I can’t say that Ekichi had a very pleasant time of it, although, of course, his father and mother loved him. Only they did not show it, as our parents do. As a little baby he was made to rest upon his knees, so that they might grow flexible, for the Japanese do not sit upon chairs, but squat upon their mats. When he rose in the morning from his futon[41] or comforter which served him as a bed, there was no running to his father or mother, shouting good morning, and giving them a hug or a hearty kiss. When he did meet them, the first thing was to fall on his knees, spread his hands flat before him, and bow until his head rested upon the back of his hands. His father and mother gravely returned the salutation in the same manner. When he took his meals, he was not permitted to say a word. He ate what was put before him, and it was every day the same. Asa meshi, hiru meshi, and ban meshi, or in English, morning rice, noon rice, and evening rice, there was no difference between breakfast, dinner, and supper. Until he was six years old, Ekichi spent most of his time with his attendant in the garden. They strolled around, and he asked questions which the man answered as well as he could. He was taught how to speak to a superior, to an equal, and to an inferior; how long he must remain prostrate before a daimiyo, before a councillor, and before a simple samurai. He was also taken to the grave of his grandfather, and told to kneel down and say his prayers. That was something he could not understand, and which his attendant could not explain; when he asked him, and he did often, the man would say: “It is so, but you should not ask why, because the gods only know.” So, when Ekichi was tired and sat down on the sward, he would often think: What is the use of praying at the grave of a dead man. But he was careful not to express his thoughts to anybody.
He was trained not to show pain, distress, or grief. Whatever happened to him, his face must not betray it. Being constantly in the open air, he grew up healthy and strong, and when he was six years old, he was taken to a school for samurai boys.
Ekichi had been with his attendant beyond the gates of his yashiki, but after the first day, he was told to go and return by himself. He met his schoolfellows with the courtesy which he had been taught so carefully, and was treated by them in the same way. There was no playground. Indeed, I do not believe that any of those boys knew what the word “play” means. Many times, thirty years ago, I have seen samurai boys from eight to sixteen years old, during recess or after schooltime retire to their rooms to smoke their tiny pipes and carry on a quiet conversation; but I never saw them play. The government of Japan has found out that baseball, football, and cricket, are healthy games, and is encouraging these boys to indulge in them. But at that time, a samurai lad would have felt hurt at the thought that he could do such a thing as play.