When The Mists Lift They Reveal Not Mountains
Smothered In Greenery, But Naked Peaks, Volcanoes Only Recently
Burnt Out, With The Red Ash Flaming Under The Noonday Sun, And
Passing Through Shades Of Pink Into Violet At Sundown.
Strips of
sand border the bay, ranges of hills, with here and there a patch
of pine or scrub, fade into the far-off blue, and the great cloud
shadows lie upon their scored sides in indigo and purple.
Blue as
the Adriatic are the waters of the land-locked bay, and the snowy
sails of pale junks look whiter than snow against its intense
azure. The abruptness of the double peaks behind the town is
softened by a belt of cryptomeria, the sandy strip which connects
the headland with the mainland heightens the general resemblance of
the contour of the ground to Gibraltar; but while one dreams of the
western world a kuruma passes one at a trot, temple drums are
beaten in a manner which does not recall "the roll of the British
drum," a Buddhist funeral passes down the street, or a man-cart
pulled and pushed by four yellow-skinned, little-clothed mannikins,
creaks by, with the monotonous grunt of Ha huida.
A single look at Hakodate itself makes one feel that it is Japan
all over. The streets are very wide and clean, but the houses are
mean and low. The city looks as if it had just recovered from a
conflagration. The houses are nothing but tinder. The grand tile
roofs of some other cities are not to be seen. There is not an
element of permanence in the wide, and windy streets. It is an
increasing and busy place; it lies for two miles along the shore,
and has climbed the hill till it can go no higher; but still houses
and people look poor. It has a skeleton aspect too, which is
partially due to the number of permanent "clothes-horses" on the
roofs. Stones, however, are its prominent feature. Looking down
upon it from above you see miles of grey boulders, and realise that
every roof in the windy capital is "hodden doun" by a weight of
paving stones. Nor is this all. Some of the flatter roofs are
pebbled all over like a courtyard, and others, such as the roof of
this house, for instance, are covered with sod and crops of grass,
the two latter arrangements being precautions against risks from
sparks during fires. These paving stones are certainly the
cheapest possible mode of keeping the roofs on the houses in such a
windy region, but they look odd.
None of the streets, except one high up the hill, with a row of
fine temples and temple grounds, call for any notice. Nearly every
house is a shop; most of the shops supply only the ordinary
articles consumed by a large and poor population; either real or
imitated foreign goods abound in Main Street, and the only
novelties are the furs, skins, and horns, which abound in shops
devoted to their sale.
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