It was at our landing that we met them for the first time, and had our first jinrikisha ride. As you step upon the soil of Japan, you will see a long row of these carriages with shafts resting on the ground, and at the same time a corresponding row of unobtrusive natives who accost you with a most respectful air. They have been sitting between the shafts, with their hands around their knees, patiently awaiting the landing of the boat, when they know their services will be required to conduct the passengers to the Grand Hotel. They have spent the time in laughing at each other and cracking Japanese jokes, for the amount of merriment they can get out of life seems without end. If the air is cold, they will be wrapped up in blankets, and will remind you of our western Indians; but oftener their covering consists of the simple blue tights which will become so familiar to you in the days to come. If you are so unfortunate as to land on a rainy day, they will throw this aside for a covering of straw with bare feet and legs; but the weather will not affect their spirits at all, and they will sit with the water pouring down upon them, and crack the same old jokes, and laugh with an appreciation to which the sunshine can add nothing. They wear the regulation mushroom hat, with their name and number inscribed across the front.
You will, of course, immediately call to mind the hackmen of the West, but more by way of contrast than comparison. The duties of each are in a large measure the same, but here they are exercised in a way that is entirely different. The Japs have none of the disagreeable aggressiveness of their western contemporaries; they are quiet and polite, preferring, indeed, that you should take the initiative in the transaction. It is very interesting to watch the outcome of a rivalry that sometimes occurs when two of the coolies hit upon the same patron. The angry dispute to which many of us are accustomed never takes place; they treat each other to smiles instead of scowls, and the unsuccessful aspirant leaves with a laugh to find a more appreciative customer. During my stay in Japan I hardly ever saw a discontented or angry jinrikisha man, and if a genial smile and gentle manners are an indication of inward happiness, they are the happiest mortals it has been my lot to meet.
All this is very well, and yet it is with some hesitation that you decide to surrender yourself into the care of one of those unpromising equipages, and it was my first impulse to look around and see if something less oriental could not be had; but I quickly reproved myself, and remembered that I was in Japan. Meanwhile, my companion had arranged the matter, and I saw a little old man smilingly approaching, dragging the dreaded jinrikisha behind him. His face was sadly wrinkled, his moustache was small and grizzled, and when he lifted his hat I saw that his hair was white. His spirit, however, seemed very buoyant, and not to have suffered from the many years of toil that would occasionally make his step a little unsteady. I felt a natural hesitation about permitting this little old man to drag me about the city; but the almost paternal air with which he assisted me into the carriage made me feel more at ease. Glancing at his cap, I saw that my new acquaintance bore the name of “Cho.”
I had hardly been comfortably seated when I saw my companion ride past, borne by much nimbler and more youthful legs than those of my poor old Cho. Riding in Japan is the most unsocial thing in the world. Each traveller has a jinrikisha to himself, and the carriages are compelled by law to move in single file, so that the streets may not be blockaded. It is true that they will sometimes hold more than one person; but these conveyances are meant for the Japanese alone, who are so light that two can be carried by one man. The constant parade of the jinrikishas, therefore, through a large thoroughfare, is very interesting. It makes no difference how many people there may be in your party; one must follow another in regular order, or your offending coolie may find himself in the lock-up before the day is over. You can easily see the disadvantages of this state of affairs; it makes conversation almost impossible,—and who can travel with pleasure if he cannot talk?
Both for this reason and for another, which I afterwards learned, I soon lost sight of my companion, whose more sprightly attendant speedily left my veteran in the background. Cho made little effort to gain a position ahead of his fellows, but leisurely fell into line, and trotted along with the contentment of old age. As I knew that my forerunner was looking for rooms, I was not greatly annoyed.
I arrived at last, bringing up the rear; and as we stood there congratulating ourselves, the younger man slowly approached us. Eba had a face of unusual intelligence, and his eyes sparkled in a way that contrasted forcibly with the dreamy blinking of Cho. His whole appearance was less conservative. Under his kimono he wore something that had a resemblance to western trousers, and he had discarded the mushroom-hat for a peaked cap like that of a college student. His every feature bore evidence of a keen though kindly disposition; his hair was thick and wiry, his eyebrows heavy, his mouth large and firm. He had a way of darting sharp glances at you that immediately let you know that here was a man who was not likely to bring up last in a ’rikisha or any other race.
He bowed profoundly, with a smile, and said,—
“Please you have me to-morrow.”
My companion murmured that he might if he was a good man.