into the China Sea, with the gun-boat Yorktown following in her wake.
The cruise was uneventful for the first few days, when, about 11 A.M. of the third day, the barometer suddenly dropped several degrees and dark, heavy clouds gave evidence that a typhoon was approaching. All sails on board were secured, guns were lashed, hatches battened down, and sou’westers donned by the lookouts. A few minutes later we were being rocked in a heavy sea; a terrible gale of wind, whistling through the ventilators, brought relief to the coal-passers below. Our deep fog-whistle was blown every minute, and the boatswain and his mates were active and constantly on the alert. Our engines were kept going as usual, and by evening the typhoon had broken and we were sailing on a fair sea off the coast of Formosa.
After two days’ more sail, occasionally passing a man-of-war or mail-steamer, we sighted the beautiful islands of the Inland Sea, the land of the Rising Sun, which we entered at sunrise. This land-locked Japanese body of water is a broad lake over two
hundred miles long, filled with islands and sheltered by uneven shores. From sunrise to dark, shadowy vistas opened and peaceful shores golden with ripening grain slipped by. There was nothing to disturb the dream-like charm, and yet human life and achievement were constantly in sight. Along the shores stretched chains of villages, with stone walls, castles, and temples soaring above the clustered roofs, or peeping from wooded slopes were terraced fields of rice and grain, ridging every hill to its summit and covering every lower level.
Dotted throughout this fairy-like lake are stone torrils, miniature light-houses, which guide the ships at night. Junks and sampans lie anchored in fleets or creep idly across the water, and small coasting steamers thread their way in and out among the islands. For miles we steamed by what is supposed to be the most picturesque scenery in the world. It was yet twilight when Kobe was seen in the distance at the head of the Inland Sea, sheltered from the land by the range of mountains back of it. We entered the harbor after having been inspected by
the Japanese quarantine officials, and anchored astern of the British battleship Aurora. Before the last notes of tattoo were sounded our booms were spread and launches lowered, and the beautifully illuminated city of Kobe lay before us. Kobe means “Gate of God” and is the model foreign settlement of the eastern part of Japan, with a population of 215,000.
A pretty park in the heart of the concession, shaded by camphor trees and ornamented by groups of palms, thatched summer houses, and a bell-tower, was once the execution ground of Hiogo. A line of tea-houses cover the brow of the hill, which is also dotted here and there with orange groves. The streets are lined with curio shops and jinrikshaws drawn by coolies. Here we spent the Fourth of July; the men-of-war lying here all dressed in holiday attire, our flag-ship fired a salute of twenty-one guns. In the afternoon our base-ball team, accompanied by the band and all those eligible for liberty, went ashore, where we crossed bats with the Kobe country club, our band rendering inspiring music during
the game. The result was a whitewash for the country club, who entertained us lavishly at their club-house in the evening.
After spending two weeks in this city we set out for Yokohama, making the voyage in thirty hours. After passing the famous light-ship at the entrance to Yokohama harbor, we were met by the quarantine officials. Their usual routine of work completed, we steamed into the harbor, firing a national salute of twenty-one guns, which was returned by the forts and by the British, French, Italian, and Japanese men-of-war, our band playing the national airs of the various countries here represented, the marines presenting arms. Casting anchor near the French cruiser Friant, the usual visits of courtesy were exchanged.
Numerous vessels of the merchant marine of all nations, besides men-of-war, brigs, yachts, barks, sampans, and junks, were scattered profusely over the harbor, coming and going, bells rang in chorus around the anchorage ground, saluting and signal-flags slipped up and down the masts, while the bang and low-rolling echo of the ship’s