Daughters of the Samurai: A Journey From East to West and Back by Janice P. Nimura Page A
Authors: Janice P. Nimura
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interesting and the bright moon was now full,” Kume wrote. Many of the delegates frequented the Warm Springs Bath House, a mile away, where for a quarter they could soak chest-deep in heated pools—a pleasure denied to them since leaving Japan.
Still kimono clad, the girls stayed out of sight; their clothes, in addition to making them conspicuous, did little to keep them warm. In addition, Ryo, having endured the embarrassment of the shipboard mock trial, was now suffering the effects of snow blindness, her eyes painful and watering from gazing at the dazzling landscape without protection. From the windows of the Townsend House, the girls saw snowball fights and sleigh riding for the first time. Hirobumi Ito, again more solicitous than the other ambassadors, visited their rooms to entertain them with ghost stories, switching to fairy tales when it was time for bed.
After nearly three weeks the rails were cleared at last, and on February 22 the embassy left Salt Lake City for Chicago. Now two dining cars—Pullman’s latest innovation—were coupled to their train, which eliminated the need to stop for meals. After more than a month spent mostly confined to hotel rooms, the girls were overwhelmed by the vast landscapes through which they passed. Faces pressed to the windows, they watched the craggy peaks of the Wasatch Front glide by. After dark, the edges of the canyons were etched in moonlight against the sky.
. . .
H ALFWAY THROUGH W YOMING Territory they crossed the Continental Divide and began the descent toward the Great Plains. Hours went by without a glimpse of anything that could be called a town. “Although one may tire of hearing about the vastness of the United States,” Kume wrote, “when one experiences it, it is even more astonishing than one could believe.” The Rockies had receded below the western horizon, and there was nothing in any direction but grass, cropped by herds of buffalo and bands of wild horses.
As they approached the Missouri River, the scenery changed again: plowed fields and pastureland now, with wooded areas visible in the distance. Crowds gathered in the towns they passed. At Omaha, memorably, a group of schoolgirls came to the station, clapping and waving and blowing kisses; for the Japanese girls, it was a reassuring glimpse of friendly peers, however bewilderingly strange their behavior or the setting might be. Not all the onlookers were so welcoming. “Show yourselves, you yaller duffers,” men shouted, shoving up against the windows of the train. “Come out here, and let us see you.”
A reception committee came out from Chicago to welcome the embassy at Aurora, a western suburb of the city. Thousands were on hand at the station, and the mood was festive. When the train pulled in, Aurora’s nimbler citizens leaped onto the couplings between the cars, climbed onto their roofs, and perched on each other’s backs. Faces crowded every window. The delegates were in the dining car, wielding their knives and forks with calm decorum at window-side tables draped with white linen, in stark contrast to the melee raging outside.
The welcoming committee boarded, the train gathered speed, and within a mile the young Aurorans who had climbed atop the train jumped to the ground. As the aldermen of Chicago shook hands with the ranking ambassadors, the girls withdrew to a corner of the car, though the stripes and flowers of their kimonos were, as usual, conspicuous among the dark suits of the men. “Their features are less intellectual than those of the males, the noses and chins being indistinct of outlines, and indicatinga want of firmness,” a Chicago Tribune reporter commented, and then he contradicted himself: “They seem to bear their isolation from the parental fireside, and the loss of fond mothers, with firmness.” Having read reports of these “intelligent, bright, and vivacious”—not to mention attractive—young ladies in the previous weeks, he was somewhat
Still kimono clad, the girls stayed out of sight; their clothes, in addition to making them conspicuous, did little to keep them warm. In addition, Ryo, having endured the embarrassment of the shipboard mock trial, was now suffering the effects of snow blindness, her eyes painful and watering from gazing at the dazzling landscape without protection. From the windows of the Townsend House, the girls saw snowball fights and sleigh riding for the first time. Hirobumi Ito, again more solicitous than the other ambassadors, visited their rooms to entertain them with ghost stories, switching to fairy tales when it was time for bed.
After nearly three weeks the rails were cleared at last, and on February 22 the embassy left Salt Lake City for Chicago. Now two dining cars—Pullman’s latest innovation—were coupled to their train, which eliminated the need to stop for meals. After more than a month spent mostly confined to hotel rooms, the girls were overwhelmed by the vast landscapes through which they passed. Faces pressed to the windows, they watched the craggy peaks of the Wasatch Front glide by. After dark, the edges of the canyons were etched in moonlight against the sky.
. . .
H ALFWAY THROUGH W YOMING Territory they crossed the Continental Divide and began the descent toward the Great Plains. Hours went by without a glimpse of anything that could be called a town. “Although one may tire of hearing about the vastness of the United States,” Kume wrote, “when one experiences it, it is even more astonishing than one could believe.” The Rockies had receded below the western horizon, and there was nothing in any direction but grass, cropped by herds of buffalo and bands of wild horses.
As they approached the Missouri River, the scenery changed again: plowed fields and pastureland now, with wooded areas visible in the distance. Crowds gathered in the towns they passed. At Omaha, memorably, a group of schoolgirls came to the station, clapping and waving and blowing kisses; for the Japanese girls, it was a reassuring glimpse of friendly peers, however bewilderingly strange their behavior or the setting might be. Not all the onlookers were so welcoming. “Show yourselves, you yaller duffers,” men shouted, shoving up against the windows of the train. “Come out here, and let us see you.”
A reception committee came out from Chicago to welcome the embassy at Aurora, a western suburb of the city. Thousands were on hand at the station, and the mood was festive. When the train pulled in, Aurora’s nimbler citizens leaped onto the couplings between the cars, climbed onto their roofs, and perched on each other’s backs. Faces crowded every window. The delegates were in the dining car, wielding their knives and forks with calm decorum at window-side tables draped with white linen, in stark contrast to the melee raging outside.
The welcoming committee boarded, the train gathered speed, and within a mile the young Aurorans who had climbed atop the train jumped to the ground. As the aldermen of Chicago shook hands with the ranking ambassadors, the girls withdrew to a corner of the car, though the stripes and flowers of their kimonos were, as usual, conspicuous among the dark suits of the men. “Their features are less intellectual than those of the males, the noses and chins being indistinct of outlines, and indicatinga want of firmness,” a Chicago Tribune reporter commented, and then he contradicted himself: “They seem to bear their isolation from the parental fireside, and the loss of fond mothers, with firmness.” Having read reports of these “intelligent, bright, and vivacious”—not to mention attractive—young ladies in the previous weeks, he was somewhat
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