok (vlä’dyĭ-vŏs-tôk’)
yadoya (yä-dō’yä)
Yalu (yä’loo’)
Yamada-Ise (yä-mä’dä-ē’sā)
yangban (yäng’bän)
Yezo (yĕz’o)
Yokohama (yō’kō-hä’mä)
[Illustration]
------------------------------------------------------------------------
_TRAVELS IN MANY LANDS_
A series of Geographical Readers for Intermediate
Grades, written by Harry A. Franck and published by F.
A. Owen Publishing Company:
THE JAPANESE EMPIRE
CHINA
MEXICO AND CENTRAL AMERICA
_Others in preparation_
✥
Books by Mr. Franck published by The Century Company:
A Vagabond Journey Around the World
Four Months Afoot in Spain
Tramping Through Mexico, Guatemala and Honduras
Zone Policeman 88
Vagabonding Down the Andes
Working North from Patagonia
Vagabonding Through Changing Germany
Roaming Through the West Indies
Glimpses of Japan and Formosa
Wandering in Northern China
Roving Through Southern China
East of Siam (French Indo-China)
------------------------------------------------------------------------
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES
● Fixed typos; non-standard spelling and dialect retained.
● Enclosed italics font in _underscores_.
*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE JAPANESE EMPIRE ***
Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will
be renamed.
Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright
law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works,
so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United
States without permission and without paying copyright
royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part
of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project
Gutenberg™ electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG™
concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark,
and may not be used if you charge for an eBook, except by following
the terms of the trademark license, including paying royalties for use
of the Project Gutenberg trademark. If you do not charge anything for
copies of this eBook, complying with the trademark license is very
easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose such as creation
of derivative works, reports, performances and research. Project
Gutenberg eBooks may be modified and printed and given away—you may
do practically ANYTHING in the United States with eBooks not protected
by U.S. copyright law. Redistribution is subject to the trademark
license, especially commercial redistribution.
START: FULL LICENSE
THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG™ LICENSE
PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK
To protect the Project Gutenberg™ mission of promoting the free
distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work
(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase “Project
Gutenberg”), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full
Project Gutenberg License available with this file or online at
www.gutenberg.org/license.
Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg
electronic works
1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg
electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to
and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property
(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all
the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or
destroy all copies of Project Gutenberg electronic works in your
possession. If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a
Project Gutenberg electronic work and you do not agree to be bound
by the terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person
or entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8.
1.B. “Project Gutenberg” is a registered trademark. It may only be
used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who
agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few
things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg electronic works
even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See
paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project
Gutenberg electronic works if you follow the terms of this
agreement and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg
electronic works. See paragraph 1.E below.
1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation (“the
Foundation” or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection
of Project Gutenberg electronic works. Nearly all the individual
works in the collection are in the public domain in the United
States. If an individual work is unprotected by copyright law in the
United States and you are located in the United States, we do not
claim a right to prevent you from copying, distributing, performing,
displaying or creating derivative works based on the work as long as
all references to Project Gutenberg are removed. Of course, we hope
that you will support the Project Gutenberg mission of promoting
free access to electronic works by freely sharing Project Gutenberg
works in compliance with the terms of this agreement for keeping the
Project Gutenberg name associated with the work. You can easily
comply with the terms of this agreement by keeping this work in the
same format with its attached full Project Gutenberg License when
you share it without charge with others.
1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern
what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are
in a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States,
check the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this
agreement before downloading, copying, displaying, performing,
distributing or creating derivative works based on this work or any
other Project Gutenberg work. The Foundation makes no
representations concerning the copyright status of any work in any
country other than the United States.
1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg:
1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other
immediate access to, the full Project Gutenberg License must appear
prominently whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg work (any work
on which the phrase “Project Gutenberg” appears, or with which the
phrase “Project Gutenberg” is associated) is accessed, displayed,
performed, viewed, copied or distributed:
This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most
other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms
of the Project Gutenberg™ License included with this eBook or online
at www.gutenberg.org. If you
are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws
of the country where you are located before using this eBook.
1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg electronic work is
derived from texts not protected by U.S. copyright law (does not
contain a notice indicating that it is posted with permission of the
copyright holder), the work can be copied and distributed to anyone in
the United States without paying any fees or charges. If you are
redistributing or providing access to a work with the phrase “Project
Gutenberg” associated with or appearing on the work, you must comply
either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 or
obtain permission for the use of the work and the Project Gutenberg
trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.
1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg electronic work is posted
with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution
must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any
additional terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms
will be linked to the Project Gutenberg License for all works
posted with the permission of the copyright holder found at the
beginning of this work.
1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg
License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this
work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg.
1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this
electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without
prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with
active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project
Gutenberg License.
1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary,
compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including
any word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access
to or distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg work in a format
other than “Plain Vanilla ASCII” or other format used in the official
version posted on the official Project Gutenberg website
(www.gutenberg.org), you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense
to the user, provide a copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means
of obtaining a copy upon request, of the work in its original “Plain
Vanilla ASCII” or other form. Any alternate format must include the
full Project Gutenberg License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1.
1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying,
performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg works
unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.
1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing
access to or distributing Project Gutenberg electronic works
provided that:
• You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from
the use of Project Gutenberg works calculated using the method
you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is owed
to the owner of the Project Gutenberg trademark, but he has
agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the Project
Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments must be paid
within 60 days following each date on which you prepare (or are
legally required to prepare) your periodic tax returns. Royalty
payments should be clearly marked as such and sent to the Project
Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the address specified in
Section 4, “Information about donations to the Project Gutenberg
Literary Archive Foundation.”
• You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies
you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he
does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg™
License. You must require such a user to return or destroy all
copies of the works possessed in a physical medium and discontinue
all use of and all access to other copies of Project Gutenberg™
works.
• You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of
any money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the
electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days of
receipt of the work.
• You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free
distribution of Project Gutenberg™ works.
1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project
Gutenberg™ electronic work or group of works on different terms than
are set forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing
from the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the manager of
the Project Gutenberg™ trademark. Contact the Foundation as set
forth in Section 3 below.
1.F.
1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable
effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread
works not protected by U.S. copyright law in creating the Project
Gutenberg™ collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg™
electronic works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may
contain “Defects,” such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate
or corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other
intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or
other medium, a computer virus, or computer codes that damage or
cannot be read by your equipment.
1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the “Right
of Replacement or Refund” described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project
Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project
Gutenberg™ trademark, and any other party distributing a Project
Gutenberg™ electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all
liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal
fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT
LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE
PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE
TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE
LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR
INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH
DAMAGE.
1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a
defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can
receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a
written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you
received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium
with your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you
with the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in
lieu of a refund. If you received the work electronically, the person
or entity providing it to you may choose to give you a second
opportunity to receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If
the second copy is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing
without further opportunities to fix the problem.
1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth
in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you ‘AS-IS’, WITH NO
OTHER WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT
LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE.
1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied
warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of
damages. If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement
violates the law of the state applicable to this agreement, the
agreement shall be interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or
limitation permitted by the applicable state law. The invalidity or
unenforceability of any provision of this agreement shall not void the
remaining provisions.
1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the
trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone
providing copies of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works in
accordance with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the
production, promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg™
electronic works, harmless from all liability, costs and expenses,
including legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of
the following which you do or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this
or any Project Gutenberg work, (b) alteration, modification, or
additions or deletions to any Project Gutenberg work, and (c) any
Defect you cause.
Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg
Project Gutenberg is synonymous with the free distribution of
electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of
computers including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It
exists because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations
from people in all walks of life.
Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the
assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg’s
goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg collection will
remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project
Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure
and permanent future for Project Gutenberg and future
generations. To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary
Archive Foundation and how your efforts and donations can help, see
Sections 3 and 4 and the Foundation information page at www.gutenberg.org.
Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation
The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non-profit
501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the
state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal
Revenue Service. The Foundation’s EIN or federal tax identification
number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg Literary
Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent permitted by
U.S. federal laws and your state’s laws.
The Foundation’s business office is located at 41 Watchung Plaza #516,
Montclair NJ 07042, USA, +1 (862) 621-9288. Email contact links and up
to date contact information can be found at the Foundation’s website
and official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact
Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg
Literary Archive Foundation
Project Gutenberg™ depends upon and cannot survive without widespread
public support and donations to carry out its mission of
increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be
freely distributed in machine-readable form accessible by the widest
array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations
($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt
status with the IRS.
The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating
charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United
States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a
considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up
with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations
where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To SEND
DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any particular state
visit www.gutenberg.org/donate.
While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we
have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition
against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who
approach us with offers to donate.
International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make
any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from
outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff.
Please check the Project Gutenberg web pages for current donation
methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other
ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. To
donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate.
Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg electronic works
Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project
Gutenberg concept of a library of electronic works that could be
freely shared with anyone. For forty years, he produced and
distributed Project Gutenberg eBooks with only a loose network of
volunteer support.
Project Gutenberg eBooks are often created from several printed
editions, all of which are confirmed as not protected by copyright in
the U.S. unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not
necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper
edition.
Most people start at our website which has the main PG search
facility: www.gutenberg.org.
This website includes information about Project Gutenberg,
including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary
Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to
subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks.
