of foundering in the waves. “This God of Sumiyoshi is the same as other gods. There is something on board the ship he wants,” said the pilot. “Make an offering of paper symbols,” he urged. The master complied, but the wind did not abate—it blew all the harder, and the waves rose higher. “Paper symbols are not to the god’s taste. The ship makes no headway!” shouted the pilot. “Have you nothing which will please him better.” “There’s nothing but this,” said the master. “I have two eyes, but only one mirror. I shall give this mirror to the god.” He threw it into the waves, and as it sank (a loss indeed!) the sea suddenly became as smooth as the face of a mirror. Someone composed this poem:
Seeking to fathom the mind of the raging god, we cast
A mirror into the stormy sea. In that his image is revealed.
An amazing experience! Surely this cannot be the god whom we commonly associate with such gentle things as “Limpid Waters,” “The Balm of Forgetfulness,” and “Pines along the Shore”? We have all seen with our own eyes—and with the help of a mirror—what sort of a god he is.
On the following day, to the great joy of all the passengers, Naniwa (Osaka) is reached, and the ship commences its voyage up the river Yodo towards Kyoto. Progress is slow, owing to the shallowness of the channel, but after five days the bridge at Yamazaki—the terminus for river traffic—is sighted.
Eleventh day: After a little rain the skies cleared. Continuing up-river, we noticed a line of hills converging on the eastern bank. When we learned that this is the Yawata Hachiman Shrine, there was great rejoicing and we humbly abased ourselves in thanks. The bridge of Yamazaki came in sight at last, and our feelings of joy could no longer be restrained. Here, close by the Ōōji Temple, our boat came to anchor; and here we waited, while various matters were negotiated for the remainder of our journey. By the riverside, near the temple, there were many willow trees, and one of our company, admiring their reflection in the water, made the poem:
