I did not remain long at Nemuro after my return from the Kuriles; in fact, I remained only a few hours, and again my baggage was lashed to the pack-saddle, again I was perched on the top of this instrument of torture, and soon was rapidly moving north towards the inhospitable coast of the Okhotsk Sea.
The first few days of the lonely life of a peripatetic Robinson Crusoe are unmistakably disagreeable, but after that initiation there is no doubt that it is a fascinating life. I was more than glad when the gay Nemuro was out of sight, and the noise and rumble of semi-civilisation out of hearing. The editor and seven gentlemen of Nemuro accompanied me for a few miles—then I was left to myself and my own resources. Crossing the Onnetto River, the outlet of a large lagoon of the same name, I passed through Nishibets and then Bitskai, where in former days the Japanese had established a salmon-canning factory, which proved a failure, owing to the incapacity of its directors and workmen. Salmon is very abundant in the Nishibets River, and a well-managed canning factory would be a great success. About ten or eleven miles north of Bitskai a peculiar peninsula stretches out from north-east to south-west, which affords a shelter for small junks from northerly winds. It is called Noshike, and is not more than a few feet above the sea-level. The soil all along is very marshy, and the numerous little rivulets and rivers are extremely troublesome to cross. My pony was continually sinking into and struggling out of mud-holes, into which it had fallen when wading across these small watercourses, sometimes not more than a few feet wide. I pushed on as far as Shimbets, where there are only a shed and a couple of Ainu huts inhabited by half-castes. I had to put up here for the night, and by the light of a wick burning in a large oyster-shell filled with fish-oil I wrote a few notes in my diary. The fleas in that house were something appalling. The next morning I had some fun with a wild pony, which I received in exchange for the tired animal I had brought.
"Nobody can get on him," said the Ainu half-caste, "but if you think you can ride him he will go like the wind."
It took all hands in the small village to get the pack-saddle and baggage on to his back, and after we had tied him to a post and lashed his fore legs together I mounted. By instalments he was untied, let loose, and then afforded us some real fun. He revolved, bucked, kicked, stood on his hind legs, and did his very best to bite my legs and knock me off the saddle. A small fence was kicked and smashed into a thousand bits, and he even attempted to enter the huts—anything to get rid of his rider; but he did not succeed. His next trick was to plunge into the river close by, and when he reached the middle to shake himself violently. He then came out on the other side, and, turning his head, saw as well as felt that I was still on his back; then he neighed as if in great distress, and bolted. He galloped along the small track, and really did go "like the wind." As a punishment I made him keep up the pace even when he was tired of his contumacy, and in less than no time I reached Shibets, ten miles distant from where I had started.
Shibets is a village of one hundred Japanese houses and twenty Ainu huts. The Ainu here have almost altogether adopted Japanese clothes, as well as something of the Japanese style of living. The river which goes by the same name is notable for the quantity and good quality of salmon caught in it, and it is the best salmon-fishing river on the north-east coast of Yezo. Herrings are also abundant, but not to the same extent as on the south-east coast. A peculiarity of the river is that before entering the sea it turns sharply south and runs along a bank of sand and mud, which is growing larger every year, which shows that a current from the Okhotsk Sea must travel down in that direction through the strait between Kunashiri and Yezo. The same peculiarity is noticeable in nearly all the rivers of the north-east coast.
From Shibets to Wembets the track is fairly even, but from Wembets round Cape Shiretoko it is in many places impassable even on foot. The Peninsula, ending in Cape Shiretoko, is a mass of high volcanic mountains towards the interior, while scabrous cliffs and huge rocks fringe the line of coast. However, from Shibets there is a small mountain track inland which brings the traveller across to the north-east coast near Shari. The track was through beautiful forests of pine trees, oak, birch, and elm, and during the first few miles it is on almost level ground. After that, hill after hill is ascended and descended, and one goes ever onwards at a higher altitude, until Rubets, a small shed, is reached. From here the track follows a zig-zag direction till it reaches the summit of the mountain range, and one then begins to descend on the other side. From the summit there is a lovely view of beautiful blue mountains in the distant west, one of which is called Oakan, and the other Moyokan. The mountainous part of the track from Igiani, three miles from Shibets, as far as the north-east coast, reminded me much of the scenery in Switzerland, with its rapid and limpid fresh-water rivers, thickly-wooded country, and green grass, which last was replaced here by an undergrowth of scrub bamboo. When I went across this mountain pass the rain was pouring in torrents, and the road, such as it was, being very slippery and heavy, I only reached the north-east coast at dark. The moon would not rise till late, there were heavy black clouds, and I was more than puzzled how to find my way.
To add to my bad luck, my pony this time was a sorry beast, with his back a mass of sores. I was simply drenched with the rain that never ceased. Now and then, by the blinding flash of lightning, I could see a long stretch of sand and a line of sand-hills; I could also see the reeds bending low under the squalls, and then everything was darkness again. I was leading my tired beast, and dragging him along as well as I could. Every few yards the wretched creature collapsed, and it took a lot of petting, caressing, encouraging and beating to make him get up again. I had ridden and walked about fourteen hours in the rain, and was nearly frozen to death.
Since I had got out of the forest a bitterly cold north wind chilled me through and through, and added the last touch to my weariness and discomfort. Again the pony fell, and all my efforts to make him get up were useless. The storm, if anything, seemed to increase in violence, while my own strength was decreasing every minute. I lay down by the side of the pony, trying to warm myself by his heat, and, shivering and rattling my teeth together, I tried to go to sleep.
A couple of hours were spent in this way, and when the moon rose I could see a little clearer. I climbed with hands and feet on to the sand-hills, and I fancied I saw some dark spots in the distance. Could they be Shari? First one end of my whip, then the other, was reduced into pulp on my pony's back, and with a great effort he again stood on all four legs. I had to support the wretch all the way, as you would a drunken man, and we went at the rate of less than a mile an hour. The spots grew bigger and bigger, and took the shape of huts.
"Hem, hem, hem, hem!" I called out at the first hut, while three or four dogs barked furiously and went for my legs. "Will you let a stranger sleep here to-night?"