PREFACE
This book does not pretend to be a study of the Ainu. It is a simple narrative of my journey in Yezo and a description of the group of Ainu that I brought to this country. It is true that I sketch some features of Ainu life and suggest some questions regarding this peculiarly interesting people. Readers who wish fuller information will find much in Rev. John Batchelor’s books.
THE AINU GROUP
The most characteristic feature of the St. Louis Exposition is life, action. To a greater degree than in any preceding Exposition the buildings are full of action—machinery is in motion, artisans are at work, things are being done. This characteristic is found in the Department of Anthropology as well as in those of Machinery and the Liberal Arts. While it is true that it presents cases filled with objects, diagrams, maps, pictures, models, the usual dead material of Ethnographical and Archæological Museums, it is also true that it has lavished its main effort upon the outdoor Ethnological Exhibit, where representatives of upwards of thirty living tribes are to be seen in native dress, living in houses of their own construction, cooking and eating the food to which they are accustomed at home, and practising those simple arts and industries, which they have, themselves, developed. Among these many groups, from North and South America, from Africa and Asia, is a little group of the Ainu from Northern Japan, a people who are, for many reasons, of exceptional interest.
In August of 1903, I was approached with the proposition that I should go to Japan to secure this group and bring it to this country. The plans for the expedition were finally completed in January of 1904, and on the 14th of that month I left St. Louis with one companion, my young Mexican photographer, Manuel Gonzales. Our journey to Yokohama was uneventful. We reached there on February 9th and went up to Tokio on the 10th, where a stop of several days was necessary for making preparations, seeing Japanese officials, securing letters, etc. It was on the night of the day of our arrival there, that the Japanese declaration of war against Russia was made. Not the most favorable hour for asking aid, in a purely scientific enterprise of no public or political character, from busy officials! But, through this period of stress and preparation, of despatching troops and moving war equipment, we were never disturbed or delayed in our mission; those officials, whom we were obliged to meet, received us with the same courtesy and attended to our requests with the same care and promptness, as if it were a time of complete peace. We were profoundly impressed by the business-like and energetic way in which all was done and by the deep feeling, though calm and quiet, among the people. Japan has gone into this war through necessity; she did all in her power to avoid hostilities. But, in going into the war, she expects to win. This expectation is no idle exhibition of over-confidence. She fully realizes the enormous advantages Russia has in size, in numbers, and in resources; but, she expects, nevertheless, to gain the victory, for she feels that it is a question of life and death. The struggle is no new one; nor is it unforeseen. For more than a century, Japanese patriotic writers have urged their nation to prepare herself to resist the aggressions of her powerful neighbor; in 1791 Toshiakira made “a plea for the development of Yezo, in view of Russian aggression.” In 1801 Yamada Ren made “a passionate appeal for colonizing Yezo and thus forestalling the designs of Russia....”
The Ainu are not rovers. It is certainly a rare thing for members of the race to leave their home. They have aroused interest for two thousand years. The Chinese Annals tell of four mao jin, “hairy men,” who were ship-wrecked on the Chinese coast in the year 310 A. D. In 650 A. D. some of them accompanied a Japanese Embassy to China. So far as we know, none have since left Japan until this group was brought to this country in 1904. It is true that they sometimes form one of the attractions in Japanese circuses and, in 1903, a group of them was shown at the Osaka Exposition, where they attracted a great deal of attention and were so sadly spoiled and corrupted, that we were specially warned against having anything to do with any of the group.
During our stay at Tokio, we visited the Imperial University, where we found the Department of Anthropology well organized, with Prof. Tsuboi at its head. It should be better housed than it is, but it occupies two entire buildings, one of which is used for recitation rooms, reading room and laboratory and the other as a Museum, in which Japan and her dependencies are chiefly represented. Here we saw extensive collections illustrating the archæology of Japan—which like the rest of the world has had a Stone Age—and the ethnography of the Ainu and the populations of the Loo Choo Islands, the Bonin Islands, and Formosa. We were most interested in the Ainu collections, which are varied and represent arts and industries, weapons, tools, dress, ornament, etc. Were we not about to see all these in actual life in Ainu homes, we should speak of them in detail. Probably the largest collection of Ainu skeletal material in the world is in the University Laboratory; it has been carefully studied and described by a Japanese, Koganei.
When on Monday, February 15th, we were ready to start northward things looked squally. It was reported that communication was interrupted. Four Russian gunboats, from Vladivostock, had attacked and sunk a merchant vessel at the Straits of Tsugaru. We were advised to wait in Tokio until the announcement of resumption of communication should be made. Time, however, was precious. We determined to go on to Aomori as if nothing had occurred, and, if we actually found no steamer about to sail, to make our way overland to the northernmost village on the Hondo, and thence, hiring a fishing-boat and hoisting an American flag, to cross to the nearest point of the Island of Yezo. Our railroad journey to Aomori was a matter of some twenty hours. We left Tokio with no snow anywhere in sight, save on Fuji’s summit; when we looked out in the early morning of the next day, we were in the midst of winter. Snow covered the whole landscape, not fresh-fallen snow, but a sheet that had already been there for weeks and months. Aomori itself is a quaint fishing-town and port. Snow lay five or six feet deep in the middle of the street. Shops and houses are built close together, and have a continuous passageway or corridor before them. One may walk, outside, in the middle of the road, on the elevated snow-way, or inside, on the ground level, under shelter of the corridor. Here and there, narrow ways, with steps, cut in the snow permit passage up and down from one to the other way. The markets are interesting, particularly the fish-markets; not only does one see there fishes of ordinary kinds, both large and small, but flatfish, such as soles and skates, cuttle-fishes, both whole and cut into pieces, shell-fish in great variety, and sea-squirts or tunicates, some of brilliant colors. Had we space, we could describe the lacquer which is made here, the New Year offerings to the gods, the boys flying kites with humming bows attached, but all these have naught to do with the Ainu. A little to our satisfaction, for it would have been a hard trip over the snow to Omazaki, we found communication restored and were able to board our little steamer at nine o’clock and go to bed, although we did not sail until early in the morning. For fear of mines and hostile vessels, lying in wait, the run across the Straits of Tsugaru was made in darkness and slowly. When we rose in the morning, we were coasting along the coast of Yezo. There was snow over the landscape but less than we expected, after our glimpse of Aomori. The country was hilly; at times, mountainous; there was but little breadth of beach, and often the mountains rose abruptly from the sea-line. Here and there were little clusters of houses near the seashore. It was bitterly cold and a piercing wind was blowing. At 9.30 in the morning, we were in Hakodate Harbor, after passing through a narrow and tortuous channel. The town, with a population of perhaps 70,000, stretches along a coast line, presenting an arc of almost two-thirds of a circle, and rises upon the lower slopes of a great mountain mass, which rises finely in the background and is fortified. We anchored in the Harbor and would have gone on shore, if we could have learned that we were to lie there several hours. There are Ainu settlements on the outskirts of the city, a Museum of Ainu objects, and a mission station (including a school for Ainu boys), which we would have been glad to see. At 3.30 in the afternoon, we started. We could not find out when we were likely to reach Muroran, being absolutely without an interpreter, and so went to bed at nine o’clock, thinking ourselves entitled to the night’s rest. But at eleven, we were routed from our beds by the steward and found ourselves standing in the Bay of Muroran. The runner from the Maruichi Hotel, to which we had a letter from our Aomori host, took us in charge and loaded us and ours into a rowed scow. It was bitterly cold, a heavy wind was blowing, and snow filled the air. We were only lighted by paper lanterns, as, to the songs of the rowers, we crossed the stretch of tossing waters to the shore. Our pretty room at the Maruichi, our midnight supper, our first Japanese bed, and our charcoal fire, were a pleasant contrast.
The morning was fine, fresh, and cold, with alternations of blue sky and snow-filled air. Muroran has a pretty bay, almost circular, land-locked, with many rock islets dotting it. The town itself is small and mean, stretching in two or three long streets at different levels, along the shore. There are Ainu towns at no great distance and we hoped to catch our first glimpse of Ainu here but were disappointed. We strolled through the town buying some photographs of Ainu and some of the giant fanshells or pectens, which are the characteristic souvenir of Muroran. In all parts of Japan, except the island of Yezo, each town of any consequence has its especial product, natural or artificial, for which it is famous. Japanese, who visit such towns always carry home, for themselves and their friends, samples of these. Thus Sendai has a black fossil wood from which all sorts of trays, boxes, spoons, teacup-holders, etc., are cut; Aomori has its especial mottled lacquer; and Morioka has lovely iron teapots. But Yezo is peculiar; it is crude and new, a pioneer district of new towns settled by immigrants from every part of Japan. Most of its towns have no meibutsu or specialty. Muroran, however, has as its meibutsu, the giant fanshells.
