guns made mimic war. At night the harbor dazzles with various colored lights, while the search-lights of the “men-of-war” illuminate sections of the city on the heights.
Yokohama lies between immense bluffs, on one of which the stars and stripes are seen flying over an American hospital. Beyond the bluff proper stretches the race-course, from which can be seen Fujiyama, or sacred mountain, which is invested with legends; it is said to have risen up in a single night, two thousand years ago, and for centuries pilgrims have toiled up the weary path to pray at the highest shrine and to supplicate the sun at dawn.
Fujiyama, with the circling storks and ascending dragons, symbolizes success in life and triumph over obstacles. Until the year 1500 it was a living volcano. A road leads from “Fuji” to Mississippi Bay, where Commodore Perry’s ships anchored in 1854.
To the port side lies Kanagawa, well fortified; just beyond is the grave of Richardson, the Briton who was killed, by the retainers of the prince of Satsuma in 1862, for
deliberately riding into the daimyo’s train. A memorial stone, inscribed with Japanese characters, marks the spot where Richardson fell. This cost the Japs the bombardment of Kagishima and an indemnity of 125,000 pounds.
Near this spot is situated black-eyed Susan’s tea-house, a favorite resort for tourists. According to one version, “Susan’s strand” is where the Rip Van Winkle of Japan (Urashima) sailed on an immense tortoise for the home of the sea king. Yokohama is surrounded by rich silk districts, orchards, and the most beautiful flowers I have ever seen. The villages in the suburbs are very picturesque, with narrow roads and shady paths leading through perpetual scenes of sylvan beauty: bamboo trees, thatched roofs, and gnarled camphor trees everywhere charm the eye.
Tokio, the capital, is but eighteen miles from Yokohama. The city is intensely interesting; Japanese ladies in silk kimonos and straw sandals, fluttering along the streets like butterflies, invariably wearing a red carnation in their neatly dressed coal-black
hair, present a pretty sight as they enter and leave their quaint little tea-houses; you are reminded of the scenes in the Mikado, San Toy, and Geisha operas. The jinrickshaw man is everywhere in evidence, ready to convey you to any part of the city; for one yen, or about fifty cents in American gold, he will haul you around for an entire morning.
The coolies of Japan are superior to those of Ceylon and Singapore in the power of endurance and intelligence, the former being full of spirit and animation, while the latter possess that languorous indifference characteristic of the Straits Settlements native.
The Imperial Palace, the abode of the Mikado, is a magnificent edifice surrounded by the Imperial Gardens, which cover a vast area of ground; a short distance beyond, with no less ostentation, stands the palatial residence of the Empress Dowager. My “rickshaw coolie” having taken me into this Imperial Park, I was admiring the beauty thereof, when we were approached by a sentry who admonished the coolie to proceed no farther; when I urged him to continue, he