ACROSS THE JAPANESE SEA
August 13th.—We were anchored in the bay the whole night waiting for
the break of day, and left Nagasaki at six in the morning. The day is
very fine. I lay comfortably stretched in my chair on the deck, covered
all over with an awning to ameliorate the ardour of the sun. The crew
was exercising on the upper deck. I hear the command of “Fire!” (powder
charges). A second “False alarm” was rung, “Man overboard!” someone
cried, and in the space of three minutes a life-boat was equipped and
lowered, manned by two sailors who brought up triumphantly to the officer
on duty the huge club, which represented the shipwrecked man.
August 14th.—The barometer has fallen. The wind is blowing very hard,
and the sea is swelling rapidly. I remained shut up in my cabin all day
stretched inertia in my narrow berth; I see the ceiling rise and descend.
A very disagreeable feeling indeed!
August 15th.—The sea is something frightful. The wind moans and our ship
pitches and groans as if she was going to fall in pieces.