But the legends and traditions about Fuji, the stories of its rising out of the earth in a single night,--of the shower of pierced-jewels once flung down from it,--of the first temple built upon its summit eleven hundred years ago,--of the Luminous Maiden that lured to the crater an Emperor who was never seen afterward, but is still worshipped at a little shrine erected on the place of his vanishing,--of the sand that daily rolled down by pilgrim feet nightly reascends to its former position,--have not all these things been written in books? There is really very little left for me to tell about Fuji except my own experience of climbing it.
I made the ascent by way of Gotemba,--the least picturesque, but perhaps also the least difficult of the six or seven routes open to choice. Gotemba is a little village chiefly consisting of pilgrim-inns. You reach it from TÅkyÅ in about three hours by the TÅkaidÅ railway, which rises for miles as it approaches the neighborhood of the mighty volcano. Gotemba is considerably more than two thousand feet above the sea, and therefore comparatively cool in the hottest season. The open country about it slopes to Fuji; but the slope is so gradual that the table-land seems almost level to the eye. From Gotemba in perfectly clear weather the mountain looks uncomfortably near,--formidable by proximity,--though actually miles away. During the rainy season it may appear and disappear alternately many times in one day,--like an enormous spectre. But on the grey August morning when I entered Gotemba as a pilgrim, the landscape was muffled in vapors; and Fuji was totally invisible. I arrived too late to attempt the ascent on the same day; but I made my preparations at once for the day following, and engaged a couple of _gÅriki_ (âstrong-pull menâ), or experienced guides. I felt quite secure on seeing their broad honest faces and sturdy bearing. They supplied me with a pilgrim-staff, heavy blue _tabi_ (that is to say, cleft-stockings, to be used with sandals), a straw hat shaped like Fuji, and the rest of a pilgrimâs outfit;--telling me to be ready to start with them at four oâclock in the morning.
What is hereafter set down consists of notes taken on the journey, but afterwards amended and expanded,--for notes made while climbing are necessarily hurried and imperfect.