The tale of a tub--Sayonara--Board-ship acquaintance--Queer company.
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There is one more reminiscence of that happy summer I must recall; I recollect it very nearly ended disastrously for my hero.
We started one morning at sunrise, a party of four foreigners, twelve coolies, a guide, and one wildly-excited yellow dog, to the little island of M----, where there is a curious old monastery inhabited by Buddhist monks. After a steep descent of nearly two hours, we reached the valley, and drove off gaily, three coolies to each rickshaw, two pulling tandem in front and one pushing behind.
Our road lay close along the coast: on one side the blue waters of the Inland Sea, with the waves rippling upon the yellow sand; on the other, the green rice-fields, with the women hard at work at their monotonous labour, looking, nevertheless, very picturesque in their short blue linen kimonos and white handkerchiefs tied over their black hair. A peculiarity we noticed in this locality was that the female portion of the population seemed to do all the work. Women, mares, and cows are be seen everywhere as beasts of burden, whereas the masculine element appears to enjoy comparative leisure.
This is by the way, however.
After a three hours’ ride, at the rate of about five and a half to six miles an hour, during which time the sun had risen and become very powerful, whilst we felt the change from the invigorating mountain air we had come from, we at last arrived at a small and exceedingly dirty tea-house. The first stuff they brought us we could not drink. It was only daikon, our guide assured us; wholesome possibly, but very nasty.
After partaking of some honourable tea and being supplied with ‘waragi’ (straw sandals) and long sticks, as the road was bad, we left our jinrickshaws and coolies to wait our return, and started off on foot.
The island is only accessible at low tide, so we waited patiently on the beach for an hour, and watched the innumerable little ‘sampans,’ with their curious square sails, plying their way through the surf.
As soon as the tide was sufficiently low, we were carried across to the island on the backs of some funny brown-skinned fishermen--an experience more exciting than comfortable.
Then up the narrow street, with quaint little shops on either side, where we spent all our ‘sens’ buying curious shell ornaments, dried sea-horses and endless rubbish; and where I distinguished myself by purchasing what I fondly imagined to be the red, painted shell of a small crab. On putting it, for safety, in the crown of my hat, I discovered, to my horror, the brute was still alive and capable of using its claws!
Then a steep climb up the rocks, at every turn getting the most glorious peeps of the sea down below, until we arrived, hot and breathless, at the monastery. There we found two smiling monks, ‘all shaven and shorn,’ standing at the door waiting to receive us, who begged us ‘to be kind enough to favour their wretched dwelling by reposing our honourable forms on a mat.’ In a weak moment, I suggested a bath, always a great institution in Japan on every possible occasion, and our guide, translating my request to the monks, was informed that one should be prepared immediately for the ‘ojo-sama’ (honourable young lady) at whatever temperature she required.
In the meantime, we decided to climb to the topmost rock and inspect the view. On our return, I was told that my bath was ready, and, with many smiles and the lowest of bows, I was conducted by two of the monks to a large open quadrangle, in the centre of which was a big wooden tub, about four feet high, out of which clouds of steam were issuing. Groups of monks stood about the quadrangle. The advent of visitors was a great event in their monotonous lives and the idea that I might not appreciate their presence had not occurred to them for a moment.
What on earth was I to do?
I explained as well as I could, to our guide, that foreign ladies were not accustomed to take their baths in public, and at length, after an animated conversation, of which I did not understand a word, to my great relief, I saw that terrible and still steaming tub being slowly but surely removed from its place of honour.
What a strange ‘tiffin’ those kind monks gave us, and what a merry party we were sitting on the floor, round a little table one foot high and trying to eat with chopsticks! How our hosts laughed at our awkwardness. I think Chang got most of those queer-looking little dishes. I can remember the menu now.
First we had raw fish, with soy and pickled turnip; then seaweed soup and young rushes; prawns, bamboo-shoots, and lotus-root; rice, in bowls, which we found absolutely maddening to eat with chopsticks; hot saké, tea, and pipes. I believe there were also some unwholesome-looking little biscuits and arsenic-coloured bean-cakes. Without these delicacies no Japanese banquet is complete.
Then, after an hour’s rest, off we started again to the caves down by the sea. How clear the water was! We could distinctly see the beds of coral far, far down below. A shoal of sardines flitted hither and thither like a long line of silver. A school of porpoises were splashing about at a little distance; and we fancied we saw the black fin of a shark rising out of the water not very far off.
As we sat there watching the waves dashing up over the rocks, two strange, brown, naked beings suddenly appeared from one of the caves and offered to dive for some live lobsters, if we would give them a few sen. Down they plunged, and so long were they gone that we began to think, they really must be demons from the sea, and not men at all. Suddenly, a dripping creature stood before us, with surely a lobster in its mouth, which it put down on the rocks with a grin of triumph. Then, what must Chang do but examine this strange-looking sea-trophy, with the result that we heard a yell of pain and saw him dancing madly about with a black lobster firmly fastened to his nose! Before we could come to his help over he fell, backwards, into the sea below, and was borne rapidly away by the swift current. The two brown demons plunged in after him, and with some difficulty he was restored to land, gasping and stunned, but safe.
Full of gratitude, I presented the rescuers with a yen (Japanese dollar), which they received with many bows, rubbing their knees with their claw-like fingers and hissing through their teeth in the most polite Japanese manner. We noticed, however, they seemed much entertained about something as they scrambled off to their caves, chattering and laughing.
What could have so amused them?
After some hesitation, our guide confessed that they were saying that the ‘ojo-san’ must be a silly fool to have given so much for saving a dog, when, on a previous occasion, having rescued a child at the same spot, the grateful parents had presented them with only ten sen (2½d.)!
I have not forgotten how Chang was once the means of saving my life. How well I remember that night in January! The snow lay thick on the ground and there was every appearance of a continued hard frost as I looked out of my bedroom window on the moonlit scene below.
Chang had been very restless all the evening, jumping up and giving an impatient bark from time to time, as if something were disturbing him. I had induced him, however, to lie down on the mat in my room, where he always slept, and jumping into bed myself, I was soon fast asleep.
It was about midnight, when I was suddenly awakened by something pulling at my bed-clothes and heard a low whine at my side. Wondering what could be the matter, I sprang out of bed, and had just hastily slipped on my dressing-gown and slippers, when there was a loud roar like thunder, followed immediately by a terrific crash, and the whole house seemed to be falling. In less time than it takes me to tell you, I was out of my room, flying as fast as my feet would carry me down the stairs, which were rocking so violently I could hardly stand. On I rushed, out through the veranda into the garden, until I found myself--how I know not--clinging desperately to the branches of the twisted pine-tree.
The earth was still trembling, though much less violently, but I expected at any moment another, and possibly a stronger, shock to follow and the ground to open and swallow me up. However, all gradually became still, and I was able to look around me and realize what had happened.
What a strange scene it was!
The black crows, which had been much disturbed by my sudden intrusion to their roosting-place, cawed harshly as they flapped down from the branches above me, brushing heavily against me with their great black wings in their flight. The ground all around was covered with its pure mantle of snow, white and peaceful, as if no terrific force of nature lay below, ready at any moment to blot it out for ever.
The moon, shining through the fleecy clouds, looked down calm and cold. The cries of children, the barking of many dogs, the twittering of birds awakened from their slumbers, were heard on all sides, whilst, as I climbed down from my perch, I discovered it was decidedly cold, and that a tree is not the most agreeable place in which to spend a winter’s night.
On approaching the house, which I found, almost to my surprise, to be still standing, I was greeted with many anxious inquiries as to my disappearance, and by loud barks of joy from my faithful Chang. Later on I realized how much I owed to him, as, on going up to my room, I discovered that a large piece of plaster from the ceiling had fallen on my bed and, had I not been warned in time, I should most certainly have been severely injured, if not killed.
Slight shocks continued at intervals, and I spent the remainder of the night on the drawing-room sofa. The earthquake had evidently unhinged Dodo’s inquiring mind, as at each recurring tremor he rushed frantically round and round in a circle, howling dismally, and would not be pacified.
Chang, being more philosophic--like all Celestials--considered that his duty lay in defending his mistress from that ‘terrible subterranean fish, whose tail was the cause of so much disturbance’--Japanese superstition--and lay down calmly at my feet; with one ear, however, well on the alert, to be prepared for all emergencies.
The next morning we found the town was a scene of desolation, and had the appearance of a bombarded city. There were cracks in the ground in some places five feet wide, walls down, roofs off, chimneys shattered, our dear little church destroyed, and, worse than all, the reported loss of many lives, though, happily, of no Europeans.
An earthquake evidently takes people differently. Several persons I heard of afterwards, mad with fear, had jumped from the upper windows of their houses, and were more or less seriously injured. One lady I knew, had retired under her bed, whilst her husband, in the act of running from the house, suddenly remembered he had left behind him, not his wife, but his favourite cigar-case, which he promptly returned for and rescued! One of the servants took refuge on the roof, another in the arms of her more-valiant half in violent hysterics. Others flew wildly hither and thither, whilst a few had sufficient presence of mind to station themselves in the doorways.
Buildings and furniture have also the strangest vagaries on these occasions. A solidly-built house close by us was literally in ruins, whereas ours sustained little or no injury. I remember finding a heavy clock on the ground, which had fallen off the mantelpiece, and was still ticking away merrily, while, in some cases, every possible ornament that could get smashed did so with a thoroughness that defied mending.
‘But,’ as the French say, ‘one must suffer to be beautiful,’ and had it not been for those terrible volcanic eruptions, and those awful earthquake convulsions, where would be that wonderful, that mystical ‘Fuji-yama’ the Sacred Mountain--those picturesque valleys and hills--those fantastically-shaped rocks and mountain ranges, which add such a charm and beauty to the islands of Japan?
Oh, what good times we had that summer in the little wooden house in the midst of the forest of fir-trees far away in the mountains of Japan!
What gallops over the hills in the early mornings, with the dew still on the grass and the larks singing overhead!
Sometimes Chang would escort us--though without permission, I grieve to say--on our riding expeditions. When we had gone two or three miles along the plain, after leaving strict injunctions that he was to be shut up until our return, a little speck would be seen in the distance, rapidly developing into a panting, disobedient, yellow dog. Even then, I fear, he did not get the punishment he deserved. Who could be severe for long, with the delicious mountain air fanning our cheeks, the blue sky above, and, on either side of the narrow path, a dazzling confusion of the most lovely wild-flowers--from the tall white and orange lilies, waving their stately heads in the summer breeze, down to the little Japanese mountain edelweiss, which seemed to flourish equally well under the hot Eastern sun as does its sister in the West amongst the Alpine snows?
But I really believe the chief reason of the wily one’s appearance was due to the thoughts of that delectable and oily sardine-box, of which he was so fond, and the tit-bits and scraps, which tasted so much better out in the open than at home.
Sometimes, too, after dinner, we would start off to pay an evening call on one of our friends staying in the village, each carrying a little paper lantern to light the way. Here and there, in the opening between the dark fir-trees, we could distinctly see the outline of ‘Asamayama,’ the great volcano, rising up like a black pyramid against the star-lit sky, a crimson cloud concealing the summit, and an occasional flame shooting up, as if to remind one of the fires down below. The path through the forest was so narrow we were obliged to go in single file, our ‘four-runner,’ as we called Chang, trotting along in front to guide us.
One evening, as we were warily picking our way over the stepping-stones across the stream at the edge of the forest--a somewhat difficult matter in the darkness--Chang suddenly stopped short, uttered a low growl, and we distinctly heard the rustle of something in the long grass close by. Peering down with our lanterns, we saw the outline of a large snake, and heard the reptile hiss viciously as it disappeared into the brushwood. In spite of many assurances that these large snakes in Japan were perfectly harmless, and only the little flat-headed ‘mamushi’ deadly, I always chose to consider that, but for Chang’s timely warning, one of us would certainly have been poisoned.
Alas! those happy days in Japan are over now. All things must come to an end, and we, too, at last, had to say good-bye to fair Japonica, with its flowers, its sunshine, its dear, kindly, merry little people, and sail away westward. I look back and see it all again: the quaint little streets; the children flying their kites, with their small brothers and sisters firmly secured on their backs; the never-ceasing murmur of ‘Houdah-huydah,’ as the patient coolies slowly drag their heavy burdens up the hills; and all the countless sights and sounds only to be seen in that delightful land.
Even the earthquakes, the typhoons, and the terrible floods seem to lose half their terrors viewed across that mighty expanse of ever-rolling ocean that separates us now from all things Japanese.
Sometimes, at night, as I lie awake in my Norfolk home and listen to the murmur of the surf breaking against the cliffs far below, I fancy I can hear the whispered Sayonaras, borne on the waves from my friends far away; and as the wind sighs round the house like a soul in trouble, I am reminded of those charming lines from ‘The Light of Asia’:
‘Ye are the voices of the wandering wind,
Who seek for rest, and rest can never find,’
and I wonder if perchance in their restless journeyings they will bear back my answering message: ‘Sayonara! Farewell, farewell!’
But I am moralizing. This will never do. I must not forget our journey to Assam, nor the disaster that befell us at Hong Kong. Up to there all went well. At Kobé we were fêted and made much of by the kind friend who rescued Chang from drowning in the gold-fish pond. No dog could have behaved better. His meekness and propriety were such that I inwardly marvelled at the change, and our hospitable host and hostess were almost in tears at his departure. ‘Such a sweet, gentle creature, and so good!’ I knew better; but ‘sufficient for the day.’
At Nagasaki we had only a few hours on shore, but, wishing to give Chang exercise, I took him for a walk along the Bund, and we wandered about the quaint streets of that most picturesque town immortalized by Pierre Loti.
There, in spite of many temptations--such as tailless cats and mangy curs, that looked only made to be annihilated--my hero returned to the steamship Hohenzollern, having resisted all except a villainous-looking coolie’s legs and a half-blind mongrel puppy--they hardly count.
Our next port was Hong Kong, where we changed steamers and spent a couple of days in that charming Blue Bungalow away up on the hill. What a lovely spot it was, with its trailing creepers and tropical vegetation, though terribly hot in summer, I believe. There, too, Chang was admired and made much of by all, except the five Siamese cats, who were banished to the kitchen regions, much to their disgust. It was a necessary removal, though, and the one and only meeting between him and those strange-looking, mouse-coloured, blue-eyed quadrupeds was rather disastrous to the drawing-room furniture; but one must draw the line somewhere, and he evidently considered--at a Siamese cat.
The morning of our departure on board the North German Lloyd’s steamship Kaiser was one of those days in a Hong Kong spring when the air seems full of the scent of delicious flowers. The twining bougainvillea was a blaze of brilliant crimson in the morning sunlight; the waxen flowers of the stephanotis and gardenia glistened like snow against their dark-green foliage; masses of delicate tropical ferns grew all around in rich profusion; gorgeous butterflies flittered hither and thither across our path.
A delicate gossamer mist hung over the harbour, converting those great iron monsters of civilization into phantom ships, as we were rowed across the water to our steamer, bound for Colombo.
Oh, what was it induced Chang, the now virtuous and reformed dog, to bolt down the gangway and on to the quay just as we were about to sail from Hong Kong? Heedless of all else but that my well-beloved was leaving me, I tore after him, on and on along the quay, into the hot and steaming town. What cared I for the frantic shouts from my father on board, or the wild excitement of John Chinaman, who, seeing the mad chase, added yet to the general confusion by his hideous yells?
At last I captured the runaway, and, breathless and spent, we sank together in a heap on the muddy road. A few minutes later, an exhausted and disreputable pair were to be seen wending their way back to the quay, the deserter firmly secured by a chain.
I wonder if that wicked dog had any self-reproach for my feelings when, on arriving at the docks, I saw to my horror the Kaiser had departed with all my worldly possessions on board, including money; and was slowly, but surely, steaming out of the harbour.
What was to be done?
In the distance I saw my friends rushing up and down the deck, gesticulating wildly. I could even hear a faint shout from the captain, but what good was that?
I was just considering whether to jump in and swim--such was my state of mind at the moment--or to accept the inevitable, and throw myself on the mercy of some kind friend in Hong Kong until the next steamer, a fortnight later, when, suddenly, I heard a shout from one of the steamers close by, and to my joy, perceived the kind, jolly face of the captain of the Hohenzollern. He shouted to me to wait until he could fetch me in his steam-launch, luckily near at hand, and a few minutes later the captain and I, with Chang securely fastened up in the bows, were steaming along merrily towards the great mail steamer; I fear, laughing heartily over the adventure.
When, however, the Kaiser stopped, and let down a ladder to take the two runaways on board, I own to a certain feeling of dread as to what punishment might be in store for us.
Luckily the captain was merciful and, in fact, treated the affair as a good joke, which was far more than we deserved, as it is considered rather a serious matter to stop a steamer carrying mails, if even for only a short time. We had to stand a good deal of chaff during the voyage home, but somehow I don’t think either of us minded much.
The funniest part of it all was that Florence, my friend from the Blue Bungalow, who had come on board to see us off, in the excitement of the moment was nearly carried off in my place, and had to be lifted over the side of the ship, and into a boat below, as the steam-launch, with all the other people on board returning to Hong Kong, had already left some minutes.
The time that elapsed between our sensational ‘send off’ and our arrival at Colombo was a little over three weeks.
At first Chang was regarded rather as a pet lamb among the children and babies--there were seventy-five little olive-branches on board. Then an officious and quarrelsome German made a request to the captain--who, poor man, always tried to please everybody--that dogs on the promenade deck were dangerous to the community at large; so my poor, harmless chow, and also a minute canine specimen--a Chinese sleeve-dog I believe it was called--were banished to the charge of the butcher and steerage passengers, in spite of many tears on the part of the sleeve-dog’s owner and remonstrances from myself.
Sometimes, however, before the ‘disagreeable man,’ as he was called, appeared in the morning, we would bribe the jolly old quarter-master to bring Chang up on deck.
‘Zo,’ he would say, ‘vat dee kinders dee hund vant for to play vith? Ferry vell, I vill him up bringen for a leetle.’ And then what romps he used to have with his little playmates, chasing each other round the deck, when the sailors would stop in their never-ending work of polishing to watch the fun.
How well I remember that strange little being, half child, half demon, who used to fondle and caress Chang so much! What a pretty pair they made, sitting side by side, their heads close together, her red-brown curls mingling with his thick yellow coat, and her little brown arms thrown round his neck.
What was it, I wonder, made him start away with a yelp of pain, and look reproachfully at her from under the refuge of my chair, safe from her wicked little fingers?
I think the ‘fiend,’ as we called her, was quite the most beautiful child I had ever seen; she was about eight years old, and was being sent to England, under the charge of the captain, to be educated.
Her father was an Englishman and her mother a Cingalese, which accounted for the curious combination of olive skin, red-brown hair and deep blue eyes with their long lashes. She was marvellously graceful, too. Her movements often reminded me of a young tiger. Her moods were various. Sometimes, if the spirit moved her, she would organize strange games of her own invention, in which the children--who were all completely under her influence--would be commanded to join. Woe betide any child who dared to disobey her instructions. ‘Fiend’ would stamp her foot, her eyes would flash, and the unfortunate little offender would retire howling to its indignant ayah. In vain were the complaints of fond parents to the captain. Such a spell did the strange, beautiful child cast over the other children, that neither threats nor entreaties could keep them away when the next wild game was organized. Even I fell under her strange fascination, although, I regret to say, I, too, had to pay the penalty.
I think, in her half-savage way, she was fond of me; and I had for that reason more influence with her than had most people on board.
But one morning, as I was sitting in my deckchair with Chang at my side enjoying the sweet, sleepy existence of a morning in the tropics, I suddenly felt a little hand stroking my hair and a soft cheek rubbing against my arm. Knowing well what those cat-like caresses meant, and that I was probably about to be asked some favour, I continued reading until a sharp pain in my shoulder caused me to jump to my feet, and there I saw my tormentor, a truly wicked expression on her lovely face, poised on the glass roof of the saloon well out of my reach, and indignant Chang, evidently knowing from experience what had happened, vainly trying to reach the bare legs of the culprit. She had calmly bitten my shoulder through my thin cotton blouse, and it was some time before the marks of her sharp little teeth disappeared.
For the rest of the day I completely ignored her existence. I think my plan was effective.
That evening I came upon a solitary little figure in the stern of the ship leaning against the rails, her hands clasped, her eyes gazing far away at the still crimson sunset.
‘Oh God,’ I heard her say, ‘I know I am very wicked, but somehow I can’t help it! Please wash me with that stuff you always use to make bad people good, for I am sorry, really!’
Poor child! There was much that was good in her nature, but she needed a strong, yet loving and patient, hand to guide her. I fear her life may be a hard one. What a change from the wild, unfettered existence in the East, where she ruled the natives on her father’s estate with a rod of iron, and rode bare-backed where her fancy chose over the hills, to the stiff, conventional life, however advanced and modified, of an English boarding-school!
Soon after the incident just mentioned poor Chang was seen on deck by the ‘disagreeable man,’ who for some reason best known to himself had risen earlier than usual that morning. Furious at having his commands disregarded, he strode up to the captain’s cabin, and, after abusing everyone on board, from the skipper downwards, informed him that he should lodge a complaint against the North German Lloyd Steamship Company if that abominable Chinese cur was seen again on deck.
So from that day poor Chang was banished from civilized society; not but what I consider--I speak reservedly--that his steerage companions were infinitely the more entertaining.
What a strange collection they were! First, the Burmese--quiet, gentle, brown-eyed creatures. They were on their way to the Indian Exhibition, where I afterwards saw them selling cigars and going through their various performances. At first they did not know me; but when I mentioned a certain yellow dog named Chang they remembered at once, and were much delighted at hearing of their old board-ship companion.
Then there was the Buddhist priest in his quaint garb, likewise on his way to the Exhibition; some Cingalese rickshaw coolies--merry, indolent-looking fellows, who seemed to take life very easily; also several Chinamen, who sat all day long smoking their long pipes or playing cards. I must not forget those most uncanny-looking ourang-outangs, too, which, as the weather became colder, were dressed up in some cast-off sailors’ clothes, and looked more horribly human than ever; nor that dear little white bear, which was always curled up fast asleep--and such heaps of small, chattering monkeys; fowls, birds of all descriptions--a true ‘happy family.’
I would often go down to pay Chang a visit and find him the centre of an admiring group, looking rather melancholy, but patiently submitting to the unconscious teasing of those pretty little Burmese children who so adored him.
Sometimes he would be ‘down below’ in the butcher’s quarters in company with a Siamese cat. ‘Friends in affliction’ they certainly had become, sitting close together, puss purring away contentedly, and rubbing her brown head against her companion’s yellow coat as if they had been chums all their lives, and the Siamese cat’s mistress and I would watch them both unperceived, and wonder at the sight.
