ALONE WITH THE HAIRY AINU.

OR,

3,800 MILES ON A PACK SADDLE IN YEZO AND A CRUISE TO THE KURILE ISLANDS.

BY

A. H. SAVAGE LANDOR.

WITH MAP AND ILLUSTRATIONS BY THE AUTHOR.

LONDON:
JOHN MURRAY, ALBEMARLE STREET.
1893.

LONDON:
PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED,
STAMFORD STREET AND CHARING CROSS.

PORTRAIT OF THE AUTHOR.
"When my clothes came to an end I did without them."

PREFACE.

This book is not meant as a literary work, for I am not and do not pretend to be a literary man. It is but a record—an amplified log-book, as it were—of what befell me during my solitary peregrinations in Hokkaido, and a collection of notes and observations which I hope will prove interesting to anthropologists and ethnologists as well as to the general public.

Without any claim to infallibility I have tried to take an open-minded and sensible view of everything I have attempted to describe; in most cases, however, I have given facts without passing an opinion at all, and all I have said I have tried to express as simply and plainly as possible, so as not to give rise to misunderstandings.

There are a few points which I want to make quite clear.

First, that I went to Hokkaido entirely on my own account and for my own satisfaction. Next, that I accomplished the whole journey (some 4200 miles, out of which 3800 were ridden on horseback and on a rough pack-saddle) perfectly alone. By alone I mean that I had with me no friends, no servants, and no guides. My baggage consisted of next to nothing, so far as articles for my own convenience or comfort were concerned. I carried no provisions and no tent.

I am endowed with a very sensitive nature, and I pride myself in possessing the gift of adaptability to an extreme degree, and this may partly explain why and how I could live so long with and like the Ainu, whose habits and customs, as my readers will see, are somewhat different to ours.

When I go to a country I do my best to be like one of the natives themselves, and, whether they are savage or not, I endeavour to show respect for them and their ideas, and to conform to their customs for the time being. I make up my mind that what is good for them must be good enough for me, and though I have occasionally had to swear at myself for "doing in Ainuland as the Ainu does," especially as regards the food, I was not much the worse for it in the end. I never use force when I can win with kindness, and in my small experience in Hokkaido and other countries I have always found that real savages in their simplicity are most "gentleman-like" people. With few exceptions they are good-natured, dignified, and sensible, and the chances are that if you are fair to them they will be fair to you. Civilised savages and barbarians I always found untrustworthy and dangerous.

The Island of Yezo, with the smaller islands near its coast, and the Kurile group, taken together, are called "the Hokkaido." The Hokkaido extends roughly from 41° to 51° latitude north, and between 139° and 157° longitude east of Greenwich.

My view of the origin of the word Ainu is this: Ainu is but a corruption or abbreviation of Ai-num, "they with hair," or "hairy men," or else of Hain-num, "come with hair," or "descended hairy." Considering that the Ainu pride themselves above all things on their hairiness, it does not seem improbable to me that this may be the correct origin of the word, and that they called themselves after the distinguishing characteristic of their race.

The word Ainu is a generic term, and is used both in the singular and plural; but when specifying, the words Kuru (people, men), utaragesh (woman), etc., are generally added to it: viz., Ainu kuru, Ainu people, Ainu men; Ainu utaragesh, an Ainu woman; Ainu utaragesh utara, several Ainu women.

The Ainu population of Yezo is roughly reckoned by the Japanese at about 15,000 or 17,000 souls, but at least half this number are half-castes, and in my opinion (and I have visited nearly every Ainu village in Yezo) the number of thoroughbred Ainu does not exceed 8000 souls.

The illustrations in this book are my own, and are the reproductions from sketches which I took on the spot. They may not show much artistic merit, but they seem to me to be characteristic of the country and the people, and I hope that my readers will be impressed with them in the same way.

A. Henry Savage Landor.

CONTENTS.

• CHAPTER I.
• From Hakodate to Mororran—Volcano Bay—The first Ainu—A strange institution among them [1]
• CHAPTER II.
• From Mororran to the Saru River [12]
• CHAPTER III.
• Up the Saru River—Piratori and its chief [22]
• CHAPTER IV.
• An Ainu Festival [30]
• CHAPTER V.
• From the Saru River to Cape Erimo [35]
• CHAPTER VI.
• From Cape Erimo to the Tokachi River [44]
• CHAPTER VII.
• The Tokachi Region—Pure Ainu Types—Curious Mode of River Fishing [50]
• CHAPTER VIII.
• From the Tokachi River to the Kutcharo River [68]
• CHAPTER IX.
• The Koro-pok-kuru, or Pit-dwellers [78]
• CHAPTER X.
• The Kutcharo River and Lake—A Sulphur Mine—Akkeshi and its Bay [95]
• CHAPTER XI.
• From Akkeshi to Nemuro—A Horse Station—Nemuro and its People [106]
• CHAPTER XII.
• The Kurile Islands [121]
• CHAPTER XIII.
• On the East and North-East Coast—From Nemuro to Shari-Mombets [133]
• CHAPTER XIV.
• Along the Lagoons of the North-East Coast—From Shari-Mombets to Poronai [145]
• CHAPTER XV.
• On the North-East Coast—From Poronai to Cape Soya [157]
• CHAPTER XVI.
• From Cape Soya to the Ishikari River [167]
• CHAPTER XVII.
• The Ishikari River [179]
• CHAPTER XVIII.
• Nearing Civilisation [187]
• CHAPTER XIX.
• Completing the Circuit of Yezo—The End of my Journey [196]
• CHAPTER XX.
• Ainu Habitations, Storehouses, Trophies, Furniture—Conservatism [207]
• CHAPTER XXI.
• Ainu Art, Ainu Marks, Ornamentations, Weapons—Graves and Tattoos [218]
• CHAPTER XXII.
• Ainu Heads, and their Physiognomy [229]
• CHAPTER XXIII.
• Movements and Attitudes [236]
• CHAPTER XXIV.
• Ainu Clothes, Ornaments, and Tattooing [245]
• CHAPTER XXV.
• Ainu Music, Poetry, and Dancing [255]
• CHAPTER XXVI.
• Heredity—Crosses—Psychological Observations [266]
• CHAPTER XXVII.
• Physiological Observations—Pulse-beat and Respiration—Exposure—Odour of the Ainu—The Five Senses [274]
• CHAPTER XXVIII.
• The Ainu Superstitions—Morals—Laws and Punishments [281]
• CHAPTER XXIX.
• Marital Relations, and Causes that limit Population [293]
• APPENDIX.
• I.—Measurements of the Ainu Body, and Descriptive Characters 298
• II.—Glossary of Ainu Words, many of which are found in Geographical Names in Yezo and the Kurile Islands [304]
• Index [313]

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.

• Portrait of the Author [Frontispiece.]
• Aputa [1]
• Ainu Woman saluting [6]
• Toya Lake, near Aputa [11]
• Fisherman's Hut [12]
• Pack-Saddle [18]
• Norboribets Volcano [19]
• Horobets [21]
• Storehouses at Piratori [22]
• Benry, the Ainu Chief of Piratori [25]
• Ainu Man waving his Moustache-lifter before drinking [29]
• Ainu Festival, An [30]
• Ainu Women dancing [33]
• Piratori Woman in Costume [34]
• Utarop Rocks [35]
• Ainu Lashed Canoe [37]
• Front View of Lashed Canoe [38]
• Ainu Oars [38]
• Sailing Canoe [38]
• Ainu Wooden Anchors [39]
• Ainu Canoe, Top View of an [39]
• Erimo Cape [43]
• Natural Stone Archway, A [44]
• Iwa Rocks at Biru [49]
• Ainu Houses and Storehouse, Frishikobets, Tokachi River [50]
• Madwoman of Yammakka [55]
• Ainu Woman of Frishikobets, on the Tokachi River [60]
• Shikarubets Otchirsh, The [67]
• Ainu Man of the Upper Tokachi [68]
• Ainu Hook for Smoking Bear-Meat [77]
• Koro-pok-kuru Fort [78]
• Flint Arrow-Heads [78]
• Flint Knives [79]
• Koro-pok-kuru Pottery and Fragments of Designs [86]
• Stone Adzes and Hammer [94]
• Ainu Huts and Storehouses on Kutcharo Lake [95]
• Kutcharo Lake from Mount Yuzan [98]
• Sulphur Mine [100]
• Akkeshi in a Fog [105]
• Ainu Man and Woman on Horseback [106]
• Ainu Bits [110]
• Semi-Ainu Rat Trap [120]
• Ainu Woman of the Kurile Islands [121]
• Shikotan Ainu [126]
• Woman of the Kurile Islands [132]
• Abashiri Island [133]
• Ainu Belle, An [140]
• Saruma Lagoon [144]
• Eagle-displayed Sable, An [145]
• My Host, the Madman [148]
• Sarubuts, showing River-Course altered by Drift Sand [157]
• Ainu Village on the East Coast of Yezo [166]
• Mashike Mountain [167]
• Ishikari Kraftu Ainu [178]
• Kamui Kotan Rapids, The [179]
• Woman of Ishikari River [186]
• Ainu Bark Water Jugs [187]
• Ainu Half-caste Child of Volcano Bay [194]
• Komatage Volcano, Volcano Bay [196]
• Wooden Drinking Vessels [207]
• Kammakappe, The, &c. [209]
• Ahunkanitte, The, &c. [210]
• Atzis-Cloth in process of Weaving [210]
• Roasting Hook [211]
• Ape-Kilai, The, or Earth-Rake [214]
• Pestle, Mortar, Spoon, &c. [215]
• Ainu Pipe Holder and Tobacco Pouch [217]
• Ainu Knife, with ornamented Sheath, &c. [218]
• Kike-ush-bashui, or Moustache-Lifters [220]
• Suggestions of Leaves, &c. [221]
• Elaborations of Chevrons, Wave Patterns, &c. [222]
• Tchutti, or War-Clubs, &c. [223]
• Ainu Knives [224]
• Monuments for Women [225]
• Wooden Monuments over Men's Grave [225]
• Wooden Blade [226]
• Ainu Pipe, An [228]
• Ainu Man walking with Snow-Shoes [236]
• Thiaske-Tarra, The [238]
• Atzis, The [245]
• Atzis, after Japanese Pattern [245]
• Winter Bear-skin Coat [245]
• Atzis, Back of [246]
• "Hoshi," The [247]
• Boots, Deer-Skin Shoe, &c. [248]
• Tattoo-marks on Women's Arms [253]
• Snow-Shoes [254]
• Ainu Salutation [255]
• "Mukko," A, or Musical Instrument [258]
• Wooden Pipe, A [265]
• Naked Ainu Man from the North-East Coast of Yezo [274]
• Trophy of Bears' Skulls [281]
• Inao-netuba, &c. [292]

APUTA.

CHAPTER I.
From Hakodate to Mororran—Volcano Bay—The first Ainu—A strange Institution among them.

I have often asked myself why I went to Yezo; and, when there, what possessed me to undertake the laborious task of going round the island, up its largest rivers, travelling through jungles and round lakes, climbing its highest peaks, and then proceeding to the Kuriles. There are certain things in one's life that cannot be accounted for, and the journey which I am going to relate is one of them.

Pleasure and rest were the two principal objects which had primarily induced me to steer northwards; but it was my fate not to get either the one or the other.

I was on the Japanese ship the Satsuma Maru. Rapidly nearing the Hakodate Head, which we soon passed, we entered the well-protected bay and the town of Hakodate at the foot of the Peak came into view. It looked extremely pretty, with its paper-walled houses and its tiled roofs, set against the background of brown rock with its fringe of green at the foot. As we cast anchor, hundreds of coolies, carrying on their backs loads of dried fish and seaweed, were running along the bund or wharf. A few musemes (girls), in their pretty kimonos (gowns) and with oil-paper umbrellas, were toddling along on their wooden clogs, and a crowd of loafers stood gazing at the ship as she came to anchor. The Peak, more than 1000 feet high, was towering on our south side, forming a peninsula, joined to the mainland by a sandy isthmus, and the large bay swept round us, forming nearly a circle. The place has a striking resemblance to Gibraltar.

I landed, and put up at a tea-house, where I was in hopes of learning something regarding the island from the Japanese settlers, but no one knew anything. The reports that there were no roads extending beyond a few miles; that there was but very poor and scarce accommodation along the coast; that the Ainu, who lived further north, were dirty people; and that the country was full of bears, were certainly not encouraging to an intending traveller.

I must confess that my first day in Yezo was a dull one; but the second day I had the pleasure of meeting a Mr. H., a resident, who kindly offered me his hospitality, and the next two were pleasantly spent at his house. In conversation with a friend of his, I heard the remark that no man alone could possibly complete the circuit of the island of Yezo, owing to the difficulties of travel; and my readers can imagine the astonishment of my interlocutors when I meekly said, that if no one had ever done it, I was going to do it; and, indeed, that I intended to set out alone the next morning.

"Impossible!" said one, "you are too young and too delicate."

"Absurd!" said my kind host, "it would take a very strong man to do it—a man who could stand any amount of hardships and roughing." At the same time he gave me a pitiful look, which undoubtedly meant, "You are a mere bag of skin and bones."

However, the bag of skin and bones kept his word, notwithstanding the poor opinion that his new friends had formed of him.

The preparations for my journey were simple. In two large Japanese baskets I packed three hundred small wooden panels for oil-painting, a large supply of oil colours and brushes, a dozen small sketch-books, my diary, three pairs of boots, three shirts, an equal number of pairs of woollen stockings, a revolver, and a hundred cartridges. The remainder of my luggage was left in charge of Mr. H. till my return. I did not burden myself with either provisions or a tent.

I rose early the following morning and bade good-bye to my kind host. "Good-bye," said he, "I expect we shall see you back to-night to dinner." The word "dinner" was the last English word I heard from the mouth of an Englishman, and it was five long months before I heard another.

The first thirty miles of my journey were ridden in a basha, a covered cart built on four wheels that ought to have been round, but were not. There were no springs for the comfort of the traveller, and no cushions on the seats. The conveyance was public, and was drawn by two sturdy ponies. The driver, a Japanese, carried a brass trumpet, on which he continually played.

I might have begun my story by the usual "One fine day," if, unfortunately, the day on which I started the rain had not poured in torrents. A Japanese policeman and a girl were my only fellow-passengers. Travelling at full gallop, on a rough road, in a trap with unsymmetrical wheels and with no springs, during a heavy storm, is scarcely what one would call a pleasant mode of progression; but after some hours of "being knocked about," we went zig-zag fashion, first up a steep hill, then down on the other side, giving the horses a rest at a roadside tea-house by the famous lakes of Zenzai. The larger of these two lakes—the Ko-numa—is extremely picturesque, with its numerous little islands wooded with deciduous trees. In shape it is very irregular, and many points, which project into the lake, add to the loveliness of the scene, while the high ridge over which I had come, on the one side, and the rugged volcano of Komagatake on the other, form a beautiful background to the limpid sheet of water. The outlet of this lake empties itself into Volcano Bay, S.E. of the Komagatake Volcano. The other lake, though smaller, is quite as striking, and possesses the same characteristics of its larger brother. It goes by the name of Ono-numa. A peculiarity of these lakes is that they abound in a smallish fish—the funa—which is greatly appreciated by the Japanese.

I sat down in the tea-house on the soft mats, and my bento—Japanese lunch—was served to me on a tiny table. There was water soup; there was sea-weed; there was a bowl of rice, and raw fish. The fish—a small funa—was in a diminutive dish and its back was covered by a leaf; the head projected over the side of the plate. On the leaf were placed several neatly-cut pieces of the raw flesh, which had apparently been removed from the back of the underlying animal. As I had been long accustomed to Japanese food of this kind I ate to my heart's content, when, to my great horror, the funa, which had been staring at me with its round eyes, relieved of the weight that had passed from its back into my digestive organs, leaped up, leaf and all, from the dish and fell on the mat. All the vital parts had carefully been left in the fish, and the wretched creature was still alive!

"Horrible!" I cried, violently pushing away the table and walking out disgusted, to the great surprise of the people present, who expected me to revel in the deliciousness of the dish.

For days and days after I could see in my mind the staring eyes of the funa, watching each movement of my chopsticks, and its own back being eaten piecemeal! Wherever I went this big eye stood before me, and increased or diminished in size according to my being more or less lonely, more or less hungry. I had often eaten raw fish before, but never had I eaten live fish!

The journey in the basha was resumed that afternoon, and, more dead than alive, I alighted in the evening at Mori, a small Japanese village at the foot of the Komagatake Volcano. The peak of this mountain is 4000 feet above the level of the sea, but its basin-like crater is at a somewhat lower altitude. Up to a certain height it is thickly wooded with deciduous trees and firs, thence its slopes are bare of vegetation, rugged in form, and very rich in colour. It makes part of a volcanic mass which extends from the Esan Volcano, further south, to the limit of the Shiribeshi province, crossing straight through the province of Oshima as far as the Yurapdake Mountain. Komagatake is one of the most majestic and picturesque mountains I have ever seen, as it possesses lovely lines on nearly every side. Its isolation and sudden sharp elevation, rising as it does directly from the sea, gives, of course, a grand appearance to its weird and sterile slopes, which are covered with warmly-tinted cinders, pumice, and lava.

I went over to Mororran, across Volcano Bay, and the following morning I risked my life on a small craft, which took me over to Mombets. From this place I rode on to Uso and Aputa, two Ainu villages at a short distance from each other.

Coming from Japan the first thing that strikes a traveller in the Ainu country is the odour of dried fish, which one can smell everywhere; the next is the great number of crows—the scavengers of the country; lastly, the volcanic nature of the island. On visiting an Ainu village what impressed me most were the miserable and filthy huts, compared with the neat and clean Japanese houses; the poverty and almost appalling dirt of the people and their gentle, submissive nature.

I shall not dwell at length on these Volcano Bay Ainu, as this part of the country is comparatively civilised, and has been travelled over by many people previous to my going there. Besides, most of them have intermarried with Japanese, and have consequently adopted many Japanese customs and manners.

The Ainu of the coast build their huts generally on a single line, near the shore, and each family has its "dug out" canoe drawn up on the beach, ready to hand when wanted. The huts are small and miserable-looking, and they have no furniture or bedding to speak of. The roof and walls are thatched with arundinaria, but so imperfectly that wind and rain find easy access through their reedy covering. Curiosity is the only good quality which I ever possessed, and in obedience to it I poked my nose into several of the huts along the beach. This was a mistake on my part, for in the Ainu country the nose is the last thing one ought to poke in anywhere. I was more than astonished to see how human beings could live in such filth! The natives kindly asked me to enter, and I of course did so, stooping low through the small door and raising the mat which protects the aperture. When I was in I could smell a great deal more than I could see, for the east window—the size of a small handkerchief, and the only one in the hut—did not give light enough to illuminate the premises. However, I soon got accustomed to the dimness, and then I could make out my surroundings clearly enough. There was an old man, perfectly naked, with a fine head, long white hair and beard, sitting on the ground among a mass of seaweeds, which he was disentangling and packing. Two young women and two young men, with bright, intelligent eyes and high cheek-bones, were helping him in his work. In their quiet, gentle way they all brought their hands forward, each rubbed the palms together, and, lifting the arms, slowly stroked their hair, and the men their beard with the backs of their hands, while the women rubbed the first finger under the nose from the left to the right. This is their salutation, and it is most graceful. They seemed pleased to see me, and asked me to sit down. As there were neither chairs nor sofas, stools nor cushions, I squatted on the ground.

AINU WOMAN SALUTING.

Most Ainu of Volcano Bay understand Japanese, and they also speak it, interpolating Ainu words when necessary, so I began a conversation. My presence did not seem to disturb them or arouse their curiosity, and, beyond gazing at the mother-of-pearl buttons on my white coat, they did not appear to be struck by me. Evidently the buttons were much more interesting to them than the person who wore them. Now and then they uttered a few words, but whenever one spoke some of the company seemed to be angry, as at an impertinence or a breach of etiquette. Men and women wore large ear-rings or pieces of red or black cloth, which added a great deal to their picturesqueness; but the women were disfigured by a long moustache tattooed across the face from ear to ear. Rough drawings adorn the arms and hands of the women, and some of the younger females would undoubtedly be fine-looking if not disfigured by the tattoos, for they carry themselves well when walking, and possess comely features. Judging from appearances, I should think them very passionate.

Coming out of the hut I saw a scene which I shall never forget. Two naked boys, covered with horrible skin eruptions, had got hold of a large fish-bone, out of which they were endeavouring to make a meal. Round them were gathered about thirty dogs, wild with hunger, barking furiously at the frightened children, and attacking and fighting them for that miserable repast.

I walked along the beach, and endeavoured to make friends with some of the Ainu who were less shy than the others. One little girl was especially picturesque. She was only about ten, and her large eyes, tanned complexion, white teeth, the tiny bluish-black tattoo on her upper lip, her uncombed long black hair flying around her, and her red cloth ear-rings, made her indeed one of the quaintest studies of colour that I have seen in my life. I got her to sit for me; and while I was painting her, an old man, the chief of the village, dressed up in a gaudy costume, with a crown of willow shavings on his head, came to me and made his "salaams." He bore the name of Angotsuro, and before all his salaams were over he found himself "caught in the action" in my sketch-book. Many of the villagers had collected round, and one of them, a half-caste, expressed the wish that I should paint the chief in colours, like the picture of the girl. I asked for nothing better, and started an oil-sketch of him. The excitement of the natives who were witnessing the operation grew greater and greater as each new ornament in the chief's dress was put in the picture. Some seemed to approve of it, others were grumpy, and apparently objected to the picture being taken at all. The séance was indeed a stormy one; and though the chief had his regal crown knocked off his head two or three times by the anti-artistic party, he sat well for his likeness, especially as I promised him in Japanese, that when the picture was completed he should be given a few coins and two buttons off my coat.

It was while portraying him that I noticed what extraordinary effects colours produce on those whose eyes are unaccustomed to them. A man in the crowd would get excited, and open his eyes wide and show his teeth every time I happened to touch with my brush the cobalt blue on my palette. Other colours had not the same effect on him. His eyes were continually fixed on the blue, anxiously waiting for the brush to dip in it, and this would then send him into fits of merriment. I squeezed some blue paint from a tube on to the palm of his hand, and he nearly went off his head with delight. He sprang and jumped and yelled, and then ran some way off, where he squatted on the sand, still in admiration of the blue dab on his hand, still grinning at intervals with irrepressible enjoyment. Where the point of the joke was no one but himself ever knew.

When the picture was finished I had no little trouble to keep the many fingers of my audience off the wet painting. Moreover, some person endowed with kindly feelings threw a handful of sand in my face, which nearly blinded me for the moment and partly ruined the two pictures I had painted. The money and the buttons were duly paid to Angotsuro and I moved on.

That same evening I went out for a walk. It was a very dark night, and I love dark nights. When for some years you have done nothing but see strange things and new places there is indeed a great fascination in going about in complete darkness; it rests both your eyes and your brain. I walked for some time along the beach, stumbling against the canoes drawn on shore and against anything that was in my way. Hut after hut was passed, but everything was silent; there was not a sound to be heard, not a light to be seen. The Ainu are early people; they retire with the sun. I walked on yet farther and farther afield, till through the thatched wall of one of the huts I discerned a faint light. I stood and listened. The sad voice of a man was singing a weird, weird song, the weirdest song I have ever heard. Then came a pause, and another voice, even more plaintive than the first, continued the same air.

What with the strange melody in the hut, the soothing noise of the waves gently breaking on the shingle, and the distant howling of dogs or wolves, the mystic effect was such that I could not resist the temptation, and I crept into the hut. A fire was burning in the centre, but it had almost gone out, leaving a lot of smoke. Three old men were sitting on the ground. They decidedly looked as if they did not expect me, but, after their first astonishment was over, they asked me to squat down in a corner, and there I was left to amuse myself, while they resumed their singing and drinking. Of the latter they seemed to have had enough already; but, all the same, several wooden bowls, about five inches in diameter and two deep, were passed round and emptied in no time. The more they drank, the wilder and more melancholy the song became. Only one at a time sang, and he would begin in a very low tone of voice and go up in a crescendo, gradually getting awfully excited; then all at once he would stop, as if the effort had been too great for him. His head drooped, and he seemed to sleep. Then, suddenly waking up, coming back to his full senses in a startling manner, he drained one of the bowls, which meantime had been refilled, and resumed the song. The three men were facing each other, and so absorbed were they in their music that, though I was not more than four feet away from them, they seemed to have forgotten me altogether.

I was so impressed with the strangeness of the song that I pulled out my pencil and paper to write down the air. As there was no light but the flicker of the fire, I turned the white leaf of my sketch-book toward it to see what I was writing. This caught the eye of one of the men. He woke up, startled from his musical dream, jumped to his feet, and made a dash for me, yelling some words which I did not understand, and holding over my head something that I could not distinguish at the moment owing to the dimness of the light. Standing thus he paused, evidently waiting for an answer to something he had said. It came from one of the other fellows, who pushed him so violently as to send him sprawling on the floor, while, what he held in his hand—a big, heavy, pointed knife—fell and stuck deep in the ground about an inch from my toes. A dispute arose among themselves, but among the Ainu everything ends up in a drink. The large wooden bowls were again refilled; grand bows were made to me, and they all stroked their hair and beard several times—a sign of great respect. I was then handed one of the bowls and made to swallow the contents. But, heavens! never have I felt any liquid work its way down so far. Had I swallowed fire it could not have been as bad; and, indeed, it was neither more nor less than liquid fire.

As the night was wearing fast, and the old fellows had got on well with their drink, the sing-song became rather too languid and monotonous; and I crept out of the hut as quietly as I had entered it, not without first giving the inmates something for their trouble. I had some difficulty in finding my way back to my less musical quarters; and passing too close to some of the other huts, the dogs—which infest all Ainu villages—barked furiously and roused the whole place.

I learned afterwards that it is an Ainu fashion to try a man's courage. This is done in the way in which my musical friends tried mine, namely, by making a sudden rush with a knife as if death and destruction were imminent, which to a perfect stranger, unconscious of the strain of "bluff" in the action, is not very reassuring. If the person to be tested is aware of this fashion he has to submit to an unlimited number of whacks, administered to him on his bare back, with a heavy war-club. These tests of a man's courage and endurance are called the Ukorra.

In the first instance it is done, in a certain sense, good-naturedly, and not meaning to hurt one. Should, however, the person apparently so dangerously threatened show fright or signs of cowardice, he loses the respect of the Ainu, unless he has the happy thought of giving them a sufficient quantity of some intoxicating liquor to make them all drunk—which is a sure means of turning the most inimical Ainu you may meet into your fast friend, even if you have had a deadly feud with him.

The second way—with the war-club—of course is a painful process, and the Ainu have recourse to it when it is necessary to determine the relative amount of courage possessed by certain members of a community. The one that can stand the greater number of blows is naturally entitled to the respect and admiration of his neighbours, and he is elected leader in bear-hunts or similar expeditions. At the election of a new chief—when the chief's line of descendants dies out—this process, I was told, is often practised; for bravery is the first quality which an Ainu chief must possess.

At Aputa, through some of the half-castes, I was able to pick up a great number of Ainu words, which were most useful to me afterwards; and from that, gradually increasing my stock of words, I soon knew enough to understand a little and also to make myself understood.

One day I went along the coast to the next village of Repun, and then retraced my steps to Aputa, as there was nothing of interest at the former place.

An excursion which I enjoyed more was to the Toya Lake, with its three pretty islands in the centre and the magnificent Uso Volcano on its southern shores. The walk there and back was hardly fifteen miles, over a mountain track and through forests of pine-trees and oaks. The lake is about 250 feet above the level of the sea, and is about five miles in diameter. Its shores are surrounded with thickly-wooded hills, which have grassy terraces at a certain altitude, extending especially towards the north-western shores of the lake. The barren Uso Volcano, with its sterile slopes, is a great contrast to the beautiful green of the comparatively luxuriant vegetation of the lower altitudes. The lake finds an outlet into the Osaru River by means of a high waterfall.

The following day I rode back to Mombets, and the next on to Shin-Mororran (the new Mororran, distinguished by this affix from Kiu-Mororran, the old settlement on the northern shore).

Mororran has a well-protected harbour, and it would be the best future port in Hokkaido if the anchorage were of a larger capacity. In more speculative hands than the Japanese this port would be a great rival to Hakodate. It consists of a thickly-wooded peninsula, which forms a well-sheltered bay, at the entrance of which the picturesque island of Daikuku stands high above the sea-level. In the harbour itself, smaller islets and huge rocks contribute to its beauty.

The village of Mororran is a mere streak of fourth-rate tea-houses along the road by the side of the cliffs. Apart from the natural loveliness of the harbour, it has, indeed, no claims to consideration at present. In former days it was called by the Ainu, Tokri-moi, "the home of the seals," for these valuable amphibious animals were said to be then plentiful in the bay.

TOYA LAKE, NEAR APUTA.

FISHERMAN'S HUT.

CHAPTER II.
From Mororran to the Saru River.

Thirteen more miles in a basha—for I was still in civilised regions—took me to Horobets—a village half Ainu and half Japanese.

The Ainu often name their villages after rivers, and this word Horobets, which in English means "large river," is an instance of this custom. In Southern Japan, previous to my visiting Yezo, I was told that nearly all the Ainu of Horobets had become "good Christians." If such were the case, which I do not wish my readers to doubt, the small experience which I had here, led me to believe that "good Christians" often make "very bad heathens."

I left all my baggage in a tea-house at the entrance of the village, and, taking my paint-box with me, I went for a walk along the beach. I saw a crowd of Ainu in the distance, and I hurried up to them. They were busy skinning a large Ushi-sakana (cow-fish), cutting it into pieces with their long knives. They did not pay much attention to me, and this disregard of what would be to others a cause of curiosity and interruption I afterwards found to be a characteristic of the Ainu. They are seldom distracted from any particular idea that occupies their mind at a certain moment. In fact, they are so little accustomed to reflect at all, that it seems almost impossible for them to think of two things at the same time. Of all the existing races of mankind they may be said to be the most purely one-idea'd.

Stark naked, with their long hair streaming in the wind, they formed a picturesque group. What a chance for a sketch! I sat down on the sand, opened my paint-box, and dashed off a picture, when a young lad, who had taken his share of the fish, came over to see what I was doing. "What is it?" he asked me in broken Japanese, to which question I answered that I was painting the group of them. The news seemed to give him a shock. He rejoined the others, excitedly muttered some words, and apparently told them that I had painted the whole group, fish and all. Had anyone among them been struck by lightning, they could certainly not have looked more dismayed. I never knew until then that painting could have such an overpowering effect on people, except, perhaps, when one has sat to an amateur artist for one's own likeness, the result of which is often one of dumb and blank amazement. Anger and disgust naturally followed. The fish was thrown aside, but not the knives, armed with which they all rushed at my back. The sudden change of ideas had evidently made them exceedingly angry. The grumbling became very loud, and louder still when they saw me complacently giving the finishing touches to the fish, which was now left alone, and not as before shifted about every second. They grew wilder and wilder, until one of the crowd shouted in my ears some words which sounded remarkably like swearing. Nevertheless it takes more than that to stop me from sketching; but ... "By Jove!" I exclaimed, when, all of a sudden, a rush was made on me. My paint-box, picture, palette and brushes were snatched out of my hands and smashed or flung away, and I found myself stretched on the sand, my late involuntary sitters holding me down fast by the legs and arms. A big knife was kept well over my head, so that I should not attempt to move, while the painting, on a heavy wooden panel, was being mercilessly destroyed by others. "If these are Christians, well I am ..." were, I must confess, the first words that rose to my lips.

It is, indeed, difficult to describe how and what one feels when, to all appearance, one is going to be murdered—for painting a fish! My first thought, of course, went to my parents. My next was, what a nuisance it was to be murdered with the sun shining in my eyes, so that I could not even see who would give me the "finishing touch." All the events of my life, the bad ones first, flashed across my mind in those few seconds, and then I almost began to feel as if I had made my first steps into the other world, and I could see angels and devils disputing for my company—the devils, of course, having by far the largest claims. The bitterness of death had in some sense passed, when, to my great astonishment, and with a few, but very sound, kicks I was made to understand that I could get up and go.

The sensation of being brought back to life, when one has made up one's mind to be dead, notwithstanding the abrupt manner in which it was produced, was indeed a pleasant one. I did get up, and pretty quick, I can tell you; but only to see my poor wooden paint-box floating half-smashed in the sea, my brushes stuck here and there in the sand, and the sketch utterly destroyed.

My assailants were about fifteen or twenty, and I was alone. Stupidly enough, and relying on the Christianity of the people, I had not burdened myself with the extra weight of my revolver; I had left it with my heavy luggage in the small Japanese tea-house where I had put up, nearly a mile away. The Japanese police-station was at Washibets, another village some miles off. Nothing was left for me but to pick up the few unbroken brushes which were within easy reach and retire; but I was neither frightened nor conquered, and I swore to myself that I would have my revenge. I hurried to the tea-house, took my revolver, and filled my pocket with cartridges, then I ran back to the spot where I had sketched and been assaulted. There they all were as I had left them, one of them mimicking me with the broken palette, which he had fished out of the sea. I had kept well behind some thick brushwood, so that they should not see me, and for some time watched them unobserved. The imitation was perfect. The impromptu Raphael's hair was long enough to give him the look of an artist, and he was sufficiently brave to carry on his imitation sketching under a shower of missiles and sand thrown at him by his friends and companions. As he turned his head I recognised in my brother-artist the man who had been holding the knife over my head about an hour before, and also the very person who had given me the soundest kick. Just like a brother-artist! If my sketching had not lasted long, his parody was even shorter. I sprang out from the brushwood screen and caught him by the throat, pointing my revolver at his head, and telling him in Japanese to follow me to the police-station. Another man, attacking me from behind, stabbed me in my left arm, but not very severely, as I saw him just in time to avoid his blow. The sight of my revolver had a salutary effect on my hairy friends, and they were done out of their fun when, keeping them at bay, I told them that if they did not follow me they would all be dead men before they knew where they were. They had seen guns of the Japanese, and they knew the effects of them, so the saucy gentlemen stroked their hair and beard and made signs of submission and obedience. However, I was not to be easily appeased, as it was necessary to give them a lesson to prevent the same thing happening to future travellers; so I made them march in front of me, not caring to have them at my back, and thus took them all to the Japanese police-station, where they were duly arrested. The Japanese are very severe with recalcitrant Ainu, and my assailants would have been unmercifully dealt with had it not been for their wives and children, who came to me begging me to forgive their husbands and fathers for what they had done. I willingly did so, on condition that they should all come and prostrate themselves at my feet, imploring pardon and forgiveness and offering submission, as well as confessing their sorrow. This penitential function was reluctantly fixed by the Japanese policeman—the only one in the place—at a late hour in the afternoon. During the interval, as I fortunately had a large supply of painting materials, I managed to repaint from memory the scene represented in the sketch destroyed. The evening came, and the little Japanese policeman brought the resigned and humbled Ainu to the inn. Their wives and relatives followed, and they all looked supremely mournful and sad. I sat, Japanese fashion, on the small verandah on the ground-floor, and the policeman placed the Ainu on a line in front of me, and then came to sit by my side. He then addressed them, partly in the Ainu language, partly in Japanese, and bestowed on them names which went well to the point. He scolded them harshly, and asked them why they had assaulted me.

One of them, as grave as a judge, with his eyes cast down, and in a half-broken voice, came forward and said, that if once you have your likeness taken you have to give up your life to it, and it brings illness to yourself, to your children, your parents, and your neighbours. Not only that, but as I had taken many people together, famine was sure to fall on the country. "Then," he added—and he seemed positive of what he was talking about—"then there was a fish the stranger made"—the Ainu have no word for painting—"and had we not destroyed his makings all the fish would have disappeared from the sea, and all the Ainu would have died of starvation"—which was a terrible contingency, as the Ainu live mainly by fishing. "We have not hurt the stranger," continued this hairy representative of Master Eustache de St. Pierre, "and now that all the Ainu and the fish he made are destroyed we are safe."

"You are mistaken," said I, when, by the aid of the policeman, I understood the meaning of this long harangue, and I produced the large sketch of the scene which I had repainted from memory. This certainly beat them. They could hardly believe their own eyes, and looked at each other as if some great calamity were approaching. I have no doubt that they considered me an evil spirit, and, as such, too powerful to be contended with. Discretion was their best part of valour, as they proved. One by one they approached the verandah, sat cross-legged in front of me, rubbed their hands together, stroked their hair and beard three times, and three times each put his head down to my feet, begging my pardon. The Ainu women and children who had assembled in the back yard, where the function took place, were crying and moaning piteously. The most trying part for me was, of course, to keep serious during this long tragi-comic performance, and I was indeed glad when it was all over; when my supremacy was acknowledged, and my immunity from further insult secured; when submission had been made, and such whips and stings of outrageous fortune as might come from the painting of a fish had been humbly accepted.

The Ainu are gentle and mild by nature, but, like all ignorant people, they are extremely superstitious, and superstition is a powerful excitant. Nevertheless, they are good people in their own way, and it must not be inferred from this small experience of mine that they are bullies, for they are not. The superstition regarding the reproduction of images is common all through the East, with the exception of the Japanese, and in many parts of Europe itself strange ideas are connected with portrait-painting. In Spain or Italy many a girl of the lower classes would think herself dishonoured if she happened to be sketched unawares, or if her picture were shown without the consent of her parents, brothers, relatives, and the parish priest.

However, these Horobets Ainu are said, since civilisation has set in in that part of Yezo, of late years to have become untrustworthy and violent. They are more given to drunkenness than their neighbours, as they can procure from the Japanese stronger beverages than their own. Sake (Japanese wine) of inferior quality is sold and exchanged in large quantities, and has the same fatal effects on them as rum—our fire-water—had on the American Indians.

I was not sorry to leave a village which had displayed so little appreciation of my art. I took two ponies and two pack-saddles, to one of which was lashed my baggage, while I sat on the other. Riding is a delightful pastime when you have a good horse and a good saddle; but not when you have to look after two vicious animals, and are yourself perched on a rough wooden pack-saddle. Moreover, Ainu pack-saddles are perhaps the most uncomfortable of their kind. The illustration shows one of them. It is made with a rough, solid wooden frame, of which the front and back parts are semicircular. One large hole is perforated in each of these to allow ropes to be passed through. Under this frame are two mat cushions or pads, which are somehow supposed to fit the pony's back; and by means of three ropes, one of which is passed under the pony's body and fastened on each side of the saddle, while the others hang loose across its chest and under its tail respectively, the pack-saddle is made to remain in position either going uphill, downhill, or on level ground. Stirrups, of course, there are none; and mounting involves some difficulties at first. One has to face one's pony and place the left foot on the breast-piece, lift oneself up and swing right round, describing three-quarters of a circle before attaining one's seat in the saddle. If distances are miscalculated in this gymnastic feat, it is a common occurrence to find oneself seated on the pony's neck, or else landed heavily on either of the two hard wooden arches of the saddle, instead of gracefully falling between them. Keeping your equilibrium when you are on is also a trying exercise to anybody not born and bred a circus rider, and balancing your baggage perfectly on each side of the saddle is somewhat more difficult than it sounds.

PACK-SADDLE.

Nine miles from Horobets one comes across the Nobori-bets[1] hot-springs. There was, formerly, a geiser here, but it is seldom active now. These hot-springs are situated two-and-a-half miles from the sea-coast, and a miserable building, which is a mere shanty, is built in the vicinity of them, where people who wish to be cured of different complaints put up and take the waters.

I rode on to the Noboribets village, consisting of a few houses only; and, though I reached it late in the evening, I had to ride fourteen miles further to Shiraoi, "a place of horse-flies."[2]

At sunrise I was up again and on my way to Tomakomai,[3] the largest Japanese fishing village between Mororran and Cape Erimo.

NOBORIBETS VOLCANO.

Sardine fishing is the principal and, indeed, the only industry of the place. It is carried on in a practical way. When the long nets are ready, and one end of them is fastened to the shore, they launch the boat, which is rowed rapidly by twenty or thirty strong men, while the net is dropped as the boat goes along. Having thus described a semicircle, the boat is beached. All on board jump out, and the net is pulled on shore amid the shrieks and yells of the excited fishermen. Myriads of sardines are caught each time the net is hauled in; and it is a fantastic scene to see the naked crowd which, in clearing the nets from the beheaded fish, get covered with silver scales, which stick to their arms, legs, and body, and give them a strange appearance.

Look-out towers are built on four high posts, where a watchman is posted to signal the arrival and approach of the shoals. The sea is so dense with them that it changes its colour, and these moving banks of sardines are distinguishable four or five miles from the coast. This method is the same as that adopted in Cornwall when the pilchards are expected, and the same discoloration of the sea takes place.

From Tomakomai a road branches to the north leading to Sappro, the capital of Hokkaido, and it is the last place on the southern coast which is visited by that rare specimen of the globe-trotter who ventures to Yezo. He hastily makes his way from here to Sappro and Otaru on the northern coast, and waits for a ship to be conveyed back to Hakodate. He then, of course, tells his friends that he has been round and about and through Yezo, while in fact he has seen absolutely nothing of Yezo or its inhabitants. About half-a-dozen Europeans, however, have been further on—as far as the Saru River; and each one has written a book on the Ainu, for the most part copying what the previous author had written.

As far as Tomakomai there is a road—a sure sign of civilisation—but nothing but a horse-track is to be found all along the southern coast after this place has been passed.

Changing my ponies at Yuhuts,[4] nine miles east, and again at Mukawa and Saru-buto, I was able to reach Saru Mombets that same night. Many Ainu and Japanese fishermen's huts are scattered between Horohuts[5] and Yuhuts, on the sandy track along the sea.

The traveller then leaves the sea on the right, and by a very uneven track, and after fording several rivers of little importance comes to Mukawa, a dirty little village fourteen miles from Yuhuts. My lunch that day consisted of a large piece of raw salmon, which was easily digested in riding nine more miles to Saru-buto. Sharu in Ainu, corrupted into Saru, means a grassy plain; and buto is a Japanese corruption of the Ainu word huts, the mouth of a river. My ponies must have known of this "grassy plain," for they went remarkably well, and I reached the latter village some time before dark, so that I was able to push on to Saru Mombets, a larger village nearly four miles further. Saru Mombets translated means "a tranquil river in a grassy plain," a name thoroughly appropriate to the locality.

There is nothing to interest the traveller along the coast, unless he be a geologist. Almost the whole of the western part of the Iburi district is of volcanic formation. The eastern part is abundant in sandstones, breccias, and shales. In the neighbourhood of Yuhuts, and all along the coast as far west as Horobets, pumice forms the surface soil, showing that in former days frequent eruptions must have taken place. Vegetable mould alternates with pumice. Sand, clay, tufa, with beds of peat and gravel, are the components of the soil which is found filling up the declivities of mountains, covering low-lands and sea-beaches in this part of the island. Specimens of the palæozoic group are found in the pebbles of the Mukawa River and valley, like amphibolite, limestone, phyllite, sandstone, and clay-slate, besides variegated quartzite of greenish and red layers. Primary rocks are common all through Iburi and Hidaka.

The terraces surrounding the Saru valley are mostly wooded with oak, and the swampy region between the Mukawa and Sarubuto has many patches of green grass, and a thick growth of high swamp reeds.

HOROBETS.

STOREHOUSES AT PIRATORI.

CHAPTER III.
Up the Saru River—Piratori and its chief.

A large number of Ainu have taken up their abode on the banks of the River Saru, or Sharu, as it is called by them, and Piratori, nearly fifteen miles from the coast, is the largest village of the whole series.

The scenery from the coast to this village is not grand, but pretty, through a thickly-wooded country and along grassy plains. The Ainu give to the plain itself the name of Sharu-Ru, which corresponds in English to a "track in a grassy plain." Along this water-way, or not far from it, one meets with numerous small Ainu villages and scattered huts until Piratori is reached.

Piratori is a string or succession of many villages on undulating ground, the last of them being situated on a high cliff overlooking the river. In the Ainu language Pira means "a cliff," and Tori "a residence." As in all Ainu villages, the huts are in one line, some few yards one from the other. Each has a separate structure—a small storehouse built on piles—generally at the west end of the hut.

On my arrival at Piratori, I was welcomed by Benry, the Ottena (chief) of the village, who invited me to his hut and salaamed me in the most solemn manner, not forgetting to mention incidentally that "his throat was very dry," and that sake (Japanese wine) could be obtained from a Japanese who lives opposite to his hut.

"He is a bad man," said Benry confidentially; "but he sells very good sake."

The sake was procured, and Benry, beaming with joy, poured it with his shaky, drunken hands into a large bowl. He then produced a wooden stick, shaped like a paper-knife, about five inches in length, and waved it in the air five or six times with his right hand, dipping the point of it each time into the fluid. "Nishpa"—sir, master—said he. Then, leaning forwards and lifting up his heavy moustache with the small stick, he swallowed the contents of the bowl at a draught. The same performance took place each time that some fresh sake was poured into his bowl, and then Benry, with an inimitable cunning, and a comically self-sacrificing expression on his face, meekly enquired whether I would care to see "how much an Ainu could drink."

"Yes," said I, "we will go down to the river, and you shall show me there if you can drink it dry."

"Yie, yie, yie"—no, no, no—hurriedly replied in Japanese the Ainu chief; "water is too heavy, and I meant wine." Owing to this small difference of opinion, and having no wish to encourage him in his drunkenness, Benry's capacity for intoxicating fluids is yet unknown to the civilised world.

Benry's house is a palace compared to other Ainu huts. It is much larger than most of them, and boasts of a wooden floor, in the centre of which a rectangular fire-place is cut out. The hut has two windows, one toward the east, the other opening to the south; but no chimney is provided as an outlet for the smoke. A hole in the west corner of the roof answers this purpose. The rough wooden frame is thatched with tall reeds and arundinaria, and the roof is shaped like a prism. The different huts of Piratori vary in size, but not in type. The larger ones cover an area of about sixteen or eighteen feet square. Most of them, however, do not measure more than ten or twelve feet square. Benry's house was exceptionally large, and being such a "swell" one, two rough kinna (mats) were spread on the floor and a number of Japanese rice boxes and shokuji tables[6] adorned one side of the dwelling. Over these were hung a number of swords, knives, etc., most of them with no blade at all, or with only a wooden one. The few old blades which Benry possessed were of Japanese workmanship, probably obtained by the Ainu in their former wars with the Japanese. A few Ainu spears and arrows with bone and bamboo poisoned points were fastened to the roof.

These Ainu of Piratori have frequent intercourse with the Japanese, who get from them furs and other articles in exchange for sake or a few worthless beads. A few half-castes are also found at Piratori. The Piratori Ainu, with those of Volcano Bay, as we have seen, are those best known to the civilised world, as a few foreigners have travelled so far to see them. I may mention that as types the inhabitants of Piratori are a great deal better than the residents of Volcano Bay, most of whom are half-breeds; but even they themselves cannot be taken as fair specimens of their race, for they have adopted several customs and habits of the Japanese, which the incautious traveller has then reported as purely Ainu customs. For instance, the pure Ainu diet consists almost entirely of fish, meat, and seaweeds. Only occasionally are the roots of certain trees eaten. At Piratori I found that many grow and eat millet, and corn and bad rice are also sometimes procured from the Japanese. Benry has also gone so far in the way of civilisation as to invest his small fortune in buying half-a-dozen hens and a cock, with whom he shares his regal home. These hens lay eggs according to custom, and Benry and his "wife" eat them. As the Ainu language has no special word for this imported kind of bird, they are known by the name of "kikkiri."

BENRY, THE AINU CHIEF OF PIRATORI.

After the experience which I had had at Horobets I decided to be more careful with my sketching. I broached the subject to Benry, and asked him to sit to me for his portrait. At first he was very reluctant, but the prospect of receiving a present finally overcame his scruples—for he was indeed civilised in this respect, and understood the worth of his version of the almighty dollar to perfection—and, consenting to be sketched, he sat—at the outset with as much courage as docility. He produced a crown of shavings and seaweed, which he solemnly placed on his head, whilst his better-half helped him on with his regal imi (garments), as well as a large sword, which also made part of his regal insignia. The crown had in front a small bear's head roughly carved in wood, and the clothes were very gaudy. They were made of strips of blue, white, and red cloth sewn together. The materials used were Japanese, but they were cut and arranged in a thoroughly Ainu pattern. Though he began well, Benry was not a good sitter, and, like most animals, he did not like to be stared at. He felt the weight of a look, as it were, and it made him uncomfortable. Not many minutes had elapsed before he became openly impatient; he even showed his temper by flinging away his crown and his wooden sword. On the other hand, sketching in Benry's house was no easy matter for me. With all the respect due to the chief of Piratori, I am bound to say that his house was not a model of cleanliness. Those of his hairy brothers and subjects were no better than his, and many were a great deal worse. Fleas and other insects were so numerous that in a few minutes I was literally covered with them, each one of them having a peaceful and hearty meal at my expense, while I, for the sake of art, had to go on with my sketch and leave them undisturbed. Notwithstanding all this Benry was immortalised twice that day, and his maid, housekeeper, or wife—three words which have the same meaning to the Ainu—was also handed down to posterity while in the act of spinning the inner fibre of the Ulmus campestris bark, destined to form a new garment for her lord, master, and husband.

When I went out to sketch the houses and storehouses in the village Benry and another man followed me everywhere; but neither he nor his fellow-shadow seemed to take any interest in the sketching. In Japan, Corea, and China I have often been surrounded by hundreds of people attentively watching every stroke of the brush, and I have always found them clever and quick in making out the meaning of each line or brush-mark. I can assert, without fear of being contradicted, that the majority of Japanese, Coreans, and Chinese are even quicker than Europeans in that respect, owing to the fact that lines constitute for them the study of a lifetime. Chinese characters, which are nothing but a deep study of lines, are adopted by the three above-mentioned nations, and I consider this to be the original cause why this artistic insight is to be found even among the lowest classes. The Ainu have no such insight; they have no characters, no writing of any kind, no books, and it is therefore not astonishing that they are not trained to understand art, bad as it may have been in my case. Their appreciation of lines is yet in the rudest form, and they possess no more than what is instinctive with them. For instance, while I was sketching, Benry and his friend either sat or crouched down by my side like two dogs, and when my sketch was finished I showed it to them.

"Pirika, Pirika! Nishpa!" ("Very pretty, very pretty, sir!") Benry exclaimed with perfect self-assurance; but when I asked him what he thought the sketch represented, he cut me short by saying that I had done the picture and I ought to know what it was meant for; he did not. His friend agreed with him.

When my work was done we three walked back to Benry's house, my two Ainu friends being very anxious that I should get something to eat. From their conversation and gestures I caught that it seemed incomprehensible to them that I should sit in front of an Ainu hut and—to use their expression—"make all sorts of signs on a wooden panel." After a lengthy discussion the two came to the conclusion that houses in our country were so bad that I had been sent to the Ainu country to "copy" the pattern of Ainu huts!

Benry seemed excited about something, and hurried us back with curious haste and eagerness. When we left the house in the morning I saw Benry's better-half placing a few eggs in water to boil over the fire. When we entered the hut, nearly two hours afterwards, the eggs were still boiling, and no fair maid within yelling reach. In order that the fire might not go out during her absence the thoughtful girl had placed the largest portion of the trunk of a tree in the fireplace!

Taken altogether, Benry and all his Saru Ainu are very good-natured. They gradually got accustomed to being sketched, seeing that after all it really did not bring on them "immediate death."

The more one sees of the Ainu the dirtier they appear, but as dirt to a great extent contributes to picturesqueness, I was indeed sorry when Benry, exercising his authority, sent several of my sitters to dress up in their best clothes—often Japanese—while I should have preferred to sketch them in their every-day rags. I must say, for their sake, that they were never sent to wash. Being a rapid sketcher, I had recourse to a trick. I pretended to sketch one given person, who, of course, was sent at once to "dress up," and while he or she, after having returned, posed patiently for half an hour or more, I in the meantime took sketches of four or five different natives, who were not aware that they were being portrayed. As the Ainu—and they are probably not the only people—could not make either head or tail of my sketches, my trick was never found out.

One day, old Benry led me by the hand in the most affectionate manner to a hut some way off, and confidentially told me that we were going to see his favourite girl and her boy.

"This," said the chief triumphantly as we went in, "this is Benry's Pirika menoko" (pretty girl), "and that"—pointing to a youth—"her only son."

"And what about the old hairy lady in your own hut?" I inquired.

"That is my Poromachi" (great wife), said he, qualifying matters with a compliment to the elder woman, "and this is my Pon-machi" (small wife).

"Why should you have two wives, you old Mormon?"

"Nishpa," retorted he, "my great wife is old, and she is only fit to do all the rough work in the house and out. My hair is white, but I am strong, and I wanted yet a young wife."

Indeed, there was enough mother-wit in Benry to have made him either a scamp or a philosopher. His theories were as remarkable as they were accommodating, particularly to himself.

Returning from the house of his love, the chief was in a very talkative mood, and he related two or three Japanese stories, which he wanted me to believe to be pure Ainu legends. A learned missionary and two or three travellers before him, who had visited Piratori previous to myself, have accepted these so-called legends wholesale, taking Benry's word for their accuracy, which, as the old chief speaks very good Japanese, of course simplified the task of understanding and transcribing them. I was, however, much surprised to find that such learned Europeans could yield such ready credence to a barbarian Ainu chief.

Thinking that it would please me, Benry told me the story of a deluge and a big flood, in which nearly all the Ainu were drowned. The few that escaped did so by finding refuge on a high mountain.

"Where did you learn this story, Benry?" I asked sternly.

"Nishpa, it is an old Ainu story, and all strangers who come to Piratori write it in their books."

"Oh, no, Benry, you know well that one stranger did not write it in his book," said I quickly, as if I knew all about it.

"Oh, yes, nishpa; that was the stranger who told me the story!"

This small anecdote shows how careful one ought to be in accepting information which may sound extremely interesting at first, but is absolutely worthless in the end.

AINU MAN WAVING HIS MOUSTACHE-LIFTER PREVIOUS TO DRINKING.

AN AINU FESTIVAL.

CHAPTER IV.
An Ainu Festival.

The Ainu have few public performances, and no special time of the year is fixed for them. As it so happened, a festival—a "Iyomanrei"—took place while I was at Piratori.

The performance was held in a large hut belonging to the heir apparent to the chieftainship of Piratori. I went to the hut and asked whether I could attend the performance. The host, in answer, came to meet me at the door, and, taking me by the hand, led me in. I was shown where to sit, on the southern side of the hut, the place of honour for strangers, and my host sat in front of me and saluted me in Ainu fashion.

Benry and several old men were squatting on the floor, Benry in the middle, and he was again gorgeous in his regal clothes. Some of the others, who wore a crown like Benry's, were chiefs of the neighbouring villages, who had come up for the grand occasion.

One by one all the men present rose and came to stroke their hair and beard before me, and I returned the compliment as well as I could in Ainu fashion. The hut was gradually getting filled, and each man that entered first saluted the landlord, then Benry, then myself, and ultimately the two guests between whom he sat. Women and children occupied the darker west end of the hut, and they took no active part in the function. Other chiefs came in, and Benry was surrounded by many of them and by elderly men.

The whole group of these chiefs, with their long white beards, lighted up by a brilliant ray of sunshine, which penetrated through the small east window, was extremely picturesque.

In its savagery it was almost grand, with a barbaric quasi-animal sense of power and irresponsibility. In truth, it was a wonderful sight to see all these hairy people assembled in this small place—men, yet not men like ourselves—men, and not brutes, yet still having curiously brutish traits athwart their humanity.

The performance was simple, but really fine in its simplicity. A fire burning in the centre of the hut, and filling the place with smoke, added, by its suggestive dimness, to the picturesqueness of the scene. It was strange that the only ray of sun which came in should fall on the most interesting group. Was it chance or design? Rembrandt himself would have delighted in painting that scene.

Benry looked every inch a king, and several of the younger men were busily engaged lighting his pipe and refilling it with tobacco. He puffed away at such a rate that no sooner was the pipe filled than it was smoked and handed over again to undergo the same process.

Two large casks of Japanese sake were brought in, and each man produced his wooden bowl.

The host came slowly forward, and planted an Inao—a willow wand with overhanging shavings—in one corner of the fireplace; then muttered a few words, which implied that the sake could now be poured out. A Japanese lacquer rice-box was filled with the intoxicating liquid, and no sooner had this been done than old Benry, forgetting his dignity, jumped up and made a rush for it, filled a large bowl, and retired to a corner to drink it. All the men present followed his example. Benry was never selfish when he had had enough for himself. He filled his bowl again and brought it to me, saying that I was a friend of the Ainu, and must join them in the drinking.

My attention was suddenly drawn to three old chiefs, who, half drunk, stood in front of the small east window. They dipped their moustache-lifters in their bowls, waving them towards the sun as a salutation to the "Chop Kamui," the "Great Sun." There was no religious character attached to this libation offered to the sun, no more than when we take off our hats passing a respected friend in the street. It is a mere sign of respect, not of worship. Besides, it must be clearly understood that no "offerings" of wine are ever made by the Ainu to the "Great Sun," and that the "libations" offered are invariably consumed by the offerer.

I managed to get several sketches of the assembly, and every moment I expected to get into trouble again; but this time they took it most kindly.

The hut became very stuffy, owing to the large number of persons and the smoke. There were nearly two hundred people in it, packed closely together, and there was nothing in the show to interest one—certainly not the disgusting sight of this drunkenness, which, moreover, became monotonous as well as disgusting.

I stroked my hair and beard—the latter only figuratively—in sign of salute, to the host, Benry, and the other drowsy chiefs, and, carefully avoiding pushing or treading on any member of the unsteady crowd, I made my exit.

Oh, what a treat it was to breathe fresh air again!

Outside the hut the pretty menokos (girls) of Piratori were having a lot of fun all to themselves. They were all dressed in long yellowish gowns, with rough white and red ornamentations on a patch of blue cloth, on their backs; and each girl took a very active part in a game, or a kind of savage dance, called Tapkara. They all ranged themselves in a circle, and a child or two was sometimes placed in the centre. The game consisted in collectively hopping an indefinite number of times, calling out either the name, or the accompanying sound, of some of their everyday occupations, and clapping the hands so as to keep time. For instance, one sound was "Ouye, ouye" ("Fire, fire"), and they all blew as when making a fire, and hopped till they were nearly senseless.

Then the next was "R-r-r, r-r-r, r-r-r," and with this they imitated the pulling of a rope.

Then "Pirrero, pirrero; pirrero, pirrero," was the sound accompanying the action of rowing, imitating the squeaking of the paddle produced by the friction on the canoe.

The movement of the arms changed according to the sounds uttered, but the hopping was kept up continuously. The game reminded me much of our Sir Roger de Coverley, in a more barbarous form, but certainly not less pretty than our old country dance.

AINU WOMEN DANCING, PIRATORI.

Late in the afternoon all the men came out of the hut, and by a winding path I was taken to the valley along the river, at the foot of the cliff on which Piratori is built. Benry and all the other chiefs remained on the cliff. Bareback races formed the next and last event in the programme, and the chiefs were to witness them from their "high point of view."

PIRATORI WOMAN IN COSTUME.

There was great excitement as to who should ride the ponies. The Ainu are fond of sports, and I noticed that ultimately they were sharp enough to select their jockeys from among the lightest men. The winner of each race had a good time of it, but the other unfortunate jockeys were pulled off the ponies by the angry mob, and knocked about as worthless beings.

The evening came, and with the dying sun ended that memorable day of festivities. I retired. Distant sounds of the menokos, still enjoying themselves, came to me with the wind, but fainter and fainter they grew as it was getting darker.

"Pirrero! Pirrero! Pirrero!" I heard again, till at last the sounds faded away into a mere murmur, and I fell asleep.

The morning that I left Piratori, old Benry put on his regal clothes and crown to bid me good-bye.

"Nishpa, Popka-no-okkayan" ("Sir, may you be preserved warm"), said the old chief, in the Ainu fashion of bidding farewell; "I have a pain in my chest, owing to your leaving Piratori, but I shall accompany you part of the way."

I dissuaded the old chief from doing that, but he went on, with his plaintive voice: "Nishpa, you must tell in your country that Piratori is a nice place, and all the Ainu are good people. Not like the Shamo" (Japanese; also half-breeds), "for they are bad. You must return soon," he added, and, taking my hand, he pressed it to his hairy chest. He then took me to his hut again, and there renewed his farewells, and I renewed mine to him, to his great wife, and to his house, for it is part of the Ainu etiquette to bid good-bye to the house of a friend as well as to the owner of it.

The return journey to Saru Mombets was accomplished without much difficulty.

UTAROP ROCKS.

CHAPTER V.
From the Saru River to Cape Erimo.

After quitting Saru Mombets I was altogether out of the beaten tracks. The twenty-two miles to Shimokebo were monotonous in the extreme. High cliffs towered above me on the one side, and the sea stretched into infinity on the other. River after river had to be waded, the At-pets,[7] the Nii-pak-pets,[8] and the Shibe-gari-pets.[9] The Nii-pak-pets is wide and fairly deep. Near the At-pets river the Japanese Government has established a horse farm, in order to improve the breed of Yezo ponies. A few miserable Ainu huts are scattered along the coast, and millions of scavenger crows, with their monotonous cries, seem to claim sovereignty over these shores. Near the Takae village, on the Nii-kap-pets, is an enormous perpendicular cliff, which, jutting out into the sea, bars the way to the traveller; therefore I had to abandon the sandy shore, and with considerable trouble get the ponies to climb over the steep banks, which was no easy task for them. Shimokebo is a peculiar-looking place. It is entirely a fishermen's village, and I put up at the Ogingawa Zunubi yadoya—a tea-house owned by a Japanese fisherman.

Japanese will be Japanese wherever they go, and people who have had anything to do with them know how difficult it is to satisfy their curiosity.

"How old are you?" inquired the occamisan—the landlady. "Where do you come from? What is your country? Why are you travelling? Have you a wife and children? Can you eat Japanese food; also Ainu food? Can you sleep in foutangs?" (Japanese bedding). "Also with a makura?" (a wooden pillow).

About fifty more personal and indiscreet questions were also asked, and all my belongings were examined with ever-increasing astonishment as one thing after another was handled and investigated. I was tired, and felt as if I could have kicked the whole crowd of them out of my room; but I was unintentionally polite to them to such an extent that the occamisan loudly exclaimed—

"Honto Danna, Anata Nihonno shto, onaji koto!"—"Really, sir, you are just like a Japanese!"

"Domo neh!" rose up in a chorus from the large assembly, "nandemo dannasan wakarimas!"—"The gentleman really understands everything!" This was a decided compliment, and I was bound to accept it as it was intended. When they heard that I was indeed "Taihen kutabire mashita" (very tired), they reluctantly left the room, and closed the shoji (sliding doors of tissue paper on a wooden frame). Each bowed gracefully, drawing in his breath at the same time. This is the Japanese polite way of leaving a room. Their conversation was resumed in the next apartment, regardless of the fact that tissue paper walls are not sound-proof. Remarks on me, not quite in harmony with their courteous bearing, were passed freely about, and the politest thing I heard them say was that I must be a lunatic to travel alone in these inhospitable regions, and what a pity it was for a man so young to be so fearfully afflicted.

"Oh, those seyono shto (foreigners) are all born lunatics," said the voice of one who knew better.

The Shibegari River, at the mouth of which Shimokebo is situated, is also called Shibe-chari—"sprinkled salmon river." Very minute traces of gold are found in the river-sands and gravels, and also some well-developed brown garnet crystals and quartzite and phyllite pebbles. The gold, however, is not in sufficient quantity to enable it to be worked profitably. Seven and a half miles from Shimokebo the Japanese Government has another horse farm similar to that of the At-pets.

The travelling along the coast was heavy, and I could ride but slowly. I had to make the ponies go where the sand was wet along the beach, as there it was harder and they did not sink. This had its drawbacks, for the sea was very rough, and once or twice my ponies and I came very near being washed against the cliffs by some extra large wave. Instead of green banks, as between Tomakomai and Shimokebo, here were high cliffs of volcanic formation, with a narrow strip of sand at their foot.

The few Ainu along the coast were decidedly ugly. It was only now and then that in a sheltered nook I came across a hut or two of seaweed gatherers; and, still following the cliffs, I passed two or three small villages of a few houses each. After fifteen miles of this heavy track I reached the fishing station of Ubahu, where I was able to obtain some fresh horses. Prowling along the beach, I examined some of the Ainu canoes that had been drawn on shore. They might be divided into three classes—(a) the "dug-outs," used mostly for river navigation; (b) the lashed canoe; and (c) a larger kind used for sailing. The "dug-out" does not require explanation, as everyone knows that it is a trunk of a tree hollowed out in the shape of a boat, and propelled either by paddling or punting.

AINU LASHED CANOE.

FRONT VIEW OF LASHED CANOE. The lashed canoes are made of nine pieces of wood lashed together with the fibre of a kind of vine. The concave bottom is all of one piece—a partial "dug-out"—to which are added the side pieces, of three planks each, sewn together at an angle of about 170°, and made to fit the sides of the "dug-out." Two more pieces, one aft and one forward, meet the side planks at right angles. The length of these canoes varies from 10 to 15 feet, the width from 3 to 3½ feet. Two pieces of wood are then lashed horizontally, which answer the double purpose of strengthening the sides of the canoe and, being provided with pins outside the canoe, of allowing it to be used as an outrigger when rowing. Canoes are either rowed or sailed. The oars are made of two pieces firmly lashed

AINU OARS. together. A hole is bored in the part which is to be passed through the pin in the outrigger. One person is generally sufficient to row an Ainu canoe, and he does so standing. There is no steering gear or rudder, and when rowing the oars are used for that purpose. Ainu canoes are not decked, and therefore cannot stand heavy seas. They are alike on both sides, and in most cases the two ends of the canoe are also shaped alike. There are, however, certain canoes which, in my opinion, have been suggested to the Ainu by Japanese boats, and which are flat at the stern. These are generally larger, and used for sailing. A square mat sail is rigged on a

SAILING CANOE. short mast forward, and the steering is done with one of the oars at the stern. The sailing qualities of these canoes, however, are not very great, and the slightest squall causes them to capsize and "turn turtle." The anchors used by the Ainu are very ingenious; they are cut out of a piece of wood,

AINU WOODEN ANCHORS. with either one or two barbs, and two stones are fastened on the sides of the stem so as to carry the anchor to the bottom. No compass is either known or used by the Ainu, and the natives shape their course by sight of land. They very seldom go long distances out at sea, as they are fully aware of the dangers of the ocean and of the imperfection of their own methods of navigation, though they are wholly incapable of making any improvements by their own judgment. The canoes are always beached when not used, and each family possesses its own. There are none which are the property of companies or are common to certain villages.

TOP VIEW OF AN AINU CANOE. The track between Ubahu and Urakawa is rough, and the rivers are somewhat troublesome. Not far from the Mitsuashi river one has to pass a tunnel which has been made through a rock projecting into the sea. In rough weather it is difficult and dangerous to get through, as the waves wash right through the tunnel. In fair weather it affords a safe passage to the traveller.

The Matourabets (the winter fishing river) was successfully waded, and the Ikantai[10] village passed. Then at Urakawa or Urapets (the fish river) I made a halt for the night. There are many half-breeds at Urakawa, and a few real Ainu, but the small population is composed mostly of Japanese fishermen.

Seven and a half miles further, at Shama-ne—a corruption of Shuna, stones, and ne, together—there are some magnificent granite pillars boldly standing out of the sea. The sandy beach came to an end, and huge cliffs barred my way in front. I could see that the water was not very deep round these rocks, as the waves were breaking a long distance from the cliff, a sure sign of shallow water, though even then it might have been too deep for my ponies to go through. With great difficulty I got the two brutes into the sea, trying to round the large rocks for the better ground, which I hoped to find on the other side. The tide was low, but the sea was still rough, and nearly every wave as it came in went right over my ponies, frightening them, and made them extremely difficult to hold. The instinct of self-preservation made them rush for the cliff, with the only result that they missed their footing, and they and I were both swept away by the next receding wave. I was carried off the saddle, but I had sufficient presence of mind to hold on to the bridle. An awful struggle ensued between my ponies and myself. Each wave that came carried and knocked us one way, each wave that retired carried and knocked us the other. In the midst of all this danger I suddenly remembered that some years ago a lady who knew all about palmistry prophesied that I should one day be drowned.

Had the day come now? Not if energy and perseverance would avert the doom! After a long struggle, I succeeded in pulling my horses where the water was a little shallower, and there we three stood for some minutes, trembling with cold, my two ponies looking reproachfully at me with those half-human eyes of animals when forced into positions of danger which they can neither understand nor overcome. It is wonderful the amount of expression that horses have in their eyes, and how plainly one can read their dumb thoughts and formless emotions!

From the point where I was standing I could see that I had to go on but a few hundred feet more, and that then my ponies and I would be safe. Sure enough, the water grew shallower and shallower, and, to my delight, I was soon on the other side of the cliff. At high tide, and in very rough weather, it is impossible to pass by this ocean-ford.

Shamane is a picturesque little fishing village, built on the side of a promontory jutting out into the sea. From there, looking towards Urakawa, there is a lovely view of all the small islands and picturesque rocks, standing like huge jewels in the water, while on the Horoizumi side, as far as the eye can see, there are only cliffs of peculiar shapes, and marvellously rich in colour.

I got two fresh animals, and pursued my journey towards Horoizumi. Rocks, rocks, nothing but rocks! My ponies stumbled and slipped all the time, and for eighteen miles the riding was hard and intricate. I had to lead my ponies most of the way, and help them, pull them, or push them, from one rock on to another, and down the next, and so on.

The scenery all along was magnificent and grand. A short distance from Shamane a large natural archway emerges from the sea, which is called by the Ainu, Shui-shma, "a hole in stone."

Holes have been pierced through the rocks in several places, to give comparative safe passage, and to prevent wayfarers from being carried away by the waves. Over the entrance of one of these tunnels a pretty waterfall, descending from a great height, gives a poetic effect to the scene, while it obliges the unfortunate traveller to take an extremely cold shower-bath, should he wish to push forward on his journey.

As if all these discomforts combined were not enough, it is to be added that the rivers in this part of the coast, though not wide, are extremely swift and dangerous to cross. My second pony was carried away by the strong current when I crossed the Poro-nam-bets,[11] and I had great difficulty in rescuing him.

At Shamane there are a few Ainu, but from there to Horoizumi I saw none.

Sardines are very plentiful all along this coast, and long seaweeds also abound. The latter is used for export, chiefly to China. Horoizumi, a nice little village of one hundred and fifty houses, is the most picturesque in Yezo. It is built on the slopes of a high cliff, and it reminds one much of the pretty villages in the Gulf of Spezia. I arrived at sunset, and the warm red and yellow tints which the dying orb of day was shedding on the weather-beaten brownish houses, gave a heavenly appearance to this very earthly place. As I got nearer, a good deal of the heavenly had to be discarded, for the odours of fish-manure and of seaweed are two smells which can hardly claim to be classed under that heading. The inhabitants of the place themselves seem to feel the ill-effects of constantly living in that corrupted atmosphere and on a fish and seaweed diet; for, indeed, it is revolting to see the amount of horrible cutaneous diseases which affect them. One hardly sees one creature out of ten that is not covered with a repulsive eruption of some sort. Leprosy, too, has found its way among the fishermen; and my readers can easily imagine how pleasant it was for me, when I was sketching, to be surrounded by a crowd of these loathsome people, who all wished to touch my clothes and all my belongings, and who would even lean on my back and rub their heads against mine, when trying to get a better view of the sketch.

Poor things! I never had the courage to scold and send them away. It was enough that they were afflicted, and I did not like to add humiliation to their other sorrows by showing them my disgust.

I rode on to Erimo-zaki, or Rat Cape. Thick fogs are prevalent during the summer months along the whole of the south-east coast, of which Erimo-zaki is the most southern cape. It is the terminating point of the backbone of the main portion of Yezo, which extends from Cape Soya to Cape Erimo from N.NW. to S.SE. A lighthouse has lately been erected on the cliffs by the Japanese Maritime Department, and a steam fog-horn has also been provided for the greater safety of navigation, as a reef of rocks and a stretch of shallow water extend out in the sea for about two and a half miles from the coast.

The foghorn, I was informed, was only blown when the lighthouse-keeper suspected some ship was likely to make for the rocks! A likely thing, indeed!

"But how are you to know, especially when there is a thick fog on?" I asked.

"So few ships pass near here," was the reply; "and it would not be much use keeping steam up all the time to blow the horn, considering that we have fog during nearly four months in the year."

"Then," I could not help remarking, "I expect you only light the lighthouse when there is going to be a wreck?"

"Oh, no; we show the light every night."

This was just like the Japanese! Owing to the imperfectness of charts—none delineating correctly that part of the coast—the strong currents, the thick fogs, and the dangerous reefs, there could not be a more perilous coast for navigation than that which terminates in Cape Erimo. The ships which go from Shanghai, or some of the ports in the Petchili Gulf in China, to North American ports, often steer this course through the Tsugaru Strait and pass directly south of Cape Erimo. Thus the Mary Tatham (an English screw-steamer), while on her journey from Shanghai to Oregon, was lost in 1882, with nearly all lives on board, about two miles from this cape.

At the foot of the Erimo cliffs is a small fishing village called Okos. The sea is shallow at this place, and there are many low-lying reefs which afford abundance of kelp and seaweeds.

A short time before I arrived at Okos a man had gone out in his boat to save some nets in which a large fish had got entangled. His boat capsized, and he was drowned. His wife was in a dreadful state of mind, not for the loss of her better half, but for the more irreparable loss of the nets.

The distance between Horoizumi and Cape Erimo is seven and a half miles, and the track is exceedingly rough in many places. Nearly half-way between the last-mentioned village and the cape are the three high pillars called Utarop, which are represented in the illustration at the head of the chapter.

As it was impossible to take my ponies along the few miles between Cape Erimo and Shoya, following the precipitous coast, I retraced my steps to Horoizumi, meaning to attempt the mountain pass the next morning.

ERIMO CAPE.

A NATURAL STONE ARCHWAY NEAR SHOYA.

CHAPTER VI.
From Cape Erimo to the Tokachi River

The mountain pass between Horoizumi and Shoya is supposed to be very dangerous on account of bears. I rode the ten miles quietly, but failed to meet or see any. The way through thick woods is exceedingly pretty. After traversing a small valley with a dense growth of scrub-bamboo, it climbs a small hill, from the top of which a lovely view of Cape Erimo lies like a picture before one's eyes. There are only thirty houses at Shoya, and the place could not be better described than by the words "a miserable hole." The rough weather, as well as several landslips, had some time before my arrival broken all communication between Shoya and the next village east of it. There is a rough mountain trail as far as Saruru, but my ponies could not possibly get through the scrub-wood and heavy climbing, and none of the natives could be induced to carry my luggage. They all positively refused to follow me on account of the multitude of bears which they said were on the mountains.

"If the sea goes down," said an old fisherman, "you may be able to get through early to-morrow morning at low tide; and, if you are careful, you will not be washed away by the waves." The cliffs near Shoya are remarkable for their beauty. They are mostly older eruptive rocks which nature has carved into hundreds of rugged and fantastic forms. About a mile from the village is a huge natural archway, and from this point begin the precipitous cliffs, pillars, and rocks which make the journey so difficult.

At Shoya there are no pure Ainu, but some of the fishermen exhibit traces of Ainu blood. My recollection of Shoya is decidedly not of a pleasant character. I put up in the house of a fisherman, which also answers the purpose of a tea-house for the few stranded native travellers.

"We are so poor," said the landlord when I asked for something to eat, "and we have finished our provisions of rice. The other people in the village are poorer than we are, and they also have none; and as for fish, the sea has been so rough for several days that we have not been able to catch any. We ate the last scrap of fish we had just before you arrived! If you gave me a fortune, I could not give you anything to eat."

When the landlord confessed this to me in the evening, I had already been fourteen hours without food. The prospect of not getting any more for at least the next eighteen or twenty hours was not an agreeable look-out. I was very hungry, but, failing a meal, the next best thing was to try and go to sleep. Even that did not prove successful, for hunger keeps you awake, and in its first stages sharpens all your senses considerably.

The night I spent at Shoya is worthy of a description. From top to bottom the corners of my room were filled with webs, which the spiders had spun undisturbed in all directions across the room. Hundreds of flies and horseflies rose buzzing when I entered the room, and I had to engage in a very unequal war against them before I could settle down on the hard planks. In one corner of the ceiling a big, long-legged spider, too high for me to reach, was enjoying a good meal out of a huge horsefly which he had captured in his net. I almost envied the long-legged epicure. Nature will be ironical sometimes. When night came, and I was still sleepless, the planks on which I was lying seemed harder than any planks I had ever slept on before. I turned round one way, then the other, then another, till all my bones were aching. Finally, through exhaustion, I fell asleep, and even had a nightmare. In my dreams, the ghosts of all the spiders I had killed, magnified to the size of human beings, were dancing round me, while one fat old fellow—fatter than any two others put together—was gravely sitting on my chest watching the performance. His weight was such that I was nearly suffocated. Sometimes he would seize me by the throat and almost choke me, while the dancing spiders would choke themselves with laughing ... when—

"Hayaku Danna!"—"Quick, sir!" said a Japanese voice, waking me suddenly; "get up, or else the tide will rise, and you will not be able to get to Saruru."

I opened my eyes; the dream passed, and the monstrous spiders vanished; but the pain caused by the emptiness of my stomach was still there, and my throat was dry and aching.

It was before sunrise, and it was almost in complete darkness that I left Shoya. I was weak and chilly. The monotonous sound of the waves breaking over the shore added melancholy to malaise, and made me very doleful and limp. Nevertheless, as I was in for it, I pushed my way with my ponies along high cliffs and among rocks, and got on as best I could.

Where the sea had receded the stones were slippery, and my two animals were no sooner on their feet than they were down again on their knees. The hollow sound of their hoofs on the rocks was echoed from cliff to cliff, and awakened the sleepy crows from their night's repose. I had to walk most of the way, and urge on my ponies with howls, as well as stir them up with the whip. Though the tide was low, the waves often washed up to my waist. Daylight came, and I went along, following the high, rugged cliffs, through tunnels occasionally, among rocks continually. The scenery was really magnificent, seen as it was in the mysterious morning light of the rising sun. My horses were done up when I got to Saruru, and I exchanged them for fresh ones. By this time the tide had risen, and it was not possible to proceed any further along the sea-shore. I was glad of it, as I should thus be forced to try the mountain track, which I was told was not so very rough from this point. A half-caste offered to show me the way. It was a very stiff climb among thick shrub, but it was comparatively smooth work after the experience of my journey from Shoya. I came across many tracks and footprints of bears on the mountain. In some places the marks were quite fresh and of different sizes, varying in length from one foot to four inches. The half-caste told me that black bears seldom attack men unless they are hungry. They often attack horses.

"But if they hear that a man is near they will not dare to attack even the horses," he said, and then began to sing at the top of his voice. His singing, half Japanese, half Ainu, was so excruciating that it was no wonder to me that it kept the bears away.

We crossed two rapid streams before reaching the summit of the mountain range. The view from the summit was lovely. In the distance I could distinguish two headlands, while an immense stretch of stormy sea and a high mountain were in the foreground. I began to descend, and again I got into the region of thick forest and scrub. I perceived a few houses near the coast, and we made for them. It was the village of Moyoro,[12] or Biru, as it is called by others.

Between Saruru and Biru, where the mountain track sometimes descends to the shore, I found many Ainu and half-breeds, especially in the two villages of Onnito[13] and Bitatannuki.[14] They are said to be very bad, and what I saw of them, even at Biru, corroborated this assertion.

Biru is situated on a small bay, in the centre of which some gigantic pillars stand out at a great height. The rough sea dashes against them, and thousands of crows and sea-birds have chosen these rocks for their abode. Biru is not a large village. There are only forty fishermen's huts, most of which are on the high cliff surrounding the small bay; the others are down on the beach. Kelp, seaweed, and sardines are as abundant here as on the south-west coast, and maintain the staple industries of the inhabitants. The sea-weed is of great length but small width. Fourteen more miles over the cliffs brought me to Perohune.[15] There were four large deltas to cross, that of the Toyoi-pets[16] being the largest. The current in all these rivers is extremely swift.

Perohune enjoys a big name, but there is only one house in the place. I was, however, fortunate enough to get two good ponies there. The fog was settling down thicker and thicker, and I could not see more than a yard or two in front of me; but at times it lifted up for a few moments, and showed me either the dangers I was nearing or the landscape I was losing. I passed two lakes, the Tobuts,[17] otherwise called Oputs, and the Yuto. Both are divided from the sea by a narrow sand-ridge. There is but little of human interest along this deserted coast. There are no houses and no people, but many small rivers, and now and then high cliffs. My ponies, driven mad by the abus, the terrible horseflies of Yezo, constantly threw themselves down and rolled on the sand.

From Perohune to Yuto Lake the distance is about eleven miles, and from Yuto to Otsu it is eleven more miles, on a very easy track. I saw some large sea-birds and penguins, and I was struck by the great number of drift logs which had been washed on shore by the sea. The last thirty-eight miles of the coast was literally covered with this drift wood. During the summer months the fog is always dense along this coast, greatly owing to a cold current which comes from the Otkoshk Sea, passes through the strait between Kunashiri and Etorofu, in the Kuriles, and then turns south, following a great part of the south-east coast of Yezo. Not far from Erimo Cape it meets a warm current from the China Sea, which passes through the Tsugaru Strait, and which in all probability is the Kuro-shiwo, or Japan current. This Japan current parts from the main stream near the south-western extremity of Japan, goes through the Corean Strait, and follows the north-west coast of Nippon, passing then through the Tsugaru Strait. As will be seen later, a branch of this current runs along the north-west coast of Yezo, and through the La Perouse Strait.

IWA ROCKS AT BIRU.

AINU HOUSES AND STOREHOUSE, FRISHIKOBETS, TOKACHI RIVER.

CHAPTER VII.
The Tokachi Region—Pure Ainu Types—Curious Mode of River Fishing.

The Tokachi River is one of the largest and most important in Yezo. Knowing that the Ainu either settle on the sea-shore or up river-courses, I formed an idea that some good types were to be found up this river. On reaching Otsu, a small settlement at the mouth of the Otsugawa—a branch of the large delta formed by the Tokachi—my idea was confirmed by the report that there were no Japanese villages in the interior. The expedition up the Tokachi River was by no means easy from the accounts I heard at Otsu. None of the Japanese ever dare to penetrate into the interior from Otsu, and, so far as foreigners are concerned, the Tokachi River was utterly unexplored. There is a certain charm in being the first man to do something, and I decided to attempt the experiment. The Japanese of Otsu dissuaded me strongly from carrying out my plan; for they said the grass and reeds were so high that I could not possibly get through.

"It is a kind of a jungle, in fact," said they, "in which yellow and black bears are plentiful. The rivers, which are numerous, are swollen by the heavy rains that have fallen lately. The natives up the river are unsociable and bad, and they will kill you. Then in the high grass horse-flies, black-flies, and mosquitoes abound."

"If you attempt it alone," said the wise man of the party, "you will not come back alive."

These reports were not encouraging, but, anyhow, I determined that, Irish as it may sound, dead or alive, if there were any Ainu up the stream I would see them. Owing to the difficulty of taking even my usual baggage, and not wishing to burden my ponies with more than was necessary, I decided to carry with me only a paint-box, many wooden sketching panels, my diary, and my revolver. I left all my other things at Otsu to wait for my return.

"Should you not come back again, can I keep all your belongings as my property?" kindly enquired the landlord of the tea-house, when I bade good-bye to him and to all the villagers who had collected round early in the morning to see me start.

I took two ponies, as usual. I left Otsu at dawn, and followed as well as I could the winding course of the river. Not far from Otsu I came to the thick jungle of high reeds and tall grass of which I had already heard. I made my way through the first obstructions; but I had not been in the jungle more than a few minutes when I was simply devoured by horse-flies, mosquitoes, and black-flies. My ponies were kicking, bucking, and trying to bolt, as they also were literally covered with horse-flies, sucking their blood and stinging them to madness. The reeds and grass were about ten or twelve feet high, so that, being higher than myself on my horse, I could not see where I was going. I kept along the river bank as much as I could; but in many places it was difficult to get through the ravines which one invariably finds along rivers, so I kept a little way off on the west side, and had the noise of the running river to guide me. For many wearisome hours I rode through this jungle, the dividing reeds continually rubbing against my face, arms, and legs, sometimes making pretty deep cuts with their razor-edged long leaves. The huge shirau—the horse-flies—grew more and more tiresome as the sun got warmer, and my head and hands were swollen and bleeding. The sun was by this time high in the sky, but there were no signs of the jungle coming to an end, no indications of huts anywhere near—no other noise but the sound of the crashing reeds and the running water of the river. My ponies were feeding well, as grass was plentiful; but I was faring badly. What with the exertion of keeping the ponies in order, while the densely-entangled reeds nearly dragged me off the saddle—what with the plague of mosquitoes and horse-flies, added to the sense of weakness caused by fatigue and hunger—it was really a terrible time for me—one of the worst episodes in my life. Nevertheless, I persevered, and went on and on, determined to reach my destination. I came upon two very large swamps, which forced me to make a wide détour. The ponies were very tired, and so was I. When darkness set in I halted, took the heavy pack-saddles off the ponies, and tied the animals to them, so that they could not bolt during the night; and wearied, disheartened, and discouraged as I was, I began to think how stupid I had been to start on such an expedition without carrying any provisions with me—without having provided myself with even a tent or a covering of any kind.

Circumstances made me a philosopher. What is the use of worrying about things that cannot be helped? After all, when you get accustomed to it, starving is really not so bad as people think. One of my ponies was of a sentimental disposition, and he seemed to understand my troubles. He came close and rubbed himself against me, placing his head near mine. It was touching, and in the solitude in which I was the sympathy of the dumb beast was as precious as that of a human being. Had he been able to speak, he might have been taken for a Christian, and a good one, too! He had been fearfully stung by horse-flies, and my petting him seemed to alleviate his pain. There is nothing like sympathy and a little personal kindness if one wants to make friends with animals. The last few rays of light were spent in putting together the notes which I had taken during the day, and which enabled me to draw a sketch-map of the river. At Horoizumi some days previously I was able to buy myself a compass from a Japanese fisherman, and on this occasion it was extremely useful to me.

By the soft, or rather shrill, music of a full orchestra of mosquitoes I fell asleep. It was poetic, but not comfortable. Strange noises woke me several times during the night. My ponies also were very restless, and repeatedly tried to get loose while I was lying down on the two saddles to which they were fastened.

It was some time after sunrise when I woke up, and with stiff bones set off again. A heavy dew had fallen during the night, and had made my clothes very damp. The reeds and grass also were saturated with water, and riding through them caused a continuous shower to fall over me, giving me an uncomfortable and by no means efficient kind of shower bath.

I rode in a westerly direction till about two or three in the afternoon, when suddenly the jungle came to an end. Not only that, but a short distance away I saw some Ainu huts. I soon reached them, dismounted, and tied my ponies to a tree. I went to the first hut, and previous to going in I called out: "Hem, hem, hem, hem!" which in the Ainu country is the polite preliminary when a stranger wishes to enter a hut. The usual practice of knocking at the door is dispensed with, for Ainu doorways have no doors.

"Hem, hem, hem, hem, hem!" called I again much louder, but I heard no answer; so I lifted the mat and entered the hut. It was empty. No one was there. I came out again, and went into the next hut, into another, and yet another; but nobody was to be found. I supposed that they were all out fishing. From the roof in each hut was hanging some dried and half-dried salmon. I could not resist the temptation after nearly thirty-four hours of involuntary fasting; and I stole—I mean "conveyed," or helped myself to the largest fish. I was greedily eating it—and how good it was!—when I thought I heard a groan inside the hut. I listened, and I distinctly heard some one sniffing in a corner of the dark dwelling. Had I been caught stealing? The crime I had committed would be called felony at home, but in the Ainu country it has not nearly so bad a name as that. However, felony or not, I dropped the fish, or rather what remained of it, and made for the corner whence the noise came. As I got closer I discerned a mass of white hair and two claws, almost like thin human feet with long hooked nails. A few fish-bones scattered on the ground and a lot of filth were massed together in that corner; and the disgusting odours these exhaled were beyond measure horrible.

"What the devil is that!" I said aloud in my own native tongue. I could hear someone breathing heavily under that mass of white hair, but I could not make out the shape of a human body. I touched the hair, I pulled it, and with a groan, and movements similar to those of a snake uncoiling itself, two thin bony arms suddenly stretched out and clasped my hand. As my eyes were getting accustomed to the dim light I thought I saw some almost worn-out tattoo marks on her arms. Yes, it was a woman in that corner, though her limbs were merely skin and bone, and her long hair and long nails gave her a ghastly appearance. Indeed, crouched as she was, doubled up, with her head on her knees, and the long hair falling over her face and shoulders, it was really difficult to make out what she was.

I asked her to come out, but she was apparently deaf and dumb. I dragged her out, and she made but little resistance; only she preferred crawling on her hands and knees to walking upright on her feet. There is no accounting for people's tastes, and I let her please herself in her manner of locomotion. When she was fairly out in the light I shivered as I looked at the miserable being before me. I lifted up her hair to see the face. Her eyebrows were thick and shaggy, and were joined over the nose. Her eyes were half closed, and dead-looking. The strong light seemed to affect her, and with her hands she was feeling the ground, probably in order to retrace her steps back to the dark spot. Nature could not have inflicted more evils on that wretched creature. She was nearly blind, deaf, and dumb; she apparently suffered from rheumatism, which had doubled up her body and stiffened her bony arms and legs; and, moreover, she showed many of the symptoms of leprosy. Altogether, she was painful, horrible, disgusting, and humiliating to contemplate.

I went back to my ponies to fetch my paint-box. During my absence there had collected round them half-a-dozen Ainu. They did not know what to think of the appearance of the two animals, and the few articles fastened to the pack-saddle were regarded with suspicion. When I appeared on the scene their astonishment was even greater, and it reached its climax when I saluted them in the Ainu fashion, and told them that I was a friend of the Ainu. I unfastened my paint-box and went back to the old woman. She was still where I had left her. All the Ainu present followed me, and when I squatted down they did the same in a semicircle round me. My wretched model attempted several times to crawl inside the hut, but as I was sitting close to her, I prevented her from doing so. There she sat in the most extraordinary position, with her head resting on her left hand, and the stiff fingers of her right hand pressed on the ground. One leg was bent up and the other was folded, resting on the ground and on the foot of the first. She was sniffing the wind, and making efforts to see with her half-blind eyes.

MADWOMAN OF YAMMAKKA.

It is hardly necessary to say that I did not keep my model longer than was strictly necessary, and when the sketch was finished I took her by the arm, brought her back into the hut, and led her to her favourite corner. There she crouched herself again, as I had found her; and there I left her, to bear the miseries of her life, till death, the cure of all woes, shall take away her soul, if not her body, from the filth she had lived in. She was neither ill-treated nor taken care of by the villagers or by her son, who lived in the same hut; but she was regarded as a worthless object, and treated accordingly. A fish was occasionally flung to her, as one would to a beast, and in such a condition this human being had lived, or rather existed, apparently for several years. Not a word was uttered by the villagers during the few minutes I took to paint the sketch. I turned round to inspect my new friends. Others had come up, and these men and women, hairy and partly naked, squatting down amidst filth, and driven half mad by the horse-flies and black-flies, looked just like a large family of restless monkeys. They were gentle and kind—much more so than any of their more civilised brethren; and one of them, a fine old man, came forward when I came out of the hut and wished me to go and see a big yellow bear they had captured. I went, and near the man's hut, in a rough square cage made of crossed branches of trees, was Bruin grinding his teeth as we drew near. In a sing-song monotone the man told me the story of the hunt, and how the bear had been captured. Then we went from one hut to another all through the village. Yamakubiro is the name given to the huts taken collectively, but the man took good care to explain to me that one part of the village (numbering only seven houses) was called Tchiota, and the other, a short distance away, was named Yammakka. Tchiota in the Ainu language means "dead-sand," and Yammakka is "land in behind."

Yammakka has ten huts. The hut in which I had to put up was more than filthy, and I had a sort of presentiment that my landlord was a scoundrel. He saw me giving a small silver Japanese coin to a girl I had painted. From that moment I noticed his eyes were continually fixed on my waistcoat pocket, out of which I had taken the coin. However, I did not think much of that, as all Ainu are fond of beads, metals, or anything that shines. When the evening came I tried to go to sleep on the hard planks, as usual. There is undoubtedly more board than lodging about Ainu accommodation. Myriads of Taikkis, the tiny but troublesome and uninvited guests of all dirty dwellings, did me the honour to sup off the few drops of blood which remained in my veins. I owed it to a bottle of Keating's Powder that I was not carried away bodily by them. I felt cold and feverish, and having no civilised bed-clothes to cover me, I slept with my clothes on; and this the more willingly, as I felt an instinctive mistrust of my host, and I thought it was as well to be ready for any emergency.

A few salmon were hanging right over my nose. They hung low, but they smelt high. I had been given a place in the south-west corner of the hut, and my landlord retired to the north-east corner. Though this may sound very far, my host was really not more than a few feet away from me. He apparently thought that I had gone to sleep, for I heard him creep to my side. I could not see him, being in absolute darkness, but though he was evidently holding his breath, I could feel the warmth of his face near mine. He was listening to hear if I were asleep. I kept quiet, and pretended to snore. This gave him courage, and sliding his hand gently along my arm, he came to a pocket in my coat. He began to explore it—but the Ainu are an unfortunate people even when they try to steal. He had got hold of a pocket with no bottom to it—a common occurrence in my coats. The more he explored, the more he found there was to explore. I am fond myself of explorations, and I have no objection to a fellow-being, hairy or not hairy, "prospecting" my empty pockets or my pockets which have no bottom to them. However, my host was not satisfied with the first results of his researches, and with his hand still through the torn lining of the coat-pocket proceeded to investigate the contents of my waistcoat pockets. This was a different matter altogether, and catching hold of him before he was able to disentangle himself, I swung his arm away and hit him hard on the head with my right fist.

"Wooi!" cried he in despair, and half stunned, as he scrambled away as best he could to his north-east corner. By way of apology and excuse, and with a trembling voice, the man from his corner said that he had only come to sleep on my side of the hut, as the wind was blowing strong where he had lain down, and that my side was warmer. A good excuse indeed when you are caught flagrante delicto pickpocketing!

The salmon which my host gave me last night for dinner and this morning for breakfast was so rotten, that, hungry as I was, I could not eat it. From Yammakka, in a westerly direction, the way begins with a gentle incline; therefore there is a complete absence of the high and troublesome reeds which I had found in the vast marshy plain I had crossed on my way here from the coast. I intended pushing on to Frishikobets, a larger village some miles off. The old scoundrel wanted to accompany me part of the way, saying that there were two dangerous rivers to cross, and he would show me where to wade them. I fancied that they were as dangerous as they were imaginary, and I started off declining his offer. I came across several Ainu huts on my way, passed the village of Pensatsunai—six Ainu huts—on the Satsunai river, an affluent of the Tokachi, and then arrived at Obishiro in the afternoon. There are seven houses at Obishiro. I entered one of them, and to my astonishment I found myself in front of an old man and a pretty woman, whose appearance and manners were as refined as those of the better classes in Japan. A younger man also came in. Their astonishment was as great as mine, as they had not seen any civilised beings since they had been there. Though the outside of their dwelling was not prepossessing, the inside was so clean that I felt as if I had dropped into heaven. After what I had gone through, this unexpected rencontre brought me back to life and a belief in the proprieties of a civilised existence, almost forgotten by now!

These people had a romantic history. Watanabe Masaru—the younger man—was a Japanese gentleman by birth and education, but he had no fortune. Of an adventurous disposition, clever, sensitive, and tired of the conventionalities of his fatherland, he decided eight or ten years ago to emigrate to Hokkaido, and there lead the life of a colonist. The woman he loved was as brave and constant as he. She sailed with him and her father from Japan, and after a long and perilous journey in a junk (sailing boat), they landed at the mouth of the Tokachi River. In Ainu canoes they went up the river, and established themselves at Obishiro, far from civilisation, nearly in the centre of Yezo. At first they had a great deal of trouble with the natives, but now they are loved by all. There, with two lovely children, they lead an ideal life, far from the madding crowd and noise of the world, and freed from the vulgarity of society.

I rode on to Frishikobets village, situated on the Frishiko, "old river," and in the midst of a beautiful plain. There are only twenty-eight houses, and they are scattered about in the plain at a distance of several hundred yards one from the other. Some of the huts were hidden in the forest. A peculiarity of the Ainu of the Upper Tokachi River is, that they frequently cover their dwellings and storehouses with the bark of trees, instead of with reeds, as is the custom among the Ainu of the Saru River and Volcano Bay.

I was told here again that Ainu women often suckle small bears at their breasts so as to fatten them up for the festival; and one not infrequently sees the women in Ainu households chewing food, and letting the young cub take it from their lips.