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[Illustration: SHIO YA SAKAE]




  WHEN I WAS A BOY
  IN JAPAN

  BY
  SAKAE SHIOYA

  _ILLUSTRATED FROM PHOTOGRAPHS_

  [Illustration]

  BOSTON
  LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD CO.




  Published, August, 1906.


  COPYRIGHT, 1906, BY LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD CO.


  _All Rights Reserved._


  WHEN I WAS A BOY IN JAPAN.


  Norwood Press
  Berwick & Smith Co.
  Norwood, Mass., U. S. A.




PREFACE


Japanese boys have not been introduced very much to their little
American friends, and the purpose of this book is to provide an
introduction by telling some of the experiences which are common to
most Japanese boys of the present time, together with some account of
the customs and manners belonging to their life. I can at least claim
that the story is told as it could be only by one who had actually
lived the life that is portrayed. I have endeavored to hold the
interest of my young readers by bringing in more or less of amusement.
The little girl companion is introduced to widen the interest and add
somewhat more of the story element than would otherwise be present. The
sketches composing the various chapters are necessarily disconnected,
but they form a series of pictures, priceless at least to the author,
which foreign eyes have seldom been allowed to see.

                                                           SAKAE SHIOYA.

    YALE UNIVERSITY, 1905.




CONTENTS


  CHAPTER I.: MY INFANCY.
    How I Looked--My Name--Walking--In Tea Season--My
    Toys--“Kidnapped”--O-dango                                         9

  CHAPTER II.: AT HOME.
    Introduction--Dinner--Rice--Turning to Cows--A Bamboo
    Dragon-fly--A Watermelon Lantern--On a Rainy Evening--The
    Story of a Badger                                                 23

  CHAPTER III.: THE VILLAGE SCHOOL.
    A Mimic School--Preparations--The School--How Classes Are
    Conducted--Out of Tune--A Moral Story--School
    Discipline--Playthings--“Knife Sense”                             35

  CHAPTER IV.: IN TOKYO.
    Where We Settled--A Police Stand--Stores--“Broadway”--
    Illumination--The Foreign Settlement                              51

  CHAPTER V.: MY NEW SCHOOL.
    Tomo-chan--The Men with Wens--A Curious Punishment--How I
    Experienced It--Kotoro-Kotoro                                     62

  CHAPTER VI.: CHINESE EDUCATION.
    My Chinese Teacher--How I Was Taught--Versification--My
    Uncle--Clam Fishing--A Flatfish                                   76

  CHAPTER VII.: AN EVENING FÊTE.
    My Father--His Love for Potted Trees--A Local Fête--Show
    Booths--Goldfish Booths--Singing Insects--How a Potted Tree
    Was Bought                                                        91

  CHAPTER VIII.: SUMMER DAYS.
    A Swimming School--How I Was Taught to Swim--Diving--The Old
    Home Week--Return of the Departed Souls--Visiting the Ancestral
    Graves--The Memorable Night--A Village Dance                     102

  CHAPTER IX.: THE ENGLISH SCHOOL.
    A Night at the Dormitory--Beginning English--Grammar--
    Pronunciation--School Moved--Mother’s Love                       114

  CHAPTER X.: A BOY ASTRONOMER.
    What I Intended to Be--My Aun View--My Parents’ Approval--My
    Uncle’s Enthusiasm--The Total Eclipse of the Sun                 128

  CHAPTER XI.: IN THE SUBURBS.
    A Novel Experiment--Removal--Our New
    House--Angling--Tomo-chan’s Visit                                143




ILLUSTRATIONS


                                                                    PAGE

  SAKAE SHIOYA                                   _Portrait Frontispiece_

  A JAPANESE HOUSE                                                    22

  A JAPANESE SCHOOL SCENE                                             40

  THE JAPANESE “BROADWAY”                                             56

  A TYPICAL JAPANESE STREET                                           90

  A JAPANESE SCHOOL OF THE PRESENT DAY                               120




WHEN I WAS A BOY IN JAPAN




CHAPTER I

MY INFANCY

    How I Looked--My Name--Walking--In Tea Season--My
    Toys--“Kidnapped”--O-dango.


I suppose I don’t need to tell you exactly, my little friends, when
and where I was born, because Japanese names are rather hard for you
to remember, and then I don’t want to disclose my age. Suffice it to
say that I was once a baby like all of you and my birthplace was about
a day’s journey from Tokyo, the capital of Japan. I wish I could have
observed myself and noted down every funny thing I did when very small,
as the guardian angel, who is said to be standing by every cradle, will
surely do. But when my memory began to be serviceable, I was well on
in my infancy, and if I were to rely on that only, I should have to
skip over a considerable length of time. How I should dislike to do
this! So, my little friends, let me construct this chapter out of bits
of things my mamma used to tell me now and then.

When I was born, my father was away. Grandma was very proud to have a
boy for the first-born, and at once wrote him a letter saying that a
son was born to him and that he was like--and then she wrote two large
circles, meaning that I was very, very plump. Do you know how a plump
Japanese baby looks? I have often wondered myself, and have many a
time watched a baby taking a bath. Let us suppose him to be one year
old and about to be put into warm water in a wooden tub. His chin is
dimple-cleft, his cheeks ripe as an apple, and his limbs are but a
continuation of his fat trunk. And how jolly the elfin is! After the
queer expression he has shown on being dipped has passed away and he
realizes what he is about, he will make many quick bows--really, I
assure you, to show his thanks for the trouble of washing him. At this,
mother, sister, and the maid assisting them give a burst of laughter,
when, with a scream of immense delight, he will strike his fists into
the water, causing a panic among the well-clad and not-ready-to-get-wet
attendants. With royal indifference, however, he will then try to push
his fist into his mouth, and not grumbling at all over his ill-success,
he will set about telling a story with his everlasting mum-mum. Now he
is taken out and laid on a towel. Glowing red, how he will move his
arms and legs like an overturned turtle! Well, that is how I looked, I
am very sure.

In Japan, in christening a child, we follow the principle of “A good
name is better than rich ointment.” I was named Sakae, which in the
hierographic Chinese characters represents fire burning on a stand. The
idea of illumination will perhaps suggest itself to you at once, and
indeed, it means glory or thrift. And my well-wishing parents named me
so, that I might thrive and be a glory to my family. So I was bound to
be good, wasn’t I? A bad boy with a good name would be very much like a
monkey with a silk hat on.

Now begins my walking. Now and then mamma or grandma would train me,
taking my hands and singing:

  “Anyo wa o-jozu,
  Korobu wa o-heta.”

But my secret delight--so I judge--was to stand by myself, clinging to
the convenient checkered frames of paper screens, which covered the
whole length of the veranda. When I went from one side to the other, at
first without being noticed--of course walking like a crab--and then
suddenly being discovered with a shout of admiration, I used to come
down with a bump, which, however, never hurt me--I was so plump, you
know. I must describe here a sort of ceremony, or rather an ordeal, I
had to pass through when I was fairly able to stand and walk without
any help. For this I must begin with my house.

My house stood on the outskirts of the town, where the land rose to a
low hill and was covered with tea-plants. We owned a part of it hedged
in by criptomerias.

We were not regular tea dealers, but we used to have an exciting
time in the season preparing our crop. Lots of red-cheeked country
girls would come to pick the leaves, and it was a sight to see them
working. With their heads nicely wrapped with pieces of white and
blue cloth, jetting out of the green ocean of tea-leaves, they would
sing peculiarly effective country songs, mostly in solos with a short
refrain in chorus. But they were not having a concert, and if you
should step in among them, they would make a hero of you, those girls.
And then we had also a good many young men working at tea-heaters.

Here they likewise sang snatches of songs, but their principal business
was to roll up steamed leaves and dry them over the fire. But when
work is combined with fun, it is a great temptation for a boy, and I,
a lad of five or six, I remember, would have a share among them, and,
standing on a high stool by a heater and baring my right shoulder like
the rest, would join more in a refrain than in rolling the leaves.

But I was going to tell you about the ceremony I had to pass through,
wasn’t I? Well, it happened, or rather somebody especially arranged it
so, I suspect, that I should have it just at the time of this great
excitement. The ceremony itself is like this. They take a child fairly
able to walk, load him with some heavy thing, and place him in a sort
of a large basket shaped like the blade of a shovel. Now let him walk.
The basket will rock under him, the load is too heavy for him, and he
will fall down.

If he does, it is taken for granted that he has in that one act had all
the falls that he would otherwise meet in his later life. So, if he
appears too strong to stumble, he will be shaken down by some roguish
hands before he gets out of it.

I was to go through this before august spectators--country girls.
They liked to see me plump, because some of them were even more plump
than I. At any rate, from everywhere they saluted me as “Bot’chan,”
“Bot’chan.” If I had returned every salute by looking this way and
that, I should have broken my neck. But it was customary to make a bow
anyway, and I was ordered by my mamma to do so. On this occasion I
made two snap bows with my chin, which excited laughter. Now a basket
was produced, a brand-new one, I remember, and I was loaded with some
heavy rice cake. I stood up, however, like Master Peachling of our
fairy-tale, who is said to have surprised his adopted mother by rising
in his bathtub on the very day of his birth! I was then placed in the
basket and made to walk.

I looked intently at the basket, not because it was new, but because it
gave me a queer motion, the ups and downs of a boat, a new sensation
to me, anyway. Attracted, however, by the merry voices of the crowd,
I looked at them, and suddenly, being pleased with so many smiling
faces, raised a cry of delight, when down I came with a loud noise. A
roar of laughter broke out with the clapping of hands. The noise buried
my surprise and I also clapped my hands without knowing who was being
cheered.

As the first-born of the house, I must have had lots of playthings. But
there were two things I remember as clear as the day. One was a sword,
all wood, however. As the son of a samurai, I should have had to serve
my lord under the old régime and stake my life and honor on the two
blades of steel. And so even if the good old days were gone, something
to remind us of them was kept and made a plaything of. But really, I
liked my wooden sword. The other thing was a horse--a hobby-horse, I
mean. I don’t know just how many horses I had, but I wanted any number
of them. I had some pictures, but they were all of horses. If not, I
would not accept the presents. And with these two kinds of treasures I
enjoyed most of my childhood days, the sword slantingly on my side, and
the horse, which I fancied trotting, under me, while I shouted “Haiyo!
haiyo!”

Although I had my own name, people called me “Bot’chan,” as I have
said, because it is a general term of endearment, and papa and mamma
would call me “Bô” or “Bôya.” Among those who addressed me thus, I
remember very well one middle-aged woman who often came to steal me
from mamma, and by whom I was only too glad to be stolen.

We had a long veranda facing the garden, on which I passed most of
my days. There I rode on my hobby-horse or played with my little dog
Shiro, who would go through all sorts of tricks for a morsel of nice
things. Suddenly my laugh would cease and nothing of me would be heard.
Wondering what the matter was, mamma would open the paper screen
to see, and lo! not a shadow of me was to be seen. Even Shiro had
disappeared. Attacked with a feeling something akin to horror, she used
to picture--so I imagine--a winged tengu (a Japanese harpy) swooping
down and carrying me away to some distant hill. But soon finding
recent steps of clogs on the ground, coming to and receding from the
veranda, she would nod and smile at the trick. She knew that I had been
kidnapped by a good soul!

Now I want to give you some reasons why I liked this woman. First of
all, it was because she always carried me on her back. The only way to
appreciate what it is to be tall, would be to be a grown-up man and
a small child at the same time. And that is exactly the feeling that
I had. I could see lots of curious things over the forbidden hedges.
I could even see things over the house-tops; they were all one-story,
and built low, though. In a word, I always felt while on her back like
a wee pig who had first toddled out into a wide, wide world. And then
she would carry me through town. What life there was! After crossing
a bridge which spanned the stream, coming from the beautiful lake on
the north and going a little way along a row of pine-trees, we would
come on a flock of ducks and geese on their way to the water. What a
noise they made,--quack, quack! Then we would begin inspecting rows
of houses, open to the street and in which all sorts of things were
sold. Men, women, and children, as well as dogs, seemed to be very much
occupied. Then I would spy some horses laden with straw bags and wood.
Real horses they were, but I was rather disappointed to find them so
big and their appearance not half so good as in my pictures. My faith
in them always began to shake a little bit, but still I used to persist
in thinking that my hobby-horses and pictures were nearer the reality
than those we met on the street. And wasn’t it curious that my belief
was at last substantiated by seeing a Shetland pony in America after
some twenty years? Ah, that was exactly what I had in mind!

Then I would hear a merry prattle on a drum--_terent-tenten,
terent-tenten_. Ah, here would come boy acrobats dressed in something
like girls’ gymnasium suits, with a small mask of a lion’s head with a
plume on it, on their heads. A funny sort of boy, I thought, but on my
woman’s giving them some pennies, they would perform all sorts of feats
which interested me never so much. The woman used to shake me to make
sure that I was not dead, as I kept very quiet, watching.

The woman’s house was just behind the street, and she was sure to
take me there. Here was another reason why I liked her very much.
She seemed to know just what I wanted. She would set me on the sunny
veranda and bring me some nice o-dango (rice dumpling). This she made
herself, and it was prepared just to my liking, covered well with soy
and baked deliciously. I was in clover if I only had that!

I will describe one of my visits, which will well represent them all.
The day was calm and bright, and while we were feasting--she had some
of the good things, too--her pussy sat on one end of the veranda and
was finishing her toilet in the sun. Even the sparrows in this peaceful
weather forgot that they were birds of air, and fell from the trees and
were wrestling noisily on the ground. Only the pussy’s move broke up
their sport. By this time we were very near the end of our business.
Turning from the sparrows, my woman glanced at me and sat for a moment
transfixed with the awful sight I presented. There I was with my
cheeks and nose all besmeared with brown soy, stretching my sticky
hands in a helpless attitude, and licking my mouth by way of variation.
She now broke into laughter and was scrambling on the floor, weak with
merriment. But my mute appeal was too eloquent; indeed, I was all ready
to shed tears with an utter sense of helplessness when she hastened to
bring a wet towel and wipe my face