CHAPTER XV.

On the North-East Coast--From Poronai to Cape Soya.

It was late in the evening when I arrived at Poronai.[35] Saruru, the last village I had passed, had only six Ainu and three Japanese huts, and the nine or ten miles between there and this place were most uninteresting. I was taken across one of the quicksand rivers in the ferry by a lovely Ainu girl of about twelve years of age. I have never seen a more picturesque being than she was. She was partly dressed in skins, but half her chest was bare; her wildly-curled black hair fell over her shoulders, and while gracefully paddling across the ferry she occasionally threw back her head, thus shaking back the hair that the wind had blown over her eyes.

[35] _Poro_, large; _nai_, stream.

I have often noticed how supple the children of savages are, and how like in ease and grace and unconscious rhythm their movements are to those of wild animals. Sometimes, to be sure, they have the jerky, quick, and ungraceful movements of monkeys, but as a rule their actions are unconsciously graceful. Of course, with our children such unconscious grace is rare at any time, even when found at all, as from the day when they are born we train them to artificiality of all kinds, and this artificiality becomes in a sense second nature, overlaying, if not destroying, the original impress. And yet that impress is probably not wholly destroyed, for, so far as my own experience goes, I, who had from my birth led a civilised life, now that I had been for some months among barbarians had so little conventionality left in me as to be quite happy, or even happier than before, in leading a perfectly uncivilised existence. In the absence of chairs and sofas, instinct and the example of the natives taught me to squat as they did, and when I had once got into the way of it I found the position much more restful than any of our European so-called comfortable ways of sitting. It was the same thing when I had to sleep, either in the open air or in Ainu huts, where there was no more bedding than sofas or easy chairs. To protect myself from the cold I almost invariably slept sitting on the ground, with my head resting on my knees, just like the apes in the Zoological Gardens. I am sure that a good many of my readers, who have never gone through such an experience, will put me down as a "crank;" others will say that I am a worthy companion of my friend the hairy lunatic, and the most charitable will think that, bearing the name of "Savage Landor," I am only indulging in a new edition of "Imaginary Conversations," without the literary merits of the old. Such is not the case. I have mentioned these facts, not to amuse the reader, or merely for the sake of paradox, but to show how shallow is the veneer of civilisation which we are apt to think so thorough, and how a very short time spent unaccompanied by men of one's own stamp, and alone with "nature," rubs the whole thing away, and brings us back to instinct rather than education. I am willing to admit that not many people would care to follow in my footsteps, and live as I lived for months among the Ainu in order to prove whether I am right or wrong. Many who have only sat in comfortable chairs or slept in soft beds will hardly think my statements credible; but as the experiences, besides being of great amusement, were of great interest to me, I shall pass them on to my readers, no matter what opinion they may form of him who has written them.

Another quality, merely instinctive, which I developed in my lonesome peregrinations was the power of accurate tracking. Most people are astonished at the wonderful tales told of the tracking abilities of the Australian black fellows, and of savages in general; but few ever think that if when young they had led the same life as these savages they would be as good trackers as the best. As there were absolutely no roads, and I travelled with no guide, servant, or companion, the power of discovering traces became invaluable to me. It was instinctive in me, developed rather than acquired, and therefore I mention it in connection with the other facts relating to animal and human instincts. Furthermore, I may assert that, until I was thus compelled to make use of that faculty, I was not aware that I possessed it.

We find that horses, bears, and most animals are good trackers. Dogs, the nearest in intelligence to men, are better than any other quadruped. Then come savages, who are the masters of tracking among human beings; but as we rise in the scale of civilisation we find that this faculty of following a slightly indicated track hardly exists. Does, then, intellectual education destroy our instincts instead of improving them?

Tracking on sandy or tufaceous ground is an easy matter, as of course the foot leaves a well-marked print; but where I found real difficulty was over rocky ground, until I got used to it, and knew all the signs and what I had to look for. However, with a little practice, even over rocks which the sea has washed, it is not impossible to know if such and such creatures, human or animal, have passed that way.

One of the first things in tracking is to look for marks where they are likely to be; and this is just where the instinct comes in. Next to this, a clear knowledge of the person's or animal's way of walking and general habits is necessary. For instance, when I tried to discern tracks of Ainu, I invariably looked for them along the sea-shore, and failing that, on the adjoining cliffs, as I well knew that if any Ainu had passed by there he would have kept either along the coast or not far from it. By examination it is easy to see if the ground has been in any way disturbed of late. Sometimes a small stone moved from the place where it had been for years shows a difference in colour where it has been affected by the weather and where not, thus giving a distinct clue of some passer-by, man or brute; and when once you have found what the characteristics of the tracks are, the most difficult part of the task is accomplished.

On weather-beaten rocks the trail is more difficult to strike, and more difficult still on rocks over which the sea washes. "For," say the simple people, "how can you see tracks on hard stone? The foot certainly does not leave a print on rocks as on sand; and even supposing that the feet were dirty, the sea would wash away the marks, and you could not see anything."

In my case I limited my search to bare-footed marks, as the Ainu generally go bare-footed. Everybody knows that dogs track by scent, and this is a sure proof that every footmark must have a certain special odour, however infinitesimal. When we remember that the act of walking makes the feet warm and perspire, it is easy to understand that this perspiration, which is a greasy substance, leaves a mark on the stone--though to be sure it is sometimes almost imperceptible, especially when quite fresh. But most of us, when children at school, have noticed that touching a slate with moist fingers leaves a greasy mark, which could not be rubbed off again. The same thing happens when we tread on stones with bare feet. If the sea washes over the stones after the greasy impression has been thus made on them, it does nothing but accentuate these marks, and show them more plainly, as the salt water acts in one way on the untouched parts of the stone, but in a different way where the grease has been absorbed. These marks are generally very faint, and it requires some training before they can be discerned; but when the knack is once acquired, they become evident enough. To an observant eye, and with a little practice, it is not difficult to perceive whether one or more persons have tramped on a given place, and in what direction they have travelled. The marks on stones which are washed over by the sea are usually of a lightish colour.

I could almost invariably distinguish the footmarks of an Ainu from those of a Japanese, as the Ainu take longer strides, and their toes are longer than those of the Japanese. Moreover, with the latter, when walking the greater pressure is forward under the foot, and their toes are turned in; while in Ainu footprints the whole foot rests on the ground, and they keep it perfectly straight, moving the two feet parallel to each other.

I have given these few points on tracking, as it will explain to the reader how I was able to find my way from one village to another miles apart, to steer for huts where I had never been, and to overcome great difficulties, which I could not have surmounted if I had not learnt the art of tracking, and so far developed my natural powers. My ponies were also to a great extent my teachers; and by a close examination of their instinct I learned that I myself possessed it, and improved on it.

Between Sawaki, or Fujima, and Poronai there is a beautiful forest of oak and hard-wood trees on the hills and firs on the higher mountains, while the shore above the sea-wash is covered with thick scrub-bamboo, which reaches a height of about ten feet.

On the sandy beach, besides a large number of whales' bones, there is any amount of driftwood.

At Poronai, which consisted of only eight huts, the Ainu had adopted an architecture for their storehouses different to that of other tribes. The walls and the roof were made partly of wood, partly of the bark of trees. Heavy stones were placed on the roof to prevent it from being blown away during the strong gales so frequent along that coast.

The natives described the winter weather as very severe, especially during northerly winds, and they told me that some years the sea all along the coast is frozen for some eight or ten miles out, besides the drift-ice which sets in from the north and works its way along the coast as far as Cape Nossyap, in the neighbourhood of Nemuro. At the beginning of the winter this ice, probably drifted across from Sakhalin by the strong current in the La Perouse Strait, sets in from the north and works down all along the north-east coast of Yezo, filling up all indentations in the coast-line, and forming a solid mass on the surface of the water.

Seals are very plentiful on these shores as far as Abashiri, but the greatest number are found on the Saruma lagoon. In winter it is not difficult to come within reach of them, but even in September I saw many of them. They were, however, very shy, and when they caught sight of me instantly disappeared under water.

A few miles from Poronai I came to a headland, and about one mile from it lay the small island of Chuskin.

The coast again, instead of being sandy, showed traces of its volcanic formation, forming beautiful cliffs and a rugged outline, rising in terraces at places, or cliffs of clay and gravel sediments, with reefs extending far out to sea, while below them stretched a beach of coarse sand or pebbles, strewn with enormous volcanic boulders. These terraces are wooded mostly with alder, Yezo fir, and beech.

Soon after crossing the Porobets River I came across the wreck of a sailing ship, which lay flat on the shore disabled and dismasted; and at last I reached Esashi. There I again noticed a curious fact, which may be of some interest to anthropologists; namely, that Yezo is mostly formed of Tertiaries and volcanic rocks, and that the Ainu are mostly to be found in regions of Cainozoic or Tertiary formation. In volcanic districts they are very scarce. This is curious, for it is a well-known fact that the typical life-form of Tertiaries is anthropoid apes, and it is a remarkable coincidence that we should find ape-like men populating the same strata.

From Esashi the coast is extremely rough and rocky for about eight miles. I had to take my famished pony up and down steep mountains rising directly from the sea in places where the beach was impassable. Owing to the lack of grass my wretched beast had but little to eat; and what with the danger of riding, and the miserable condition my pony was in, I had to walk most of the way and lead him. Shanoi, about thirteen miles further, came in sight--a group of wretched fishermen's huts; and from here the coast was somewhat better. The scenery all along is beautiful, especially looking back towards the Shanoi Mountains. I saw one or two abandoned huts blown down by the wind, but no people.

Near Shanoi the eruptive rocks and granitic cliffs suddenly come to an end, as well as the mountainous character of the country, and for fifteen miles, till one comes to Sarubuts, the country is pretty flat and swampy, with a thick vegetation inland of spruce trees. There is a small lagoon formed by the Tombets River, and which often has its mouth blocked by the quicksands, which cause it to overflow.

I left Sarubuts in pouring rain, following the trail along the beach. The river forms a long narrow lake similar to that of Tombets, and at the back of it are terraces and high lands, but no very high mountains. Another wreck of a large boat lay in fragments on the sand, and after fifteen miles of very uninteresting scenery I arrived at Chietomamai, a group of four or five fishermen's huts. Here again the coast was rough, but my pony did not sink in the sand as it did on leaving Sarubuts, but it stumbled among large pebbles and stones as pointed as needles. Further on were grey and brown steep cliffs, which were extremely picturesque. The Mezozoic nature of this coast shows more distinctly between Chietomamai and Soya Cape, and a large rock emerging from the sea is both peculiar and picturesque with its numerous square sections. It is from this point that one gets the first view of Soya Cape. Going round a bay one passes a few fishermen's houses, and on the cliffs above them has been erected the Siliusi lighthouse. I cleared the Cape and rounded the bay on the other side, where I saw another wreck of a sailing ship dashed upon the rocks, making the scene a sad one. I still went on, and went round two or three smaller headlands, when the melancholy sight of a fourth wreck stood before me. This last ship had her stern out of the water, and a Turkish name was painted on it. Her appearance also was Turkish, and I was more than once puzzled as to what a Turkish ship could have been doing in the La Perouse Strait. Many months afterwards, on my return to Yokohama, but too late to be of any help to them, the sad story of the survivors of that ship was revealed to me. The mission of the ship in those far-off seas was a mysterious one. No one ever knew exactly whence she came, or whither she was bound. No one ever learned whether she had been disabled in a typhoon in the Chinese Sea, and had been drifted so far north by the strong currents, or whether the careless Turkish master had mistaken his course and had met his fate in the dangerous currents of La Perouse Strait. Only four of the crew survived. There they were on that deserted coast, with no clothes, no food, no money; but the few natives treated them kindly. Two of them wore "_Tarbouches_" (red caps), the only things they had saved from the wreck. The natives on the north-west coast told me of these men who were tramping their way south, unable to make themselves understood, continually asking for "_Sekhara_," or "_Sakhara_," which, I believe, in the Turkish language means tobacco or cigarettes. After months of privations, half starved, and worn out with fatigue, they reached Hakodate, where, having no passport, and not being able to explain themselves, they were duly arrested and sent down to Yokohama. Unfortunately for them, at that time the "Entogroul," a Turkish man-of-war, had come to Japan, a voyage which took her two years, to bring some decorations which the Sultan had bestowed on the Mikado. Osman Pasha, the Admiral, had the poor devils brought before him, and they told him their sad story, what they had suffered, and how they had lost their ship. The story was too true to be believed, or too strange to sound true!

"Impostors!" said Osman Pasha, and declining to listen any more to their tale of woe, which he called "pure lies," had them "put in irons," in which condition they were to be taken back to Constantinople. None of the foreign residents in Japan believed the story of these wretches, and all were glad to see the miscreants punished. "Impossible," said everybody, "that a Turkish ship should have been up there!"

As it so happened, the "Entogroul," on her return trip to Constantinople, was herself caught in a typhoon, and, steaming full speed to resist the force of the wind and the waves, her boilers burst, and Osman Pasha and nearly all hands on board were blown to pieces or drowned. If I remember right, over three hundred and sixty lives were lost, and no doubt the four men, whose prison, I was told, was near the boilers, thus found a tragic end to their life of misery.

When I arrived at Yokohama all this had already happened, and my evidence, which probably might have saved the life of these men, was therefore useless.

But let us return to Soya Cape, where we have left the wreck.

The rapid current which comes through the Strait gives a horrid look to the water, and I have never seen the sea look so vicious. The natives of the small Soya village told me that it is impossible to cross over to Sakhalin, the high mountains of which, covered with snow and glaciers, I could see distinctly. The distance from land to land is about twenty-eight miles, but no small boat can get across without being swamped. They told me also that often dead bodies of Russians are washed on shore, probably unfortunate convicts who found their death in attempting to obtain liberty. H.M.S. "Rattler" was wrecked in 1868 on one of the numerous reefs near this Cape, so the record of Soya could hardly be more mournful.

After the Cape has been well rounded one finds oneself in a bay opening due north. In the winter time this bay is completely blocked with ice, but the Strait itself is never entirely frozen, owing to the strong warm current from the Chinese Sea, which the Japanese call by the name of Kuroshiwo.

Soya village is a wretched place of thirty or forty sheds. A few planks, badly joined together, and with a kind of a roof over them, made my shelter for the night. Soya Cape is the most northern point of the north-east coast, and before we abandon it to move towards the south, along the west coast, it is important to mention the peculiar and conspicuous characteristic of the marked bending of watercourses in a south or south-easterly direction. They are forced that way by the drift-sand travelling along the coast from north-west to south-east with the Kuroshiwo current, which drift-sand is in such quantities as often to block altogether the mouths of some rivers, and form the large lagoons so common along this coast. The lack of harbours or sheltered anchorages, the inhospitable and unfertile shores, the quicksands, and the severe climate, besides the danger of being swamped and carried away by the overflow of a lagoon or lake, make this coast of little attraction for intending settlers or for pleasure-seekers.

Herrings are plentiful all along the coast, but fishing stations could not possibly pay, even if any were established, owing to the difficulty and expense of carriage and freight, and the risk that ships would run in calling at such exposed and unprotected shores.