Rare days in Japan

by George Trumbull Ladd

It had been our intention to follow what the guide-book described as the “best plan” for making the ascent of the volcano; and this was to take horses from the old village of Karuizawa, where it was said foreign saddles might be procured, ride to Ko-Asama, and then walk up by a path of cinders, described as steep but good and solid, and plainly marked at intervals by small cairns. First inquiry, however, did not succeed in getting any trace of suitable horses, not to mention the highly desirable equipment of “foreign saddles.” After taking a late and scanty luncheon in a tea-house which for Japan, even in the most remote country places, seemed unusually dirty and disreputable, we went out in further search of the equipment for the climb of the next day. On emerging from the tea-house, right opposite its door, we came upon a gentleman in a jinrikisha, who was a traveller from America—a much rarer sight in those parts twenty years ago than at the present time. Salutations and inquiries as to “Where from” and “What about,” were quickly interchanged as a matter of course. It turned out that we were making the acquaintance of the father of one of the Canadian missionaries, who was visiting his son and who was at that very instant on his way to the station to take train to Komoro, a village some fourteen miles over the pass, from which that night a party of ten or twelve were planning to ascend Asama-yama by moonlight. Permission was asked and cordially given for us to become members of this party; and the gentleman in the jinrikisha then went on his way as rapidly as the rather decrepit vehicle and its runner could convey him.

As for us, all our energies were now bent on catching that train; for it was the last one of the day and it was certain that our plans could not easily be carried out from the point of starting where we then were. Our belongings were hastily thrust into the bags and a hurry call issued for jinrikishas to take us to the station. But our new acquaintance had gone off in the only jinrikisha available in the whole village of Karuizawa. What was to be done? A sturdy old woman volunteered her assistance; and some of the luggage having been mounted on a frame on her back, we grabbed the remainder and started upon a sort of dog-trot across the ashy plain which separated the tea-house by more than a mile and a half from the railway station. As we came in sight of the train, the variety of signals deemed necessary to announce by orderly stages the approach of so important an event gave notice to both eyes and ears that it was proposing soon to start down the mountain pass; and if it once got fairly started, the nature of the grade would make it more difficult either to stop or to overtake it. My friend, therefore, ran forward gesticulating and calling out; while I assisted the old woman with the burdens and gave her wages and tips without greatly slackening our pace. The railway trains of that earlier period, especially in country places, were more accommodating than is possible with the largely increased traffic of to-day; and the addition of two to the complement of passengers was more important than it would be at present. And so we arrived, breathless but well pleased, and were introduced to several ladies in the compartment, who belonged to the party which proposed to make the ascension together.

The route from Karuizawa to Komoro is a part of what is considered by the guide-book of that period, “on the whole the most picturesque railway route in Japan.” The first half is, indeed, comparatively uninteresting; but when the road begins to wind around the southern slope of Asama-yama, the character of the scenery changes rapidly. Here is the water-shed where all the drainage of the great mountain pours down through deep gullies into rivers which flow either northward into the Sea of Japan or southward into the Pacific. From the height of the road-bed, the traveller looks down upon paddy-fields lying far below. The mountain itself changes its apparent shape and its colouring. The flat top of the cone lengthens out; it now becomes evident that Asama is not isolated, but is the last and highest of a range of mountains. The pinkish brown colouring of the sides assumes a blackish hue; and chasms rough with indurated lava break up into segments which follow the regularity of the slopes on which they lie.

Komoro, the village at which we arrived just as the daylight was giving out, was formerly the seat of a daimyo; but it has now turned the picturesque castle-grounds which overhang the river into a public garden. It boasted of considerable industries in the form of the manufacture of saddlery, vehicles, and tools and agricultural implements. But its citizens I found at that time more rude, inhospitable, and uncivilised than those I have ever since encountered anywhere else in Japan. Our first application for entertainment at an inn was gruffly refused; but we were taken in by another host, whom we afterwards found to have all the silly dishonest tricks by which the worst class of inn-keepers used formerly to impose upon foreigners.

The plan agreed upon for the ascent was to start at ten in the evening, make the journey by moonlight, and so arrive at the mountain’s top in time to see the volcanic fires before dawn but after the moon had gone down; and then, still later, the wide-spreading landscape at sunrise. Six horses were ordered for those of the party who preferred to ride the distance of nearly thirteen miles which lay between the inn and the foot of the cone; while the other five—four of the younger men and one young woman—deemed themselves hardy enough to walk the entire way. As the event proved, a walk of twenty-five miles, half of it steeply up hill, followed by a climb of two thousand feet of ash cone, while not a great “stunt” for trained mountaineers, is no easy thing for the ordinary pedestrian.

The horses had been ordered to be in front of the inn not later than ten o’clock. And at that hour we all began to put on our shoes and otherwise make preparations for a start at the appointed time. But who in those days, or even now, unless it be by railway train, in Japan would reasonably expect to start anywhere at precisely the appointed time? At ten, at eleven, and at midnight, still the horses had not come. At the later hour, the pedestrians of the party made a start, bidding the others a pleasant and somewhat exasperating good-bye, and exhorting them to bring along the luncheon baskets in time for to-morrow morning’s breakfast. An angry messenger despatched to the head-quarters of the “master of the horse,” brought back the soothing message that men had some time before been sent into the fields to gather in the animals, which had been at work all day; and that they certainly would be forthcoming—tadaiama. Now the word “tadaiama” for the inexperienced is supposed to mean immediately (although jiki ni or “in a jiffy” is really the more encouraging phrase); but the initiated know full well that no definitely limited period is intended by either word. At one o’clock in the morning, still the horses had not arrived. At this hour, therefore, a more sharp reprimand and imperative order was sent to the stables; and the same promising answer was returned. At two o’clock the same performance was repeated, with this difference that now the story ran: A second detachment of men had been sent out by the master of the horse; and they would surely return with both men and horses—“tadaiama.”

During these four hours I had been lying on the outer platform of the tea-house, fighting mosquitoes, and trying to get snatches of sleep; since my quota of this sort of preparation for a stiff day’s work had been only three hours during the last forty-eight. A crowd of villagers, of all sorts and sizes, had gathered in front of the platform, which, of course, was open to the street, and were fixedly gazing at the foreigner with that silent and unappeased curiosity which need seriously offend no one who understands its motive and the purpose it is intended to serve. One of the village wags and loafers was continuously and monotonously discoursing to the crowd in a manner so amusing as to call forth repeated outbursts of laughter; and it was evident that the subject of the discourse was the strange and ridiculous ways of foreigners in general; if not the strange and ridiculous appearance of the particular foreigner just now illustrating the characteristics universal with the race. Obviously such conditions were not favourable to restful sleep.

Since, soon after three o’clock the horses had not come, my native friend paid a visit to the stables in person; and fifteen or twenty minutes later the six animals required were standing, with their Bettos, before the inn, under the fading moonlight. When I inquired how he succeeded in accomplishing so quickly what others had failed to accomplish by hours of angry effort, his reply was that he told the keeper of the stable there was a distinguished foreigner waiting at the inn, who was very angry at being treated with such indignity; and that he would himself report the matter to the authorities at Tokyo and have his license taken away, if he did not furnish the horses immediately. “Did you tell him,” I said jestingly “that such behaviour might lead to serious international complications?” “No,” said my friend, “but I did tell him that it would affect treaty revision very unfavourably.” Such a statement was, at the time it was made, not so extravagant and purely jocose as it might seem. For the nation was justly dissatisfied and restless under the claims of foreign nations to the continuance of ex-territorial rights for themselves; and even to the right to regulate the import and export duties of Japan. It is to the credit of the memory of the late American Minister, Colonel Buck, that he was one of the first to express and to exercise confidence in the Japanese to manage both their internal and their foreign affairs on terms of a strict equality with all the first-class nations. At that time, however, not a few foreigners, both within and outside of diplomatic circles, were objecting to a fair arrangement of international obligations, on the ground of complaints as trivial as mine would have been, if it had been made anent the delay of the horses.

Those who have never tried a ride of twenty-five miles on a Japanese farm horse, with a wooden saddle but without either stirrups or bridle, do not know what physical tortures may be involved in it. I was assigned the youngest and friskiest beast of burden among them all; and if I had been able to have any control over him, the choice would have been somewhat to my advantage. But I had absolutely no control; for each animal had its own special betto, whose duty was to lead it by a long straw-rope; and as I have already said there was no bridle for any of the horses. My betto was a loutish, impudent fellow, who had the unpleasant habit of throwing down his rope—sometimes at the most ticklish places—and sauntering back to smoke with his fellows, leaving me, of course, quite helpless before any fate chosen for me by the caprices of my mount. And the mount was uncommonly high, for a large supply of blankets had been placed beneath the steep wooden saddle, for the protection of the horse’s back. Since I knew no Japanese words of threatening or other vigorous protest, I was compelled for the most part to submit in an alarmed quiet; but occasionally, as for example when we were going along the side of the mountain, which was as steep as gravity would let the scoriæ and ashes lie, and where the path was scarcely more than a foot in width, I could invoke the aid of my friend, who was generally within hailing distance. His effective intervention, in a language understood by both persons, would then usually bring my betto sauntering back to resume again his neglected duties.

The dawn, when we reached the uplands outside the village of Komoro, was as beautiful as dawn in summer in Japan can ever be. Below us lay the village with its surroundings; in front and at our side, the mountain; and overhead the larks were singing, the stars were waning, and the soft light and brilliant colouring of the early morning were creeping up the sky.