Finding our companion very quiet and inoffensive, we paid no further attention to him. An hour passed, Pauline was fast asleep, and I suppose I also must have closed my eyes, for presently, looking across the carriage, I saw to my astonishment, instead of the little black-coated man, a somewhat slighter figure, in a set of gray dittos and cap to match, quietly reading his Japanese papers as if nothing had happened, a neatly-folded suit of clothes on the seat beside him. I was somewhat startled at this curious transformation, and stories of disguised criminals rushed into my mind, when up jumped the little man and proceeded calmly to divest himself of his gray suit, folding up the garments he took off and placing them beside the black pile. Feeling extremely embarrassed, I gazed severely out of the window for several minutes. Pauline still slept. On hearing the rustle of a paper, I ventured to look round, and there sat our strange fellow-traveller, deep in his ‘nichi-nichi shimbun’ (Japanese newspaper), clad from head to foot in white duck and cricketing-cap to match. ‘Now,’ thought I, ‘I should hope his toilette is completed.’ No such thing. After about half an hour the little man again seemed restless and overcome with heat, and after casting a despairing and perspiring glance around him, he got up and reaching down from the rack a small black bag, he pulled out a ‘ukata’ and ‘obi’ (the national dress of a Japanese). Seeing the same performance about to begin with regard to the white suit, I coughed violently; but that having no effect and escape being impossible I feigned sleep, and, when I again ventured to open my eyes, a little thin figure sat in the corner in correct Japanese attire. Three neatly-folded bundles lay at his side,--hat, boots, and all.
Fortunately, this was the last metamorphosis that our strange companion indulged in, and soon afterwards we changed trains, leaving him in full possession of the carriage; so I shall never know whether he redressed himself before the end of his journey, or how he disposed of the remainder of his wardrobe. It was certainly a novel way of carrying luggage.
Pauline was very indignant when I told her of the occurrence. She said had she been awake it would never have happened.
At last, after crawling along for five hours across the burning plain, we reached Kodzu; and after a short rest and a few little cups of yellow tea and some peppermint sticks at the tea-house in the village, we started off again in the little mountain train for Karuizawa. Thankful enough we were, after passing through twenty-six pitch-black tunnels reeking with sulphur and smoke, to arrive at last, exhausted and half-choked, but safe and sound at our journey’s end.
Karuizawa is situated on a large plain, formed by the lava from the great volcano Asama, and is about four thousand feet above the sea-level.
It is the strangest and weirdest spot imaginable. For miles and miles in every direction as far as the eye can reach stretches a vast plain covered with pampas-grass and wild-flowers of every description, and hemmed in by long ranges of blue mountains in the far distance. In the centre of the plain rises Asamayama like a great black pyramid, absolutely bare; and from the summit a thin column of smoke can be seen and an occasional flame, as if to give warning of the fires down below.
The village of Karuizawa, some little distance from the base, is composed of a collection of hideous little wooden houses, principally the summer residences of missionaries from all parts of Japan, a small English church, only lately built, and a long, straggling village street, with a few small native shops of a primitive nature.
IDAKA, THE GUIDE.
Idaka had taken a room for us at the chief tea-house in the village, and, although the smell of the ‘daikon’ (fermented turnip) which permeated every corner was not conducive to appetite, we managed to make a fair supper of the tinned food we had brought with us, supplemented by some native rice and hot ‘saké’ (native drink).