By the kind permission of the Mitsui Company I was allowed to travel on one of the trucks (no passenger carriages being provided), and the two and a half hours' journey was thus accomplished much more comfortably than if I had ridden the twenty-five miles on my pack-saddle. The railway took me to the foot of Mount Yuzan, and that same afternoon I made the ascent of the mountain. The most valuable sulphur deposits in Japan are found on this mountain, the quantity of the mineral being practically unlimited. The ascent was hard work, but it was interesting to see the fumaroles, whence the sulphur is extracted, and whence a dense smoke shoots out with great force. The whole mountain is covered with thick layers of sulphur of very good quality, and when more practical processes are employed for the extraction and carriage of the mineral there is no doubt that the sulphur trade will assume a very prominent place in the exports of Yezo. Dozens of men are employed now to carry the sulphur from the mountain to the railway, but there is work enough for hundreds and hundreds more. All the sulphur is at present carried on small wheelbarrows, which each man slings on to his shoulders when empty and he is going up the mountain. When the sulphur is reached the workman sits down, pulls out his pipe, which he fills from the folds of his tobacco-pouch, has a quiet smoke and a good rest, then he slowly fills his wheelbarrow with the primrose-yellow blocks, and comfortably wheels it down hill to the station, a considerable distance. Such a primitive fashion of carriage involves great loss of time, and a simple mechanical contrivance, by which a large quantity of mineral could be brought down at one time, would save an enormous amount of labour, and therefore expense. A cable railway would answer the purpose to perfection, and the cost of running the steam motor would be insignificant, owing to the amount of wood and coal found within easy reach. I passed through a large gorge in the mountain, and finally reached the summit of Yuzan. Walking on sulphur beds is like walking on ice, and many a time in the climb I landed on my knees. Near the summit is a huge pinnacle of volcanic rock, standing up perpendicularly, and of impossible access. From the foot of this pinnacle a lovely view of the Kutcharo Lake is obtained, and it has as a background chain after chain of thickly-wooded mountains, beyond which are visible Oakan and Moyokan, two volcanic peaks, respectively four thousand and three thousand four hundred feet above the level of the sea. On Moyokan are some hot springs and accumulations of sulphur. Both these peaks can be seen from the coast on a clear day. A small lake lies between Moyokan and Oakan, which takes its name from the latter mountain, and finds an outlet in the Oakan River. The Oakan joins the Kutcharo River not far from the sea.
KUTCHARO LAKE FROM MOUNT YUZAN.
The descent was easier than the ascent, and I put up at a small tea-house, the only one in the place. The landlord promised to get me a good pony early the next morning, but, like a true Japanese, he did not keep his promise. He called me at 5 a.m., saying that the pony would be ready in a few minutes, and at 9 a.m. the quadruped had not put in an appearance; and after numberless excuses, compliments, bows, and lies, the landlord acknowledged that no ponies were to be had. I gave my luggage to a railway employé, who undertook to bring it back to Shibetcha, and I started on foot for Lake Kutcharo. From Yuzan a track across the mountains goes due north to Abashiri, on the north-east coast. I went in a south-westerly direction, and as on the previous day from the summit of Yuzan I had noted the position of Lake Kutcharo, I had no difficulty in finding my way there; in fact, I came upon a small Ainu track leading to it. A delightful walk of ten miles in the forest took me to the Ainu village of Kutcharo, on the borders of the lake of the same name. The village is a miserable one; it differs from all other Ainu villages in its huts, which have semicircular roofs instead of angular ones, as is the case with the Ainu of Volcano Bay and of the Saru and Tokachi Rivers. I entered some of the huts, and in a few minutes I was surrounded by the small population—I daresay about twenty souls, all included—whom I led out into the open air to see what they were like. They appeared to me smaller than other Ainu, and their bones were less massive; they were not so hairy, and more inclined to baldness. Their garments were wretched, and resembled those worn by the Tokachi Ainu; namely, a few rags held together one could scarcely say how. Women were tattooed on their lips and arms, but less extensively than are those of other tribes, and the tattooing was not so accurately done.
Other Ainu whom I met in the forest in the neighbourhood of this village bore the same characteristics, and everyone seemed to be curiously melancholy and depressed. An Ainu existence is certainly not one's ideal of comfort and hilarity, but their gloom and melancholy seem to me to be purely racial and congenital.
The Lake Kutcharo is very large—too large to be seen to advantage from its borders, as one can see only parts, and not the whole of it at once. It has a pretty island in the centre, and on the west side is a peninsula projecting almost as far as the island. On this peninsula a small active geyser is found, which rises to a height of about twelve feet, and acts spasmodically. The high mountains which surround the lake would make the latter a pleasant summer resort were the place within the circle of civilisation. The scenery is very similar to that of Norway or the Scotch lakes. The Kutcharo River, as can be seen on the map, is an outlet of the Lake Kutcharo, into which the waters of the latter discharge themselves a few hundred yards west of the Ainu village.
SULPHUR MINE.
An Ainu pointed out to me the track leading to Tetcha, or Tetchkanga, and I directed my steps in that direction, the Ainu having informed me that it was very far, and that I could only reach it at night. I crossed the stream in a "dug-out," and found the track on the other side. I walked fast, for the most part through a thickly-wooded country, and at about sunset I reached Tetcha. The distance from Kutcharo, I should think, is about ten or twelve miles. Tetcha is an Ainu village, near which a few Japanese houses have been built. The Kutcharo River intersects it, and the sulphur train from Yuzan stops here to take water on its way to Shibetcha. The train had gone through some hours previously, and I was left the alternative of walking on to Shibetcha, twenty miles further, or of sleeping at Tetcha. I had walked twenty or twenty-two miles already that day, and I felt in very good form. I knew that it would be full moon that night; and walking through a forest by moonlight has always had a great charm for me. Watching the shadows, with their thousand different fantastic forms, running in and out through the trees and playing round them, has the same weird fascination for me as one of Tieck's tales, or the suggestive music of an æolian harp. Some of the Ainu and a Jap entreated me not to attempt to cross the forest at night, for wolves and bears were numerous, they said, and in all probability I should be attacked by them. This last announcement, which I was destined to hear every day in Yezo, and which, of course, I did not believe, decided me to go, and I started.
"But," cried after me the astonished Japanese, "anata micci wakarimasen!"—"You do not know the way!"