Orthodox Japs believe that the grains of sand brought
down on the sandals of the pilgrims ascend to the summit again of their
own accord during the night.
Tradition is furthermore responsible for the belief that snow disappears
entirely from the mountain for a few hours on the fifteenth day of the
sixth moon, and begins to fall again during the following night. Formerly
an active volcano, Fuji even now emits steam from sundry crevices near
the summit, and will some day probably fill the good people at Yoshiwara
and adjacent villages with a lively sense of its power. Fuji is the
special pride of the Japs, its loveliness appealing strongly to the
national sense of landscape beauty. Of it their poet sings:
"Great Fusiyama, tow'ring to the sky. A treasure art thou, giv'n to
mortal man, A god-protector watching o'er Japan: On thee forever let me
feast mine eye."
Fuji is passed and left behind, and sixteen miles reeled off from
Yoshiwara, when Mishima, my destination for the night, is reached. A
festival in honor of Oyama-tsumi-no-Kami, the god of "mountains in
general," is being held here; for, behold, to-day is November 15th, the
"middle day of the bird," one of the several festivals held in his honor
every year. The big temple grounds are swarming with people, and pedlers,
stalls, jugglers, and all sorts of attractions give the place the
appearance of a country fair.
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