This morning we took our passage on the Khabarovsk, a steamer of the volunteer fleet specially built for the voyages of the Governor-General of the Amour provinces. We go straight to Shanghai. Notwithstanding the early hour a great crowd assembled on the quay, and a row of officers and ladies stood on deck to wish us a happy passage. I gave many shake-hands and smiled to right and left. The Bishop performed a Te Deum on board, after which it was time to weigh anchor. Three loud whistles pierced the air, and our steamer left her moorings amidst artillery salutes and loud cheers. After the last exchange of salutes with a Japanese man-of-war, on which the sailors, ranged in rows, rendered military honours to my husband, who was standing on the captain’s bridge, we left the bay on our way to the Japanese Sea. The troops lined the shore for several miles. We began to put on steam, and Vladivostock soon disappeared from view.
The Khabarovsk was built in England. It is lighted all over with electricity. We are the only passengers on board, except two American travellers to whom Sergy gave permission to take passage with us. They had to go in all haste to Japan, and the regular boat was only to sail next week.
September 18th.—The day is gloomy, with a low, leaden sky. The rain is falling in torrents since morning. The sea begins to foam and our boat tosses, tosses! I lie in my cabin inert, suffering greatly from sea-sickness, and powerless to lift a finger. It was such a fearful night! We were nearly caught in a cyclone. The tempest raged awfully; the body of the vessel cracked in an alarming manner, and all the objects in my cabin danced a mad jig. In the middle of the night I heard shouts of voices bellowing out commands overhead. What could be the matter? I sprang out of my berth and opening the door called Sergy who occupied the cabin just opposite mine. But it was not easy to make oneself heard; I made myself hoarse in vain, Sergy could not hear me. I wanted to rush to the staircase and began to dress quickly, but I was so agitated I could not get my arms into my sleeves. In that critical moment the captain, clad in a dripping yellow oilskin coat, knocked at my door; he came to comfort me, assuring me that there was nothing to be afraid of. Foreseeing a strong gale he had given the order to go out into open sea fearing to split on a rock. He said that in a few hours we might run out of bad weather. Somewhat tranquillised I lay down, to start off my sleep again, being nearly thrown out of my berth. The awful wind bent our boat on to her side, the screw was quite out of the water. We were obliged to drop anchor and to be pitilessly tossed by furious billows until morning. I thought that daylight would never come.
September 19th.—Little by little morning appeared through the portholes. The wind continued to blow a hurricane. Towards seven o’clock we moved forward. The coasts of Japan were outlined in the distance. It is the deserted island of Dalegetta, surrounded by mountains 4,800 feet high.
Towards midday the wind abated, we were off the cyclone circle. The weather has become beautiful. Large white birds hover over us. After dinner I sat on deck in the moonlight, breathing with delight the fresh night air.
September 20th.—The ocean is quite calm. We are going along the coasts of Corea. Our first stoppage was Fusan, a rocky Corean spot, which will play, one day, a big part in the history of the far Orient. That port being in close proximity with Japan, is of great strategic importance for the Japs, who have occupied it during the war with China. We have been perceived from the shore, rousing the suspicion of the Japs, who looked with no kindly eyes upon our intrusion. We saw a vessel coming towards us with two Japan officials, who asked who we were and whence we came. Our captain told them that we had to stop at this port to repair damage caused by the storm to the rudder. After the captain had given them the desired information, we were allowed to move on.
September 21st.—The crossing from Fusan to Nagasaki is not a very long one. At seven o’clock in the evening we moored to the quay of that lovely Japanese town.
CHAPTER LXXVI
NAGASAKI
If Ireland is called “Erin,” (Green Island), this name would suit Japan still better. After the bare coasts of Siberia and Corea, the eye rests with delight on the beautiful verdure of the Japanese Islands.