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Zipangu is an island in the Eastern Ocean, situated at the distance of about fifteen hundred miles from the mainland, or coast of Manji. It is of considerable size; its inhabitants have fair complexions, are well made, and are civilized in their manners. Their religion is the worship of idols. They are independent of every foreign power, and governed only by their own kings.
In every province of Cathay and of Manji, as well as in other parts of his dominions, there were many disloyal and seditious persons, who at all times were disposed to break out in rebellion against their sovereign, and on this account it became necessary to keep armies in such of the provinces as contained large cities and an extensive population, which are stationed at the distance of four or five miles from those cities, and can enter them at their pleasure.
There was a rush in the dark, and Janki felt the first man's face hit his knees as the Sonthal scrambled up the ledge. "Who?" cried Janki. "I, Sunua Manji." "Sit you down," said Janki, "Who next?" One by one the women and the men crawled up the ledge which ran along one side of "Bullia's Room." Degraded Muhammadan, pig-eating Musahr and wild Sonthal, Janki ran his hand over them all.
The women sang the Song of the Pick the terrible, slow, swinging melody with the muttered chorus that repeats the sliding of the loosened coal, and, to each cadence, Kundoo smote in the black dark. When he could do no more, Sunua Manji took the pick, and struck for his life and his wife, and his village beyond the blue hills over the Tarachunda River.
In this chamber is a drum elevated upon a brazen stand, the hugest I ever saw, fully eighteen feet in circumference. Beside it hangs a big bell, covered with Buddhist texts. I am sorry to learn that it is prohibited to sound the great drum. There is nothing else to see except some dingy paper lanterns figured with the svastika the sacred Buddhist symbol called by the Japanese manji.
The women sang the Song of the Pick the terrible, slow, swinging melody with the muttered chorus that repeats the sliding of the loosened coal, and, to each cadence, Kundoo smote in the black dark. When he could do no more, Sunua Manji took the pick, and struck for his life and his wife, and his village beyond the blue hills over the Tarachunda River.
There is a small water-vessel on board, filled with fresh water, and an incense- cup; and along the gunwales flutter little paper banners bearing the mystic manji, which is the Sanscrit swastika. The form of the shoryobune and the customs in regard to the time and manner of launching them differ much in different provinces.
There was a rush in the dark, and Janki felt the first man's face hit his knees as the Sonthal scrambled up the ledge. 'Who? cried Janki. 'I, Sunua Manji. 'Sit you down, said Janki. 'Who next? One by one the women and the men crawled up the ledge which ran along one side of 'Bullia's Room. Degraded Muhammadan, pig-eating Musahr and wild Sonthal, Janki ran his hand over them all.
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