CHAPTER XVII

Ascent of Fujiyama—Its Crater—View from the Summit—Triangular Shadow—Numerous Volcanic Eruptions.

I must refrain from further memories of delightful Japan, except to tell of one expedition which was the crowning joy of my six months in the group. This was my pilgrimage to the summit of FUJIYAMA, the Peerless Mountain, FUJI-SAN! the most honourable, which is the name by which it is known by the Japanese.

It is dear to the traveller as the first and last vision of beauty that enchants him as he approaches the Land of the Rising Sun, or watches its receding shores. While still too far at sea to discern any land of ordinary height, this lovely mountain appears towering above the clouds, sometimes bathed in golden light, sometimes pale celestial blue, or else relieved in purply grey against a clear primrose sky; its colour varying with every change of atmosphere, never lovelier than when the early sunlight sheds a rosy hue over the newly fallen autumn snow which clothes that lonely summit in dazzling white, while the grand unbroken curves of the wide, far-spreading base sweep downward in purple gloom. Beautiful as are the low ranges of mountains around, they are so utterly dwarfed by the gigantic, dormant volcano, that they serve but to add to its apparent height. Thus, queenly alike in her beauty and in her solitude, rises this majestic mountain—the Holy Mount of Japan—the goal to which, from time immemorial, thousands of eager pilgrims have pressed year after year. (Though I use the word gigantic, the height of Fuji does not really exceed twelve thousand six hundred feet, some say twelve thousand four hundred, which, as compared with the height of peaks I have seen in the Himalayas of nineteen thousand to twenty-one thousand, is not pre-eminent, but then we always see those when we are ourselves at an altitude of about ten thousand feet, whereas Fuji has the full value of isolation, and rises in a perfect sweep from the sea-level.)

I had seen the fair vision while yet distant a hundred miles from its base, and from many nearer points both on sea and land; I had gazed on its snowy crown when, in the autumn of 1878, I first visited Japan. And yet the hope of ever being myself numbered among its pilgrims had never presented itself as a possibility. However, on my return from six months’ wandering in China, the idea did suggest itself, but only to be repudiated, so serious were the difficulties which stay-at-home friends declared to lie in the path. Nevertheless, the thought, once admitted, returned with fresh force every time that a break in the envious clouds afforded us a momentary glimpse of the mysterious mighty giant.

At last I had the good-fortune to find a lady as anxious as myself to make the ascent; and a gentleman (a boy friend of my early schooldays) who had already accomplished it four times, but always in unpropitious weather, volunteered to try his luck once more, and be our escort. So, being duly provided with passports, which ordered us to abstain from scribbling our names on temples, attending fires on horseback, and various other crimes, and empowered us to travel in certain districts for thirty days, we started from Yokohama at sunrise on 7th August, not, however, beginning our journey in true pilgrim style, inasmuch as we had engaged a very good three-horse waggonette to take us as far as Oodiwara, a distance of about forty miles; a very pretty drive through cultivated lands and picturesque villages, beneath cryptomerias and pine avenues, along beautiful sea-coast, and past orchards and temples.

[Illustration:

_C. F. Gordon Cumming._

FUJIYAMA FROM THE OTOMITONGA PASS. ]

Amongst the infinite variety of crops, our attention was from time to time arrested by whole fields of lovely, tall white lilies, the roots of which are used for food. Or else we passed ponds or flooded fields devoted to the sacred lotus, whose magnificent rose, white, or lemon-coloured blossoms peeped up from among the large blue-green leaves, which rise to a height of three or four feet above the level of the water—certainly the most lovely of all edible plants.

Heaps of luscious green water-melons, with pink flesh, were offered for sale, in slices ready cut, to tempt the thirsty pilgrims, of whom multitudes thronged the road, on their way to or from the Holy Mount, nearly all dressed in white, with straw hats like huge mushrooms, straw sandals, a wallet, a gourd to act as water-bottle, cloaks of grass matting, sole protection against the rain, and a stout staff to support their flagging steps on many a weary march. They come from all parts of the Empire, visiting and making offerings at all the most sacred shrines along their path. One at least, sometimes several, in each company carries a small brass bell, which he rings continually, and the majority carry rosaries, which they prize exceedingly. Some of these are really valuable heirlooms, the large beads being either of crystal or agate.

Every tea-house along the road was gay with a multitude of quaint calico flags of all colours, having mysterious-looking symbols inscribed on them. Of these, dozens fluttered from a bamboo erected in front of the house, or from a long rope suspended under the eaves. These are the visiting-cards left by previous pilgrims, and now hung up as testimonials to attract others.

Another pretty custom added colour to the scene. This being the seventh month of the Japanese year, a sort of school examination was going on everywhere, and in front of every second or third house was planted a graceful bunch of bamboo, from each twig of which fluttered little strips of bright-coloured paper, whereon the children of the house had written some little sentence or poem as a test of their progress.

When we returned by the same road a fortnight later, another festival had its turn. The children’s trees had vanished, but in every house feasts for the dead were spread before the domestic shrine; coloured lanterns and straw ropes, from which fluttered sacred symbols of white paper, were suspended in the streets. The heaps of water-melons, too, had disappeared, the sale of all fruit being prohibited by law, as a precaution against the dreaded cholera, which, alas! was spreading in every direction, its presence being marked by a house here and there enclosed by the police with bamboo fencing, to prevent ingress or egress from its infected walls. At one door we noticed an onion hung up, as a charm to keep off the dreaded malady. But the most singular and common medicines which attracted our attention, hung out in fanciful patterns outside the houses, were dried lizards, which, when reduced to powder, are supposed to be exceedingly efficacious in some simple childish maladies (as a vermifuge).

But in Japan there is always something interesting to notice, either for its beauty or its oddity. For instance, how strange to one newly arrived in the country, is the first halt at such a tea-house as that where we stopped to change horses and partake of a light native meal; the pile of wooden clogs lying on the threshold, the tired coolies squatting on the mats, enjoying what looks like the prettiest doll’s feast in little china dishes with bowls of black and red lacquer, served on lacquer stands by the most winsome and polite of prettily dressed damsels, while close by, always next the street, is the kitchen where all these dainties are prepared!

And probably in the open courtyard a large wooden tub is being heated, by means of a charcoal stove, for the benefit of some dusty travellers. Probably those travellers, well-to-do tradesmen, will proceed to divest themselves of all superfluous garments, and, hanging them up to air, will sit down in the very lightest attire, to share the family meal with the well-dressed ladies of the party. And all these different groups—your own included—are, as it were, in one large open room, for the paper slides which divide the house into many rooms at night have all been thrown open during the day, leaving free space.

It was about two o’clock when we reached Oodiwara, the point at which we were to leave our carriage and ponies (for in Japan all horses are mere ponies), and proceed in _jinrikshas_, literally _man-power carriages_, which are simply light bath-chairs, quite a recent invention, but one which has multiplied all over the land with marvellous rapidity.

Owing to the steepness of the road, we had but a short run in these little carriages, and were next transferred to _kangos_, or mountain chairs, which are basket-work seats slung on a pole, borne by two men. Being made for the little Japanese, they are, of course, horribly uncomfortable for full-grown Europeans, for whose benefit, however, kangos of a larger size are now made, and can be had at Myanoshita, whither we were now bound. It is a pretty village in a wooded valley, noted for its shops for the sale of all manner of fancy woodwork, and much frequented in summer by foreigners, for whose benefit two large hotels are now kept in semi-European style. As we infinitely preferred a purely Japanese tea-house, we pushed on a short distance to the far prettier village of Kinga, where we found excellent quarters, though I confess that the sound of ever-rushing, brawling waters in the immediate vicinity, is to me anything but a soothing lullaby.

On the following morning, having secured kangos of extra size, three men to each, and a packhorse to carry our baggage and provisions, we started very leisurely across the plain, and up a very steep ascent to the Otomitonga Pass, a very narrow saddle, from which on the one side we looked back on the Hakoni Lake and on the valley through which we had travelled, while before us lay outspread the vast level plain from which the faultlessly harmonious curves of the great mountain sweep heavenward. Probably from no other point is so magnificent a view to be obtained as from this, as we acknowledged when, on our homeward route, we contrived to reach this point soon after sunrise, and for a little while beheld the giant revealed in cloudless beauty.

On the present occasion, however, our march was one of simplest faith—not a break was there in the close grey mist, which clung around us as a pall, and veiled even the nearest trees. Vainly did we halt at the little rest-house on the summit of the Pass, and there linger over luncheon in the hope that the mist might clear a little. We had to console ourselves, as our bearers assuredly did, with the consequent coolness of the weather, and devote our attention to the beautiful wild flowers which grew so abundantly along our path. There were real thistles and bluebells growing side by side with white, pink, and blue hydrangea, lilac and white hybiscus, masses of delicate white clematis and creeping ferns hanging in graceful drapery over many a plant of sturdier growth, and all manner of lilies, greenish and lilac, crimson, orange, and pure white.

A few days earlier the splendid _lilium auratum_ had been flowering in such profusion that the air was too heavy with its perfume. I was told that it grows freely on all the grassy slopes of Fuji at an altitude of about four thousand feet, wherever leaf-mould has formed over decomposed volcanic material. At some of the tea-houses where we halted for luncheon, bulbs of this glorious lily, cooked with ginger, were served as a vegetable. It did seem profanation. I fastened one magnificent spike to the front of my kango, where the white blossoms shone in relief against the brown back of my bearer, till, alas! the constant process of changing men crushed my lilies and their lovely buds.

It was already five o’clock when we reached Gotemba, a pretty town lying about half-way across the plain, but we had determined to push on to Subashiri, which is considerably nearer the base of the mountain. Heavy rain came on, and the men very sensibly demurred at going farther. British obstinacy, however, carried the day, and we subjected them and ourselves to the misery of reaching our destination in the dark, to find the only good rooms occupied, and all our clothes and other goods soaked—a serious matter in a Japanese house, where the only means of drying them is over a small _hibachi_, which is simply a small brass bowl containing a handful of charcoal. We spent a considerable portion of the night at this primitive occupation, aided by a pretty little Japanese damsel, and, as a matter of course, were not inclined for an early start next morning.

The village is a long straggling street, gay with the pilgrim flags which float from its many tea-houses, while from the grove of rich green cryptomerias which clothes the base of the mountain, appear the quaint overhanging thatch roofs of a fine old Shinto gateway and temple, at which all devout pilgrims pay their vows ere commencing the ascent. Passing by a shrine, which is the stable of the sacred white wooden horse, they perform their ceremonial ablutions at the fountain, where a sacred bronze dragon ceaselessly spouts clear running water into a stone tank, from the wooden canopy of which float bright calico flags which act as towels.

Then the pilgrims, who at this season press on in ceaseless streams, assemble in groups before the temple, or else kneel reverently before the sacred mirror on the altar, while the old priest, rapidly repeating some formula of blessing or of prayer, holds up a great bronze sort of crozier, from which floats an immense _gohei_, a sort of banner of mystically cut paper hanging in very peculiar folds, which is the Shinto symbol of God, supposed to have originated in a play on the word _kami_, which expresses both God and paper. Having thus consecrated the first stage of their pilgrimage, the wayfarers, on their descent, return here, or else by the sacred village of Yoshida, a very picturesque spot on another spur of the mountain, where the priest imprints a stamp on their garments which shall prove them true pilgrims in the sight of all men, and the raiment thus sanctified will become a relic and heirloom for ever.

It was ten o’clock ere we were ready to start. The same grey uncompromising weather continued, and our one consolation lay in the cool freshness of the air, knowing how trying would be the ascent over that great expanse of bare lava should the sun blaze with the same fierce intensity that it had been doing for some time previously. We were already at the height of 2500 feet above the sea-level, and our route from this point was a steady ascent over volcanic ash and cinders. The lower slopes of the mountain are all wooded; a good deal of larch mingles with the fir; cryptomerias and other pines, willow, maple, and chestnut all flourish, and raspberries grow abundantly.

About two and a half hours brought us to the rest-house, where by law we were obliged to leave our kangos, as no carrying nor any beast of burden is allowed on the Holy Mount. Even coolies cannot be engaged here, but those whom foreigners bring with them are winked at, and ours had agreed to accompany us all the way. From this point to the summit takes from seven to eight hours’ steady walking.

There are eight or nine rest-houses at easy intervals, two or three of which had collapsed the previous winter and had not been rebuilt; but at the others, which are merely wooden sheds, we were offered welcome tiny cups of pale tea, and a bowl of rice with savoury accompaniments, or a tray of sweetmeats, notably peppermint drops, and a sort of very strong crystallised peppermint, of which an infinitesimal quantity is given as a reviving dram. A drink by no means to be despised, and which we found very sustaining, is a compound of raw eggs, beaten up with sugar and hot _saki_—a kind of wine distilled from rice. In our character of pilgrims we tasted all that was offered us, and rather enjoyed the curious fare.

Our route for some distance lay through pleasant woods, in which we found a good deal of white rhododendron, blue monkshood, and masses of large pink campanula and small bluebells. Further up we passed through thick alder scrub, and found quantities of real Alpine strawberries, on which we feasted. Finally we emerged on to the bare cone, which presented precisely the appearance of a vast cinder heap.

One coolie had been told off to help each of the ladies, and mine did me good service by going ahead carrying the two ends of a hammock which (as being softer than a rope) I had passed round my waist. We pressed on in advance of the others, till, after five hours’ climbing, we reached the rest-house known as No. 6, where I was welcomed by an old man, who, with infinite discretion, immediately spread a _fautong_, or wadded quilt, rolled up another as a pillow, and heaped up a big fire, the material for which must have been brought from the woods far below. In a few minutes I began shivering violently, but was all right ere the others arrived, which they did in a sharp thunder-shower.

The rain soon ceased, and then for the first time the summit stood out perfectly clear, seeming so close that it was quite aggravating not to have gained it. But we were all thoroughly tired and disinclined to go further, so we arranged to sleep here. The sunset was magnificent, and a splendid double rainbow spanned the heavens. We had brought our own provisions and two Japanese attendants, so supper was duly served, and we then made the best of rough quarters.

Our landlady at Shibashiri had kindly lent us a huge roll of quilts, made up in the form of gigantic wadded dressing-gowns with sleeves, three of which made a very heavy coolie-load. In these we wrapped ourselves, and lay down in the corner farthest from the wood fire, round which our shivering attendants crouched, but the smoke of which made our eyes smart horribly. We were, however, soon routed from our lair by the heavy rain which dripped through the roof. Happily we had brought large sheets of oiled paper to protect our baggage, and these, being spread as a canopy over our heads, proved excellent protection.

At 1 A.M. we woke and found the rain had ceased, and that a bright half-moon was shining, so we quickly roused our host, and made him prepare rice for the coolies, and also some breakfast for ourselves, and at 3 A.M. we started for the last, and by far the steepest, part of the ascent. By mistake we got on to the track by which the pilgrims descend, which is quite straight instead of zigzaging, and also leads over very soft decomposed ash, in which we sank so deep at every step that it was very exhausting.

We therefore struck across the cone, and scrambled over a belt of rough lava, beyond which we found a very uncertain track, which, however, eventually led us to the beaten path, trodden by such multitudes of pilgrims, and so thickly strewn with their cast-off straw sandals, as to give it the appearance of having had straw laid over it. As these shoes cost somewhat less than a halfpenny a pair, they can be replaced without serious extravagance, and the provident traveller is wont to carry at least one extra pair; more would be unnecessary, as they are sold at every halting-place. Many pilgrims overtook us, hastening upwards, and repeating in chorus a sort of chant, “Rokkonshōjo, Rokkonshōjo,” which is a formula expressive of the purity of flesh and spirit required in those who ascend this holy mount. Formerly it was requisite that they should undergo a hundred days of purification ere commencing the ascent.

Towards the summit the path leads right through several small shrines, in which the faithful may purchase small paper _goheis_ floating from little sticks, which they plant in the lava as they ascend; and the curious, whether faithful or not, can purchase odd pictures and maps of Fujiyama, showing the various routes by which it may be ascended from all sides of the country. By dint of great exertion, and with the help of my faithful coolie, I managed to reach the summit at 5.30 A.M., just in time to see all the companies of white-robed pilgrims kneeling to adore the rising sun as his first rays gilded the mountain-top, and chanting deep-toned litanies. It was a very striking scene, though at a little distance the groups of white figures kneeling on the dark lava were singularly suggestive of sea-birds nestling on some high rock—a resemblance which was increased by their having removed their large mushroom-shaped white hats and covered their heads with a white cloth.

I had been told that many women of all ages perform this pilgrimage. So far from this being the case, among the many thousands of men whom we met going and returning, I only observed two women—one very old and bent almost double; the other a merry girl, who, like ourselves, seemed more intent on the pleasure of the expedition than on the expiation of her sins. The fact is, it was only in the latter half of the nineteenth century that the law was annulled which forbade any woman to ascend the holy mountain, so that it really is not customary for women to go.

Having chanted their sunrise orisons, the next care of the pilgrims is to march in procession sun-wise round the crater, a distance of about three miles. On descending the mountain, the more zealous repeat the sun-wise circuit round the base of the cone, which of course implies a very long additional walk. It is the same ceremony which I have witnessed in many a remote corner of the earth—in Himalayan forests, or round the huge _dogobas_ in the heart of Ceylon—and which we still trace in many an old custom dating from prehistoric times, and not yet wholly extinct in our own Scottish Highlands.

Being anxious to reach the western side of the crater in time to see the vast triangular shadow frequently cast by the mountain at sunrise and at sunset, I hastened round and had the good-fortune to witness an effect precisely similar to what I had seen from the summit of Adam’s Peak in Ceylon, and which I am told also occurs at Pike’s Peak, Colorado—namely, a vast blue triangle, lying athwart land and sea and cloud, yet apparently resting on the atmosphere, its outlines being unbroken by any irregularity of hill or valley. It may be interesting to add that when I witnessed this phenomenon in Ceylon, the edge of the triangle was tinged with prismatic colours, giving the appearance of a triangular rainbow.

A magnificent panorama lay outstretched before us. The world below appeared as a vast plain. On every side dreamy visions of far away ocean, range beyond range of dwarfed mountains, wide expanses of level green dotted with towns, gleaming lakes, and filmy vapours forming veils which now and again hid some portion of the landscape from our sight; and, in strong contrast with all this delicate distant colour, the strong warm madder and chocolate tints of the lava foreground, melting away into the hazy greens of the forest below, while here and there, on some secluded spot, patches of last winter’s snow still lingered, soon to be covered by a fresh fall.

All around us on the steep slopes of the cone were heaped up a multitude of cairns of broken lava, memorials of many a pilgrim band—another link in the chain of curious customs common to so many races. At short intervals all round the crater are tiny shrines, where the devotees halt for the observance of some religious rite of the Shinto faith. One of these crowns the highest crag, and is conspicuous from afar by its quaint wooden _torii_, a curious specimen of ecclesiastical architecture, which forms the invariable gateway to every Shinto and many Buddhist temples, but which to the irreverent foreigner is rather suggestive of a gallows.

Another of these structures marks the spot where, on the edge of the crater, a holy well yields pure cold water, with which the devout fill their gourd-bottles, to be reverently carried home, together with large bundles of charms, as a cure for all manner of ills. I have since noted similar cold springs in the bed of the great extinct crater of Haleakala, in the Sandwich Islands, and there is one near the summit of Adam’s Peak.

I mentioned that one of my companions had already made the ascent of the mountain several times. On each previous occasion the weather had been so unpropitious that the whole scene had been shrouded in cold, grey mist, and he could not even discern the outline of the crater which yawned at his feet.

This morning the whole lay bathed in cloudless sunlight, and a clear blue sky threw out yet more vividly the wonderfully varied colours of the lava, great crags of which—red, claret, yellow, sienna, green, grey, and lavender, purply and black—rose perpendicularly from out the deep shadow, which still lay untouched by the morning light, in the depths of the crater. I believe that in reality its depth does not exceed 500 feet, while its greatest length is estimated at 3000 feet, its width 1800. We best realised its size by noting the long lines of figures (their large white hats giving those near us the appearance of locomotive mushrooms), which became mere pin-points when seen against the sky-line on the farther side. We only heard of one gentleman (a foreigner, of course) who had made a descent into the crater itself.

Very peaceful and calm was the scene in that clear early morning, without a sound save the tinkling of pilgrims’ bells. Yet, by the frequent earthquakes which still cause the land to tremble, we know that the fires which of old desolated this region still smoulder, and may at any moment break out again, and repeat the story of 1707, which is the date of the latest eruption. According to native traditions, this huge volcano arose suddenly upwards of 2000 years ago, the date assigned being B.C. 285. At the same time a mighty convulsion rent the earth near Kioto, 300 miles to the southward, forming a chasm sixty miles long by eighteen broad, in which now lie the blue waters of Lake Biwa.

The internal fires find vent at many points all over these fair green isles, which are dotted with boiling springs and active volcanoes as numerous as those which mark the Malay Archipelago, Lombok, Sumbawa, Java, Sumatra, the Philippines—in short, all those isles which, with Japan, form a chain along which volcanic action extends right up to the shores of Kamskatka.

In Kiusiu alone there are five active volcanoes. Of one, near Nagasaki, called the High Mountain of Warm Springs, noted for its hot sulphur baths, the Japanese tell how, in 1793, the summit fell in, and torrents of boiling water burst forth. On one occasion it overwhelmed the city of Shima Barra, destroying 35,000 persons. We are also told of a mountain fortress in the district which suddenly subsided, and the place where the hill had stood became a lake.

There has scarcely been one century in which the national records have not had occasion to record dire catastrophes caused by earthquakes or volcanic eruptions. In fact there are historic records of no less than 231 eruptions, many being of appalling magnitude.

The latest eruption of FUJIYAMA was in A.D. 1707, when a mighty earthquake shook the land, and the living fires forced open a new chimney at three thousand feet below the summit, vomiting showers of ashes, which fell at distances of one hundred miles. The cone thus formed remains to this day, and is called Ho-yei-San. I confess I grudge the honorific _San_ being applied to the unsightly lump which, as seen from certain points, mars the otherwise faultless sweep of the perfect outline.

One of the most active volcanoes in the group at the present day is that of ASAMA-YAMA, which towers to a height of 8282 feet, and is always capped by a cloud of heavy smoke, telling of the internal fires. For just a century it had been comparatively quiet, and in the summer of 1783 the industrious people were gathering the abundant harvest of their well-tilled corn-fields, when suddenly came the awful eruption of dense showers of ashes and red-hot boulders and rock-masses, which brought total destruction to upwards of fifty prosperous villages and their inhabitants. Vast tracts of forest were burnt by the fiery lava-streams which poured down the sides of the mountain, and for a radius of many miles the whole country was smothered beneath a layer of ashes varying from two to five feet in depth.

The year 1854–55 was marked by appalling activity of the internal forces. The isle of Shikoku was shaken by an earthquake so terrific that the solid earth heaved in waves like an angry sea. Innumerable fissures were rent open, and from these gaping chasms mud and water were thrown up. From the mountains fell vast avalanches of earth and rock, which overwhelmed whole cities, and what escaped the landslips was destroyed by fires which very naturally broke out in the ruins. Tidal waves swept the shores and rushed up the rivers, doing appalling damage and flooding the land. A Russian frigate which was lying off the coast of Idzu, in Shimoda, was spun round and round forty times within half an hour, and was then thrown ashore a total wreck. In one night seventy shocks were counted. In the district of Tosa all dwelling-houses were either thrown down or shaken to their foundations. The country for a space of four hundred miles presented one widespread scene of desolation. In the ensuing twelve months upwards of eight hundred distinct shocks were experienced.

In 1855 occurred an earthquake so terrific that the city of Tokio was well-nigh destroyed. Upwards of 14,000 dwelling-houses and 2000 strong fireproof storehouses were destroyed. Multitudes of persons were crushed in their own falling houses; others fell into clefts and chasms which suddenly opened beneath their feet and swallowed them up. Then fire spread and raged furiously, so that the city was made desolate, the dead being variously estimated at from fifty to a hundred thousand.

1888 was marked by one of the most appalling eruptions that can possibly be conceived, when on a calm peaceful summer morning, 15th June, without any notice whatever, BANDAI-SAN, a mountain about 5800 feet in height, after slumbering for eleven centuries, suddenly reawakened with such terrific energy that it blew off one of its own huge cones, thereby destroying thirty square miles of country and six hundred human beings.

So long had the volcano been at rest, that from base to summit, it was clothed with richest vegetation, in the midst of which nestled picturesque groups of châlets, clustering around the boiling springs which attracted not only invalids, who came to bathe in the healing waters, but pleasure-seekers who delighted in the lovely scenery. Consequently in summer the usually small population of these pretty villages was augmented to about eight thousand persons enjoying their pleasant life, so full of graceful courtesies and pretty customs.

Asama-yama had done its work of destruction in 1783 in the ordinary manner of dry volcanoes, by the ejection of molten rock and scoriæ, but Bandai-San accomplished its terrible mission by the agency of steam, which so effectually permeated the whole mass, that when the explosion occurred, which suddenly in a moment blew the whole cone, as such, out of existence, it fell over thirty square miles of country, in one awful shower of scalding mud, burying a dozen villages, and causing the death in agony of six hundred human beings, and of a multitude of animals, besides involving total ruin to at least four times as many survivors, of whom a considerable number were terribly injured.

All was calm and peaceful when, on that beautiful summer morning, the happy people went out for their early bath at one or other of the hot springs on the mountain; but at 7.30 they were startled by a violent earthquake-shock. Another and another followed in rapid succession, the earth heaving like a tossing sea, and then followed an appalling sound as of the roar of a thousand thunder-claps, blending with the shriek of all the steam-whistles and roaring steam-boilers of earth, and ere the terrified and deafened human beings could recall their bewildered senses, they beheld the whole mighty cone of Sho-Bandai-San (one of five which crowned the mountain) blown bodily into the air, overspreading the whole heavens with a vast, dense pall of mud-spray followed by dark clouds of vapour and such stifling gases as well-nigh choked all living creatures.

Then leaping tongues of infernal flame, crimson and purple, seemed to flash right up to the heavens, and after appalling earth-throes, these were succeeded by showers of red-hot ashes, sulphur, and boiling water, accompanied by fearful subterranean roaring and rumbling, and by a rushing whirlwind of hurricane force, uprooting great trees, and hurling them afar.

Another moment, and there poured forth floods of boiling liquid mud, which swept down the mountain-side with such velocity, that within ten minutes the scalding torrent was rushing past a village ten miles down the valley. The eruption continued for about two hours, till the awful mud-wave had poured itself out, transforming thirty square miles of most lovely country into a chaos of horror, the thick layer of horrid mud varying in depth from ten to a hundred and fifty feet; and in places suggesting a raging sea whose gigantic waves have suddenly been turned to concrete. On every side reigned absolute desolation, with a horrid smell rising from stagnant sulphur-pools, and the pretty villages and courteous people lay buried deep beneath this hideous sea of mud.

Equally appalling in its suddenness was the awful earthquake which in thirty seconds, in the early morning of 28th October 1891, desolated the NAGOYA-GIFU and OGAKI plains, one of the most beautiful, fertile, and thickly inhabited districts in Japan; Nagoya with a population of about 162,000, Gifu a busy manufacturing city with 14,083, and Ogaki with 10,522 kindly, industrious people—the last-named being chiefly known to travellers on account of the excellence of its curiosity-shops. It is a district of dark, rugged hills, with waterfalls, foaming rivers, rocky bluffs, avenues of noble old pine trees, and beautiful sea-coast, varied by level grassy plains and rich cultivation.

It was the one district in the whole of Japan which seemed to enjoy complete immunity from all volcanic disturbances; but never was there a ruder awakening to full knowledge of the awful changes which may be wrought “in the twinkling of an eye,” than the awful thirty seconds which (according to official returns, which are always minimised) caused the death of 9968 persons, and grievous bodily injury to 100,000 more. Buildings of every description fell, as though built of cards, sides of mountains slipped down and dammed rivers, forming lakes and carrying away bridges and miles of railway. The cost to Government was thirty million dollars, but to private individuals the widespread ruin was incalculable.

As regards results, this has probably been the most severe earthquake-shock on record, even in Japan. Though the first few seconds sufficed to accomplish a work of destruction probably without parallel, the earth tremors continued from 28th October till 4th November, accompanied by subterranean roaring.

Beyond a somewhat unusual stillness and warmth, there was absolutely no premonition, when at 6.30 A.M. (when the sun had risen gloriously, and workers were all astir) the solid earth seemed to upheave to a height of three feet, and as suddenly sank down again, swaying sideways from east to west and back, as though a giant nurse was violently rocking a cradle! In every direction the earth was seamed with fissures, right across the roads, some of unfathomable depth; from these spouted geysers of boiling mud, or of volcanic sand.

The road from Nagoya to Gifu and Ogaki—which on that peaceful morning had connected such a series of villages and small towns as to form an almost continuous street twenty miles in length, all astir with cheerful, kindly people—was at noon simply a narrow lane between interminable piles of shattered woodwork, broken tiles, and fallen thatch: all that had once been comfortable homes, and which in thousands of cases formed the tomb of most of the family. As a matter of course, numerous fires broke out, and consuming all wood and straw-work, cremated numberless dead and wounded, and the smoke-laden air was heavy with the stench, though this was far less horrible than in other places, where mangled bodies lay inextricably imprisoned beneath heavy rafters, and spread pestilence around.

Upwards of half a million persons were left homeless and in absolute penury, as well as in direct mental and physical distress, mourning their ten thousand dead, and the far larger number mutilated for life. More than three thousand wells were totally destroyed, so that thirst was added to starvation, notwithstanding the marvellous promptitude, presence of mind, humanity, and power of organisation of the Japanese officials, aided by the doctors and nurses from the foreign missionary hospitals, in dealing with such widespread calamity.

With marvellous rapidity new houses were constructed, yet multitudes were still homeless when snow fell to the depth of more than a foot, and then bitter frost set in. Then came a rapid thaw, and the shattered embankments of the rivers were wholly unable to withstand the rush of roaring torrents, and so gave way, flooding large areas of country.

And to all these miseries was shortly added pestilence in the form of virulent typhoid fever, bred of the stench of putrefying corpses and polluted wells; and influenza likewise claimed many victims, who had to battle with it under such terrible circumstances.

It is remarkable that, amid this wholesale destruction of all works of man, so very few trees were overthrown, and in many places the homes, so suddenly transformed to wholesale sepulchres, were overhung by camellia-trees laden with rosy blossoms. Where the bodies of the dead were buried, the first care of the survivors was to protect the grave with hoops of slim bamboo, and adorn it with at least a section of larger bamboo to serve as a vase in which to place a graceful spray of chrysanthemum. For though the stone _torii_ and lanterns and pretty bridges were all overthrown, the flowers blossomed gloriously as ever, while in the fields the yellow rice seemed to bend under its weight of grain, as if inviting the reaper—but no reapers were there, and the appearance of the crops proved delusive, for the grain was light at best, and was almost destroyed by severe gales.

Again in 1896, the sea-coast was swept by an appalling tidal wave which was attributed to a submarine eruption. And so the tale goes on.

Scarcely a week passes in which a slight shock of earthquake is not felt; so there is, of course, no certainty that such scenes of horror may not at any time be repeated. Moreover, within a day’s march of the mighty mountain lie the sulphurous boiling springs of O-ji-goku (_i.e._ the Great Hell), and, at no great distance in other directions, two sets of hot springs, both bearing the name of Yumoto. And, looking down from FUJIYAMA summit, far on the dreamy horizon I saw, or fancied I saw, a faint indication of smoke from the active volcanic isle of Vries (or Ashima), which lies just off the coast of Idzu. Such neighbours as these make it impossible to ignore the probability that a day may come ere long when Fuji-San shall awake from his sleep of a century and a half, and may resume his crown of fire, as Vesuvius, Etna, Tarawara in New Zealand and many another volcano, fondly assumed to be extinct, have done ere now.

Vesuvius is said to have made such good use of 150 years of rest that, at the time of the great eruption in A.D. 1306, not only were all its slopes richly cultivated, but chestnut groves and pools of water had sprung up within the crater. Here on the extreme summit of Fujiyama, we have the water-springs, but no trace of vegetation, though a few blades of grass have struggled into life within a very short distance of the summit.

Whether fiery streams will ever again pour down the mountain-side and burn their way through the green forests, we cannot prophesy. At present, however, all seems quiet, and the mighty giant sleeps.

Having wandered leisurely round the crater I began to think of breakfast, and, returning to my companions, found them and our followers already in possession of one of a row of about a dozen small huts facing the rising sun, erected as lodgings for the pilgrims. They are tiny stone houses, partly scooped out of the cinder bank, the roof weighted with heavy blocks of lava, to resist the force of wild tempests. There is a small space artificially levelled in front of the huts from which float numbers of the gay pilgrim flags already mentioned. Within each hut is a small space neatly matted, and here, having spread the soft warm quilts brought with us, I gladly lay down for an hour’s rest, while my companions made the circuit of the crater. Our large sheets of oiled paper were hung across as a curtain to shield us from the glare, and to separate our corner from that where our host was cooking. Happily, in mercy to our eyes, he had substituted charcoal for wood. I may mention, by the way, that water here boils at 184° Fahr. Above my head, even in this rude hut, was the invariable domestic shrine. Here, of course, it was Shinto, and in addition to the usual sacred mirror of polished metal, was a model of Fujiyama rudely hewn in lava.

Our quarters being as comfortable as could possibly be expected, it had been our intention to spend the day and night quietly on the summit. Unfortunately, however, our brother pilgrim, who on his previous ascents had already suffered from mountain-sickness, produced by the rarified air, was on this occasion so violently and continuously sick that it was evidently necessary for him to descend at once. Both our Japanese attendants likewise suffered, and asked leave to go back. They had crushed sour pink plums on their temples, which seemed to us a novel remedy, but is one much in favour in Japan. Had we but known it, nature had provided a far more efficacious remedy in the snow-drifts of the crater—bathing the temples with snow being the surest protection against sickness and headache thus produced.

At first we two ladies decided on remaining by ourselves (having perfect trust in our coolies), but unfortunately, after an interval of rest, I too awoke feeling so sick, that, combining the chances of increasing illness with that of bad weather on the morrow, it was voted better that we should also return to the lower world—a decision which I now sincerely regret, being convinced that my own indisposition was simply momentary and due to over-fatigue. I am the more inclined to this belief as two parties of our friends, fired by our example, made the pilgrimage a few days later; each spent a night on the summit, coming in for grand thunderstorms, torrents of rain, and a magnificent sunrise; but no one complained of any tendency to sickness, though one stalwart Scot did awaken with a headache, which, however, he attributed to the mountain dew in which he had pledged his absent friends, and not to the mountain air.

Our coolies once more shouldered their burdens, with an alacrity which surprised us, and at 11.30 we regretfully took our last look at the magnificent scene, and, already over-wearied, commenced the descent. Large white clouds encompassed the base of the mountain, and floating mists played about the summit, veiling the sun and shielding us from its burning rays. Nevertheless, the descent was most exhausting, and seemed never-ending. The path lay straight down the cone, over deep soft ash and crumbly scoriæ, in which we sank over the ankles, and which kept penetrating into our boots. We felt grateful to our pilgrim predecessors, whose straw shoes strewed the earth in thousands, making it somewhat better for us.

It was 4 P.M. when we reached the rest-house where we had left our kangos, and much did we enjoy some good egg _saki_, as did also our coolies, who, having made an excellent meal and transferred the luggage to a packhorse which we were fortunate enough to secure, shouldered the kangos, in which we wearily lay, and trotted off quite cheerily, only halting to smoke beneath a fine old larch-tree, from the branches of which hung innumerable pairs of old straw shoes, tied together and thrown up for luck by the happy pilgrims whose task is accomplished, and who have secured a store of merit and sanctity to last for years to come. Our bearers added their sandals, and as many more as they could find lying on the path, evidently considering it a good game. They then trotted on down-hill to Subashiri, where we arrived about 5.30. This time we found the good rooms reserved for us, and hot baths, the advantage of which the Japanese so fully understand, were all ready. These, followed by a good night’s rest, partly restored us, though I confess I was stiff and aching for many days to come.

We spent the following morning in pleasant idleness at the old Shinto temple, only doing a three hours’ evening march to Gotemba, whence we proposed starting long before daylight. A message was, however, brought to us that the police, who as a matter of course had demanded our passports, refused to allow us to pass till we had been inspected by the doctor, a ceremony which could not be performed till next day. This was on account of the cholera panic.

Tired as we were, we concluded that the only thing to be done was to put on our boots again and march in person to the police office, where our healthy appearance, and extreme civility, so overawed two minute policemen, that they allowed us to pass on unmolested. So at 3 A.M. the good old landlady and cook were astir, to feed us and our coolies, and at 4 we started in the dark. At one point the coolies evidently had a great joke, and, laughing heartily but very silently, they ran as hard as they could for about half a mile. We could not understand their fun at the time, but afterwards discovered that we were passing the house of the dreaded doctor, who might have detained us as he had done other people.

The sun rose while we toiled up the Otomitonga Pass, and at every step the view became more grand, as Fujiyama stood revealed, rising in cloudless beauty from the vast intervening plain. Scarcely, however, had we feasted our eyes on the lovely vision, of which I happily secured a very careful sketch, when the mists uprose, and in a few moments not the faintest suggestion of a mountain was visible, to the great grief of a large party who toiled up the hill from Hakoni Lake, just too late to see it.

We descended the pass, and, crossing the valley, made for a region known as O-ji-goku, “the Great Hell,” where, in a hollow between two dark wooded hills, the steam of boiling sulphur-springs rises ceaselessly from a bare expanse of red, broken ground. Before reaching this spot we arrived at the charmingly primitive tea-house of Sengoku Yu, in the heart of the beautiful forest. The water from the boiling sulphur-springs is brought down in bamboo pipes, and is here cooled in simple but effective baths. One of these having been told off for our exclusive use, screened, and placed under the guardianship of a pretty Japanese boy, who, proud of his charge, sat on watch to keep off all intruders, we were able to revel in peace, and did our best to boil away all painful memories of our climb. Then, arrayed in cool Japanese dresses, lent to us by our hostess, we were ready to enjoy a semi-native supper. On the following morning we repeated our sulphur-bath, and recommend the process to all future pilgrims.

Then, climbing the hill to make a nearer inspection of “the Great Hell,” we tried various foolishly rash experiments in the way of tasting sulphur, alum, and iron-springs, cooked our luncheon in one, and then, braving the choking sulphurous fumes, which made us cough violently, we inspected the process by which sulphur rock is pounded to a fine powder, thrown into furnaces where it becomes a gas, and, passing through rude retorts, drips in a deep orange-coloured fluid into large vessels, where it becomes pure, solid sulphur, of a pale chrome colour, after which it is made up in matted bundles and carried down the mountain on the backs of little Japanese women, that it may finally reach Yokohama, and be used in making medicinal baths.

With regard to the very unpleasant name given to the sulphur-producing district, I may mention that in various parts of both the Northern and Southern Isle we find the title of Ko-ji-koku or O-ji-goku, _i.e._ “the Little or the Great Hell,” while one such spot in the neighbourhood of Nagasaki is distinguished as the Chiū-to-Ji-goku, or “the Middle-Class Hell.” One beautiful geyser in the neighbourhood of the latter is known as the Dai-kiō-kwan, “the Loud Wailing,” as suggesting the anguish of souls in Purgatory. Naturally the Buddhists, who exhaust all the resources of art and language to depict the horrors of the seven hells, were not likely to let slip so suggestive a natural illustration.

When I was at Nagasaki I had occasion to visit the courteous Roman Catholic Bishop. While waiting, I had leisure to inspect sundry large, coloured prints of Purgatory, the Day of Judgment, and Hell—a teaching of terror; devils with pitchforks driving affrighted human beings into pits of flame, and all fully described in Japanese. Having recently visited the very realistic reproductions of the seven hells in many Buddhist temples, I felt that there was little to choose between these interpreters of the Great Hereafter.

Descending in a thick, soaking mist, we halted at the tea-house of Obango, where a group of native travellers were listening in rapt attention to a woman reciting, in an extraordinary voice down in her throat, gurgling and cackling, and occasionally blowing through a shell, or loudly tapping with her fan. She was apparently reciting some old story, but none of our party could understand a word she said, as she was speaking in a dialect almost obsolete, which few of the Japanese themselves could follow. An hour’s row down the lovely Hakoni Lake brought us to the village of the same name, where we found many friends in pleasant summer quarters, and where the chief attraction of every house and every walk lies in the view it commands of Fujiyama.

Here I spent a delightful fortnight with the Dyers, who were renting a pretty Japanese house during the summer vacation. Every day we made delightful expeditions to specially beautiful scenes, to visit fascinating rural villages, quite untouched by the foreign element, and we lingered beneath the shade of grand cryptomerias with an undergrowth of bright blue hydrangeas, orange tiger-lilies, small lilac and white lilies, and campanulas.

Remembering our pleasant sulphur-bath at Sengoku Yu, we went one day to the sulphur-springs at Ashinoyu, which are more fashionable, and where the whole air is tainted with the smell of sulphuretted hydrogen, whereas at Sengoku Yu the baths have a clean smell of sulphurous acid. So, leaving the town, I consoled myself by sketching a fine image of Dai Butzu, sculptured on a rock on the hill above the village, returning by a grand avenue of cryptomerias.

We witnessed a pathetic annual feast for the dead, when every house spreads a variety of things good to eat before its domestic shrine. These are for the spirits of all the hungry dead, not only their own ancestors, but also the neglected spirits whose relatives are too poor to provide food for them. This feast is laid out on many successive days, and ends in a _matsuri_, _i.e._ one of those always attractive general festivals.

It was tantalising to turn away from such varied beauty and interest, but an invitation from Sir Harry Parkes to H.B.M. Legation at Tokio, to witness an absolutely unique festival given by the people to the Mikado and his American guests, General and Mrs. Ulysses Grant, was irresistible, and so I bade adieu to beautiful Lake Hakoni and the many friends there.

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