Chapter II: Part 2

The island of Yezo is unlike the rest of Japan, in geology, in fauna, and in flora. It is a continental island, continuing in its structure and rock formations the neighboring mainland, although it is an active volcanic area and presents some modern eruptive rocks. The island is remarkably compact and presents the least coast line to square mile of surface of any part of the Japanese Empire. It presents the finest forests and the broadest plains of Japan, and its Ishikari is the longest Japanese river. Its coal mines are extensive and there are other sources of mineral wealth. In its fauna and flora the island is remarkably like the Eastern United States—not merely in general aspect, but in identity of species. Yezo, with its immediately neighboring islands, presents an area of 30,273 square miles, about that of South Carolina. Until recently, it has been occupied by the Ainu. As Russian aggression has been more and more feared by Japan, it became plain that Yezo, with its unaggressive population of Ainu, was a weak spot, unprotected and easily attacked, which needed to be strengthened. A policy of colonization was developed. To colonize wisely, demanded study and experiment. A geological survey was made, experimental farms were established, an agricultural college was founded, roads were built, towns were planted, industries were originated. Much of this work of development was placed in the hands of Americans, some of whom did nobly, while others betrayed their trust or failed through incapacity. Immigration was encouraged from the older and more crowded parts of the Empire. Towns, and even cities, have grown up in a few years; everything is new; life is much as that of our pioneer days and frontier settlements. All this is undoubtedly good for Japan as a nation, but it is hard upon the Ainu. In 1874 Yezo numbered 144,069 inhabitants, of whom 16,000 were Ainu; in 1899, the population was 859,534, the Ainu being reported at 17,000. This flood of Japanese immigration is largely homesteaders; each year sees the Ainu more directly in contact with Japanese neighbors and less secure in the little villages which he occupies. Such thoughts as these about the island home of the Ainu suggested themselves to our minds as we trudged over the snow through the forests.

But our walking neared its end. At Neptani we arranged for a sledge and then started on, leaving it to overtake us. Just as we left the village, we overtook a hunting party on its way to the mountains for deer. The men of the party came from two or three different villages; they carried the guns, and led the dogs; the women carried the luggage. The dogs were like coyotes in size and form and some of them were brown-gray in color; there was, however, considerable range in color. They were strangers to one another and quarrelsome, and probably several days had to elapse before they became friendly. Having exchanged greetings with the hunters and photographed the group, we journeyed on. From here the country was more broken, the terrace slope being cut by lateral gorges, opening on the Saru, which was still to our left. Before long, we were overtaken by our sled, the driver of which was a typical young fellow of some twenty-two years, beardless, indeed, but with long hair hanging, from a central parting, down upon his shoulders. Before we reached the next village, we met a man from Okotnai, whither we were bound, who told us that the man, of whom we were in search, had gone hunting. This was a dash to our hopes, for we had counted on securing him for our group. He was no doubt already in the mountains beyond our reach and not likely to return for a fortnight or more. The hunting party which we had photographed was still in sight and their leader had greatly pleased us. Asking whether we cared for him, Mr. Batchelor called him back. He told him that we wished him, with his wife and child, to go with us to the United States; that he would be gone nine months; that he should go. A look of blank helplessness came over his face, but he replied that he would have to go, of course, if _he_ said so. I now found for the first time—because the type is really very uniform, and all men of an age look alike—that he was the younger of the two men whom we had seen in the first home we visited in Upper Piratori—Kutoroge, the nephew of old Penri. This recognition recalled the older man and we suggested to Mr. Batchelor, the wish that he, too, might be secured. “Oh, yes, Kutoroge, the gentleman wants an old man, a graybeard, who knows how to make the arrow poison and to whittle the _inao_. Can you not find him such a man?” “Why, sir, there is my old father, you know! Would he not do? And really, if we must _die_, it is better that we should die together than separated.” “Oh, yes,” we answered, “so there _is_ your father! Well, go back to your village, and tell him and make preparation, so that all may be ready when we come back to-morrow.” He agreed, but would have to go on to the next village to overtake his wife, who had gone on with the luggage, while we were talking. Thus a hunting party was left without its leader!

Passing Penakori, traveling through a fine hill district, for the most part wooded, near Porosaru, we came to a little stream which was open and which we had to cross by a dugout canoe. The ferryman was an old man, with fine hair and beard. He was dressed in native garments, which were old and worn. Though the weather was cold, his breast was uncovered and showed an unusually thick growth of body hair. The old man first poled us over, then brought our luggage and the box body of the sled. The driver, mounting the little horse, forded him across, dragging the runners. After we had reconstructed the sled and loaded in the baggage, we rode on through the forest, over the uneven terrace, until at last we descended to the Saru River. It was open, and projecting fringes of ice reached out from the shore over the water in a way that looked dangerous. However, we crept out on them, expecting them to break and let us into the water, to another canoe, poled this time by a strong, young ferryman. We crossed safely and crept out onto similar projecting ice fringes on the other side. Our driver tried to make a crossing at a ford higher up the river, but failed. Meantime we followed the river bottom for some little distance, over soft and water-soaked snow, that let us sink deeply every two or three steps; finally, however, we mounted to the low terrace where the walking improved and were soon in the village of Osatnai. From there it was but a fifteen-minutes’ walk to Okotnai, last of this group of Saru Ainu towns and the goal of our journey. From Tomakomai, where we left the railroad, we had traveled in the three days some eighteen _ri_, equal to about forty-five miles, distributed as shown in the following table of villages through which we passed:

Tomakomai,
Yubutsu,
Azuma, 5 _ri_
Mukawa,
Sarabuto,
[2]Shumunkot,
[2]Nina,
[2]Lower Piratori,
[2]Upper Piratori, 7 _ri_
[2]Neptani,
[2]Penakori,
[2]Porosaru,
[2]Osatnai,
Okotnai, 6 _ri_
————
18 _ri_ = about 45 miles.

It was just after noon when we arrived, going directly to Tunkamareg’s house. He had really gone hunting, but Charenga, his wife, was at home, and we were made welcome. Two families live in the house, each with two or three children. Tunkamareg and Charenga are both Ainu; the other man is Ainu, but his wife is Japanese and the little mongrel children were not much to my taste. We were cold and tired and hungry. The pot was boiling and we put some chicken that we had brought with us from Piratori in with the millet that the house supplied, and were soon eating our first Ainu meal. It was now snowing hard outside and we hugged the fire all the afternoon, while the villagers brought in all kinds of articles for sale. During the afternoon fresh venison was brought in and our evening stew was rice (secured somewhere, somehow) and deer-meat. It was interesting to watch the children of the two families quarrel over a deer-bone, fresh and bloody, which they took turns in sucking and in picking off shreds of raw meat. This house, though a true Ainu hut, is mission headquarters, and under outside influences a corner of it has been walled off into a sleeping room for Tunkamareg and his wife. This room Charenga surrendered to us for the night. In it was one of Mr. Batchelor’s little stoves, but it smoked badly; the night was cold and the room draughty, yet on the whole we were more comfortable when the fire went out. All night we suffered from the bitter cold.

We were up early and left betimes. The only sled that could be secured was too small to do more than take our baggage, increased as it was by purchases! So we walked. Mr. Batchelor, more accustomed to this exercise and to Japan’s atmosphere and with little on his bones to carry, kept up a lively pace; Manuel did fairly; but the “leader” of the expedition played out completely before he reached Porosaru, by which time the party was strung out in three sections, along a couple of miles or so of road. It was with joy that he finally met an Ainu boy, with a little sled for dragging wood, who bore a written message stating that he was in our employ! At Porosaru the party was reunited and we made a visit of ceremony at the rather large house of an Ainu of consequence. We entered through the south door and were seated upon handsome mattings, which were folded and laid upon boxes at the east end of the fireplace. Here we photographed the interior of the hut, but our negative was bad; it was a pity, for the northeast corner full of treasures was fine. We had better success in photographing a Japanese lacquered tray, upon which, wrapped in _inao_ shavings, were three skulls—those of an otter, a fox, and an albatross.

Our driver, acting under instructions, had hurried on to Neptani, where he had aroused the village, making an especial search for moustache sticks, with designs in high relief. His search had been rewarded and we carried away two—both, unfortunately, lacquered, but well made. One of them bore the figure of a bear in full relief about an inch high, in front of which was a swimming whale; the other bore three mountains. He had other things awaiting inspection, too—fine dresses, necklaces, swords, and scabbards, carved tobacco-boxes, and the like. We took in a rich harvest, but what pleased us most after the two moustache sticks, was a fine fetish bird-skull wrapped in _inao_ shavings. This was the third example of its kind that we had seen. The first was at Piratori, where the wrapped skull belonged to a woman who was “in an interesting condition,” and we thought it unwise to offer to make the purchase; the second was at the house of Porosaru, where the skulls were so carefully guarded and apparently so highly prized, that we did not hint at purchase; here the skull had been lately used and we could see the spot from which bone powder had been scraped for use as a remedy. The house belonged to particular friends of Mr. Batchelor, and after little demur, we carried the skull away in triumph.

Perhaps the moustache lifter is peculiar to the Ainu. At any rate, it is characteristic of them, and upon it they lavish their utmost artistic efforts. It is a thin, flat stick, measuring some eight, ten, or twelve inches in length by about an inch in width; the ends are angular, one being broadly obtuse, almost squared, and the other sharpened to almost a real point. The upper surface is carved with decorative designs, the work in some cases being admirable. The patterns are, mostly, curved-line conventions. Recent specimens are all carved in low relief; some of the older ones bear full round figures. Usually made in plain wood of light color, they were sometimes turned over to Japanese neighbors to be lacquered. These curious sticks serve a double purpose; the sharper end is dipped into saké or millet beer, and then drops are sprinkled from it to divine beings, in drinking, on ceremonial occasions. On such occasions the cups of drink are set out upon the ground before the guests, with moustache sticks laid across them. The art of carving these sticks is now neglected and the finer specimens are all old. The old artist used to leave his mark cut on the under side—some simple device, as a triangle, some crossing lines, etc. These moustache sticks had a great attraction for us and we secured scores of them. Most of my finest specimens bear the same maker’s mark, a simple, unequally impressed, solid triangle, apparently made with a punch. While such moustache lifters figure generally on ceremonial occasions, there is also a special ceremonial type. It is whittled from fresh wood; no decorative designs are carved upon it, but rolls of shavings are whittled up at three places on the upper side.

At the house where we had stopped, lived a paralytic. On our arrival we had dismissed our little wood sled and our old driver had arranged for two good sleds with boxes. When we were ready to start, we found we were not to be alone. Our driver took an Ainu woman and all the luggage into his sled; into the other, we packed a company consisting of the driver, a fine bearded subject, the paralytic, two women, Manuel and myself. We expected Mr. Batchelor also, but when he saw the prospects, he sniffed in derision and stalked off down the road. Our driver was a fine type, but he was stupid and careless. We were going gaily, packed as close as sardines in a box, when in crossing a little brook, we struck some obstacle and were all spilled out onto the snow. Fortunately none of us fell into the brook and no one was hurt. We picked up the paralytic and put him into the sled, repacked ourselves and were off again. We soon overtook Mr. Batchelor, readjusted the two loads, taking him in, and went on. Before long we were again at the Saru River, and crossing on foot, over the ice, were at Upper Piratori at four o’clock.

We found that the old man refused to go with us. He was too old and frail to make so long and difficult a journey. Kutoroge had, however, picked out a man at Lower Piratori, whom he had persuaded to go, taking his wife and little girl. They were submitted to our inspection and proved highly satisfactory. Sangyea has graying hair, a gray beard, and a patriarchal aspect; he wears great hoop earrings and a well embroidered ceremonial garment. Santukno, his wife, is charmingly ugly, with a broad and heavy lower face, prominent jaws, and a fine tattooing on face and arms. She is a kind soul and suffers from a curious nervous trouble, which they call _imu_ and which seems somewhat mysterious. Those who are _imu_ are terribly afraid of snakes, and the sight of one, or even mention of one, throws them into a state of rigidity. Certain words or sounds have a similar effect. When the subjects are in this abnormal condition, they lose their self-control and mumble or grimace and are apt to do the opposite of what they are ordered.

In the evening, after another treat to coffee and tea cakes at Miss Bryant’s, we went to Kutoroge’s house to draw up the necessary documents. The old man and Kutoroge received us in a stately manner. We went into the front room, for the house has two, the _shem_ being, apparently, an old house, and squatted down in two facing lines—Mr. Batchelor, Manuel, and I, facing the clerk, the policeman, Kutoroge, Shutratek, Sangyea, and Santukno. We all went through the formal salutations of hand-rubbing, hand-waving, and beard-stroking. I then paid one month’s full salary in advance. The clerk drew up formal receipts, which were signed, sealed, and witnessed. The necessary data were taken down for securing legal applications for passports to leave the country.

All formalities having been thus observed, we were ready to leave. Money was supplied for securing the necessary equipment for the house at Saint Louis and for bringing all to the railroad and we told them when they must appear at Sapporo. In the morning, our only conveyances were two small-box, single-horse, two-wheeled carts. One of these we loaded full with our baggage. Into the other Manuel and I crowded ourselves, sitting on the board bottom, with our legs stretched stiffly crosswise of the cart. When Mr. Batchelor chose to ride, we all three adopted some sort of a kneeling or crouching position. Progress was slow and uncomfortable. Sometimes we stopped to make photographs, and on one such stop were able to test this statement in Mr. Batchelor’s book: “They cut the fat part of the legs of both males and females at the joint near the pelvis, and then bind the wound up with the leather-like layers of the fungus mycelium found between the bark and the wood of dead oak, elm, or ash trees.” I had been questioning him about this practice, raising a query as to its purpose and its generality. As we were passing through a village, we met a woman with a baby in her arms, and Mr. Batchelor inquired of her in regard to it. After a little hesitation, she showed me the baby, a little girl perhaps less than a year old. It had been cut only on the left side, back on the inside of the leg, just below the buttocks. The cut had healed, but the scar was quite plain. The woman said they do it with babies that kick and squirm too much. While the practice is probably not general it is certainly common and widespread, occurring in several, if not all, villages.

Our progress was so desperately slow that, by the time we reached Sarabuto, we had almost given up hope of reaching Azuma for the night. We were taking tea and cakes at the little tea-house, when a _basha_ came along making its homeward journey empty. We gladly hired it, taking some luggage into it with us and dividing the rest between the two carts. We then rode away in comparative comfort and at a much improved speed. From Mukawa, we walked a little to stretch our legs, but then rode steadily on to Azuma, arriving at about four o’clock. The luggage came in later. We were impressed by the preparations the little town was making against Russian attack. The four Russian gunboats are being watched for. Seven men patrol the coast day and night. At a signal of two bells from the tower, the women, the aged, and the helpless are to flee for shelter inland; at four strokes every able-bodied man and boy is to seize the nearest thing that can serve as a weapon and rush to meet the enemy. And no doubt similar arrangements of desperate bravery are being made at every miserable fishing village along this coast!

In the morning we took the _basha_ of yesterday and a second one for luggage and started early. It was bitterly cold and from time to time we ran to warm our feet. At Yubutsu we turned directly from the sea and struck for the little station of Numanohata. Here at 9.40 a. m. we took train for Sapporo, where we had to spend a few days, packing, completing preparations, and waiting for our people. Here I had the opportunity of examining the Japanese books and manuscripts relative to the Ainu, in the governmental library of the Hokkaido. The Japanese have been much interested in the Ainu and have written many works about them. Most famous and best known is the _San Goku Tsuran Zusetsu_, by a Rin Shihei. It was published in 1785 and consists of a volume of text and five volumes of maps. It is more commonly found in manuscript than printed. It is abundantly illustrated with pictures of men and women, dress, ornaments, tools, and scenes of daily life. In one picture three Ainu boys are playing the game of “javelin and ring,” but instead of using javelins are piercing the rolling ring with arrows shot from bows. In a family scene, the father smokes a pipe, but looks around for a moment at the baby, who seems to point reproachfully at his mother, who is giving her breast to the bear cub and not to him; in a cage near by is a captive bird, perhaps an eagle, waiting sacrifice. In still another picture, the hunter, from his canoe on the sea, hurls a harpoon at a seal. The drawings of articles are carefully made and serve well for comparison with modern specimens. On the whole the book gives interesting information regarding the Ainu of one hundred and twenty years ago. The most diligent of the Japanese writers about the Ainu, however, is Matsuura Takeshiro, a geographer, who made a loving study of the island of Yezo, publishing many books between 1850 and 1865. He takes each section of the island in detail and describes it from the points of view of topography, flora, fauna, and ethnology. Almost all of his many books are illustrated and the pictures are often strikingly true to life. Takeshiro was a skillful artist and sometimes painted _kakemono_, or hanging scrolls, with Ainu scenes. One of these is now owned by Professor Miyabe, the accomplished botanist of the agricultural college at Sapporo. It is a simple picture, of few lines and delicate coloring, but it is living. It represents Ainu in boats on the sea gathering kelp. The picture is an heirloom, having been given to Professor Miyabe’s father by the artist, who was his friend. At the house of Mr. Ishikara, a mining engineer to whom I had been recommended, I was shown some manuscript maps made by the old geographer. They are marvels of patient work and surpass in their enormous amount of detail in the matter of local place-names. Among the pictures in Takeshiro’s books we have excellent material regarding the Ainu of a half century ago. My own interest in these Japanese books relative to Ainu began in 1891 at the little Museum of Rotterdam in Holland; it had been nourished by MacRitchie’s book, _The Ainos_, which depended absolutely upon such books for its material; it now flamed and during my brief stay in Japan I brought together quite a library of such books. I now know of more than forty _printed_ Japanese works that treat of the Ainu, most of which are in my collection. But the printed books are but a small part of the material representing Japanese observation. Many more than forty works still exist only in manuscript, some probably in but a single copy. There are at Sapporo a goodly number of such manuscripts, among them one so beautifully and delicately illustrated that I have had both texts and pictures carefully copied. At Hakodate and at Tokio are many more of these unpublished manuscripts, some of which surely deserve publication. We cherish the hope of finding some one who will help us to put some of these quaint and interesting books into print. To be sure, those without pictures would mean nothing to the English reader, but, until they are in print and accessible, they mean nothing to the students of Japan.

Among these works are many which narrate the wars between the Ainu and the Japanese. To-day, recognizing the passive and too yielding nature of the Ainu, it is difficult to imagine them as warlike. In hunting, it is true, they are brave enough, even reckless. But, if they were ever warriors, they are to-day a broken-spirited and subdued people. During the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, according to Japanese accounts, they were great fighters. Even the names of some great chiefs and descriptions of their deeds of bravery are consigned to writing.

The Ainu were the old population of Japan and probably occupied all the islands, even down to Kiushiu, the southmost. Over the whole area Ainu names are sprinkled. Even the name of sacred Fuji-san, the divine mountain, seems to be Ainu. As the ancestors of the Japanese entered Japan from the south, they drove back the unhappy Ainu before them. The encroachment was gradual, but constant; little by little the Ainu retreated to the north. Not very long ago there were still many in the northern part of the main island; to-day there are none. Yezo, the Kurils, and Saghalien (now Russian territory) were their final strongholds. But now Yezo is filling with vigorous, incoming Japanese, before whom undoubtedly the Ainu must yield. His little villages, sprinkled here and there over the island, along the river-courses or on the sea coast, will disappear. His life of hunting and fishing is already almost a thing of the past. To-day the Ainu is “a ward,” to be guarded by a paternal government, to be “elevated” by civilization. He is forbidden to make arrow poison, he is subject to game laws, he may no longer have his girls tattooed, he must send the children to school, he must learn “the ways of industry,” and till the soil; it is the old story. We know it as Japan does. We, too, have wards to be “improved.”

Our Ainu party duly appeared with bag and baggage. They reported that, at their leaving, there was a gathering of the village and much weeping, since they were looked upon as dead men never again to be seen in the old home. We had learned immediately on our return to Sapporo that Bete Goro was _anxious_ to go with us, but had hesitated about taking him. Goro is young, shaves, wears Europeanized, not to say Japanized, clothing. To be sure, he still wears Ainu leggings with fine embroidery. He is dreadfully conventional; instead of whittling _inao_, he knits stockings! Now, all this is highly commendable, but it is no qualification for figuring in an Ainu group at the Exposition. But, Goro was lively and happy and anxious to go. That was something, and we believed his influence would do much to cheer the somewhat morose Yazo, the timid Shirake, and the group that were mourned as dead. So we decided he should go. We should leave his wife, daughter of old Penri’s widow, behind, in expectation of an event of importance to the Ainu community. Mr. Batchelor was asked to communicate the decision, and Goro was summoned to his study. A moment later Mr. Batchelor called us to see “what ails this crazy fellow.” Goro, who had seated himself upon the floor, was beside himself with joy. He hugged himself, chuckled, laughed, swayed from side to side, literally rolled upon the floor. With his accession our party was complete. Nine Ainu made up the group—old Sangyea, his wife Santukno, their little daughter Kin, Kutoroge the bear-hunter, his wife Shitratek, and their baby girl Kiko, Yazo, his wife Shirake, and Bete Goro. We marched the whole company to the police station, where they were identified, their documents examined and passports issued permitting them to leave Japan with us.

We had, however, during this time at Sapporo, made one side trip. Piratori and the other Saru towns were so far from the railroad that it had seemed best not to bring an Ainu house from there. So we again took the railroad, passed Tomakomai and Numanohita, and got off the train at Shiraoi, a railroad town of considerable size. The part of the town along the track is Japanese. The Ainu portion, forming perhaps two-thirds of the whole town, lies between the Japanese quarter and the sea. Old Parapita had already been sent to find a house and, promptly on our arrival, the village chief Shupanram took us to the one selected. It was small, but typical; the shem, however, was less than of normal size, so we bought a second very small house to supply material for a _shem_ of normal proportions in Saint Louis. The two houses together cost forty yen (twenty dollars, U. S. currency) and we ordered twenty yen’s worth more of thatching. The chief summoned laborers, men, women and children, the people who had been living in our house, moved out at once, and the work of demolition began. We then took a walk through the town. In some respects it is unlike the Saru River villages and is, perhaps, typical of seaside towns within reach of Japanese influence. The houses are massed quite closely together; many—most of them—are protected or sheltered by breaks or guards of bamboo, built especially at the west doorway; there was an almost complete absence of storehouses—such a conspicuous feature in the Saru villages. But there seems to be the same care in location with regard to the east and west, the same relative position of _nusa_, east window, sacred corner, and _shem_. The Ainu here are fine types. Tall, well-built men are common, one might say, the rule. The average difference of stature between males of Shiraoi and the Saru towns is certainly considerable. Mr. Batchelor tells me that the people of the northern towns near the western coast, as Ishikari, are shorter than those at Piratori. While the stature at Shiraoi is great, the heavy growth of body hair and the great beards are as at Piratori. Notwithstanding Japanese neighbors and the railroad the people at Shiraoi are conservative, and dress, ornament, utensils, and customs might be studied here as well as in some more remote villages. The life is undoubtedly influenced by the location of the village at the seashore, but we had no opportunity to study what peculiarities might be due to that. _Nusas_ are fine and numerous, and there are bear skulls on many of them. Here we noticed more conspicuously than elsewhere a secondary _nusa_, or rather a little group of _inao_ stuck into a hillock made of the refuse from the millet-mortar. More than ever, too, were we impressed with the coyote-like appearance of the dogs, which were here numerous.

We had observed two or three men passing, dressed in ceremonial costume and wearing crowns. Crowns with bearheads carved from wood occur here, as elsewhere, but crowns decorated with real bear claws, one or two, in place of the carved head of wood, are common. Learning that a drinking festival was in progress, we went to the place. It was truly an astonishing and impressive sight. Everything in the house was decorated with _inao_ shavings. The sacred east window and the treasure corner were hung with them. Along the two sides of the fireplace were squatted eleven or twelve old men, all wearing their embroidered ceremonial costumes and their crowns. All held moustache-lifters in their hands and before some of them stood cups of millet beer. Four freshly cut _inao_ were set in line west of the fireplace; next came three skulls wrapped in _inao_ shavings, in a tray; next were two high _inao_ and a large bowl of millet-beer. When we entered, all the old men stroked their beards. The leader of the feast sat in the middle of the line, at the fireplace, with a bowl of millet beer before him. He went through the whole elaborate salutation to Mr. Batchelor and then to me. A second old man did the same. The master of the feast then offered to make libation and drink in Mr. Batchelor’s honor, which offer was refused; a similar offer to me was refused by proxy. The feast was then resumed. Two or three young men were assisting, bringing beer, and otherwise serving. A cup of beer was passed out through the east window to someone outside, and we withdrew to see what was done there. Three blackbeards were worshiping. One took an _inao_ from a pile of stakes, where it had stood and bore it to the east window; a servant, inside, passed out a bowl of beer; the carrier of the _inao_, taking the moustache-lifter that lay across the cup, dipped it and sprinkled the _inao_. He then carried this to the _nusa_, and placed it in position. The other two had remained standing at the east window; the bearer, returning, took his place between the others, one of whom now received a cup of millet beer and a moustache-stick from the man inside; he sprinkled both of his companions and spilled a little of the drink upon the ground; the second then received a cup and stick and did the same; the third, the central one, who had placed the _inao_, then received the cup and made libation, but did not sprinkle his companions. All three then walked to the _nusa_ and sprinkled drops with the moustache-stick. All of this was done with great decorum and seriousness and was accompanied by prayer. We would gladly have seen the remainder of this festival, but could not stay. The three negatives we made of it were all failures. The ceremonial was to secure fine weather; it had long been bad and a change was greatly desired. The prayers seem to have been efficacious, for the next day dawned gloriously.

We were excellently treated by the chief, who ordered articles brought in for sale, and who at last, with extraordinary amiability, allowed us to examine the holiest of holies, the household _inao_, which stands in the extreme northeast corner of the house and ought never to be removed. It is an upright stick to which loose _inao_ curls are hung, from time to time, until the mass becomes great. It represents the spirit of the house and, underneath the mass of pendant curls, a notch is cut into which a coal from the hearth, called “the heart,” is bound. This was brought out for our inspection and we were even allowed to look at the place of “the heart.” The coal itself was gone, though the notch, blackened by the heat, remained, and a new heart was to be inserted at the next extraordinary festival of the house. Now passing outside, we found the house, which we had purchased, a wreck. A crowd of men, women, and children were engaged in wrapping, cording, and moving the materials to the station. It was evening, and, as we were very tired, we betook ourselves to the house of the local catechist, a Japanese, where we ate and slept.

We had brought Mr. Inagaki with us, whose services as interpreter and caretaker of the Ainu, we had been so fortunate as to secure. The people speak no English, of course, but they all know some Japanese; Mr. Inagaki speaks Japanese and English. Born in southern Japan, he is studying for the Episcopal ministry at the theological school at Tokio, where he is well thought of by Bishop McKim. His health broke down, and, forced to discontinue study for a time, he was furloughed to Yezo, where it was hoped that outdoor life would do him good. He is willing and competent. When we left in the morning, he remained to superintend the shipment of the house to Muroran, coming up to Sapporo on the afternoon train. We had been promised a war-club, but could not secure it last night, as it was in the house where the feast was in progress. In the cold, fresh, bright morning, we walked out to secure it. It was a fine old specimen, well cut, with the inset piece of iron still in place, black with the accumulated dirt and smoke of years, and tied around with fresh _inao_ shavings in honor of yesterday’s feast. At the last moment the owner repented and hesitated about selling. But we secured it and hurried in triumph to our train. There is no equally good specimen at the Tokio University, nor in the Sapporo Museum and we might look long for another so good.

At last, on Monday, March 7, all was ready, and our party—nine Ainu, one Japanese, one Mexican, and one American,—started for the train. Mr. Batchelor went with us to the station to bid us Godspeed. Friends were gathered there, in genuine Japanese style, to see us off. Mr. Bell, a missionary friend whose acquaintance dated back to America; Mr. Fujimura, Mr. Ishikara, Professor Miyabe—all with best wishes. We were soon upon our way, and reached Muroran shortly after noon. The Maruichi Hotel was all excitement over soldiers expected in on a boat at evening. There had been stormy weather and quantities of passengers were waiting, and everything except third-class accommodations on the outgoing boat was sold. We decided to wait and see what would be done with the steamer, which was to bring the soldiers and over which the company had no control, as it was in the power of the War Department. If it should be released we could go on it late to-night; otherwise, we must wait until to-morrow night. Mr. Batchelor had sent word of our coming to the local catechist, who had already received our freight, house and household stuff, and had shipped them for Aomori; they were already loaded and would leave upon the regular night’s boat.

Having done all the business possible, we went to see an old man who had a little collection of Stone Age relics, which he had gathered at Cape Edomo, near by. There were a couple of dozen arrowheads, small, and of various forms and sizes, neatly chipped from obsidian, jasper and horn-stone; there were nine celts or polished blades, with good edge, made of several kinds of heavy, compact, hard stone; one of these made of a light green material showed marks of having been sawed from a block of stone; there was also a block of this same stone showing clear signs of sawing; there were two of the saws that did such cutting, crude things but showing plain signs of use, quite large, thin splinters of a hard and tough material with one side developed into a narrow cutting edge, striated by sand grains. The old man did not much care to sell, but we desired something to represent the Stone Age of Japan, and he finally did so, at a price, which would soon lead to bankruptcy, if we continued in the market.

Who were the makers of these early relics? For some time back we have been attracted by the theories of Morse, Milne, Hitchcock and others, that there was a Pre-Ainu race in Japan, which produced these stone objects and heaped up the shell-heaps found at many places. It is indeed hard to reconcile their writings and make a harmonious whole out of their material. Still we had finally reached the conclusion that there have been three populations of Japan. _First_, the pre-Ainu aborigines, pit-dwellers, called “earth spiders,” or “earth hiders.” The evidence for their existence, Morse’s shell-heaps at Omori with crude pottery and signs of cannibalism, the pits so common in Yezo and unquestionably marking ancient dwelling-sites, Hitchcock’s living “pit-dwellers” at Shikotan, some references in old Japanese chronicles and Ainu legends, and the fact (asserted by Basil Hall Chamberlain) of unanalyzed place-names in Yezo. _Second_, the Ainu coming from the north and penetrating far south, though ever more numerous in the north. _Third_, the Japanese coming from the south and driving the Ainu northward, coming here and there in contact with such aborigines as had escaped destruction at the hands of the Ainu.

The Ainu legends are curious. One of them is given by Mr. Batchelor as follows: “In very ancient times a race of people who dwelt in pits lived among us. They were so very tiny that ten of them could easily take shelter beneath one burdock leaf. When they went to catch herrings they used to make boats by sewing the leaves of bamboo grass together, and always fished with a hook. If a single herring was caught it took all the men of five boats, or even ten sometimes, to hold it and drag it ashore, while crowds were required to kill it with their clubs and spears. Yet strange to say these little men used even to kill great whales. Surely, these pit-dwellers were gods.”

Now, of course, we never believed in any such _Koropok-guru_. But we had been impressed by the arguments and we had been greatly interested, at Yokohama, in a chart or diagram, which a friend had shown us, in which a reconstruction of the life of this “earliest race of Japan” was attempted. We were especially astonished at the detailed information regarding the dress of the _Koropok guru_, which the chart seemed to show. Later, in Tokio, at the University, Prof. Tsuboi showed us some ancient clay figures of human beings and it was clear that the author of the chart had gained his ideas of dress from these. And in the presence of this instructive chart and the evidence shown me by this learned Professor my first doubts regarding their theory arose. Surely the shell-heaps, the crude pottery, the stone tools, and the old pit-houses were never made by people, who dressed as those represented in these figures. To-day, we feel somewhat skeptical with reference to the whole theory of a pre-Ainu race. Hitchcock’s pit dwellers of Shikotan are Ainu pure and simple. In some Ainu towns, particularly in Saghalien, individuals to-day make pit-houses. Mr. Batchelor claims now to be able to analyze all Yezo place-names; we tried him on twenty taken consecutively from a chance part of Chamberlain’s lists and he explained all to our satisfaction. There is good evidence that the Ainu have known the art of pottery and in their legends references are made to the practice of cannibalism (points important against Prof. Morse’s argument). While still open to argument, we now incline to consider the Ainu the aboriginal population of Japan. Various other elements undoubtedly exist among the population, especially Corean, but on the whole there have been but two widespread populations—Ainu and Japanese—and for us these old stone relics from Cape Edomo are Ainu things.

The war steamer came at evening with six hundred men and thirty officers. The latter all came to the Maruichi Hotel and we were all confusion. To our disappointment we learned that the War Department would retain the vessel and that no passengers could be taken. As suddenly as they had come and with no information as to their further movements, the soldiers and officers left at nine o’clock and we were again in peace. We were told that another steamer was expected in the early morning and that we might possibly get off on it instead of waiting until night. Expecting that we might be called at six we went at once to bed. Suddenly, we were roused from our slumber, and, after hastily dressing, were hustled down to the shore, from which we were rowed out through the darkness to the Taconoura Maru. To our surprise we found that it was now but eleven o’clock and were soon again in bed. We started in the early morning and were at Hakodate in time to hear the noon gun, leaving again at two o’clock. Goro, our happy Goro, and two of the women were seasick. Up to Hakodate we had plenty of room and all was comfortable, but at that port many passengers embarked and the whole ship was disagreeably crowded. It was too cold to stay on deck much, but we could see as we sailed along the Yezo coast that there was much less snow than when we made our up-journey. It was cold and rainy when, at nine o’clock, we anchored in Aomori harbor and were landed, amid hubbub and confusion, by the little boat. The next day we found that the annual snow-cleaning was in progress and everywhere the great drifts in the streets were being cut down. We saw, too, what had been unimagined in our earlier visit, that every street has an open waterway for carrying off the melting snow. We stayed at Aomori long enough to reship our freight and took two nights instead of one on our way to Tokio, stopping off some hours, between trains, at Sendai. Railroad operations had been affected somewhat by the movement of troops and supplies. Not only were there fewer trains, but running time was longer, thirty-six hours instead of twenty between Aomori and Tokio.

At Tokio, young Mr. Yamada, from Mr. Clement’s school, met us at the station and told us that arrangements for board and lodging had been made for the Ainu at a place near the school. He also said: “The boys will invite the Ainu people to our house to-night.” This we really did not understand until near evening Mr. Clement told us that the boys were arranging a reception and that we were all invited. It is the school’s custom to hold some social function every Saturday evening. At half past seven, Madam Clement, Mr. Clement, Mr. Root, Manuel and I went to the school assembly room, where the boys were gathered. At the proper time the Ainu appeared, dressed in their new Japanese garments (the first purchases with their month’s advance) and were seated together upon a bench half facing the audience. We were given chairs of honor in front, to the left of the leader. The boys of the school, to the number of about thirty, and Mr. Inagaki formed the audience. The program and idea of the reception were entirely original to the boys. The reception was opened by prayer and a religious song; an address of welcome was then given by one of the older boys and Yazo gave a response; the boys then sang a religious song in Japanese and Goro one in Ainu; the boys followed with one or two addresses and Kutoroge was given his turn—he became stage-frightened and had to be represented by Yazo. The orator of the day, a graduate of the school and now attending the Methodist college, then made a brilliant address, which abounded in pathetic and emotional passages, and was well-received; as this was plainly addressed to me, he was asked to make an English translation, in which the oratory lost something, but the meaning was clear enough—“he recognizes that in the past the treatment of the Ainu by his own people has not always been what it should, but that the sympathy and love of the boys of the school goes with the Ainu in their long journey; that they hope I will treat them well and see that others do the same; that they hope for their safe return; be good to the Ainu.” To all of which I made a brief response, thanking the boys for their interest and sympathy and for their thoughtful and hearty way of showing them. After singing a final hymn, they passed around little sacks of cakes to each boy as his part of the feast. Meantime the Ainu and I were taken to a table, which we just filled when we sat down together, with me at the head. We were then bountifully served by the boys to tea and cakes. At the beginning the Ainu were a little restrained, but when they found that the supply was ample, they not only ate and drank astonishingly well, but laid by for future needs, as if they doubted whether so good a chance would come again. The other guests, though treated with less distinguished consideration were not neglected. When we left the boys saw us off with lighted lanterns and we felt that their reception had been a great success.

Mr. Inagaki was deeply touched and must have painted the reception in glowing colors, because an invitation came for the Ainu to visit St. Margaret’s Girls School on Monday afternoon. I was overwhelmed with work and had to go to Yokohama in the morning. However taking the noon train for Tokio, and hastening from the station to Tsukiji, I was at the school by the appointed hour. But it was a case of the play of Hamlet with Hamlet left out. Bishop McKim, Mr. Tucker, the Japanese principal, Mr. Inagaki, and one hundred and sixty Japanese girls were there and waiting; but the Ainu did not come. We waited, and waited, and to fill the time I told the girls something about Ainu life. At last we gave it up and the affair was postponed until the morrow. Inquiry found that they had not come because Shirake had a cold! The next day all except the invalid were present and the affair was reported to have been a great success. I was unable to be present.

Japan is up to date and the newspaper reporter knows his business. Though we were far from the centre of the city and had been quiet in our movements, the presence of the Ainu in the city and their location were announced in one of the papers. The result was that Tuperek appeared. And who was Tuperek? Old Sangyea’s son. We had never heard of him before and it was a long time since his father had heard from him. He had seen the newspaper notice and called and had an affecting interview. He is shrewd and knows something of white men as well as of Japanese. He is employed upon one of the “yellow journals” of Tokio. For some time he lived with Mr. Batchelor and, perhaps under his influence, has been stimulated to write a book of Ainu stories, which he plans to publish. He is a well-grown, strongly-built fellow of perhaps thirty years; he dresses in Japanese costume and shaves, but the heavy stubble on his face and the straight eyes are Ainu. The night before the party left for Yokohama he called upon us with his father; he begged to be taken to the Exposition; as they sat upon the floor before us, they wept as they pleaded. We ventured various objections, for all of which he had an answer. There was no time to get his passport and other documents; he would secure them and come along upon the next boat. He could not get into America, without us; oh, yes! he was connected with the Salvation Army, it could easily arrange that matter. As for his appearance, he knew that it was against him but he still had an Ainu costume and his beard would soon grow!

In the morning, we took the party to Yokohama, leaving them with Mr. Inagaki, to see the company’s doctor and the wharf doctor, to be inspected, bathed and fumigated and to secure their certificates for embarkation; a full day was none too much. As for us, between tickets and baggage, arranging for the shipment of the house and household stuff, and a hundred other things, we were kept swinging between Tokio and Yokohama. But at last all was done and on the morning of March 18, our whole party were aboard the Empress of Japan, upon which a little separate steerage had been rigged up for the Ainu where we believed they would be happier and more secluded than in the common steerage. On the voyage all were seasick except the two older men and the two babies. They probably suffered keenly. At all events, we are told that the words they use in describing their sufferings are of the most emphatic.

On the night of the 28th of March, we had the usual entertainment in the cabin. There were many Japanese passengers upon the list and, besides the usual music and recitations, we were favored with some Japanese sleight-of-hand performances, and an instrumental solo on a strange Japanese wind instrument. The proceeds of the sale of souvenir programs were to be given to the Japanese fund for wounded soldiers. As evidence of their appreciation of this act, the Japanese at the close of the program distributed souvenirs to all the other passengers,— a pretty fan, a bit of silk, a piece of lacquer. We were invited to contribute a part to the program by bringing in the Ainu and making an address about them. The address was well received but gave occasion to a little sparring. We did not see the program until it was printed and then found that we were announced to present a “short description of the Aino, followed by an Aino bear-dance by three of the tribe on board.” Our people were in ceremonial dress and made a fine appearance. We described the physical type, the tattooing, the dress and the salutations, after which Sangyea and Kutoroge gave a _yukara_ and we made some remarks about the problem of Ainu origin and relationship.