NAGASAKI
August 10th.—Towards five o’clock in the morning our vessel glided into
the verdure-framed harbour of Nagasaki, a dream of loveliness. High
on the three sides rose steep green hills, clothed with forests of
palm-trees. On our left the port stretched out, covered with a multitude
of junks. Here is the home of Madame Chrysanthemum!
The town of Nagasaki glitters in the sunshine in the distance, buried in
verdure. We exchange the habitual salutes with the Japanese men-of-war.
One of them had hoisted the Russian flag. I sought refuge on the
commander’s bridge, where the cannonade was less deafening.
A Japanese officer in full uniform, came in a canoe to welcome and bring
us on shore. On the quay the Russian consul, Mr. Kostileff, was expecting
us. We climbed up to the Hôtel Belle-Vue by narrow stone steps cut in
the rock. The landlady, a respectable Frenchwoman of about forty, came
hastening to receive the guests the steamer had brought her.
The hotel is surrounded by galleries on which all the bedrooms open. Our
windows look out on the gulf, studded with a multitude of ships. Two
British steamers are leaving for America to-night. I do not envy them!
A boy, speaking a few words of Russian, brought in tea with excellent
cream and cakes. At Nagasaki the close neighbourhood of Russia is felt, a
great number of natives speak our language.
I took refuge in my room from tailors, dressmakers and merchants of every
kind, who besieged us the whole day smiling and curtseying at every
step and eyeing each other mistrustfully. Here is a thick man entering
our apartment with cat-like step, who with much drawing of breath,
and bowing as low as his obesity permitted him, introduces himself
laconically “Tortoise-shell man,” which means that he dealt in wares
made of tortoise-shell. When he bowed himself off, another Jap, selling
post-cards and pictures, comes in announcing himself “Photograph-man,”
and so on.
We asked our Consul to dine with us. We were disturbed during the meal by
the announcement that two sailors from the “Mandchour” were missed at
the evening roll-call. Mr. Kostileff had to get up and make inquiries in
the town.
We continue to have no news of the _Nijni-Novgorod_, the ship on which my
husband’s aide-de-camp had embarked with all our household. We asked the
consul to cable to Singapore and got the same reply: “No news.” We begin
to get very anxious.
August 11th.—The rain falls in torrents, and the state of the sky does
not promise improvement of the weather for the moment. The tempest-flag
is hoisted in the port. Impossible to go out to sea to-morrow!
August 12th.—The sea is much calmer and we sail from Nagasaki to-night.
Before embarking we went for a drive in rikshas and met nearly all the
officers from the “Mandchour.” By night as we approached our ship in a
canoe, our rower shouted out the password “An officer,” to the question,
“Who rows?” of the sailor on duty.
The deck was lighted with different coloured lanterns in our honour. I
escaped to my cabin whilst my husband was being greeted by the ship’s
officers.