Of course, as was the case all around the world, we had a Cat and Spare Cat on board—Nos. 34 and 35, I believe, although I’m quite sure Jessica, who kept complete pedigrees, has accurate statistics in this department. Anyway, our present Ship’s Cat was named Daimyo—so called from the early feudal Japanese lord whose distinguishing characteristic was an overbearingly haughty attitude. Daimyo had one trick, and one only, but he worked it into the ground. He had learned to ring the ship’s bell when he wanted something—and he usually wanted something. In order to get a little peace, it was necessary to muffle the bell at night. A very early-morning log entry on several days indicates that I forgot—and paid the penalty by being awakened by Daimyo’s ringing for his breakfast.
On the night of our twenty-first day out we could see the navigation light on Wake to the north and began to think about edging up to the northwest, on a slant toward Japan. We did so, and a week later I made this sad note: “Good-bye, Trades!”—to which Jessica added in written baby talk: “Sank oo for free sousan’ miles!”
But we were not to reach Japan unscathed. Typhoon No. 2 (they are numbered anew each season) was churning up from the Philippines, and as we plotted its path through daily weather broadcasts we liked the situation less and less. My entry of June 1:
36 days out. About 430 miles SE of Hachijo-shima. Sudden shift of wind to N. Present course likely to take us right into Typhoon No. 2. Decided to take down main and heave to. Only mizzen up, tiller lashed. Breeze freshening, barometer dropping, rain ...
Squalls increasing in size and frequency. Riding well.... Winds very strong.... Heavy confused seas.
By the next day No. 2 had passed in front of us, about a hundred miles ahead, and the weather was rapidly improving. Winds at the center of the typhoon were force 12—hurricane. Glad we weren’t in them—we had our hands quite full enough where we were.
Incidentally, leaving the mizzen up was a mistake—it was blown to ribbons, and this isn’t a figure of speech; nothing was left of it but thin strips of frayed canvas, cracking like whips in the wind.
That didn’t bother us. We were on the home stretch now and could almost smell the land. We broke out our topsail—Nick’s idea—rigged it upside down in place of the mizzen, and carried on. Only two thirds of the original area, and it looked rather lubberly, but the yacht club critics don’t get this far out, so it passed without comment. The important thing was, it worked.
One day after the typhoon had passed the wind was down to “light variables, with no visible progress.” This is what keeps sailing from being boring.
The next day we had a visitor: “Large whale has been playing tag with us for last half hour, swimming along just in front of our course. Saw him 40–50 times.”