It was our hope that in the next few days we would sight one of the small islands, preferably Hachijo-shima, that fan out into the Pacific south from Tokyo. This would give us a good departure—and also assurance that we had left the islands safely behind us!
During the day I took my first sextant shot at sea, while Ted worked out the sights. We were dismayed briefly when we discovered that the nautical almanac inherited from Takemura was printed—naturally enough—in Japanese. Fortunately, numerals were the same as in English, and the only critical ideographs—“toward” and “away”—were easily translated for us by Nick. Though we had difficulties, both in getting a good shot and in working out the calculations, it was easier than we dared hope. We were sure that, with practice, we could handle this assignment. Once past the islands, there would be a whole oceanful of sea room and plenty of time to learn the business.
The weather continued clearing during the day and the seas moderated. All of us felt better, and everyone helped get our gear in order and stowed in more seamanlike fashion. Our losses were mostly crockery and expendable items, and nothing of any real importance had been broken, including that most essential item, morale.
Several ships passed along the horizon during the day, one of them an American aircraft carrier and another—as strange an anachronism as we ourselves—the magnificent four-masted training ship of the Japanese Merchant Marine, the Nippon Maru.
In the afternoon we had a feathered visitor, which flew on board and settled down to preen itself in the forward rigging, ignoring the raucous complaints of Mi-ke. It stayed for several hours, giving us an opportunity for close inspection, including photographs, and it is our unanimous and unshakable opinion that our friend was an American robin. Many a mate to this little creature we had seen in the yard of our home back in Yellow Springs, Ohio! How it got to the coastal waters of Japan we didn’t know. Was it a pet, escaped from the flattop we had seen earlier? Farfetched, but possible. At any rate, toward evening it flew away, while Jessica rushed below to enter full details in her Journal.
For the next two days we sailed east, with fair weather. We were beginning to get organized and to find our sea legs although Barbara, who had the least desirable job on the boat, continued to suffer from recurrent malaise every time she entered the galley. Food had assumed a tremendous importance in all our lives, and she realized that to fail even once in the preparation of a meal would only make the next defection easier. And so, queasy though she was and unappetizing as the very thought of food seemed to her, she wired the pots to the stove and doggedly turned out an amazing variety of hearty dishes.
In addition to the galley, Barbara was responsible for three other important departments: health, recreation, and education. She set regular times for Jessica’s lessons, while Ted, although carrying a full load as a working member of the crew, also carried on with his studies.
However, the elements had something to say about leisure time. On the afternoon of October 31, just as we were beginning to congratulate ourselves on our fine adaptation to life at sea, the barometer again began to fall, this time in earnest. There was no doubt we were in for trouble. That night the Pacific really lowered the boom.
My log merely says, “At midnight, high waves and strong wind. Hove to for night, under reefed mizzen and storm jib.”
How often I had read, in published logs and stories of cruising, such cryptic sentences, and how often I had tried to imagine the circumstances! That night I began to get some idea, but it is not easy to put a reader in my place.