on. The mountains and sea grow dark. Soon it becomes impossible to distinguish east from west, and for warning of a change in the weather we must rely completely on the pilot’s judgment. Even the men, unaccustomed to such a situation, show signs of anxiety. With the women it is much worse—we hide our heads in the bottom of the boat and sob. But while we are in this sad condition, the pilot and the boatmen sing songs, completely unconcerned:
In the spring fields lonely I cry.
My hands I have cut, I have cut,
Gathering herbs in the sharp pampas grass.
And will my parents eat these herbs,
Or are they for my husband’s mother?
Oh, I wish I had never got married!
or:
Where is that lad who came last night?
I’ll ask him for the money.
“I’ll pay tomorrow,” he said—but he lied.
He’s brought no money, of course, but worse—
He hasn’t come himself!
There are many others besides, but I shall not write them down. The sea grows rougher, but listening to these songs and to the boatmen’s laughter we feel more easy at heart, and at last, after a long day’s voyage, we reach harbor. An old gentleman and an old lady have meanwhile fallen sick, and they retire to bed without supper.
Tenth day: Today we remain at this harbor of Naha.
The following day they proceed to Murotsu, their last stopping place within the province of Tosa. Here they are detained by bad weather for five days.
Seventeenth day: The clouds have cleared, and in the early hours before dawn there is a fine clear moon. We set out in our boats. A perfect image of the clouds above is reflected in the bottom of the
