A new friend--A Japanese dinner--Japanese temples--An earthquake--A fire in Yokohama.
The first few weeks after our arrival in Japan would have been rather dull, as my father had to leave at once for Tokio on business, had I not made the acquaintance of a girl staying in the hotel who was also travelling with her father in Japan. Pauline, as she was called, was a few years older than myself, a clever girl with very decided opinions on most subjects. She was also an only child, and her father, who was an invalid, gave way to her in everything. For some reason or other she took a great fancy to me at first sight. We soon became good friends and I was delighted to have someone to go about with as I had always longed for a girl companion. We explored the streets of Yokohama together, picking up a few words of Japanese which enabled us to make purchases and direct our rickshaw coolies. What delightful drives we had, going out sometimes far into the country with green rice-fields on either side and here and there a little tea-house where we would stop to rest and have a cup of the honourable tea!
One evening my father took us both to dine at a Japanese restaurant to have a real Japanese dinner. On arriving, we had to take off our shoes before entering the house and were then taken to a room with absolutely no furniture, but divided by screens. The floor was covered with spotless matting and some little cushions on which we sat in various attitudes. The Japanese way of sitting on one’s heels is far too fatiguing to try for long.
First a little nasan (servant) appeared bowing to the floor, bringing tea in tiny cups and some cakes made of sweet beans; then three charming little geishas (dancing girls) entered, dressed in scarlet-embroidered kimonos and bright sashes. Their faces were carefully painted, and their black hair decorated with many-coloured pins. They were the dearest little people imaginable, not more than thirteen or fourteen years old, with pretty little hands and feet and charming, graceful manners. A lacquer tray was placed before each of us on the floor with a cup of saké, the national drink--something like sherry and water, but with a burning taste, and most intoxicating. As water-drinking is dangerous in Japan we had to content ourselves with tea. Bowls of soup were first brought us with large pieces of fish and some strange-looking morsels floating in it. These we chased about with our chopsticks with little success, much to the amusement of the geishas, who sat in a row watching us, laughing merrily and evidently discussing our clothes and appearance.
The next dish was raw fish cut in slices, with some green and very nasty sauce made from seaweed; then came a course of fried fish, after which there was a dance by the two geishas--wonderfully graceful and pretty. It consisted chiefly in the waving of fans and the revolving on one leg to the melodious strains of a samisen, which resembles anything rather than what we call music. Still, it seemed to suit the dance and the strange surroundings.
Shrimps in batter was the nicest dish that we tasted, followed by a concoction of fermented turnip in slices and cabbage-stalks soaked in vinegar; and finally a bowl of rice was served, always the last course at a Japanese dinner.
Spoons and forks were given us, but we stuck manfully to our chopsticks. It was a polite way of not eating more than absolutely necessary. Two more dances finished our entertainment.
On leaving we were each presented with a fried fish in a little wooden box for good luck, and the little geishas and nasans followed us to our rickshaws, calling out as we left: ‘Tum adain soone! Sayonara!’
The Shinto and Buddhist temples round Yokohama are curious and interesting with their stone lanterns and little lacquer shrines. Most of them are built of wood painted red. Those in the town are generally crowded with people constantly coming and going, some buying prayers on rice-paper for their own particular want, price one sen (quarter of a farthing), others only gossiping and strolling about.
Outside some of the temples is to be seen the bronze or wooden figure of a god enclosed in a kind of cage covered with wire-netting. These figures are literally plastered over with little pellets of paper prayers which the people chew in their mouths and throw or spit at the image. If the paper sticks on the figure their petition is answered; if, on the other hand, it remains in the netting their prayer is not heard--a true relic of old Japanese superstitions. The great bronze Buddha at Kamakura is very wonderful, and contains a small temple. The eyes of the figure are of solid gold.
At one of the temples which Pauline and I visited a sacred horse is kept in a stall, and close by small trays of corn are sold and given to the horse to do duty as prayers. Needless to say, the poor beast is almost as broad as it is long.
We had our first experience of an earthquake soon after our arrival in Yokohama. It was not a severe shock, but quite enough to alarm the visitors at the Grand Hotel, who came rushing out on the landings and corridors in the strangest and most sketchy attires. I hardly like to describe the appearance of one or two visions I met as I ran out of my room to see what had happened. One lady was tearing downstairs followed by her maid holding out a dressing-gown, which she vainly endeavoured to persuade her mistress to put on. Two old maiden ladies, who had arrived only the day before, insisted on the manager of the hotel hiring them two rickshaws, although it was nearly midnight, and in them the two agitated spinsters spent the rest of the night driving slowly up and down the Bund (parade), to be prepared in case of further alarms. I saw them the next morning looking very pale and weary, but still holding on their laps bundles of underclothing, several bags and a miserable little pet dog.
One or two cracks in the ceilings and walls of the hotel was all the damage done by the shock that night.
A fire is almost as much dreaded as an earthquake in Japan, and, unfortunately, is of common occurrence owing to the houses in the native quarters of the towns being built entirely of wood and paper.
A few nights after the earthquake scare I was awakened at about 2 a.m. by a brilliant glare in my room and the noise of many hurrying footsteps passing the hotel. Looking out of my window, I saw what was apparently the entire native quarter of Yokohama in a blaze. Flames and sparks were leaping high into the air and great clouds of smoke were pouring down the street. Quickly flinging on a few clothes, I hurried to Pauline’s room, which was next mine, and found her already half dressed. It needed but little persuasion on her part to convince me that the one and only thing to be done was to go and see what we could of the fire from a safe distance. We crept downstairs and out of a side-door into the street, which was by this time full of little figures running rapidly in the same direction, all carrying lanterns in their hands. I then remembered that our passports, which had been given us by the British Consul only a few days previously, notified that no one was to attend a fire on horseback, or without carrying a lantern. I could well understand the danger there would have been riding amongst this excited crowd of little Japs, but what were we to do without a lantern? Suddenly I remembered I had my purse in my pocket, and seeing two shabby-looking boys carrying a light just in front of me, I stopped them, and holding out a yen (dollar), pointed to their precious lantern. They understood my signals and, grinning broadly, snatched at the money, handed me the lantern and scampered off.
Pauline and I, clinging closely to each other, were swept on in the crowd, which every moment grew denser, until we found ourselves on the edge of the moat separating the native quarter from the settlement.
As it seemed hopeless to attempt to put out the fire, which every moment attacked fresh houses, figures of men could be seen jumping from roof to roof and tearing down houses still untouched to stop the flames going further. The fierce glare lit up the pale, excited faces of the thousands of little spectators swaying in one moving mass backwards and forwards, whilst the clashing of bells from every quarter of the town--one of the regulations in case of a fire--the shouts of the crowd, and the crackling of the burning wood, all added to the strangely horrible, yet fascinating sight. The heat and smoke became almost unbearable, sparks began to fall on us and one had even scorched my hair. It seemed probable, unless the wind changed, that the fire might cross the moat, in which case our lives would be in danger. I turned and asked Pauline whether we had not better try to get out of the crowd and return home. To my horror I found she was looking ghastly and ready to faint. The heat and excitement had been too much for her. I was in despair, knowing it would be impossible to help her out in such a crush. At that moment, to my intense relief, I saw my father’s head and shoulders towering above the crowd not far behind. I managed to call loud enough to attract his attention, and he soon pushed his way through to where we were standing. After some difficulty we managed to get poor Pauline safely to a cooler and less crowded spot. When she had revived a little, we returned to the hotel half dead with fatigue, our clothes ruined, and both of us thoroughly ashamed of ourselves. I think my long-suffering parent thought we had been punished sufficiently, as he did not refer to our escapade, and Pauline’s father never knew in what danger his idolized daughter had been that night.
The next day we heard that over four hundred houses had been destroyed in the fire and three lives lost. The loss of property was not great, as the Japanese keep all their valuables in ‘go-downs’--small fireproof buildings, which alone remained standing and unhurt when we visited the spot a few days later. Even before the ashes were cold the plucky little people were hard at work marking out fresh sites for new buildings, and three or four months later it was difficult to believe that a fire could ever have taken place in that neighbourhood.
Shortly after this Pauline confided to me her great desire to see something of Japanese life in the interior, far away from Treaty-port towns and European hotels. Naturally, I also became seized with a similar desire, so, after much persuasion and many entreaties, our parents gave their consent to our making a ten days’ tour, accompanied by a highly-recommended and most respectable guide and interpreter, by name Idaka. He was a most superior person, with a fair knowledge of the English language, and quite deliciously ugly. I liked that guide; he told me I was a most intelligent walker, and had a noble foot. Pauline insisted on calling him a fool--of course not to his face, as ‘bacha,’ Japanese for fool, is a terrible term to apply to anyone in Japan--but even she admitted he certainly was useful.
During our absence Pauline’s father decided to remain quietly at Yokohama, whilst mine had still much important business to do in Tokio.
