CHAPTER III.

BY SEA AND LAND TO KIOTO.

WE left Yokohama in the late afternoon, the bay looking more beautiful than ever in the sunlight, shining out of a sky blue as any spread over Naples. We were bound for Kioto. The ordinary way of going thither is to take a steamer to Kobé in one of the large and well-appointed Mitsu Bishi steamers, and proceed thence to Shanghai. But we resolved to go something out of the beaten track, take steamer as far as Yokkaichi, and thence across country by jinrikisha to Kioto.

The sea voyage to Yokkaichi is not unfamiliar to Japanese, but is not often taken by Europeans, with the natural consequence that there is no accommodation for them. Our steamer was an old tub of 250 tons. The saloon was approached by an uncompromising ladder, and luxury was aimed at by the disposal of sofa bunks round the stern in pleasing con

tiguity to the screw. Of course there was no stewardess, nor any regular steward that I was able to identify. The office seemed to be in commission, and when any "boy happened to find time hang heavy on his hands he took a turn at steward's work. Our berths were small cupboards opening off the dining-room table. Each was fitted up with two narrow shelves, which I thought were for books or plates. It was presently made clear they were for us. But it did not much matter. It was rather promising in the way of fun and excitement. We had only one night to sleep here, and everything was big enough and nice enough for a twenty hours' trip in summer seas like that on which we were even now gliding.

The Foreign Minister came off in his steamlaunch to say good-bye, an unaccustomed visit which greatly fluttered the captain and crew. The captain was so much impressed that he immediately placed his berth at the disposal of the lady of our party. The berth was more commodious, having at least three inches more beam. But as the kindly offer was not accompanied by preparations for changing the bed linen, it was declined.

Before we reached the gate of the Bay of Yedo, the beauty of the scene had wondrously

increased. On the right the sun was setting, flooding Fuji and the mainland in crimson and gold. On the left the moon had already risen-a globe of luminous silver set in the blue firmament. Thus we sailed forth between the risen moon and the sun not yet set.

The bay, hardly touched by a ripple, was

alive with sampans with their sails fully set, tripping gaily home before the gentle breeze wafted inward from the Pacific. The only member of the crew of our steamer with whom it was possible to converse was the engineer. He was the inevitable Scotchman, and had been many years in the native coasting trade. He had not improved his opportunities of learning Japanese, but he got along very well, he said. He was evidently taken aback at seeing a lady appear to take passage on the ship, but after the first shock he became violently prophetic of a good passage, and things generally going off comfortably.

"Oh, you'll see it'll be all right," he said to me in an argumentative tone, as if I had been affirming the contrary, whereas I had not even broached the subject. "You see all those junks out there? Well, that's a sign of good weather. You don't see so many out when it's rough."

"But they're running into port," I said. "Yes, of course they're running into port,' he replied; "it's getting dinner-time, you know. Oh, we'll have it pretty fine, you'll see, and your lady will be right comfortable. Besides, if it comes on to blow a bit, the captain will run in under the lee of the land. Given your lady his berth, hasn't he?"

I said he had kindly offered it.

"Ah," he said, nodding as if that were conclusive of fine weather, "then he's going to be on deck all night."

We had a large number of Japanese passengers who seemed to fill every nook and

cranny for'ard. A pleasant-looking family,

fearful of the closeness of the steerage, had built their soul a lordly dwelling-house over the hatches amidships. They had piled their luggage round and planted themselves in the middle. The walls were not very high, but at least they served to mark the limits of their domain. There they sat, the father blandly smiling at the fair scene around, the mother tidying up, and the little boy with his head shaved save for two locks over either ear, which were nicely oiled and combed. I was very glad to think, as I looked on this family scene, that we were going to have such fine weather that the captain was making prepara

tions for spending the night on the bridge. It would be a terrible thing if the vessel rolled and pitched, breaking down the house of cards, inextricably mixing up the little boy with the luggage and spoiling his hair. Worse still, if cruel seas were to come over and wash the decks.

Presently, as we came nearer to the bar, and could faintly hear the boom of the Pacific rollers on the rugged coast, a tarpaulin was slung over a pole, covering in the scene of domestic felicity. They had a lantern, and, peeping through a chink, I discovered them smiling more vigorously than ever. Never had they been so comfortable on board ship, and they were more than ever pleased that this happy thought had occurred to them, and that they had not pigged in with their countrymen in the hold. Ito was so charmed with the idea that he made a nook for himself also under the tarpaulin. He is growing quite fastidious on the subject of fresh air, and talks pityingly of the people down in the hold.

These, we could see through the open hatchway, were already at dinner. It was served in easy fashion. There were a great heap of little wooden trays with four divisions. The cook, kneeling beside a wholesale quantity of stores, dipped his hand into a bucket