Latterly the medical treatment that the pilgrim is undergoing appears to consist of getting dragged out of bed at 8 a.m., or some other unholy hour in the middle of the night, to tramp up mountains. Most of the peaks in the Vicinity have thus been scaled (when a rickshaw was not available) and, altogether, the pilgrim is getting about "fed up" with this Excelsior business.
The red cross marked on the margin of this diary, under to-day's date, has no connection whatever with the prevalent little unpleasantness in Europe but is a permanent memento that on this day "You leave that to me, I'll see to that," gave a delightful, practical exposition of the gentle Art of missing trains.
Railroad Station, Nagasaki
A trip to Shimabara had been planned for the day's outing, the superior, munitioneering sex settling all the travelling arrangements, ignoring with amused contempt, any suggestions put forward by the pilgrim, who thus declines all responsibility for the morning's fiasco.
As the train left Nagasaki shortly after 7 a.m., early rising and setting out for the station was necessary.
All hands and the cook were duly roused out some time in the middle of the night and as it was suddenly determined to make the jaunt a two-day trip, some additional packing was done and the party set out to arrive at the station, just in time to obtain an excellent view of the train pulling out.
The merry "Ha-ha!" in which the pilgrim indulged he is firmly convinced, did him far more good than all the doctoring or all the physic that he had hoisted in since he arrived in Japan.
It was learned that the next train left at 11 a.m. and, as it was some considerable distance back to the base, the pilgrim had half a mind to wait at the station, and with this end in view, he stalked into the place and in his best Kitchenerian manner addressed the gentleman that owned the railway, putting to him the historic enquiry : " Got a bed here?"
The query resulted in much audible indrawing of breath and a one-sided conversation in rapid Japanese—too rapid and idiomatic for the pilgrim to understand, beyond a word or two, here and there.
Determined upon following the historical precedent, however, the polite regrets were brushed aside and the demand made, in the famous brusque manner, "Then get one!"
At this point, a number of shareholders assisted in the confab—all talking Japanese, several at once, and it slowly dawned upon the pilgrim that as far as a bed was concerned, there was nothing doing.
The owner of the railway and his shareholders—at least, he and they were presumed to be such, as he was "all lit up" with gold braid and buttons (no sword though) as were the shareholders, although in a lesser degree—seemed to be surprised at this request for a bed and were desolated at their inability to comply with same.
Off to Shimabara
The statement of a member of the party that the foregoing were not the owners of the railway, but the station master and baggage-smashers, seems too absurd for consideration.
Profiting by their former experience, the party arrived at the station with nearly three-quarters of an hour to spare for the 11 a.m. train, which was duly boarded. The day was very hot and although each carriage was fitted with a number of electric fans and all the windows were opened, the interior was reminiscent of a social, Turkish bath, the illusion being further assisted as each passenger "peeled off" to the irreducible minimum of clothing. It was hot. That there might not be any doubt of the fact, the Railway Administration had very thoughtfully installed a thermometer in the carriage and sceptics could thus convince themselves of the fact Fahrenheitically or Centigradidically, so to speak.
A Social Turkish Bath
The carriage was well filled, the train being an express, and everyone was complaining about the heat while waving a fan to and fro. Desirous of keeping his end up, so to speak, the pilgrim assumed a jaunty air—such as one observes on the faces of the people in the pictorial advertisements for a certain, American, make of underwear where the wearers of "our C. O. H. (cool in Hades) underwear" appear, so cool and comfortable, amid a perspiring mob of "bleachers" at a baseball game.
This required some effort, notwithstanding the fact that the pilgrim utilised all that he could recall of a Christian Science tract. It is possible that a super-abundance of "error" in the car militated against a really successful result of his concentration upon the tenet, "It's not hot; all uncomfortable heat, the hereafter, possibly excepted, is error; why it's nice and Cool." A foreign gentleman, en route for a week-end at Unzen, remarked that the prevailing weather was "unusually hot for Japan," to which the pilgrim replied, admitting that it was "a bit warm, but really nothing to what we get at Hankow," a remark which appeared to discourage further conversation.
A social Turkish bath
Off at last. Some air moving and a general sigh of relief. Clinkers, smuts and big blobs of soot come in through the open windows, all of which are considered perferable to asphyxia and the community rapidly assumes a piebald hue. Why does the I. J. Railway Administration use soft coal, in perference to anthracite?
Mem. for intending travellers and own use in future. Don't wear a white or a silk suit for travelling in the future, until such time as the railway service is electrified.
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