Glimpses of Japan and Formosa

It was fitting that a pilgrimage to Koya-san should follow my unexpectedly well-chosen visit to Yamada-Isé. As the latter is the holy of holies of Shintoism, so is the sacred mountain-top of Koya, also situated on the southernmost peninsula of the main island, perhaps the most venerated center of Buddhism in Japan. This time there was no special occasion to swell the pilgrim ranks, but the less accessible sanctuary enjoys a constant popularity, and almost as great a one as its rival over the mountain range to the east. I was, therefore, far from alone at any time during the journey, even though I had abandoned the less mobile two thirds of my family in delightful Nara.

For those moderately accustomed to walking uphill it is three hours' steady climb from the railway to the hallowed summit of Koya-san. Before long the flat, dusty, rice-growing plain gives way to rugged foot-hills, then to real, if not especially lofty, mountains, up which clambers a more than well-worn trail that is almost a highway. Along this lower stretch those who grew weary of their burdens could pick up a porter at will, and to suit any load, for they range from eager boys of eight to powerfully legged men who have made carrying a life's work. The carriers are of both sexes, too, and the frequent sight of a haughty man of wealth, easily recognizable for all his pilgrim garb, burdened only with a fan and a towel, and followed by a sun-browned woman bowed half double beneath his baggage, kept one reminded that this was Japan. Here also those who can climb only by the exertions of others engage their _kagos_, a cross between a traveling-chair and a hammock swung on a single bamboo pole. But the gods are evidently not kindly disposed toward those who thus ease their pilgrimage without just and sufficient cause, and I passed many-the ailing, the lame, the blind, tottering old women-who were taking no chances of thus jeopardizing celestial favor.