CHAPTER VII.

THE GIBRALTAR OF THE EAST.

Ir is a three hours' ride by rail from Kioto to Kobé. The line is better patronized than that between Yokohama and Tokio. It runs through a rich agricultural country, and halfway touches Osaka, the Birmingham of Japan. The tall chimneys, vomiting smoke that hung like a cloud over the populous towns, had quite a familiar and homelike look. What was in no degree homelike was the conduct of the ticket collector who, at various stages of the short journey, looked in to examine tickets. He entered bare-headed, bowing to the ground, and was most effusive in his thanks on returning the ticket after nipping it. Having seen ours once, he did not trouble us again, but never failed, by a series of bows and smiles, to comprehend us in his periodical examination, whilst at the same time intimating that he knew our tickets were all right. I am not

sure that on the whole the British official's sharp cry of "Tickets!" and his rapid clutch at what you hold in your hand, is not calculated to get through business more quickly. But by way of change it was very pleasant to travel three hours in a railway carriage surrounded, as it were, by a halo of smiles from the ticket collector.

There was a school fête going forward at one of the towns on the route, and the station. was beleaguered by hordes of children, many accompanied by their parents. I was much struck by the appearance of the station-master here. Like his colleagues, he was dressed in uniform based on the English style. Unfortunately, he had drawn in the clothing lottery a pair of trousers of prodigious length. He had met the difficulty by the simple process of turning them up at the heels, and was now strutting about with a band of white calico lining reaching half-way to his knee. It seemed impossible to respect authority thus ludicrously arrayed. But he, at least, was unconscious of any drawbacks. He had doubtless, up to early manhood, gone about without any trousers at all, and felt he was making up the average.

Kobé is a pretty little town at the head of the Inland Sea. It is one of the foreign

settlements, and has known what it was to have the fleets of England, France, and Holland cleared for action in its bay, by way of assisting at the deliberations of the Japanese Government. It is, perhaps, of all towns the least Japanese in its appearance. The streets are broad and straight, the houses of many stories, are built of stone, and the banks and other public buildings favour the impression that it is a Western town. Of course there is a Japanese quarter, but it is not closely in evidence as it is at Yokohama.

We went aboard the Khiva at night, and when we woke in the morning were already threading our way through the Inland Sea. It was fine weather by night and day, and we had full opportunity of enjoying the marvellous beauty of this great sea lake. A panorama of countless islands was spread out, every one of different size and shape, some of the oddest. Most of the islands are inhabited, as in truth are large stretches of the mainland skirting the sea. Here and there are little nests of houses huddled together in a convenient creek, up which junks and sampans can be run in rough weather. If the land seemed deserted the Sea was alive with boats flitting hither and thither under what seemed dangerously heavy sail. At night fires are

lit in the stern of such fishing-boats as are out, and twinkle afar like fire-flies.

There is a wide field for discovery along this lonely and beautiful coast. As a yachting ground it has unsurpassable attractions. In respect of scenery it is like the Kyles of Bute, with the duration of its beauty lengthened fiftyfold. On both evenings that we steamed downthe Sea there was a sunset of rich beauty, each totally different from the other. No pen could describe the beauty of the sunsets in Japan. Many fantastic names have been used as the title of books upon Japan. If I were writing a book on the country and wanted a title of that order, I should call it "Sunset Land."

Nagasaki, the last port usually touched at by visitors to Japan going westward, is also a foreign settlement, but is altogether unlike Kobé. The foreigners stretch their houses on the crescent facing the bay and on the hill behind. Nagasaki proper lies over the bridges to the left, and is not at all easy to find. We undertook to discover it by walking, and found ourselves in some narrow dirty streets by the water's edge. Jinrikishas rescued us, and took us into the town, which lay in quite another quarter. Many of the houses are built over ditches, canals, and other more or

less undesirable waterways. This gives the place a squalid appearance, which is nowhere relieved by signs of affluence. Nagasaki is, I am told, in a poor way just now. Its most prosperous local industry is the carving of tortoiseshell. A larger mine of wealth is found in the coal mines, which are not far distant. Nagasaki is the great coaling station of Japan. The coal is fairly good and cheap, costing about seven shillings a ton at the pit's mouth.

The coaling of a big steamer is a curious and interesting sight, which may be watched with more comfort since Nagasaki coal possesses the curious quality of being comparatively free from dust. An innumerable army of coolies are engaged, fully one-half being women. They stand almost shoulder to shoulder in a line extending from the hold of the collier to the coal-hole of the steamer. The coal is filled in small baskets, which are handed along the living line with incredible rapidity. The human chain works as regularly, as swiftly, and much upon the same principle as the grain elevator.

On a quiet Sunday evening, the fourth day after leaving Nagasaki, we stole into Hongkong harbour. It was almost a pitch-dark night, and there were some anxious moments