In the afternoon I ventured upon deck. Heavy black clouds hung over us; a fresh air blew into my face. We are to-day at the extreme point of our voyage, quite near to the Aleutian Islands and Kamtchatka. A lark settled on our mast, and Baron Korff came to congratulate me with this first winged messenger from the distant country which was to be our new home. From San Francisco a pair of big albatrosses followed our ship, resting during night on the masts.
A whole week has past, and we have been on the sea seeing nothing but the sky and the water. The least incident takes the proportions of a whole event in the dreary, tedious life on board. To-day for the first time we perceived in the distance a boat with swelling sails. It was surely a pirate boat going out seal-hunting.
July 19th.—We are half-way over the ocean to-day, and had champagne at dinner for this occasion.
We were near the end of our provisions and starvation stared us in the face. We found at dinner, oysters, ever oysters, which I abhor: oyster soup, oyster vol-au-vent, and so on. I will try and bear all these privations stoically.
July 20th.—The fury of the ocean has increased. Our boat tossed, dipped and shook as a mere plaything. It was a difficult matter to stand upright. Everyone was more or less ill and cross. Dr. Pokrovski was the only one of our company to venture on deck in such weather. A rough movement of the ship threw him rolling out of his chair, and made him turn somersaults. Mme. Beurgier saw our poor Esculapius creep back to his cabin, looking a veritable wreck of humanity, yellow as a marigold, and his necktie all crooked.
July 21st.—To-day we pass the 18th meridian, and have lost a whole day. This is Monday, 21st July, and to-morrow we shall be at Wednesday, 23rd July. We have to put our watches back a whole hour every day.
July 23rd.—I passed again a sleepless night. The ship was rolling a good deal, and the howling of the wind in the rigging was something dreadful. I couldn’t remain alone any longer, and stole into Sergy’s cabin for company. He persuaded me to go and lie down again, but it was useless to think of sleeping, and I gave up the attempt.
July 24th.—A grey dawn is rising; white vapours surround us. Our boat, pushed by a favourable wind, makes twelve knots an hour, in spite of the fog. If our captain does not arrive in time at Yokohama, he will have to pay the sum of 500 dollars as penalty.
July 25th.—The colour of the ocean has changed from dark grey to a very bright blue. After dull grey days the sky has suddenly brightened up, and a glittering sun has succeeded the dense haze which enveloped the sea this morning. After ten days of wind, tossing and tempest, all at once an absolute calm. Flying fishes are gamboling all around our ship and two fountains are spouted by whales close by.
July 26th.—To-day is our last Sunday on board. The missionary read prayers in the saloon. He gave out a hymn and all the passengers sang it together. He prayed for the President of the United States, for Queen Victoria and our Emperor, and preached a capital sermon. He said that the passengers, coming from different parts of the world, had gathered here to join together in fervent prayer. In a few days, probably, we shall all have to part for evermore, but in the sight of God we shall always be united.