英語訳
**[Upper Section]**
With the assistance of the Fushimi Engineering Corps, the bridge was temporarily held in place, but the floodwaters increased day by day and it was eventually washed away. Kyobashi and Higobashi bridges remained intact, but the water skimmed over their surfaces as it flowed. About fifty *ken* of the Uji embankment near Kōkinotsuka collapsed, and the Ujigawa River and Ogura Pond reached the same water level. We hired a boat and traveled through Aburakake-chō and Tamachi, where we saw five or six chickens pecking at feed while floating along through the shops — a truly harrowing scene that was difficult to witness.
Determined to see with our own eyes the flood damage in Ōtsu, said to be twice as severe as that in Fushimi, we finally boarded the train again and headed for Ōtsu. Alighting at Ōtani Station and entering the town of Ōtsu, we were immediately struck by the roar of the waters. It was nothing like what we had heard or imagined in Kyoto. To the southeast as far as Kusatsu and to the west as far as Sakamoto, the land was entirely submerged, Hikone and Nagahama appeared like islands or were simply swallowed beneath the water, and the whole scene resembled one vast lake. We boarded a boat at Hamadōri Nakachō and headed toward the steamship company, but the company building was barely standing above water and there was no possibility of any steamer departing. In a lone small boat heading toward Obanagawa, we looked back toward Sakamoto: until the previous night, people had been able to live on the second floors, but as the wind and rain grew ever stronger and the floodwaters reached about one *jō* in depth, residents cut through their roofs to escape. Those who had boats loaded up their belongings and stored rice and took them out again; those without boats lashed five or six pieces of lumber into rafts, laid wooden shutters on top, and fled upon these to Kami-Sakamoto and the mountain foothills.
Further north, Katata, Imazu, and Funagi were all submerged, and even the famous Ukimidō floating temple — true to its name in name only — was now sunk beneath the waters, with only the ornamental finial of its roof showing above the surface. Heading south, even the celebrated ancient pine of Karasaki was likewise submerged, looking as though someone had placed a single hat upon the water's surface. We returned to Ōtsu and spent the night there. Through the night, the sound of the water and the sound of people weeping in grief made for troubled and restless sleep. Setting out before dawn under the morning stars, we attempted to head toward Zeze and Ishiyama, but as the wind had not yet calmed, the steamers were unwilling to brave the rough waves and would not depart. Pressing on through torrential rain, we poled a small boat along, and passing by the well-known restaurant Sakamoto-ya — now standing in water — we came to Gichūji Temple, the site of the tomb of Minamoto no Yoshinaka, where the wind and waves were battering the temple buildings and outer walls. I went on with thoughts of anxiety for Bashō's statue and the rare works associated with Buson, watching the sorrowful sight of the pine-lined path at Awazu submerged in water, and eventually reached Seta Bridge. The water level was over one *jō* and five *shaku* higher than normal, making it the greatest flood in recent memory. During the flood of Meiji 18 (1885), the water had risen only about nine *shaku*; the present flood was, in all likelihood, without parallel even in ancient times.
**[Lower Section]**
Local residents, fearing the bridge would be swept away, filled sake barrels with water and used them as a means of protection. Their appearance was both pitiable and courageous. Retracing our course, as we traveled by boat along the lakeshore, we pushed and pulled our way through the drifting scraps of wood and bamboo, as well as chests, cupboards, and boxes, and made our way to Shimo-Sakamoto. People of all ages had fled and taken refuge there; even Mino Shrine was packed with evacuees. With the banners and tall paper lanterns of each village raised aloft, everyone had gathered in the temples and other buildings on higher ground. The scene was deeply pitiable: people sat in nothing but a single undergarment or summer robe, exposed to the wind and rain day and night, living on nothing more than the rice doled out from emergency cooking stations.
Police officers patrolled continuously by boat alongside the district magistrate, yet it was reported that theft was occurring frequently. Emergency kitchens, relief stations, and evacuation shelters had been established throughout the area, but the most crowded, resembling a bustling marketplace, was Raigōji Temple on Mount Hiei. Many gentlemen, wealthy merchants, and farmers independently set up shelters and donated relief rice; in a single location, as many as tens of thousands — and at the very least over a thousand people — were being assisted.
Among the many tragic deaths, one that was particularly heartbreaking was the case of what appeared to be a husband and wife, a boy of twelve or thirteen, and young girls of about three and five years old, all found washed ashore with ropes binding them together — clearly an attempt to ensure no family member would be separated. Another was that of a farmer found dead alongside his cow, still gripping the rope with which he had been leading it. The countless thousands of bodies that came floating down — it could only be described as the depths of tragedy.
Miho-ga-saki remains the property of Kyoto City and is the location of the First Lock of the Canal (*Sōsui*). The roar of the water there was fearsome, and it seemed as though the lock gates might burst at any moment. Were these gates to break, the flood damage would spread beyond Yamashiro and Yamashina all the way to the city of Kyoto itself. Accordingly, Chief Water Administrator Shimo-ma, together with Chief Engineer Katō and his technical staff, along with 200 laborers — plus an additional 100 hastily recruited — fitted iron doors to the gates, added planking over two *sun* thick, and piled up sandbags to hold back the fierce rush of water. Even so, the water continued to rise yet another level, reaching 15 *shaku* and 8 *sun* above the normal water level, flooding even the island within the lock. At that point, the village headman of Yamashina Village arrived with over 150 farmers, who confronted the water authority staff and argued that if the lock broke, the entire village of Yamashina would be buried beneath the water. Working together with all their strength to reinforce the defenses, they ultimately managed to avert disaster.
The price of rice, needless to say, as well as vegetables and other produce, continued to rise steadily, pushing the poor ever deeper into dire straits.