英語訳
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(Continued from previous page) "How pitiful," said the county governor, tears streaming down his face as he spoke.
**Father and Son争 Over Who Should Die First**
A man named Arima and his entire family of thirteen people were swept away while still on the second floor of their house. The house split in two mid-current, and all thirteen family members were on the verge of drowning. The eldest son said: "We should sacrifice ourselves to save our younger sisters — Father, please swim away and escape." But his father refused, saying: "It is the natural order for the elderly to die first. You go ahead and preserve your life. If you are fortunate enough to survive, do whatever you can to save the other children — do not worry about this old man." While father and son argued with each other, the house drifted ever further downstream and was just about to be carried into the main current of the river when a man known as Yamaya came rowing a boat and managed to rescue all thirteen members of the family. Arima later told others: "When I look back on that moment when we argued over who should die first, it seems like a dream — I felt neither fear nor sorrow."
**Three Brothers, Three Widows**
Three brothers — Mori Naoki, a registry official; Mori Toshirō, a tax collector; and Mori Junsuke, a school instructor — all perished despite their best efforts to protect their respective families. After the disaster, their three widows sat weeping before three coffins, a sight too harrowing to behold.
**A Nurse's Grief**
Yamamoto Chū, a nurse at the dysentery isolation hospital, and her younger sister rushed to the hospital along with County Governor Yanagishima to assist with relief efforts. When they returned home, they found their entire family dead. These two women had risked their lives nursing the sick during an epidemic, only to then be struck by the disaster of losing all their kin. They came to the Amada County Office so grief-stricken that they were unable to stand. There were many other such tragic stories, too painful to recount one by one.
**The Scene After the Water Receded, and Relief Efforts**
The scene after the floodwaters receded was truly devastating. The mud in the streets was over a foot deep, and household belongings were piled up in mountains along the roads, giving the appearance of a vast, desolate plain. Water, salt, and rice were completely exhausted, so the county office procured small quantities from various places and distributed one pickled plum per person as immediate relief. As the delivery of polished white rice could not keep up with demand, they had no choice but to give out rice balls made from a mixture of unpolished and polished rice.
**No Dogs or Cats to Be Seen**
Many horses and cattle had already died, and all the dogs and cats had drowned as well, leaving no trace of them anywhere in Fukuchiyama. Not a few of their bodies floated in the moats,
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and the stench was also terrible. There was a man in town who had been particularly devoted to his dog, which he called "Taishō." In summer, he had the dog sleep inside the mosquito net with a maidservant assigned to fan it — yet this beloved dog too had drowned. The sight of the man grieving as though he had lost his own child was itself a pitiful one.
**Five Thousand Yen Dug Out of the Mud**
In September, while clearing mud from the streets, five thousand yen in silver coins was unearthed and promptly reported to the police station.
**An Entire Household Sojourning in Their Own House**
A certain household was flooded up to the eaves. The family of over ten people climbed to the second floor. The water grew ever deeper, and their house, lamp still burning, was swept away — but came to rest intact several dozen chō downstream. Relieved to find the house undamaged, the family took up temporary residence there.
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◯ **The Fukuchiyama Flood**
Having already published a general account of the Fukuchiyama flood disaster, we have now obtained a letter written by one Haga Yakichi, a survivor from the area, describing exactly what he witnessed with his own eyes, sent to a certain person. We publish the letter in full so that readers may imagine just how terrible the devastation was.
"From around 3 o'clock in the morning of August 30th, a great storm continued, and everyone was concerned about flooding. Sure enough, when past 2 o'clock in the morning of the 31st news arrived that the Haze River was rising, everyone set about frantically moving things to safety. At that point the garden was not at all unusual, the rain and wind had completely ceased, and in the overcast sky I could faintly make out a half-moon. First I hastily gathered up the luggage and carried it up to the second floor, and then while carrying up the doors, sliding panels, fusuma screens, and other furnishings, the water began to flow into the garden as well. By the time we were lifting the tatami mats, the water had already risen to the veranda, and before we knew it, water had entered to the halfway point of the staircase with considerable force — I was nearly overwhelmed with shock. The members of the household could not take a single step outside their own home, and in no time the water had surpassed both the front and middle second floors, reducing to naught everything we had so carefully put away. Our own refuge on the rear second floor was now looking increasingly precarious, and just then — perhaps from the breaking of an embankment — there came the terrifying sound of houses collapsing and the noise of roof tiles falling nearby, leaving me with indescribable feelings. As the water continued to rise, I pulled up the tatami mats, set up makeshift platforms, did what I could to put away clothing and furnishings, spread futons on the roof to use as walkways (because the roof was slippery),
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bridged a rain shutter across the roof of the outhouse to the top of the neighboring storehouse, and thus escaped the water and saw out the night. When dawn broke and I surveyed the full scene of the town, it was truly ghastly — every household had prepared rice tubs and clay teapots and was living on their rooftops. As it had all happened in the middle of the night, everyone was still wearing their nightclothes or happi coats. Looking toward the samurai residences, the so-called mulberry fields had been transformed into a vast sea; the houses were invisible, and all one could see were people taking refuge on the rooftops of thatched cottages surrounded by bamboo groves here and there. What was most terrible of all was that at the same moment as one of these thatched houses (a samurai residence) with five or six people still aboard went floating downstream, a fire broke out in the middle of town. We wanted to help but had no boat and could only watch helplessly. 'Oh, so-and-so is nowhere to be seen,' 'Oh, so-and-so has been swept away' — words like these drifted to our ears from the rooftop-dwellers, and as we watched houses collapsing and smoke rising at intervals, our spirits were far from easy. Yet the water continued to rise, hateful as ever, until it came to within about one sun of the floorboards of the second floor where we were sheltering — and then at last we could detect a slight reduction in the water level, which was a relief, though we had no charcoal, no drinking water, only a little leftover food from the night before. Fortunately there was a stock of eggs, and we ate eggs in place of breakfast. Compared to our neighbors, especially those whose homes had been swept away entirely, we considered ourselves truly fortunate. The house of a man called Nemoto, which served as the land department office, had been swept away, and a large theater had disappeared without a trace — I had no idea where it had gone. As for the house of Harai, where I had been staying until recently, and the homes of other acquaintances, there was no sign of them anywhere. I wanted to ask after them but had no means to do so. Right now, even if one had tens of thousands of yen, it would not be worth half a penny. At this moment water is gradually receding, but the lower it drops, the more the devastation grows, and I am at a loss as to how to bring relief. I am truly weeping tears of sympathy, enough to fog my glasses. Old people say this year's flood is the first of its kind in their lives. It is the first for me as well — and though I have experienced various disasters in Gifu, Ōgaki, and elsewhere, and have seen and heard much, I do not believe this is any less terrible. By tonight the water should have receded considerably, but there will surely be no way to travel about, and since most places remain flooded, I imagine many people will have difficulty even lying down to sleep. As for how to send this letter, I am currently trying to think of a way,
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as telegrams and postal services are all completely out of action. Right now, people have no thoughts beyond their own survival. I shall send a more detailed report later, but for now I write in haste.
August 31st — In the midst of the great Fukuchiyama flood. Yakichi"
The separate sheet was written at the height of the flooding, just as the water was beginning to recede. Afterward, I had only hoped and prayed for the water to go down, and as it gradually did, when it had receded to about half its peak level, houses with weak foundations began to collapse here and there, which was unsettling. The devastation after the water receded was even worse, presenting a scene impossible to look at directly. By the evening of the 31st, the ground in the town had almost fully re-emerged, so I immediately went on a tour of inspection to survey the situation firsthand. It was just as one might imagine the scene after the Sanriku tsunami — houses had collapsed, people and animals lay dead, and survivors had nothing but their bare lives, without clothing, food, or any means of obtaining them. They gathered in groups on higher ground, weeping as they congratulated each other on their survival — some had lost entire families without a trace, others had half their family surviving with the other half unaccounted for. Many could be seen shouldering small wrapping cloths and fleeing with their wives and children to nearby villages, in an endless stream. I first went to check on the house of Nemoto, the land department office — the rumor that it had been swept away was entirely just rumor, and the house was more or less still standing. I nervously made my way inside, but there was no one left, and it appeared everyone had already escaped somewhere. Looking around, at my feet I found a body of someone drowned in the gap of a broken floorboard, a single foot protruding. I could not determine who it was, but I surmised it was probably not a member of that household but someone who had been washed in from elsewhere. Alone, there was nothing I could do, so I left the house and went to check on the home of Harai in Naiki-chō, where I had been staying until recently. This whole area had been one of the most severely affected, and the Harai house had apparently been among the first to be swept away. All that remained were the garden stones I had grown familiar with over the mornings and evenings, rolling about as if guarding the memory of the place — the house itself had gone who knows where. As for the household members (an elderly couple and a child of eleven), the prevailing view was that they had most likely been buried together with the house. Until that morning… (continued on next page)