From Job to Job around the World

by Alfred C. B. Fletcher

It developed that we were in Maisuru Bay, the chief naval base of Japan, and therefore one of the zones in which it is unlawful to take pictures. Richardson refused to get excited. He gave the captain the roll of films, together with his Kyoto address, requested him to have it developed, destroy the illegal picture and return the others. The captain said he would. We thought the incident was closed.

But it wasn't. It had just begun. In a few minutes our steamer was at the dock and we went down the gangway to board a train for our return trip to Kyoto. I had sunk comfortably down into my seat and opened a book when a Japanese in uniform rushed up waving his hands and shouting at me in his native language.

"Beat it," I said. I thought he was crazy. The excited officer stood moving his hands in a manner which would indicate in a western country that he wanted me to remain where I was. The impatient man finally left the car. Richardson came in.

"What in blazes is the matter with that Jap? He must be drunk," I said.

"He's a cop. We are both under arrest for that picture," said Richardson. "The captain reported it to the police."

The officer in uniform came back twisting his hands in the air like an insane man. I didn't realise that these movements were equivalent to the American beckoning sign, so I remained seated. He lurched over and gripped my shoulder. Richardson had gone out. I got up and in three seconds found myself with him in the midst of two hundred incensed natives.

Other police and a couple of military officers had come up. Richardson's camera had been taken from him. We stood in the midst of this gathering while the uniformed officers held a conference. We couldn't understand a word. They finally led us away. For an hour Richardson and I, accompanied by two policemen, marched abreast. We concluded that they had decided to walk us to death. At last we arrived at an edifice from which a Japanese flag was flying, and in front of which two sentinels stood on duty. This was the military police court and prison. We were ushered in and were greeted by half-a-dozen officers in uniforms who bowed and bobbed around with as much ceremony as though we were two caliphs of Bagdad. They were the politest lot of policemen we ever saw.

The military judge was on the bench and we were taken into his presence with many smiles and salaams. We tried to tell the judge that we loved the Japanese people very dearly and we wanted to go back to Kyoto. He couldn't understand a word. No one else could. We had nothing to do but wait for an interpreter, whom one of the clerks of the court was sent out to obtain. The Japanese were very serious. We were not impressed and made irreverent remarks about the judge and the court officials.

We waited until noon and as we were hungry we made this fact known by means of writing, for one of the clerks could read English, after a fashion, but could not speak it. Permission was granted us to dine. Richardson asked the court to pay the bill. The request, after an half-hour conference, was refused. We set out with two policemen to a Japanese hotel where we ate a fifteen-minute meal in an hour and a half while the two officers remained on guard at the door.