Pathway to Japanese Literature

Preface I. We Japanese compatriots - akin to this ship floating upon Pacific waves - must no longer dwell in an age when we ought merely to be enraptured by Mount Fuji's splendid vistas. The laureled crown of glory and victory banners of wealth and power have already forsaken land to be planted upon the world's seas.

Who then shall don this crown and grasp this victory banner? None other than the heroes of the sea. The heroes of the sea shall be the heroes of the world. I.

On the Auspicious Day of Tenchōsetsu

Viscount Ito, Admiral of the Navy Kimotsuki, Rear Admiral of the Navy Count Yoshii, Lieutenant Commander of the Navy Viscount Ogasawara, Lieutenant Commander of the Navy Kamimura, Lieutenant Commander of the Navy I congratulate all esteemed individuals on their well-being and express my sincere gratitude for the noble intentions of those who kindly provided the title and preface for this humble book.

I. The fact that I had received Lieutenant Commander Kamimura’s gracious guidance and rigorous proofreading was not merely a boon to this author alone; should you, dear readers, gain even a modicum of maritime knowledge through this book, it would be entirely due to the Lieutenant Commander’s benevolence.

I. From afar, I prayed for Mr. Iwaya Sazanami’s robust health in Berlin, capital of Germany.

著者※（変体仮名し）るす

Adventure Chronicles of the Sea Islands: The Submarine Battleship Table of Contents

First Installment: Overseas Japanese

A Chance Encounter at Naples Port — The Great Trading House — Hamashima Takefumi — Madam Harue — Young Hideo — Commander Matsushima’s Medical Leave

Second Installment: Day of Demons, Hour of Demons Farewell Party — Ani the Elderly Woman — Saint of Mount Urpino — The Cursed Day of October — Gold and Pearls — Moonlit Departure

Third Installment: Phantom Ship

The Clang of a Gong — The Beer Barrel Captain — White Mast Light — An Old-Fashioned British Man — Strange Tales of Pirate Islands — The Kaijinmaru

Fourth Installment: Discarded Newspaper Cigars — Commander Sakuragi’s Whereabouts — A Large Sailing Ship and Thirty-Seven Sailors — Strange New-Style Poetry — Secret Invention — Two O’Clock Bell

Fifth Installment: Piano and Boxing

A Shipboard Music Concert — The Honking-Voiced Lady — Madam Harue’s Honor — A Deck Race — Sumo Wrestling — My Embarrassment — The Circus Performer’s Tiger

Sixth Installment: Spark Howitzer Shell A shipwreck’s signal—No，it had to be a meteor streaking—Absurd—Three sidelights—Ship ghosts!—Their eyes looked eerie.

Seventh Installment: Pirate Ship of the Indian Ocean

Torpedo Destroyer or Cruiser? — Pirates of Yore and Pirates of Today — Submersible — Searchlight — White-Horse Crested Waves — Shallow Seabed — Great Collision

Eighth Installment: Human Destiny

The End of the *Sengetsumaru*—Y-you coward!—The Japanese Child—Two Buoys—Madam Harue’s Fate—Oh! Something black!

Ninth Installment: The Skiff on the Open Sea

Ani’s Prophecy — Young Hideo’s Dream — The Great Currents of the Indian Ocean — Sudden Rain — A Feast from Bygone Days — An Enormous School of Fish

Tenth Installment: A Shark’s Sea Burial

Heaven’s gift—a countercurrent—I was a black slave; the boy was the son of a charcoal seller—Oh my, it had taken on a strange taste—another fast.

Eleventh Installment: The Echo of the Uninhabited Island

An island inhabited by humans or demons—Oh! That sound—a beautiful spring—a gorilla’s sudden attack—a sailor nimbly dodged—the naval officer’s face.

Twelfth Installment: The House of the Navy

A southern uninhabited island—the cheerful Petty Officer Takemura—hazy imaginings—ahead lay the boundless waves of the open sea, behind a grove of coconut palms—he departed to parts unknown.

Thirteenth Installment: Flickering Starlight

Welcome—Harue Fujin Will Not Die—This Shinpachi Is the Vanguard—The Sinking of the Naminouemaru—This Island Is Quite Interesting!—Three Years Later

Fourteenth Installment: The Undersea Shipyard The commander’s figure flashed into view—Lion hunting? Absolutely not!—Lightning-Fast Fierce Dog—Secret Talks—Screen Rock—Dreadful Footsteps—The Iron Gate’s Inscription.

Fifteenth Installment: *Electric Light Boat*

Thundering waves—a shape resembling a thrown spear—three-pronged ram—new-style torpedo-shaped mine—scenes of the sea’s surface and depths reflected in a mirror-clear lens—air generator—Poem by Master Tesshū.

Sixteenth Installment: Asahijima

Young Hideo was standing in the shade of a coconut tree—international law—evidence of occupation—three-pronged monument—What a brilliant idea!—That’s the spot!

Seventeenth Installment: Adventure Iron Car An automatic device—a beheading-blade-shaped axe—thumped against a chest. It couldn’t show off—the national anthem “Kimigayo”—now let us shout banzai for the Empire!

Eighteenth Installment: Baseball Game

Nine demonic pitches—an innocent entanglement—a celebratory toss—split between West and East—the lion called its allies—twisting a well-balanced spear—"I’m so disappointed!"—"No way!"

Nineteenth Installment: Fierce Beast Unit

Temple of Nature — Explosive Shells — Heave-ho! Shouts — A Single Shoe — Good Deeds Invite Many Demons — Sand-Slip Valley, Also Known as Death Valley — Midnight Beasts — Bonfire

Twentieth Installment: Fierce Dog’s Emissary

Over mountains and mountains—thirty *ri*—a single letter—in the afterlife or this world?—this dog was no ordinary creature—turned pitch-black and gave chase—the water barrel was empty.

Twenty-First Installment: Aerial Rescue A startled figure—someone’s half-visible form emerging—the night eight days prior—three hundred bolts of white silk—a celebratory fist—lightning, the boy, and Petty Officer Takemura.

Twenty-Second Installment: Calamity at Sea

Empire Founding Day on the Isolated Island — The Commander’s Grand Attire — A Nighttime Gathering on the Shore — The Boy’s Sword Dance — The Demon’s Hand Envying Human Happiness — A Submarine Landslide — The Electric Light Boat’s Nighttime Signal

Twenty-Third Installment: Twelve Barrels

The Life of the Submarine Battleship — The Sparsely Populated Olive Island — The Iron Door Reduced to Dust — From Heaven to the Depths of Hell — Such Recklessness Could Not Be Borne — Tears of Futility

Twenty-Fourth Installment: Balloon Flight

Must become a demon of the isolated island—drastic measures—I will go—a silent farewell—I wept in my heart—the familiar Asahijima grew distant, farther and farther away.

Twenty-Fifth Installment: White Cruiser

The shadow of the continent—something shot through the air like an arrow—a lone white object—a flock of seabirds—the naval ensign “Garf”—Ah! Ah! That flag—! That ship—!

Twenty-Sixth Installment: Face to Face to Face

Imperial Naval Ensign—Captain Torahige, real name Captain Todoroki—along with the skiff had been retrieved at full speed—a battle-worn face—a face resembling someone’s—a nostalgic face.

Twenty-Seventh Installment: Captain’s Cabin

He stroked his mustache—“Could this be a dream?”—“There’s nothing that makes me happier”—“You’ve grown considerably darker-complexioned”—“Now comes your turn”—A tale from four years prior.

Twenty-Eighth Installment: Memorial Warship Imperial Warship *Hinode*—as this Torahige would tell it—built at the Thames Shipyard—a cruiser reminiscent of the *Akashi*—all human affairs are subject to divine will. Twenty-Ninth Installment: Satsuma Biwa

Harue Fujin’s Tale — An Unruly Wretch — Deck Breezy and Clear — The National Ship’s Tune — Shall We Arm-Wrestle and Shin-Kick? — Dojo Wrecker! — The Bizarre Lieutenant

Thirtieth Installment: Great Naval Battle Under the Moonlit Night

The port of Colombo, India—the ship aglow with electric lights—battle bugles—they swung the demon-emblazoned pirate flag’s great sword wildly—the Commander arrived! Electric Light Boat arrived! —The Indian Ocean, bathed in morning sunlight.

End of Table of Contents

First Installment: Overseas Japanese

Chance Encounter at Naples Port — Grand Trading House — Hamashima Takefumi — Mrs. Harue — Young Hideo — Commander Matsushima’s Standby

It was already six years prior that I had departed from Yokohama’s port with my world-wandering purpose—first crossing to America, then traversing the Atlantic’s tempestuous waves to roam through Europe, journeying through famed historic sites of renowned nations like England, France, and Germany. Over twenty months passed during this time, leaving behind a journey of roughly fifteen thousand *ri*, until I finally entered Italy. Having fully viewed its myriad wonders—renowned since antiquity as a nation of art—I arrived at Naples’ celebrated port exactly four years ago: midday on a clear day in mid-May when cherry blossoms scatter, there to board the *Sengetsumaru*, an Eastbound steamship set to weigh anchor at half past eleven that night for my return to beloved Japan.

From the station on the outskirts of the city by a waiting carriage, I arrived at a certain inn near the coast; once I had secured a room and finished lunch, there was nothing left to do—the ship’s departure still lay over ten hours away. Those of you who have undertaken long journeys will surely understand—there is nothing as tedious as waiting for trains or steamships to depart in a foreign land where you know no one. Restlessly standing, sitting, flipping through newspapers and magazines—nothing could hold my attention. *Should I take a nap? Or perhaps stroll through the town?* Weighing these options while leaning against the window, I gazed down at Naples Bay below—its mirror-like surface dotted with departing ships, arriving ships, and anchored vessels. My eyes traced the patterns on their decks, the flags fluttering atop masts, and the oddly styled rooftops of trading houses stretching from the distant pier—when suddenly a thought surfaced. That thought concerned Hamashima Takefumi.

Hamashima Takefumi was a fellow student of mine from when I was still in high school—indeed, some twelve or thirteen years prior. He was four or five years my senior and thus in a different grade, so we rarely interacted; yet at that time, owing to his athletic prowess and my own reckless penchant for adventurous travels, he and I were both regarded as notable figures at school—and so, for no particular reason, we developed an inexplicable bond that made us reluctant to part ways. After graduating—though he ought to have entered university—he declared he had grander ambitions and soon left Japan. First he traveled through China, then crossed into Europe. Up until six or seven years ago, it was confirmed that someone had met him at the Great Paris Exposition; but I, ever a wanderer myself, heard no detailed news of him thereafter. Only vague rumors now reach me—that he has established a grand trading company in a certain bustling Italian port and devotes himself wholly to commerce.

When speaking of Italy’s bustling ports, this place was none other than Naples—the nation’s foremost harbor, with hundreds upon thousands of trading houses stretching from the piers to the coastal avenue. It occurred to me that perhaps Hamashima was operating his so-called trading company in this very port—a story as tenuous as grasping at clouds. But just in case, I summoned the innkeeper and inquired—and indeed! The innkeeper didn’t let me finish my question and tapped his bald head with a *pon*. “Oh, Mr. Hamashima⁈ I know him well—he has a thousand employees and ten branches! Hoh! His residence? You go this way, then that way—” With words and hand gestures, he thrust his head out the window.

“Look, look! That grand three-story house over there!”

In a foreign land thousands of miles beyond the heavens, even meeting someone for the first time—if you learned they were born of the same mountains and rivers—would stir nostalgia within you. How much more so when hearing that an old companion now resided here! I could no longer restrain myself; I promptly gathered my belongings and left the inn.

As instructed by the bald innkeeper, I proceeded westward along the bustling thoroughfare for some four or five blocks, turned left at the sole crossroads, and reached the third splendid brick structure—its gate marked “T. Hamashima.” Upon confirming this was the place, I was promptly ushered into a room with a fine view, and before long, with loud footsteps echoing, in came none other than Hamashima himself! Over the ten years since we last met, he had grown a splendid handlebar mustache, and his bearing had changed considerably—yet he remained the same carefree man. “Well, Mr. Yanagawa! How rare, how rare!” he exclaimed, treating me with utmost courtesy. I was genuinely delighted. Even with beards grown, between friends there persisted an innocent camaraderie. Amidst our varied conversations emerged tales of our past—hunting together in the mountains and fields, recklessly shooting a farmer’s duck and facing harsh consequences; how during the spring sports festival, he and I had become our respective classes’ chosen competitors, desperately vying for the championship flag—alongside countless other nostalgic recollections. So engrossed were we that time slipped by unnoticed. But suddenly I realized something was amiss in the household: voices clamored in the surrounding rooms, and footsteps echoed hurriedly down the hallways. Hamashima, ever composed since our youth, remained unflappable—so much so that one wouldn’t notice anything unusual from his demeanor. Yet even the face of the maid who now brought coffee betrayed this flurry of activity. Sensing that today might bring unexpected commotion, I abruptly looked up—

“Are you perhaps pressed for time?” I inquired. “No, no—not at all,” he replied, taking a deliberate sip of coffee before leisurely stroking his mustache.

“Well… you see, there’s someone departing.”

Oh! Before I could ask *who* was going *where*, he opened his mouth. “Now, Mr. Yanagawa—you’ll be staying in this port for a while, I take it? Then perhaps you’ll be heading to Spain next? Or will you press onward and venture all the way to Africa?” “Ahaha,” I scratched my head. “I got carried away by the fun of our old stories, but the matter is actually urgent—I must return to Japan on tonight’s 11:30 steamship.”

“What—you too?!” he exclaimed, his eyes widening. “So it’s the *Sengetsumaru* departing at eleven-thirty tonight as well?”

“Indeed. Regrettably, I’ve given up on Spain and Africa for this trip,” I replied tersely, whereupon he slapped his knee with a *pon*. “Well, how strange, how strange!” As he observed my quizzical look—wondering what was so strange—he continued.

“How strange this is! It must be what you’d call heaven’s arrangement—for in truth, my wife and child are also returning to Japan aboard tonight’s *Sengetsumaru*.” “What—your wife and son?!” I exclaimed in surprise. It was hardly surprising that he had come to have a wife and child in the ten years since we’d last met, but in truth, I had known nothing of it until this very moment—and to learn that they were now returning to the homeland was a bolt from the blue.

Hamashima laughed boisterously. “Hahahaha.” “You still hadn’t known about my wife and child, had you?” “How dreadfully rude of me!” he exclaimed hastily, ringing the call bell for the maid who had entered. “Well, Madam has a most unusual guest…,” she began, turning toward me mid-sentence. “The truth is,” he said, leaning forward slightly, “two summers after establishing my trading company in this port, I briefly returned to Japan. At that time—though I heard you were traveling through Siam—I married Commander Matsushima’s sister from our hometown through an intermediary.” “This was over ten years ago now. The child born afterward is eight years old. My longstanding wish has been this: while I remain overseas as a mere merchant, I want at least my son to become a capable naval officer—a pillar of the Japanese Empire. Moreover, I firmly believe Japanese children raised abroad inevitably develop weaker patriotism. Fortunately, my wife’s brother being an accomplished military man in the homeland, I had long planned to entrust him with overseeing every aspect of the boy’s education—yet until now, no suitable opportunity arose.” “However, according to mail received early this month, my wife’s brother Commander Matsushima—formerly captain of the Imperial battleship *Takao*—has been placed on medical leave due to illness. While not gravely ill, he remains her only brother. She wished to visit him if possible and see our homeland’s moon again after so long. With our son’s circumstances considered, we deemed this the opportune moment—thus they will depart aboard tonight’s *Sengetsumaru* at eleven-thirty.” “Naturally, my wife will return once the Commander recovers, but my son—I intend to keep him at Mount Fuji’s foothills for years untold, until he stands in this world as a splendid officer of the Japanese Empire.” Having finished speaking, he gazed quietly at my face.

“And since you too are departing tonight—both aboard ship and after returning to Japan—I humbly ask for your continued kindness.”

With this account, everything became clear. Even in this regard, Hamashima Takefumi retained his old vigorous spirit—to raise his only son as a soldier of the empire, he had made the resolute decision to sever the bonds of parental affection and send him back to the homeland. Moreover, though I had yet to meet his wife—the esteemed younger sister of Commander Matsushima—I privately marveled at her noble resolve: to bid farewell to her husband even if only briefly, take her young child, and embark on a perilous journey of ten thousand *ri* across storm-tossed seas solely to tend to her brother’s sickbed. When I pondered further, this incident was like something straight out of a novel from start to finish. That I had met an old friend in a land ten thousand miles beyond our homeland through sheer happenstance; that upon arriving at this port, it coincided precisely with the time when his wife and son were about to depart from here; that without any prior arrangement, we had come to share the fate of boarding the same ship and embarking on a voyage lasting several months—truly, as Hamashima had said, this must be what one would call a mysterious arrangement by heaven. Lost in such imaginings, I was suddenly interrupted when two people quietly opened the stateroom door and entered. Needless to say, they were the wife and her beloved child. Hamashima stood up.

“This is my wife Harue,” he introduced to me, then turned to his wife and concisely explained how he and I had been schoolmates long ago, the circumstances of my current journey, and the strange fate that now bound us to share this voyage to Japan together. At this, Mrs. Hamashima uttered an “Oh!” and approached with a nostalgic air. She appeared twenty-six or twenty-seven years old—a beauty like a heavenly maiden with elegant brows and a gentle mouth. At first glance, I thought this lady must possess a heart as lovely as her appearance, making her a woman of such noble grace as to be rare in this world.

After the formal greetings concluded, the Madam motioned to her beloved son. The boy—summoned yet showing no trace of timidity—approached near my knees. He was eight years old, named Hideo, clad in neat sailor-style Western clothes. His hair fell in soft locks; his complexion was strikingly fair. The set of his mouth resembled his father's dignified bearing, while his eyes retained his mother's crystalline clarity—a child whose very presence exuded loveliness. I found myself unexpectedly reminded of that utterly adorable little protagonist from the novel *Little Lord Fauntleroy*, which I had read on the train from Rome the night before.

Young Hideo had been born in a land tens of thousands of miles from his homeland, where he rarely encountered compatriots beyond his parents—so in his childish heart, he must have felt both longing and delight. With those clear eyes of his, he gazed up intently at my face—

“Oh, Uncle is Japanese!” he said.

"I am Japanese - a fellow countryman of yours, Hideo-san," I said, drawing him close. "Hideo-san, do you like Japanese people? Do you love Japan?" When I asked this, the boy replied energetically: "Oh, I love Japan so much! I just can't wait to go back! And you know, every single day I plant the Rising Sun flag and play at war in the streets! And you know what? The Rising Sun flag is strong! We always win, every single time!"

“Oh, indeed it must be so!” I exclaimed, so charmed that I lifted the boy high above my head and shouted “Long live the Great Japanese Empire!” whereupon he too began hopping up and down atop my head, crying “Banzai! Banzai!” Hamashima laughed heartily; Madam Harue narrowed her eyes.

“Oh, how delighted Hideo must be!” she said, covering her smile with a crimson handkerchief.

Part Two: The Day of Demons, The Hour of Demons

Farewell Gathering—Old Woman Ani—The Saint of Mount Urpino—The Cursed Day of October—Gold and Pearls—Moonlit Departure Thereafter, the conversation blossomed anew, and as the lingering May sky had gradually cast its slanting sunset rays, I seized a moment to take my leave. “Well then, tonight aboard the *Sengetsumaru*—” I began to rise, but Hamashima hastily stopped me. “Wait, wait! Even if you return to the inn now, what good would it do? Since we’ve conversed sufficiently today about our long-awaited reunion, I insist your departure tonight must be from my home.” With this earnest entreaty from both himself and Madam, I—being naturally unreserved—acquiesced to their wishes. I dispatched a stablehand from their household to retrieve my luggage from the inn, and thus it was decided that all three of us would depart together from there.

After being shown every manner of generous hospitality, by around eight o’clock in the evening, everyone from the household’s head clerks down to the lowliest maids and servants gathered to hold a farewell gathering—and I too was invited to join their company. Madam Harue was a woman of exceptional benevolence, and young Hideo was cherished beyond measure among them; thus, there was no one present who did not lament their parting. However, their master Hamashima, with his stalwart Eastern demeanor, so detested displays of tears that all present, out of deference to his sensibilities, refrained from shedding a single visible tear.

Ah, here was a single person who caught my eye in particular. It was an elderly Italian woman seated at the farthest end of the gathering—this woman had been hired long ago from a distant countryside to serve as young Hideo’s nanny. She was a short, white-haired old woman of exceedingly honest appearance, but from earlier she had been bowing her head mournfully, shedding tears as though seeing someone off on a journey to the realm of the dead.

I felt an inexplicable unease. "Oh dear, Ani is crying over some nonsensical thing again," said Madam Harue, gazing at her husband’s face.

Before long, as the gathering concluded and nearly ten hours had passed—bringing us at last to the boarding hour for the *Sengetsumaru*—Hamashima’s family and I rode together in a carriage to the pier, seen off by many people. After resting at a nearby teahouse, I assumed they would wish to exchange private farewells here; thus, I tactfully excused myself and walked alone toward the waterfront. At that moment, I suddenly noticed that someone seemed to be stealthily following me from behind. Thinking it strange, I turned around—when abruptly, that shadow rushed toward my feet as though tripping. When I looked, it was the old woman named Ani—whom I could now recognize as the one who had been weeping alone at the farewell gathering earlier.

“Oh, it’s you,” I said, stopping in my tracks. The old woman, still weeping... “Oh noble visitor, I beg of you,” she pleaded, clasping her hands and gazing up at me. “You’re called Ani, right? What’s your business?” I asked calmly. The old woman, in a voice as thin as an insect’s hum, uttered, “O noble visitor,” and gazed at my face for a time— “Ah, Madam and Young Master Hideo are to depart for Japan tonight aboard the *Sengetsumaru*, accompanying you—could this not be postponed?” she ventured in a trembling voice.

"Hmm, what a strange thing for a woman to say," I thought with a frown, but upon closer inspection, the old woman appeared deeply troubled by something, so I did not argue.

“Indeed, it can’t be postponed any longer,” I said lightly. “But why do you lament so?” I asked gently. At these words, the old woman slightly lifted her face. “Truly, noble visitor, I have never been so sorrowful,” she began. “When I first heard that Madam and Young Master Hideo were to return to Japan, I was utterly aghast—though there was nothing to be done about that. But then I learned...the departure time...tonight at eleven-thirty...” Her lips trembled as she spoke.

“But… but if they set sail tonight at eleven-thirty—”

“What? What’s wrong with departing on tonight’s steamship?” I asked, my eyes widening. Ani clutched the mirror at her breast, “I swear by God—you may not know this yet—but there is a grave matter.” “Time and again I’ve pleaded with both master and Madam—begging them at least to postpone tonight’s departure—but they only laugh and say, ‘Ani, there’s no need for such worry,’ paying no heed to my entreaties.” “But noble visitor, I know it well—if they sail tonight on that *Sengetsumaru*, neither Madam nor Young Master Hideo shall emerge unscathed!”

“To think they won’t come out unscathed—” I found myself involuntarily drawn in.

“Yes, they will never come out unscathed.” Ani grew solemn, looking up at me with imploring eyes— “I trust you—you surely won’t laugh at me,” she prefaced, then spoke thus. “As the Saint of Mount Urpino has said—among the many old legends, there is no need to choose an auspicious date for a voyage. Those who depart on an ill-omened day will surely meet with disaster.” “This is true. Indeed, one of my own children—seven or eight years ago—ignored my desperate pleas to stop them and ran away on the cursed day of October, only to be captured in the end by a terrifying sea serpent.” “I know full well.” “Even if it’s Madam or Young Master Hideo—if they set sail tonight, they will never come out unscathed! Yes, the reason is—today is May sixteenth, the Day of Demons! And then—eleven-thirty tonight—how dreadful it is! It’s the Hour of Demons.”

As I listened, I nearly snorted aloud. But the old woman paid no heed. "Noble visitor, this is no laughing matter! The Day of Demons and Hour of Demons are the most ill-omened times of the whole year. With so many other days available, what cruel fate makes them depart on this date at this very hour? When I think of it, I can neither sit still nor stand." "Moreover, when I asked my sailor friend, he said this voyage has the *Sengetsumaru* loaded with heaps of gold and pearls. When gold and pearls gather on stormy seas, they'll surely bring terrible curses!" "Ah, ill omen piled upon ill omen!" "Noble visitor, if you could grasp even a thousandth of my heart—please delay tonight's departure to save Madam and Young Master Hideo!" She clasped her hands as if in prayer. Hearing this tale—good heavens—what utter nonsense! The West has its share of superstitious folk, but one like this crone must be rare indeed. I nearly burst into laughter, but caught myself—even if this was superstition, one who worried so earnestly for her masters' welfare shouldn't be mocked. With effort, I choked back the rising mirth.

“Ani!” I called out. “Ani…!” “I understand what you’re saying. Your master and Madam must be overjoyed by your loyal heart, but….” I gazed at her face. “But what you’re saying is all old tales; nowadays, there’s no such thing as a Day of Demons or cursed days.” “Ah, so you too are laughing at me,” said Ani, closing her eyes with a desolate expression. “No, I’m certainly not laughing—but there’s no need for such worry. I will protect Madam and Young Master Hideo with my very life,” I said, yet Ani wore a countenance of boundless despair.

“Ah… It’s no use… no use at all,” she sobbed, struggling to her feet. “Gods and Buddhas—please protect Madam and Young Master Hideo!” she cried out, then fled like one possessed.

At that very moment, in the rest area, the boarding preparations appeared to be complete, and Hamashima’s voice could be heard urgently calling for me.

Third Chapter: The Phantom Ship

The tolling of the gong—Beer Barrel Captain—White mast light—Old-fashioned British man—Strange tales of Pirate Island—*Kaijinmaru*

Madam Harue, Young Hideo, and I bid farewell to the many well-wishers at the pier and boarded the *Sengetsumaru*—anchored far offshore—via a prepared steam launch at ten-thirty that night. Hamashima Takefumi and three others had come to see them off to the ship. This *Sengetsumaru* was a vessel owned by the Italian Eastern Steamship Company, with a tonnage of six thousand four hundred. It was a massive ship with two smokestacks and four masts. For this voyage to various ports in China and Japan, it was laden with a vast quantity of iron materials, gold, pearls, and other no small number of valuables—so much so that its draft sank considerably deep into the water.

When we reached the gangway of the *Sengetsumaru*, our boarding had already been confirmed through the passenger list. A sailor came running to hurriedly carry our luggage, while a steward respectfully removed his hat and parted through the throng crowding the deck. Thus guided, we entered a first-class cabin near the ship’s midsection. As holds true for any steamship, among cabins of the same class, those in the midsection are the most sought after. This was because one felt relatively less of the ship’s motion there during voyages. To secure this room, there had been fierce competition—from a German with a tiger-like mustache to a high-nosed Frenchman and others—but thanks to the extraordinary efforts of Hamashima Takefumi, renowned in Naples as “the wealthy and noble Japanese,” we ultimately came to occupy this finest of cabins. Moreover, since Madam Harue and Young Hideo’s cabin was situated right next to mine, it seemed all arrangements would prove convenient.

Since I am by nature a traveler who goes on foot, I had no cumbersome luggage; I simply threw my single leather suitcase into my cabin and immediately went to visit Madam Harue and the others in their cabin. At this moment, Madam Harue had seated the boy on her lap and was conversing with Mr. Sonoyoshi and the other three, but upon seeing my figure—

“Oh, you’ve already finished settling in?” With her graceful figure, she hurriedly stood to greet me. “Nonsense—Mr. Yanagawa doesn’t have luggage worth settling!” Hamashima laughed boisterously and urged, “Here,” gesturing to a chair, whereupon I joined the group. With the time for farewells now pressing upon us, there was scarcely room for the various conversations to run their course—yet amidst it all came the clamorous tolling of a gong reverberating through the ship: clang-clatter, clang-clatter.

“Oh! Oh! That sound—” Young Hideo’s eyes grew perfectly round as he looked up at his mother’s gentle face. Madam Harue remained silent, her gaze shifting to Sonoyoshi-kun. Hamashima Takefumi calmly stood up.

“It’s time for farewell now,” he said, looking back at the other three. According to maritime regulations, all those on board must disembark upon hearing the tolling of the gong that reverberates throughout the ship ten to fifteen minutes prior to departure. And now, Hamashima—intending at last to leave the ship—grasped my hand with earnest words of farewell, spoke a few parting phrases to Madam, then drew his beloved child close with his right arm and, while stroking the boy’s thick, flowing locks, “Hideo—you and your father must now part for a long time. But you must not forget your resolve: to become an exceptional man—a distinguished naval officer and a pillar of the Japanese Empire—just as I have always taught you.” Having finished speaking, he gazed with gentle amusement at the boy’s silent nod, then urged the other three and exited the cabin.

We, who had been seen off earlier, now sought to send them off from this ship. Guiding the boy by his right hand and supporting Harue Fujin—who was understandably despondent—I stepped onto the deck. The night was the thirteenth of the lunar calendar: the deep azure sky held not a single cloud, and the moon shone with a vast, crystalline brilliance. Moreover, from three or four foreign warships anchored far offshore, searchlights ceaselessly illuminated the sea’s surface. The radiance was such that it rivaled daylight, making even the buoys—rising and falling with the waves—clearly visible in their every detail.

When Hamashima reached the ship’s gangway, he turned back once more and gazed at the faces of his wife and beloved child, then, as though something weighed on his mind, shifted his gaze to me.

“Mr. Yanagawa, then let us part here—regarding Harue and Hideo, I must ask you to…” He appeared uncharacteristically hesitant for a man of his typically bold disposition, as though some invisible, powerful arm had seized him there, making him all the more reluctant to depart. Later, I would realize this might have been what people call a premonition—but at that moment, consumed only by the sorrow of parting, I nodded deeply and replied, “Mr. Hamashima—may your heart ever prosper! As for your wife and beloved child’s safety, I shall guard them with my very life.” He smiled gently in return, firmly shook hands with all three of us, then descended the gangway and boarded the steam launch that had been waiting since earlier. The launch immediately kicked up waves and began returning to the pier. Nearby, two or three seabirds cried dreamily amid the churning countercurrents—enough to rend any traveler’s heart—yet Young Hideo remained innocently...

“Oh, Mother—where has Father gone off to alone? Won’t he be coming back?” Clinging to his mother’s slender hand, Hideo asked. Though Madam Harue maintained her dignified composure, her heart stirred with involuntary sorrow as she gazed desolately after her departing husband. The moon shone as bright as day, yet the steam launch’s form grew ever hazier in the distance, leaving only its lingering smoke to mark the long farewell. “Madam, why don’t we take a stroll on the deck?” I invited them both. Thinking that even a lively scene might lift their spirits in such melancholy moments, I led them toward the bow—the ship’s most bustling area at that time.

With the departure time now drawing near, this area was in considerable commotion. Lightly clad deckhands dashed about as if airborne; burly-framed crewmen in great numbers formed ranks at their respective stations; the aft gangway had already been raised. At that very moment, under the command of the chief engineer on the foredeck, a group of sailors rushed to gather around the windlass, poised to hoist the anchor chain with the next order. On the bridge stood the Beer Barrel Captain, his corpulent frame as round as a beer keg, twisting his red beard while arrogantly surveying his surroundings. I was mingling among the passengers clustered here and there—Belgians with strikingly pale complexions, French young gentlemen whose mustaches were sculpted sword-like with cosmetic wax, German army officers whose noses had reddened from excessive drinking, Italian actresses who might be called specimens of beauty, and Indian tycoons of unnaturally dark hue—observing this striking scene while exchanging trivial tales with Madam Harue, when suddenly, quite abruptly, a sailor’s voice roared behind me: “Yah! Yah! Damnation!” At the same instant came a crash—the sound of something striking the deck and shattering to pieces. I swiftly turned to look and saw two or three sailors who had just been attempting to hoist a white lamp high onto the foremast with a pulley. The spherical mast light—meant to symbolize safe navigation during the voyage—had somehow slipped from its cord and fallen like a meteor from about twenty feet up the mast. In an instant, it struck the bridge where the Captain stood, shattering into fragments as its light snapped out. Startled, the Captain twisted aside to evade it but lost his footing and tumbled headfirst down two or three steps of the bridge’s staircase. The sailors turned pale with a collective “Ah—!” The Captain scrambled to his feet in a fluster, his face crimson with rage—yet unable to direct that anger at his own undignified state—and pressed a hand to his beer keg of a belly as he fixed the sailors with a fearsome glare. Beside me now stood a long-bearded, bald-headed Englishman of decidedly antiquated bearing, who began trembling violently at this spectacle.

“Ah, ah—such ill fortune! Namu Amida Butsu! I just hope demons aren’t haunting this ship,” he muttered. Hmph! “More superstition! What kind of day *is* this?” Of course, there was likely no profound significance to such an incident. It was undoubtedly a mere coincidence, yet I somehow felt an uncanny unease. Anyone would feel the same—if even the slightest oddity occurs at the outset of war or a journey, one cannot help but be somewhat unsettled. Particularly unsettling was that our *Sengetsumaru*—now setting forth upon the vast waves of ten thousand leagues, poised to enter perilous waters famed in song and story: the Mediterranean, Red Sea, and Indian Ocean—had its white mast light, which ought to stand as an emblem of safe navigation for any steamship, shatter into dust at the very outset of this voyage, its radiance extinguished; while simultaneously, the captain—this ship’s sovereign—tumbled from the bridge, nursing his displeasure and wearing fury upon his face. By any measure, could this not portend some calamity soon to befall the *Sengetsumaru*? Such thoughts left me in no agreeable state of mind. Ordinarily, such delusions would have been easily dismissed, but today—with Ani’s earlier warnings about the “Day of Demons” and “Hour of Demons,” and even Hamashima’s uncharacteristically fretful demeanor—all these things rose up in my mind at once, leaving me with an intensely peculiar sensation. As I turned to Madam Harue, intending to withdraw from the scene, it appeared she too felt some measure of unease at both the recent spectacle and the old-fashioned British man’s muttered soliloquy.

“Why don’t we go over to the stern?” she suggested, urging me along as she began to glide away with her lotus-like steps. When we soon arrived at the stern, this area was sparsely populated. Upon the deck—already scrubbed clean and still damp—the moonlight shone with crystalline clarity. “It truly *is* better to have a quiet place,” said Madam Harue, wearing a lonely smile at that moment. Together with Young Hideo, she proceeded to the ship’s edge, leaned against the iron railing, and gazed at the distant pier—

“Hideo, do you remember that tall mountain you can see over there?” she asked, pointing to the peak towering southeast of their familiar Naples cityscape. “It’s Mount Morris, isn’t it? I remember it perfectly,” he replied, looking up at his mother with wide, earnest eyes. “Oh, then what about that place with all the glittering electric lights and five or six great smokestacks lined up—” “Sangallo Street—Mother, our home is there too!” The boy rested both hands on the iron railing.

“Has Father already returned home?”

“Oh, he has most certainly returned home. By now, he must be telling that nanny and Mr. Smith, the head clerk, all about how obediently you boarded the ship.” With words as tender as her touch, she pressed her jewel-like cheek against her beloved child’s thick locks and continued speaking without pause—this being her sole solace.

Deeming it heartless to disturb such tender intimacy, I deliberately did not approach them but instead reclined alone on a deck chair some distance away. Surveying the surroundings under tonight’s bright moon, even the vast expanse of Naples Bay lay fully visible without shadow. The hazy silhouette of Ischia’s cape revealed a rotating lighthouse beacon flickering in and out of view, while atop Mount Morris—towering into the heavens—the lingering snow’s pure white glittered under the moon’s radiant reflection, a sight beyond description. Across the harbor, from the brilliantly lit piers all the way to where I sat, waves like golden dragons rippled beneath hundreds of anchored ships. Departing vessels observed nautical light regulations—white lights on their foremasts, green on starboard, red on port—while those at rest resembled great birds slumbering upon the swells, creating a scene as though plucked from a dream! I had gazed upon such scenery countless times before, yet tonight it struck me with peculiar fascination, and I could not tear my eyes away. As I continued surveying the scene, one detail suddenly arrested my attention—a steamship anchored about five hundred meters away. A searchlight from a certain nation’s warship now bathed its vicinity in unsparing clarity, rendering even its deck fittings visible as if one could reach out and touch them. The vessel measured roughly one thousand tons, its hull painted black, with two smokestacks and two masts. Though clearly not a warship, whether it was a merchant vessel, mail ship, or one harboring some other purpose remained unknown. Of course, there was nothing particularly noteworthy about its exterior, but what struck me as peculiar was how its construction seemed overly sturdy for a vessel of roughly one thousand gross tons—and whether its lower deck might be carrying several cannons, given how its draft appeared to sit unusually deep in the water. By now, the two smokestacks were belching thick black smoke—surely a sign that departure time had arrived. Before our eyes, the bow anchor was hoisted, and the ship began to advance gradually. I absently reached into my coat pocket, took out my binoculars, and adjusted the focus to get a better look at their deck. Just then, on that ship as well, a man who appeared to be a crew member was intently training his binoculars on ours from the bridge. How strange—the moment my gaze and his inadvertently coincided, he immediately flung his binoculars aside and turned his face away with an indifferent expression. The man’s behavior was so peculiar that I involuntarily tilted my head in puzzlement, but at that moment—for reasons unknown—a certain tale from the past floated unbidden into my mind. It was an unforgettable event from last autumn, during my voyage from America to Europe, when I suddenly struck up a friendship with an elderly British sailor. Among the many fascinating tales that old sailor shared, the one most deeply etched into my memory was his account of how the Indian Ocean harbors the world’s most treacherous sea route. Far to the east of Africa, at a great remove even from Madagascar, lies a pirate island unknown to the waking world—a solitary isle absent from all maps. There, hundreds of pirates fierce enough to rival demons band together, maintaining seven swift and sturdy pirate ships. They ceaselessly patrol those waters, sometimes venturing as far as the Atlantic coast. Whenever they spot a vessel laden with exceptionally valuable cargo, they sink it without hesitation, indulging their despicable greed. Now, among European and American sailors, they are not entirely unaware of this matter; yet despite that, the cunning of this pirate group defies all description—they come like the wind and depart just as swiftly. Though it remains unclear how the pirates detect their targets, they exclusively prey upon ships carrying first-class valuable cargo—yet they rarely reveal themselves. Moreover, at some point, these pirates colluded with a certain European power through financial incentives, paying annual bribes nearing fifty million dollars. In return, they receive implicit protection; when their ships dock at trading ports, they brazenly fly that powerful nation’s merchant flag on their decks as vessels of “legitimate” nationality, behaving with utter impunity—a truly outrageous state of affairs.

Now, as I observed this strange vessel with two smokestacks and two masts—whether due to a trick of the nerves or not—the tale I had just recalled floated unbidden to mind. If that old sailor’s words were true, could this not be such a ship? While I brooded over the sinister implications of it being a pirate vessel, the mysterious ship steadily increased its speed. As it passed by grazing the *Sengetsumaru*’s port side※（「過」の「咼」に代えて「咼の左右対称」）, the light from our ship’s lantern fleetingly illuminated three characters inscribed on its stern: *Kaijinmaru*. Without doubt, this was that ship’s name. In the blink of an eye, it churned up waves and vanished into the azure distance.

"Ah, how strange—how strange! Why must such uncanny things keep occurring today?" I cried out involuntarily.

“Oh, what is the matter with you?” Madam Harue turned around in surprise together with Young Hideo. “Madam!” I began, but wait—in this situation, to lightly voice such matters—nay, things that amounted to nothing more than my personal conjecture※—might only distress this beautiful soul’s tender heart. With this realization...

“No, it’s nothing at all, ahahaha!” I forced a loud laugh. Just then, seven bells rang out on the deck to mark eleven-thirty, and simultaneously came the deep blare of the steam whistle—Bwoooom, bwoooom, bwooooom—like the roar of a lion. It was the signal for departure. The Sengetsumaru, upon which we had entrusted our fates, finally began to slowly advance.

Chapter 4: The Scrap Newspaper

Cigars — The Whereabouts of Commander Sakuragi — A Large Sailing Ship and Thirty-Seven Sailors — A Strange New-Style Poem — A Secret Great Invention — Two O’Clock Bell Until we exited the bay, I remained on deck with Madam Harue and Young Hideo, gazing at the surrounding scenery. But as the lights of Naples Harbor grew faint and the chill night wind began to seep into my bones, I finally descended below deck. After escorting Madam Harue and the boy to their cabin and returning to my own with a promise to meet in the morning, the eight o’clock bell resounded with crystalline clarity across the deck.

"Oh, it's already twelve!" I muttered to myself. The night had grown late, and with the seas calm that evening and the ship barely rocking, most passengers had likely sunk into peaceful slumber. Only the clamor of the steam engines and the occasional loud footfalls of crewmen on watch crossing the deck could be heard.

I changed into nightclothes and lay down on the berth, yet somehow could not sleep at all. The spherical lamp hanging at the cabin's center blazed brightly, yet the air pressed heavily upon my head as if some demonic presence lingered there, making sleep truly unbearable. You must have experienced this yourselves—at such times sleep becomes utterly impossible; the more one frets, the keener one's senses grow, while sundry delusions course through one's mind. I resolutely sat up once more. Though going to the smoking room would have been troublesome and slightly against ship regulations, I decided to smoke a cigar right there in my cabin. Rummaging through my suit pockets yielded nothing, when suddenly I recalled—among the numerous farewell gifts Hamashima had given me upon our departure from Naples Harbor was a square package wrapped in newspaper. Might that be a cigar box? Hastily unwrapping it, I found indeed the finest of cigars! "There we go," I muttered as I lit it, puffing away while absently surveying my surroundings—only to notice the newspaper that had wrapped the cigar box.

"Oh, a Japanese newspaper!" I exclaimed involuntarily as I picked it up. Having spent two years wandering from journey to journey since leaving my homeland—with only occasional news of unusual events heard at Japanese embassies and consulates, and Japanese newspapers themselves being exceedingly rare—I felt profoundly nostalgic. Hastily smoothing out its wrinkles, I saw this was a certain Tokyo newspaper already a year and a half old.

A year and a half prior—this would have been when I was still residing on the American continent—meant it was quite an old newspaper, but old or not, it mattered little. With a single-minded thought of missing my homeland, I read on without taking my eyes away, and soon a particular article caught my attention. It was a miscellaneous report as appeared on the left side of the second page of this newspaper.

◎The Whereabouts of Commander Sakuragi, Naval Reserve＝＝Readers may recall that in previous years, he had invented a type of powerful explosive and implemented effective improvements to several military devices such as buoyant mines and garland grenades—achievements that made Commander Sakuragi Shigeo, Naval Reserve, known within naval circles. Since returning from a sojourn in Britain the year before last, he had been deeply engaged in an endeavor to achieve a remarkable military invention that would contribute to our nation’s defense. Whispers of his painstaking efforts had reached our ears, and now that the time had finally ripened—or perhaps due to other considerations—early this month, he purchased a large sailing ship named the *Namei Maru* from a certain Yokohama shipping company. Secretly gathering provisions, coal, gasoline, ※（「渦」的「咼」replaced with「咼’s mirror image」）-wound wax, steel cables, various potent chemicals for industrial use, and numerous other materials beyond public imagination, he then vanished from sight at some unnoticed moment. When Commander Sakuragi vanished, so too did his sailing ship disappear from its berth, and with them the thirty-seven sailors who had obeyed him for years with devotion akin to gods and parents—leading one to surmise that the commander had seized the cover of darkness to secretly depart our homeland with his subordinates in tow. This matter remains strictly confidential within naval circles, with none privy to his whereabouts. A tentative clue lies in a report from a British mail ship that docked in Yokohama last evening: four or five nights prior, near North Borgo Island, it had sighted a large sailing vessel flying the Japanese flag whose form closely resembled the commander’s ship. This raises suspicion that he may have charted a course past the China Sea※（「過」’s 「咼」 replaced with 「咼’s mirror image」） toward the Indian Ocean. While his current scheme is, by nature, an enigma wrapped in secrecy—beyond all conjecture—one cannot dismiss the possibility that this man of extraordinary intellect and grand ambition may yet emerge before our eyes from some unforeseen quarter, bearing equally unforeseen triumphs. We must watch with bated breath.—Etcetera.

Even those with no connection whatsoever would find their hearts stirred, if only slightly, upon reading such an article. In particular, I was acquainted with Commander Sakuragi of the Navy. Several years prior—before I had embarked on this current journey of mine—during a summer when I planned a trip to Hokkaido, I unexpectedly encountered the commander aboard a steamship bound from Yokohama to Hakodate. At that time, the commander was thirty-two or thirty-three years old—an imposing man of vigor whose piercing gaze and resonant voice exuded an air of promise and a resolute character. That man had now become a topic in the newspapers and embarked on a journey scrutinized by the public—where could his destination be, and what might his purpose entail? A great military invention—a large sailing ship—thirty-seven sailors—chemicals. When one considered these together, it was not impossible to form a vague conjecture. Now, nations across the world drilled their armies and honed their martial prowess, each vying for supremacy—especially in naval power—with Britain, France, Russia, and Germany striving not to fall behind. Moreover, the focal point of these power struggles lay largely in the realms of the Orient; lands such as China and Korea ceaselessly suffered their encroachments. At this critical juncture, our Great Japanese Empire—rightly called the hegemon of the East—bore a truly weighty burden. To preserve peace in the Orient on one hand and uphold our nation’s prestige on the other demanded extraordinary resolve and strength. However, our nation’s financial resources were limited, and there were bounds to the expansion of warships. Patriots who cared for the country worried over this matter day and night, ceaselessly devising strategies to address it. Commander Sakuragi was by nature a man of patriotic fervor. When our conversation turned to this topic during our meeting aboard the Hokkai steamship, he suddenly reached into the depths of his coat pocket and presented a curious new-style poem he had composed the previous night at his inn during a moment of idleness. Was there not something particularly amusing about a fierce warrior treading the path of poetic refinement?

The poem reads as follows.

The moon hung high; the wind lay asleep upon the Indian Ocean. Upon the mirror-like surface of the sea. A spray suddenly arose. The whale-crocodile roared, the dragon leaped!!! Behold, colossal waves raged in fury, clawing at the heavens! Black clouds hung low over the sea. Was it lightning that flashed? Was it thunder that roared? Artillery fire flashed incessantly; cannon roar rumbled thunderously. Behold, emerging from the smoke of gunpowder. The moonlight blushed with shame. Kicking through the waves, hundreds— Warships furled their ensigns and headed north. The fleeing whale-crocodiles, the pursuing flying dragons!!! The flying dragons charged; the whale-crocodiles fled. Not heaving sighs but black smoke, Spewing forth, they hid their shadows.

Those whale-crocodiles—at heaven’s edge, To the farthest corners of the earth— All places where billows strike, All places where rare treasures lie.

Taking mountainous waves as their ships. Taking thousand-mile winds as sails. They run rampant, never sated! That European Combined Fleet!!! What of the flying dragon—the Orient’s? What of the rising sun that holds the key—

Bathed in light across the sea— The illustrious Japanese Fleet!!! That Japan of the Orient— A small nation akin to soaring dragons.

That Europe—more than a whale, Moreover, fiercer than any crocodile! Dominion-grasping over all creation— One vast continent! How perplexing! The mighty lie broken; the weak triumph— Why⁈

Listen. Thus speaks the vanquished commander.

He ascended to the bridge. He gazed up at the stars and lamented.

We possess a million massive warships. We possess cloud-like legions of officers and men. We possess cannons. We possess swords. We possess gunpowder. Why should the Japanese Navy fear? Like autumn leaves scattering— With the force to reduce them to sea foam, Advance—the British, French, German, and Russian warships!

Who could have imagined? Japan possesses a mysterious sorcery.

This. Is it an improvised cannon? It is not. Is it Shieruburu’s torpedo boat? It is not.

It has not yet been seen. A grand military implement unheard of!!!

Like the wind it came. Like the wind it departed. Like a shachi pursuing schools of fish. Like an electric discharge striking down. Behold! The lightning-swift arcane force that crushes our fleet!!! Ah, dreadful! Dreadful indeed!

The dragon is the sleeping Sea of Japan. Black clouds soar over the Orient— The sun’s light cleaving the sky. The grand military implement submerged in the sea!!! Though it was a rather peculiar poem—one so strange it might have invited tax collectors from the New School literati—when the Colonel, under the moonlit sky on the deck of that wind-swept warship, turned his sword hilt behind him and recited those lines in his resonant voice, I couldn’t help but cry out, “Bravo!” Of course, at the time, I paid it no particular mind—but now, looking back, I can’t say there isn’t a part of me that recognizes it.

Be that as it may, according to this scrap of a newspaper article, Commander Sakuragi had planned this secret voyage already a year and a half prior—as I mentioned earlier, during the time when I was still wandering the American continent. Afterward, I had been ceaselessly journeying from place to place, so this was the first I had heard of such a curious report. Ah, what became of the Commander afterward? Did he finally achieve his objective and return to Japan? Commander Sakuragi, given his disposition, must have had significant aims in embarking on such actions; there could be no doubt. Now, he was the sort of man who, once he set his mind to something, would not cease until he achieved his objective; thus, when the Commander reappeared in this world, there could be no doubt he would bring with him monumental achievements. If Commander Sakuragi had indeed returned to Japan, his meritorious deeds would have shone brighter than the sun and moon—and no matter how much I wandered from place to place, rumors of such glory would surely have reached my ears. Yet despite having visited Japanese embassies and consulates in various cities around the world several times to this day, I had never heard even a whisper of such news. This was the clearest proof that the Commander remained hidden, his whereabouts still shrouded from the world. Ah, whenever I thought about where and how the Commander had been since then, all sorts of imaginings welled up within me.

At this moment, the second bell clanged twice. (The ship’s bells marked four-hour shifts from one bell to eight bells.)

“Oh, it’s already one o’clock,” I said with a yawn. Since endless pondering would lead nowhere and staying up so late was strictly to be avoided for one’s health, I crumpled the old newspaper that had fed my imaginings, shoved it into a corner of the cabin, and forced myself onto the berth. At first, my head still felt peculiar—no matter how I tried to dispel them, various delusions kept rising in my chest: the Day of Demons, the Hour of Demons... Ani’s face... the white mast light shattered to dust... the phantom ship... binoculars—all growing ever more dreamlike as they flitted through my mind. But before I knew it, worn out by the day’s fatigue and without hearing the two o’clock bell, I sank into a vague dream.

Fifth Installment: “Piano” and Boxing

A Shipboard Concert — A Woman with a Goose-Like Voice — The Honor of Madam Harue — Deck Races — Sumo — My Great Embarrassment — The Circus Performer’s Tiger

The next morning, I awoke with a start at 8:30 to the clanging of a gong; the morning sun over the sea streamed vividly through the porthole, illuminating the cabin. The 8:30 gong aboard the ship typically signaled the announcement of breakfast.

“Ah, I overslept!” I exclaimed as I hurriedly jumped up, changed my clothes, finished combing my hair, and rushed to the dining hall. There at the head of the splendid table sat the Beer Barrel Captain—as per ship custom—with formal dignity flanked by first-class passengers from Britain, France, Germany, Russia, White, and Italy all dressed in finery. Among them I glimpsed the elegant Madam Harue and lovely Young Master Hideo. The boy stood from his chair with deeply nostalgic air upon seeing me and bowed his adorable head saying only “Good morning.” “Good morning,” I replied lightly while moving closer to their side, then turned my eyes toward Madam Harue who somehow appeared forlorn.

“Madam Harue, did you sleep well last night?” I asked, and she floated a faint smile. “Yes, this child slept well, but I am not accustomed to the ship,” she replied. It stood to reason—the pallor of her cheeks, pale as snow yet tinged with a faint bluish hue, bore clear witness to her lack of sleep. The shipboard breakfast consisted of *soup*, cold meat, *rice curry*, and *coffee*. Along with spiced, beautifully decorated confections and other extremely light meals such as *pineapple*, once breakfast was finished, Young Master Hideo would dash off toward the deck ahead of everyone else, so Madam Harue and I followed after him.

When I emerged onto the deck and looked around, I saw that during the night, the *Sengetsumaru* had passed Cape Capri’s offshore waters and was now proceeding with Cape Lycosia visible obliquely ahead. It was mid-May—a season neither hot nor cold—and moreover, the scenery across this stretch resembled a scene straight from a painting. The sun, already high above the horizon, cast its brilliant light upon the water, turning the sea into a shimmering expanse of golden waves. Here and there, white sails dotted the surface, while seagulls flocked peacefully between them. The sight was so refreshing to both mind and spirit that I found myself forgetting all the unpleasant incidents since last evening, as though they had been washed away. Madam Harue, too, wore a serene expression as she gazed out to sea without distraction, the stray hairs at her temples fluttering in the soft southern breeze. Young Master Hideo was so brimming with childish delight that he seemed utterly beside himself—like a lamb frolicking in a pasture, he darted here and there without pause. Now and then, he would rush over to my side and pepper me with questions about the various nautical devices installed on the deck; other times, he would cling to his mother’s arm and point at distant islands, exclaiming with infectious cheer: “That one is just like Elino Island seen from the third floor of Kyupurusu’s house! And this one over here looks exactly like a bald old man fishing!”

The sun gradually rose high, the wind was cool, and the ship's advance was like an arrow's flight.

I leaned back in the deck chair and thought intently. Until yesterday, across thousands of miles of my wandering journey—through sorrowful times and joyous ones alike—I had not a single soul with whom to share words. At dawn, I would gaze upon the morning star’s pure light; at dusk, I would behold evening’s resplendent hues—finding solace only in myself and my own heart. Yet yesterday, in a land beyond imagining, I had unexpectedly encountered my compatriots. By what celestial design did I now sail upon the same ship as the graceful Madam Harue and endearing Young Master Hideo, bound together for our homeland? What wondrous fortune this was! On this voyage of the *Sengetsumaru*, passengers numbered nearly five hundred—over seven hundred souls when counting crew—yet we Japanese numbered but three: Madam Harue, Young Master Hideo, and myself. Bound by this mysterious thread of fate, we three now entrusted our destinies to this vessel venturing thousands of miles across distant seas. If heaven held any mercy, I could only pray that whether we traversed the Indian Ocean or sailed through the China Sea in days ahead, our journey might remain as tranquil as today’s placid waters—that together we might soon celebrate safe passage and raise our eyes to Mount Fuji’s sacred peak.

From Naples Port across thousands of miles of sea route, passing through the Archipelago Sea and entering the Mediterranean; replenishing coal and drinking water at Port Said; then taking on a pilot to traverse the Suez Isthmus; plowing through the savage waves—like tides of blood—of the Red Sea, also called the Dead Sea, that stretch which since antiquity had chilled sailors' hearts as the world's most treacherous passage; observing from port and starboard a sea where strange atmospheric distortions made distant islands appear near and nearby ships seem far, thereby causing countless unforeseen calamities; mourning the ghastly sight of sunken wrecks in these waters, their hulls long decayed on the seabed with only remnants of mastheads peeking through the waves; pressing onward until finally reaching the Gulf of Aden—a gateway to the Indian Ocean—and gazing afar at Socotra Island veiled in mist-shrouded open seas: over these roughly two weeks, each day dawned clear-skied and each sea remained calm, so much so that sailors who for over a dozen years had made their beds upon waves declared it an unprecedented fine voyage—and thus there was little of particular note to record during this span. Only two or three memories remain from this ostensibly peaceful period: it seemed the god of misfortune had been lurking somewhere aboard this ship, for as we were about to exit the Strait of Messina, one passenger threw themselves into the sea to meet a tragic end; and a lower-class Chinese passenger, who had fallen gravely ill while still within Italian territorial waters, ultimately perished between Candia and Serigo Islands—prompting the captain and a great many crew members to gather on deck under a British missionary's guidance and bury his remains at sea in accordance with maritime regulations. These were exceedingly tragic incidents, though there were also two or three not entirely unpleasant occurrences.

On any long voyage, to relieve the boredom aboard the ship, there were farces, plays, and dances held. Particularly since the route between Europe and the Orient was the longest in the world, such preparations were all the more thoroughly in place.

The *Sengetsumaru* too frequently hosted such events, which we occasionally attended—but one night, in a ballroom ablaze with electric lights, a concert was being held as a rare occasion. Hundreds of Westerners, young and old alike, had gathered there and were carrying on like madmen. There were rather comical moments—such as when a bald French gentleman tried to showcase his former violin skills only to abruptly forget the melody mid-performance, leaving him patting his head in embarrassment before retreating—but most of these Europeans and Americans performed their signature pieces with practiced confidence, each puffing up their pride like *tengu*. When Madam Harue and I took our seats, a middle-aged German woman was performing at the piano. She appeared thoroughly haughty—throughout her playing she gazed around at the audience from her perch on the piano bench. Though her occasional goose-like vocalizations hardly seemed virtuosic, she wore an air of immense self-satisfaction. When her performance ended, she twitched her nostrils and returned to her seat like a peacock flipping its plumage. Wondering who would take the stage next, I leaned against a chair chatting with Madam Harue as we watched—but for some time no one appeared. Likely that goose-voiced woman had stripped them all of their nerve. Suddenly a British man strode briskly toward us. Loudly,

“Come now, it’s your turn! As representatives of Japan, do something!” he shouted, and the entire hall burst into applause at once. “Oh dear...” I hesitated. Amidst the multitude of fair-skinned races, we—being of a different stock—had unfortunately drawn their notice. I am by nature a man utterly devoid of refinement, so this ambush left me wholly at a loss. Madam Harue too had been earnestly declining, but the man showed no sign of relenting once his demand was voiced. Hundreds clapped all the more vigorously. Just then, from the chair beside me came derisive laughter—that goose-voiced woman again.

“What’s the use of insisting? How could these Japanese—who’ve never even laid hands on anything besides barbaric instruments like the koto or shamisen that we’ve never seen—possibly sing a noble Western song?” she remarked, loud enough for others to hear, while whispering to a young man seated beside her. “Impudent wench!” I bit my lip, but alas, I was utterly unskilled in that art. Ah, had I known it would come to this, why hadn’t I at least memorized a verse from one of those popular London songs? But it was too late now. Overcome with frustration, I glanced at Madam Harue. She too seemed somewhat stirred by the derision we had just endured—her willow-like brows quivered faintly. Turning to me quietly, she said, “Shall I attempt something?” No doubt, she had confidence in her abilities. I nodded silently. With composure, she rose and declared, “It will hardly be worth your ears’ trouble,” before being escorted to the piano bench. At once, there came a sound like jade beads spinning upon a plate—a divine presence seemed to inhabit the piano. To its wondrous melody, Madam Harue began to sing a piece from *The Maiden of the Chrysanthemum Land*, then wildly popular in Parisian salons. The song told of a beautiful Japanese maiden in dance robes wandering the Seine River’s moonlit waters—a passage both exquisitely graceful and ingeniously composed. Each phrase grew more resplendent than the last; each movement more enthralling. Her voice, like a celestial maiden dancing across the heavens, swayed even the soulless flowers and leaves upon the stage. The entire hall fell silent as if struck by water, holding its breath in awe.

As her melody concluded, applause erupted like a collapsing wave. A throng of noble ladies and gentlemen rushed to the piano’s side, surrounding Madam Harue—who now sought to descend quietly from the bench—and clamored with every manner of praise, vying to clasp hands with this rare musical virtuoso. The goose-voiced woman stood there with her mouth agape, her face flushed crimson and her eyes darting back and forth—no doubt regretting her earlier thoughtless remarks.

The resonance of that night's piano still lingers in my ears, counted among the most thrilling of past events.

There were quite a few other interesting things as well. Two days after the concert, as the ship approached open waters near the Archipelago Sea, many passengers had gathered on deck engrossed in various amusements when someone initiated a footrace. Today's largest ships measure up to 230 yards long—some exceeding two chō—and ours was such a vessel. The race required four round trips between fore and aft decks covering roughly 300 yards each way, with noblewomen offering splendid prizes. Energetic participants from Britain, France, Germany, Italy, Switzerland, Russia and elsewhere slapped their thighs and leapt forward. Drawn into their midst, I too ran wildly at the starting pistol's crack. Regrettably, first place went to an alarmingly swift French reserve naval officer; second to an Italian embassy naval attaché bound for Japan; I barely took third. Finding this unsatisfactory, I shrewdly proposed sumo to showcase Japanese prowess—whereupon a motley crowd instantly gathered. The first challenger from this rabble—a burly German law graduate—charged at me. With my rudimentary judo skills, I cleanly executed a hip throw for victory. Four more men followed until the fifth challenger emerged—a hulking Russian army officer nearing six feet tall, resembling Asura's wrathful king. He gripped my arms with brute force nearly hurling me overboard. Though daunted, I planted my feet thinking *Not yet!* After thirty desperate minutes grappling, I finally forced him to one knee. News spread instantly—elders marveled while youths gnashed teeth. Someone muttered "The Japanese are iron—black yet unyielding," granting me such baffling praise that my pride swelled... until crisis struck when an American boxing master aboard challenged: "If this Jap's so strong, let's see him box properly!"

I had witnessed boxing matches before but had never once participated in one myself. However, faced with such a challenge, my male pride compelled me to give it a try—yet, unaccustomed to the craft, I was thoroughly bested. Thrown flat on the deck with such force I nearly lost consciousness, my once-swollen nose now cruelly twisted out of shape. Madam Harue, deeply concerned, admonished me with eyes glistening like dewdrops: “Do not treat yourself so recklessly.” Though I found it truly regrettable, I abandoned the thought then and there. At one point, I grew so furious that I even considered challenging him to a real duel as payback for the boxing match.

The day after the boxing match, another commotion arose. It was a tiger belonging to an Italian circus troupe—aboard this ship en route to Hong Kong for a performance—that had broken free from its cage, plunging the vessel into chaos like a boiling cauldron: furious sailors, shrieking Chinese passengers, women fainting in terror. Amidst this uproar, the old-fashioned British gentleman—who had muttered “Amida Buddha! This ship is cursed!” upon seeing the mast light shatter to pieces during the *Sengetsumaru*’s departure—attempted to flee from the deck to his cabin but slipped headlong down the stairway and injured his back. A coincidence, perhaps—or had the ship’s demon cursed him instead? The tiger was finally subdued, but in the process, seven or eight people were injured.

Amidst these varied incidents, our endearing Young Master Hideo remained as spirited as ever, darting about the deck day after day. By chance, he befriended an exceedingly spry old Englishman named Rippu, and the two amused themselves daily with playful antics. One day, as Hideo noisily tried to fly a diamond-shaped kite—crafted for him by the old man—the kite’s string suddenly snatched off the hat of the ill-tempered captain, who had been harshly scolding sailors on the bridge. The captain, a notoriously petty man, flushed crimson and wheeled toward them—yet upon seeing Hideo’s utterly guileless expression, he could not bring himself to shout. Grumbling under his breath, he spun his beer-barrel-like physique around and lumbered off after his hat. Though many such peculiar episodes occurred, I shall refrain from recounting them in tedious detail.

Thus, the *Sengetsumaru*, to which we entrusted our fates, departed Aden Bay and entered the raging waves of the Indian Ocean.

Chapter Six: Starfire Shrapnel

A shipwreck’s signal—no, shooting stars must be streaking—three absurd ship lights—an accursed sea specter—its eyes are eerie. Even after sailing into the turbulent Indian Ocean with its towering waves—one day, two days, three days, four days passing as days turned to nights—the fifth day had gone by without incident. But then came the sixth night. I went up to the splendid parlor above the dining hall as was my custom after dinner, met with Madam Harue, and regaled Young Master Hideo with tales of Captain Cook’s perilous voyages, Kato Kiyomasa’s martial exploits, and stories of my own misadventures during my travels—as usual staying up late into the night. After escorting Madam Harue and the boy back to their cabin and promising to meet again in the morning, I took my leave.

There is nothing in the Indian Ocean as violently changeable as its climate. It was now mid-May—when cool, it was truly pleasantly cool; when hot, sweltering even more than Japan's midsummer. Tonight in particular, thick clouds shrouded the heavens, and the air hung oppressively heavy all around—so stifling I felt as though being steamed inside a cauldron. Reasoning that peaceful sleep would prove impossible even if I returned to my cabin, I considered venturing to the smoking room, but finding it equally sweltering, stepped out onto the darkened deck instead—driven more by restlessness than reason—to seek fresh air at the stern. The clock's hands had already passed eleven, leaving the vast deck devoid of human figures save for the duty sailor. Our ship now cleaved through the Indian Ocean's raging waves to port and starboard, advancing along the vicinity of 10 degrees north latitude. When we departed Naples Port, moonlight that seemed to smile had vividly illuminated this deck. Now—over two weeks later—true darkness reigned. Though until moments ago the faint glow of a new moon might have been discerned somewhere in the heavens, even that had sunk beyond the horizon's edge. As far as the eye could see stretched a pitch-black sea, save for one or two points of starlight slipping through gaps in dense clouds, feebly reflected upon the waves.

Truly desolate scenery!!! I found myself overcome with an inexplicable sorrow. All humans are creatures of emotion—when joyous, all things appear joyful; when sorrowful, all things seem sorrowful. Now, confronted unexpectedly by this desolate spectacle, I felt a terrifying sensation rise within me. Suddenly, dark fancies swirled up from the depths of my chest: tales of the Day of Demons and Hour of Demons, which until today I had scarcely dwelled upon. The white mast light’s fall; the captain’s enraged face. The phantom ship’s binoculars. Then, with vivid clarity, there floated into my mind the whereabouts of Commander Sakuragi and his sailing ship—recently recorded in that discarded newspaper—as though this night’s ghastly spectacle shared some fateful bond with them.

“Absurd! Absurd!” I tried shouting out alone.

To forcibly dispel such delusions, I deliberately strode out onto the deck, swinging my arms grandly. After walking back and forth between the foremast and the mizzenmast four or five times, that ominous feeling gradually began to fade. Resolved at last to return to my cabin for sleep, I had just descended one step of the stairway when I suddenly heard a strange, otherworldly sound.

The sound struck the distant sea, extremely faint—so faint as to be barely discernible, yet unmistakably that of a cannon or explosive signal!!!

I abruptly turned my head to the left, but the next moment let out a "Gah!" and leapt back onto the deck. Until now I hadn't noticed at all—but there it was: off our *Sengetsumaru*'s port stern, two or three nautical miles across the sea, another faint cannon roar echoed. Tar barrels and oil drums must have been set ablaze, for raging flames lit up the waters. Simultaneously, two or three starfire shrapnel shells streaked into the sky, followed by meteoric rockets shooting one after another to left and right.

I was truly astonished!

This was the very heart of the Indian Ocean—no islands could possibly lie within sight’s reach. Moreover, rockets and starfire shrapnel shells fired at intervals of about a minute could only be the nighttime distress signals of a shipwrecked vessel crying out for survival!!! "Oh no, this is terrible!!" I shouted while looking to port and starboard of our ship. The ship had duty sailors on watch. The lookout—who should never let slip even one of the myriad incidents arising at sea—now turned to survey his surroundings only to find the starboard duty sailor fixed like a wooden statue toward the bow, the faint cannon report seemingly unregistered in his ears as he gazed vacantly elsewhere. The port duty sailor must have indeed recognized those disastrous shipwreck signals—sparks flying and rockets streaking—yet for some reason remained utterly composed without showing alarm, merely shading his eyes with a gauntlet while gazing in that direction.

“Duty sailor! What are you gaping at?!!” I shouted, whirling around and dashing toward the captain’s cabin. Of course, everyone knows that a ship operates under ironclad discipline. Even if lightning were to shatter the heavens or ten thousand demons manifest upon the sea in an instant, for a non-crew member to overstep a sailor’s authority and report such matters to the captain would—by maritime law—be utterly impermissible. I was not ignorant of this—but this was no ordinary emergency. A delay of even a minute might determine life or death for those aboard the distressed vessel. Moreover, the starboard duty sailor stood as though blind, while the port duty sailor—be he demon or serpent—betrayed nothing through his inscrutable face. Yet I deemed this no moment for hesitation. Sprinting across the deck, I pounded on the captain’s cabin door beneath the bridge.

“Your Excellency, wake up! There’s a shipwreck!” “There’s a shipwreck!” I shouted. At this, the captain—who had already been lying on his berth—reluctantly sat up with a “What is it?” and opened the door. I abruptly stepped inside. “Your Excellency, I must report—though it exceeds my authority—that there lies a shipwreck off our port stern, approximately three nautical miles distant!”

“A shipwreck?! Bwahahaha!” the Captain roared with laughter. I had expected shock, but he instead scrunched his face in irritation. “A shipwreck? “What’s that? This vessel’s got duty sailors constantly on watch—no call to bother you.” “Of course! But those sailors are blind fools and heartless brutes—one’s gaping vacantly, the other’s feigning ignorance!” “Your Excellency, quickly! Every second determines whether that shipwreck lives or dies!”

“That won’t do!” the Captain laughed coldly. “Do you not know maritime law? No one but crew members has the right to meddle in such matters, no matter the circumstances, and I have no obligation to receive such reports from you.” With that, he reached out his right hand and picked up a cigar from the desk. I pressed.

“I’m not here to debate principles—I’ll shoulder full responsibility for overstepping my authority.” “Can’t you see there’s a shipwreck out there begging for rescue this very moment?”

“I don’t believe it. I cannot believe it,” said the Captain, irritably throwing the cigar he had just picked up back onto the desk. “I will never believe it unless there’s a report from the duty sailors.” “Moreover, there can’t possibly be a shipwreck in such calm seas—absurd!” Absurd! I flared up. Short-temperedness had always been my chronic ailment; my temper bomb exploded all at once.

“No such thing! No such thing! What do you mean ‘no such thing’? I saw it with my own eyes!”

“Hahahaha!” “What exactly did you witness?” “Hahahaha!” he laughed derisively at the top of his voice. I was seething from the very core of my being. Let me preface this—from the moment I first boarded this ship, I had sensed this Captain was no honest man, and indeed, my suspicions proved correct. He now meant to avoid even the slightest effort and leave another vessel’s peril unheeded—so enraged was I that— “You haven’t seen anything? Off our port stern—starfire shrapnel shells and rockets firing one after another! Don’t you even know that’s a shipwreck’s distress signal?!”

“There’s no need for me to hear such things,” the Captain snorted derisively.

“That must be an error in your eyes.” “Heh heh heh.” “An error in my eyes?! Preposterous! I’ve two perfectly sound eyes here!” “Those eyes of yours are unreliable. The sea plays tricks—you likely saw shooting stars,” retorted the Captain, thrusting forward his beer-barrel belly. “No! Even were those genuine distress signals, any ship foundering in such calm seas couldn’t be fellow mariners! We’ve no duty to trouble ourselves rescuing them.” He laughed mockingly.

Having concluded that further debate would prove futile, I suddenly pulled the captain out of his cabin. “Can’t you see that—that right there! Don’t you feel anything seeing those tragic signal lights?!” I demanded, pointing fiercely toward the sea off the port stern. I let out an “Ah!” and remained with my mouth agape for a moment. So it was true. The distress signal flames that had been flickering through the air just two or three minutes earlier had now vanished without a trace. In their place, a white spherical light glowed several dozen feet above the sea surface, while faint green and red lights could dimly be seen where the ship’s port and starboard sides should be. A white light on the foremast, green on the starboard, red on the port—needless to say, these were safe navigation signals!!!

“Ah, splendid! Starfire shrapnel shells and rockets firing one after another—how clearly I see those shipwreck distress signals pleading for rescue! Your eyes are truly remarkable,” sneered the malicious Captain, glaring sharply at my face, but I remained silent.

But wasn't this truly strange? In the very waters where safe navigation lamps now glowed, there had unmistakably been distress signals from a tragic shipwreck moments earlier. Could it truly be—as the Captain claimed—a fault in my own vision? No, no! However I considered it, my eyes could not possibly be so defective as to confuse white, green, and red lamps with star shells or signal rockets. Upon reflection, those earlier distress signals must have changed into safe navigation lights without my noticing. How utterly perplexing—for a time, I wandered lost in a fog of bewilderment.

The Captain had been staring at my face with a venomous sneer for a time, but now he grew somewhat serious and turned his gaze toward that light—

“But this is strange,” he said, tilting his head slightly as he consulted the navigation chart. “According to this month’s schedule, there should be no ship following this route behind us at this hour.” Then he abruptly burst into a hollow laugh. “Ah! Now I see! Damn their cunning—that phantom of the Toruku Maru that sank near here before! Still can’t stay submerged properly, so it’s masquerading as a shipwreck to trick us into the reefs? Not a chance—I won’t swallow that bait!” he muttered, turning his beer-barrel frame toward me.

“But earlier, you did clearly see distress signals from a shipwreck pleading for rescue, didn’t you?” he sneered, narrowing his eyes. It may seem absurd, but many sailors harbor such superstitions; I simply dismissed them. “Exactly—those were unmistakable distress signals from a shipwreck!” I answered, letting his mutterings of “Hmph, no doubt about it—a ghost ship, bah!” wash over me as I surveyed the sea. The three lights now visible bore no resemblance to the vengeful spirits or sea monsters the foolish Captain described—lights that could not exist in this world. The green and red lights were clearly a vessel’s sidelights, while the white glow high above the waves was a mast light hoisted over twenty feet above the deck in accordance with maritime law. Now, some ship was undoubtedly pursuing our Sengetsumaru.

Chapter 7: Pirates of the Indian Ocean

Torpedo destroyer or cruiser—pirates of old and new—submersible—searchlight—white-horse-like towering waves—shallow seabed—great collision As I stared intently, a ship—bearing a green light on its starboard, a red light on its port, and a dazzling white light hoisted over twenty feet above the deck on its foremast—steadily drew closer through the inky blackness of the Indian Ocean. Our Sengetsumaru advanced at twelve or thirteen knots per hour—yet for a vessel pursuing us from behind to close in so swiftly would require truly extraordinary speed. In this day and age, the only ships that could possibly possess such astonishing speed would be torpedo destroyers or torpedo cruisers. Could the source of those lights truly be a warship of that kind? If it were merely a type of warship, there would be no need for concern—but what if—what if—? The moment I suddenly thought of a certain possibility, I could not help but shudder.

It may have been utterly foolish to worry like this before even discerning the hull of that ship, but given its strange behavior thus far, my mind could find no peace. First—launching starfire shrapnel shells and firing rockets in the distant darkness of the open sea to mimic a shipwreck’s appearance—while the Captain dismissed it all as ghostly antics with his nonsensical talk—the truth was, those mysterious distress signals must have been the work of someone—or something—a hundredfold, a thousandfold more fearsome than sea demons or phantom ships that had no place in this world. Could they not be attempting to lure our Sengetsumaru into those waters through some scheme? Truly, no voyage in this world was as dreadful as one through the Indian Ocean. Typhoons, violent gales, impenetrable sea fogs—not to mention the terrifying broken waves and countercurrents, the ominous scattered clouds and cumulonimbus formations—these were hardships no sailor could escape on any voyage. Yet here in the Indian Ocean, beyond these trials lay another calamity most fearsome of all: ‘pirate ship attacks.’ Since ancient times in this ocean, ships that had suffered pirate attacks and met tragic ends might number in the hundreds or thousands—though none could say for certain. By common accounts, pirate ships today were not as rampant as in ages past. However, those older pirate vessels had never sunk their targeted cargo ships with a single strike. Instead, they would close in to board them—swarms of armed pirates brandishing swords and spears would cross from their deck to ours, fighting to the death in clashes of bloodied steel. Should the pirates prevail, the tragic aftermath went without saying; yet if we proved stronger, we could annihilate those brigands outright. However, in this day and age, pirates had grown far more cunning, rarely resorting to such methods. Moreover, since the invention of submersibles, pirate ships had widely applied this technology: when they spotted a vessel laden with treasures upon the vast oceans, they first sank it with a single strike from cannons or battering rams, then lowered their submersibles to retrieve the plunder. Of course, even today, submersible technology had not yet advanced to full perfection; needless to say, this method could not be applied absolutely. In other words, even the most advanced submersibles of the time could not function effectively when submerged below fifty meters due to water pressure and imperfect air pumps. Thus, pirate ships employing submersibles always paid close heed to this limitation; amidst the raging waves of the open ocean, they strictly confined their attacks on targeted cargo vessels to locations where the seabed depth did not exceed fifty meters—near islands, vast submerged reefs, or rocky outcrops.

Now, in the pitch-black midst of the Indian Ocean, as I beheld the strange ship that seemed to be pursuing our Sengetsumaru, I suddenly recalled this. Dear readers, do not laugh—my concern may seem neurotic, but when you consider both this narrative and how that ship fired distress signals so mysteriously off our starboard stern mere minutes ago, such apprehension arising is hardly unreasonable.

I did not know the precise state of the Indian Ocean’s seabed, but even were one to burn coal until twenty-five hundred boilers burst in attempting to flee, how could anyone hope to escape this ocean’s vast expanse? Of course, even if that ship were indeed a pirate vessel as I imagined, they would hardly sink us so recklessly—not with the Indian Ocean’s average depth being eighteen hundred and thirty fathoms. To destroy us in such deep waters would defeat their very purpose. Yet if this were a pirate ship cunning enough to deceive even demons and gods, how could they simply let slip a vessel once marked? Should they deem direct confrontation too troublesome, they might employ those old pirate tactics from legend—their sharp prow charging straight toward us while bizarre pirates brandishing swords and spears came swarming onto our deck like storm clouds. If not that approach, they might lurk in wait instead—patiently pursuing our ship until we drifted near some island’s shallows or above submerged reefs—then strike like sudden wind, materialize like gathering clouds, and sink our vessel with a single blow where it stood.

Thinking this sent a truly unsettling chill through me, one that seeped from the very depths of my heart. As the mysterious ship drew steadily closer, its white, red, and green lights—flashing in the dark night like the glowing eyes of a demonic deity—shone approximately four to five hundred meters off our ship's port stern. With my heart pounding, I looked around my deck from front to back and side to side. The so-called Beer Barrel Captain stood upon the bridge above me at this moment, staring intently toward the mysterious ship's direction—though earlier, when he had vaguely spotted three lights far out at sea, he had spouted all manner of outlandish claims—but now that things had come to this, he could no longer indulge in such nonsensical talk.

“Hmm, this is strange… That is indeed a steamship after all. Could there be an error in this month’s navigation chart?” he muttered while tilting his head back to gaze at the vast sky where starlight faintly shimmered. “No, no—no matter how I consider it, there’s no way a ship like that could overtake us on this route at this hour.” As he spoke, an uneasy expression began to surface on his face.

By this time, numerous crew members had already begun gathering from various directions toward the vicinity of the bridge. They all wore expressions of astonishment and scrutiny as they watched the lights of the mysterious ship drawing steadily closer. "Truly strange—the speed of that vessel—" muttered the ship's chief engineer, examining his right-hand chronometer under the deck lights while deep in thought. Following this, "Which company's steamship could it be?" "Might it be a merchant ship? Or perhaps a mail vessel?"

“No, it’s undoubtedly a warship.” “Even if it’s a warship, that kind of speed can’t belong to anything but a new-model cruiser or a torpedo destroyer,” argued the second engineer, off-duty helmsman, sailors, stokers, and even deckhands noisily, exchanging glances. Among them were likely those who had seen the earlier mysterious signals and those who had not. The mysterious ship had finally formed a parallel line with our Sengetsumaru. On the bridge, the Captain looked right and left, appearing thoroughly unsettled. Our chief engineer hurriedly ran to the rear deck and immediately issued an order, whereupon a signalman raised a white spherical lamp high in his right hand and stood at the port stern’s “detchi.” This was a night signal displayed in accordance with maritime law when a ship is about to be overtaken by another vessel. Yet the mysterious ship deliberately ignored this signal. In an instant, a beam from its searchlight flashed across the sky from its deck before abruptly casting its blinding light upon our deck. With one or two blasts of its steam whistle and waves churning beneath its hull, it further accelerated its speed.

In moments, the white mast light of the mysterious ship aligned parallel with our Sengetsumaru's mast light—and now, its starboard green light—glancing back at our port red light—surged past us by one meter—two meters—three meters—had it been a lifeboat, it would have overtaken us by at least half a hull length. At this moment! Determined to ascertain the true form of that mysterious ship at all costs, I flipped around and ran to the port bow, staring intently toward it with eyes wide as plates—yet the moonless sea, where even starlight scarcely fell, lay black as pitch. Though the vessel stood no more than a hundred—two hundred meters away, I could not discern a thing in the darkness. The ship—showing only a single white light at its foremast's peak and a red light on its port side, while displaying a green sidelight on its starboard like the giant eye of a venomous snake—was almost entirely enveloped in darkness, with not a single glimmer of light visible on its bridge, deck, or portholes. Whether my focused will had sharpened my senses or my eyes had finally adjusted to the blackness, I had just barely managed to discern the source of those lights when—once again—the searchlight from that vessel shot forth, illuminating... The light flared to life—and at the sight, I nearly fainted from shock and cried out.

“Umihebimaru!!! Umihebimaru!!!” I cried. Dear readers, you may not yet recall. At the moment our Sengetsumaru had been about to depart Naples Port—a mysterious ship that had inexplicably caught my eye. A tonnage of approximately one thousand tons; two funnels and two masts; and on its lower deck, perhaps loaded with cannons and rifles. The ship, which had appeared to sink so deeply that its draft was clearly visible, could now be dimly discerned upon the pitch-black waves.

“Undeniably the Umihebimaru!!!” I cried out again. Ah! The Umihebimaru had previously acted most strangely in Naples Port, departing several minutes before our Sengetsumaru despite possessing such remarkable speed—and now it was pursuing our ship from behind. Could this be dismissed as mere coincidence??? Yet up to this moment, the *Umihebimaru* had shown no overtly hostile intent. From its deck, it ceaselessly projected flashes from its searchlight—now illuminating the sky, now directing its beam toward us, perhaps surveying the sea’s geographical features—all while casting light upon the waves along *Sengetsumaru*’s course before steadily surging ahead into the distance. Our ship was now pursuing it from behind instead.

By the time I estimated roughly ten minutes had passed, a considerable distance had opened between the two ships. I involuntarily let out a sigh. "Perhaps my worries were needless after all," I thought, lightly stroking my chest in relief. At that moment, I suddenly realized—our Sengetsumaru, which had been perfectly stable until moments before, now tilted so severely that the deck sloped beneath violent rocking. Looking out, the pitch-black seas to both starboard and port churned abnormally rough, white-maned waves leaping like stampeding horses. The Indian Ocean wasn't merely thousands of fathoms deep here—such turbulent breakers surely meant either a massive submerged reef lay nearby or our Sengetsumaru now sailed over seabed entirely blanketed by vast rocky formations.

A massive submerged reef! A massive sea reef! Even if it wouldn't run the ship aground, the shallowness of these waters was unmistakable!!! I thought, "What?"—but at that instant, an unearthly shriek tore through the Sengetsumaru's foredeck. I sprang up and scanned the sea—only to see the Umihebimaru, which until moments ago had been racing a nautical mile ahead with its searchlight blazing across every corner of the waters before us, suddenly extinguish its beam. In a heartbeat, it pivoted its prow and came charging toward us like a thunderbolt unleashed.

“Boom-boom-boom-boom-boom!” My chest clanged like alarm bells being struck in rapid succession. What shocked me more was seeing the captain on the bridge and the chief engineer on the aft deck—along with the second engineer, third engineer, sailors, stokers, and lookouts—all turn pale and come running toward the bow deck. The distance between Umihebimaru—charging straight at us head-on—and our Sengetsumaru had already closed to 1,000 meters along the steamship route. Even without invoking precedents like the Chishima and Ravenna incident, where even minor helm adjustments caused disastrous collisions—this accursed Umihebimaru now deliberately raced toward us along the exact same course our Sengetsumaru followed. One minute—two minutes—three minutes later—catastrophic collision would be inevitable!!!

Both the Captain and the chief engineer lost their composure—they ran up to the bridge, ran back down, dashed to the aft deck, and frantically leapt about the foredeck, screaming at the top of their lungs. Sailors. The frantic commotion of the stokers and deckhands went without saying; amidst this, the passengers clamored, and the voices of a few crew members could be heard. Our ship continuously sent up explosive signals, sounded the emergency steam whistle, and the alarm bell warning of peril resounded as if it would shatter—yet the *Umihebimaru* drew steadily closer without a sound. The helmsman of our ship, as if gone mad, spun the helm left and right—but to no avail. If our ship sounded one short blast on its steam whistle and turned starboard, the *Umihebimaru* would also turn starboard—its port red light vanishing—and if our ship sounded two short blasts and swung its course to port, the *Umihebimaru* would likewise turn portward, its port red light reappearing. There was no longer any room for doubt—the *Umihebimaru*, now amidst leaping white-horse waves in these shallow waters, was plotting to sink our *Sengetsumaru* with a single decisive blow.

“Collision! “Collision!” “Collision!” Over a hundred crew members, in a frenzy, ran wildly across the deck.

By now, the distance between our ship and the departing Umihebimaru was within a mere two hundred and twenty to thirty meters!!!

The chief engineer and the Captain, their eyes bloodshot, shouted in unison. “Full speed astern!” “Astern!” “Astern!” Simultaneously with three short blasts of the steam whistle, the roar of the steam engine abruptly shifted as the propeller spun in reverse. Waves churned like swirling snowflakes around it, and our ship lurched backward twenty meters—thirty meters—but it was already too late. Now within a hundred meters off our port bow, the *Umihebimaru* suddenly swung its prow to port. In an instant, its razor-sharp ram struck our vessel’s midsection with a CRASH!!!

The *Sengetsumaru* listed to port with a roar as if ten thousand mountains were collapsing. The moment this happened, screams erupted. Two hundred sailors on the frenzied deck—hundreds of passengers surged forth all at once like a black cloud. Like the wind, like lightning, the *Umihebimaru* had come; and now, like the wind, like lightning, it vanished into the pitch-black waves.

In the sky, starlight glimmered—one, two, then three. The wind died, leaving the waves pitch-black, and the ship, carrying the hellish cacophony of screams, sank moment by moment into the depths of the Indian Ocean.

Chapter 8: Human Fate

The *Sengetsumaru*’s demise—Heh-heh—You cowards!—The Japanese boy—Two buoys—Harue Fujin’s fate—Ah! Something black!

Ah, there is nothing as mysterious as human fate.

On the day following this extraordinary event, I found myself adrift on the vast expanse where sea met sky, aboard a small lifeboat less than thirty feet in length, with only young Hideo by my side. Needless to say, at that moment, the Sengetsumaru—swallowed by infinite bitterness—had been sent to sink to the bottom of the Indian Ocean.

For those on land, where gentle winds blow and grasses are green, hearing of a ship’s sinking might conjure images as though it were a matter of aesthetic interest—they might liken it to a theatrical play or an oil painting, imagining that tragic scene through various means in their minds. But for someone like me, who remained on *Sengetsumaru*’s deck through that calamity until her wretched end—to recall it all now still makes my hair stand on end, and I can hardly bear to recount the details. Yet I must set down here at least the general outline of what transpired.

After the Umihebimaru collided with our Sengetsumaru’s starboard side and vanished into the darkness like the wind, the ship’s interior erupted into a commotion as if a cauldron were boiling over. Crying voices, shouting voices, voices desperately pleading for rescue—all mingled with the dreadful roar of raging waves, creating a scene that could only be likened to hell itself. Every possible waterproofing measure was exhausted, but from the gaping hole that had been smashed to pieces, seawater gushed in like a waterfall, making it impossible to approach the vicinity. The ten pumps discharged water at full capacity but had no effect. The 6,400-ton giant ship was already tilting halfway, and the jet-black smoke spewing from its two funnels seemed to wail as if in the throes of death.

“It’s useless... utterly useless! The sinking can’t be avoided!” The entire crew had already abandoned all hope for the ship’s fate.

Up until this moment,I had been standing rigidly at one end of the deck in near-unconsciousness,fixedly observing this wretched scene—when suddenly,I came back to myself. “Madam Harue! Young Hideo! How are they faring?” I flew toward the cabins. At the companionway’s edge—precisely where paths crossed—the Madam and boy appeared,having ascended from below. Though startled awake by sudden chaos,Madam Harue had maintained composure even amid crisis;having changed from nightclothes into daywear delayed her arrival here. The moment I saw them—

“Madam, it’s a disaster! A disaster!” “Has something happened? Did we hit a reef?” Madam’s voice remained calm. “It’s no reef—quickly!” I urged Madam along while scooping up the wide-eyed boy in my arms and dashing across the deck. The area where people were frantically crowding only heightened the danger, so the three of us broke away completely and took shelter beside the chart room at the bow. What struck me most in this situation was the solemn vow I had made to Hamashima when we departed Naples Harbor at the start of this voyage—that I would stake my very life on ensuring the safety of Madam and his beloved child. Now, faced with this crisis, regardless of what might become of me, I absolutely had to save these two.

The ship sank moment by moment; the screams on the deck grew increasingly frantic. Finally, the order to “Lower the lifeboats!” resounded, and the first lifeboat was lowered onto the waves. At that moment, I turned to look back at Harue Fujin. “Now, Madam, prepare to evacuate.” By maritime regulation, in such cases, the first lifeboat lowered was for first-class passengers; the second for second-class; the third for third-class. Only after all passengers had escaped would any remaining lifeboats then be provided for the crew’s evacuation. Therefore, as the first lifeboat was being lowered, I exercised our right as first-class passengers to urge Harue Fujin and Hideo Shōnen to board. Of course, being—however inept—a Japanese man, I could not possibly flee first under such circumstances without disgracing my nation’s honor. Yet Harue Fujin and Hideo Shōnen were those I had solemnly vowed to my friend to protect; moreover, given their status as a delicate woman and an innocent child, I burned with urgency to secure their evacuation above all.

However, all my efforts proved utterly futile. No sooner had the first lifeboat touched the waves than hundreds surged toward it like an avalanche. They jostled madly to board first, their chaotic mass churning like storm-tossed black clouds. “It’s hopeless, Madam!” I cried, taking two or three steps forward before turning back. How could I possibly force my way through that deranged mob to safely deliver this delicate woman and child into the lifeboat? Ah—how humans cast aside shame and honor in crisis, clinging so desperately to life! As I watched with a sigh, something stranger still caught my eye: those hurling themselves into the boat weren’t first- or second-class passengers, but sailors, stokers, helmsmen, engineers—lowly crewmen and third-class passengers who should’ve remained aboard until the end. Using brute strength, they shoved and kicked others aside to claim their spots.

"Ah, what a disgraceful spectacle!" I muttered, utterly dismayed. Behind me stood Harue Fujin holding her beloved child tightly, silent and composed—yet as befitting the wife of stalwart Hamashima Takefumi and sister of Imperial Navy Commander Matsushima, she showed not the slightest disarray, having already entrusted her fate to heaven. Witnessing such noble conduct, I could no longer remain silent.

“Ah, you irresponsible sailors!” “Despicable foreigners!” “What is the purpose of maritime regulations?!” I clenched my fist in grief and indignation—and Madam Harue’s pale face turned toward me, her voice subdued. “No, everyone must wish to save their own lives in the same way,” she said, averting her gaze... “But if they board in such numbers, even the lifeboat will sink.” Forgetting my own peril yet showing kindness by fretting over those who wronged us—I raised my voice and “Madam, this is no time for such words! You and the boy must survive at all costs—I cannot fail!” I shouted, scanning the scene. By then, the second lifeboat had been lowered, and the third as well. But the area grew even more chaotic than before, leaving me only to stamp my feet in frustration. What suddenly caught my eye was the sight of the Captain—he who bore full responsibility for this ship—now abandoning hundreds of crew members crying out to heaven and weeping on earth by the dim sidelight’s glow, attempting to board the third lifeboat.

“Y-you coward!” I became frantic. Here was Madam Harue—a woman of such noble character—yet that captain’s disgraceful behavior! I could no longer stay silent. Though futile from the start, I resolved to at least vent my fury by landing a single iron-fisted blow to his skull. But as I surged forward, Madam calmly seized my sleeve and restrained me.

“There’s nothing more we can do.” “Even if I and Hideo vanish into sea foam as we are now, we shall harbor no regretful longing for survival.” Like a white rose battered by rain, she spoke these words while gazing intently at her beloved child’s face— “But if Heaven shows mercy,” she continued, her clear eyes glistening with tears as she gazed skyward, “even if we sink beneath the waves, perhaps salvation may yet find us.” Suddenly, upon the darkened sea, an abrupt uproar arose—likely because one or two of the lifeboats that had fled the ship, overloaded with too many people, had taken on waves and sunk.

“Oh, how merciless,” Harue Fujin said, covering her face with a handkerchief. “That’s their own doing,” I could not suppress a sneer. The Sengetsumaru’s fate now hung by mere minutes. Not a single lifeboat remained on the deck. In such circumstances, what more could we think? At least, an honorable end was our sole hope.

“Madam!” I called calmly. “All is divine will. Yet even in this calamity, we have not dishonored Japan’s honor—that alone is our solace.” As I spoke, Madam nodded faintly, then bent down to press a final kiss upon her beloved child’s crimson cheek and murmured tenderly... “Hideo—even in this calamity, you won’t forget the words your father imparted when we parted at Naples, will you?” As she spoke, young Hideo raised his face with solemn dignity,

“I remember.” “Father stroked my head and said, ‘You must never forget that you are a child of Japan, no matter what happens.’” Madam involuntarily burst into tears, streaming down her face. “Now, you and your mother may face eternal parting here. But should you survive, when you go out into the world from this moment on, you must never forget those words and become an honest person.” As she finished speaking, a raging wave surged up from the stern.

Realizing it was truly the end, I cast my gaze around—but what suddenly caught my eye were two or three buoys that had been tossed aside on the port side. The people rushing to the lifeboats had likely paid no attention to such things. I hurriedly picked them up. Swiftly passing one to Madam and seizing another with my right hand, I had just called “Hideo” and grasped the boy’s neck with my left when—with a roar as if heaven and earth were rending—the ship suddenly vanished into the depths.

Foaming waves and churning tides had dragged us into thousand-fathom depths of raging currents, but when we resurfaced moments later on pitch-black swells, the 6,400-ton Sengetsumaru had vanished without trace. Only faint cries for rescue lingered here and there across the waters. By fortune, I still clutched the buoy, gripping young Hideo firmly in my right arm. Yet Madam Harue was nowhere to be seen. "Madam Harue! Madam!" I shouted with all my strength, but no answer came. Once I thought I heard a faint reply from distant waves—though whether surf's roar or my distraught mind's trickery, I couldn't tell—and ultimately found no sign of her. Having been an exceptionally strong swimmer since childhood, I felt no fear of drowning easily. Holding Hideo Shōnen while buoyed by a single float, I remained half-submerged until even the rescue cries faded, realizing we'd drifted far from where our ship sank. Suddenly Hideo Shōnen cried, "Look—something black!" Startled, I raised my head to see a lifeboat floating fourteen or fifteen yards ahead—likely one that had capsized earlier from overcrowding. Approaching revealed no figures inside though seawater filled it halfway. Rejoicing at this heaven-sent aid, I secured the boy to the buoy and swam alongside the hull while desperately bailing water out. By dawn's light when the seawater finally drained, we climbed aboard to drift directionless at the Indian Ocean's mercy.

Chapter 9: The Small Lifeboat on the Vast Ocean

Ani’s Prophecy—Hideo Shōnen’s Dream—The Great Currents of the Indian Ocean—Sudden Rain—A Feast from the Past—Giant School of Fish

The terrifying night finally ended. The eastern sky brightened, and the gentle morning sun’s rays shone upon us from beyond the horizon just as they had yesterday—yet what had changed utterly was our own plight. Until yesterday, we had lived in the beautiful cabins of the Sengetsumaru, waking each morning to dash up to the deck and gaze upon the sea’s surface—so pleasant as we were bathed in the cool dawn breeze—yet now, to our eyes, it appeared nothing but terrifying. In the boundless expanse of mist and waves that stretched as far as the eye could see across the Indian Ocean, the small lifeboat that now held the fates of two souls had neither sail nor oar—it simply drifted at the mercy of the swells.

When I now thought back on last night’s events, it all seemed like a dream.

"Ah, why have we encountered such misfortune?" I thought, holding Hideo Shōnen—who lay shivering from the cold in the dawn wind, still drenched from last night's immersion—upon my lap. As I gazed at waves grown faintly desolate beneath clouds momentarily veiling the sun and pressed a hand to my chest, it seemed the god of misfortune had shadowed us since this voyage began. The shattered white mast light at departure, the passenger drowned in the Messina Strait—these events made it seem as if Heaven itself had foretold this calamity. No—such nonsense should hold no truth—yet Ani's tearful prophecy at the Naples dock had eerily come to pass. Of course, I couldn't believe in demonic days or cursed hours. But the old woman's final warning—"The Sengetsumaru carries an unusual amount of gold and pearls. When such treasures gather upon the sea, a dreadful curse shall surely strike"—had coincidentally proven true. Precisely because of these treasures, we endured last night's assault by the Indian Ocean's demons and those dreaded pirates of legend. The ship sank, Madam Harue vanished, and we became mere foam tossed by waves—destitute souls adrift without hope of rescue. The more I pondered this, the deeper my spirits sank until I felt utterly without will to live.

At that moment, the sun broke through the clouds and cast its blazing light. Young Hideo, like any boy his innocent age, had succumbed to exhaustion from the previous night’s ordeal. Leaning against my lap, he began to doze off peacefully—when suddenly, a dreamlike murmur escaped his delicate lips. “Ah… Mother…! Why are you leaving me behind—where are you going? Oh… Oh… Between Naples and Mount Fuji, there’s… there’s a beautiful bridge—Wait! Father is calling my name!” Thus did the boy, now in his dreams, reunite with his beloved father and mother.

Ah, his beloved father Hamashima Takefumi in distant Naples—what dreams might he be weaving now? As for Madam Harue, the mother whom the boy yearned for even in his dreams—having fallen into the sea the previous night, her whereabouts had been lost at last. If Heaven showed extraordinary mercy, there remained but one chance in ten thousand that she might yet be saved unharmed. But should she have vanished into sea foam as she was, her spirit returned to heaven—then even if fortune allowed us to survive unscathed hereafter, young Hideo would never again behold his cherished mother's face outside of dreams. As these thoughts filled me with boundless sorrow, a falling tear struck the boy's face—and with a start, he awoke. He saw my tear-clouded face.

“Oh, Uncle, what’s wrong?” I abruptly realized my lapse and forced a loud laugh. “Oh, it’s nothing. You fell asleep and it got too lonely—I just let out a big yawn, you see.”

The boy rubbed his eyelids and looked around the boat dejectedly. Anyone would be the same—after a drastic upheaval, when one had briefly fallen into slumber and awakened again, there was nothing as desolate as the heart in that moment. The boy was just eight years old, thrust into this tragic predicament. When he recalled the gentle figure of his mother and his father, whom he had parted with in Naples, one could only imagine how sorrowful he must have been. Now, as he looked around this wretched boat—bereft of even a scrap of bread or morsel of meat—and then turned his gaze back to my face, his appearance was beyond pitiable.

My pocket watch had been soaked in seawater and was no longer functional, but the time must have been between ten and eleven in the morning. At that moment, I suddenly realized something: until now, I had thought our lifeboat was merely drifting aimlessly with the waves—yet now, it was moving from northeast to southwest with astonishing, arrow-like speed. (We had no compass, but direction could be determined by the sun’s position.) I was momentarily startled, but upon reflection, there was nothing strange about this. The reason I hadn’t noticed until now was simply that, on the vast and hazy expanse of the ocean, there had been no islands or ships to serve as reference points—a common enough occurrence. Upon reflection, our lifeboat must have been pulled unawares into the great current for which the Indian Ocean is renowned. I had somehow begun to feel hopeful. I reasoned that this current—flowing from the direction of the Laccadive Islands—would either have us spotted by ships along the western coast of the Indian subcontinent or cast us ashore at some trading port; in any case, we would surely not fail to obtain rescue. However, whether all things in the world would proceed so fortunately was another matter. The current we were caught in flowed toward the coasts of Africa and the South Pacific—regions teeming with perilous places. If instead we were swept toward cannibal lands or pirate islands, that would spell true catastrophe! But what did it matter how I thought of it? It was divine will! Divine will!

At that moment, the sky—clear until now—swiftly clouded over from the west, and a tropical downpour famous in those regions came pouring down like cartwheels cascading. The sea’s surface churned like a waterfall basin—whether it was terrible or not hardly mattered—as I and the boy, clutching our heads, crouched at the bottom of the boat. Because of this, our clothes—soaked in seawater last night and only just beginning to dry—were once again drenched through. Ah, why must Heaven be so merciless? I glared at the pitch-black clouds for a time, resenting everything—yet later reflecting that in worldly matters, what becomes calamity and what becomes fortune cannot be discerned in the moment alone.

Precisely because there had been this sudden downpour, a time later came when we deeply thanked heaven’s mercy. As soon as the rain cleared completely, a blazing sun now shone down upon us as if piercing through. The post-rain sunlight over the Indian Ocean proved exceptionally intense; I thought I might be roasted alive. What first became unbearable then was the agony of thirst. Here indeed misfortune turned to fortune—for while ordinarily castaways’ greatest hardship lies in obtaining fresh water, with nine out of ten perishing from it, we had been spared that particular trial. The rainwater that had cascaded down earlier now pooled across the boat’s bottom—tepid and foul-tasting, but such complaints were beyond us. I scooped it up with both hands and drank like a beast. No sooner had my thirst abated than hunger’s torment followed. Ah—had I but known this would happen, I should have stuffed at least one tin of biscuits into my pocket when leaping into the sea last night! Yet regret proved futile now. In this state, memories of last night’s warm “soup,” golden “fry,” and steaming “chicken roast” rose bitterly along my gullet. Not only that—I found myself recalling distant moments from the past, like when I’d tossed slightly charred grilled meat from a train window, and felt utterly wretched. Thus that day passed with us still starving, our nights filled with dreams—or rather visions—of food. Come morning, our suffering had doubled; the boy and I sat pale-faced, merely staring at each other. At one point such foolish notions arose—smashing the gunwale into sawdust to drink—that when night finally fell and we lay using the hull as pillows, hunger kept us awake till dawn.

The agonizing night had ended, and the sun had risen once more, but I no longer had the courage to rise and greet the morning light. Hideo Shōnen had been half-sitting up for some time, gazing out at the sea, when suddenly he let out a loud cry.

“A giant fish!” “A giant fish!”

Chapter 10: The Shark’s Water Burial

Heaven’s gift—countercurrent—I a “black slave,” the boy a charcoal seller’s son—Oh my, it’s taken on such a strange taste!—another fast. At the boy’s voice, I leapt up and, gazing out to sea, shouted. “Shark-infested waters!” “Shark-infested waters!” The term “Shark’s Territorial Waters” was quite an odd name, but I had once read in a geography book that such a place actually existed several thousand miles south of the Maldive Islands in the Indian Ocean. What we were now witnessing was undoubtedly that very phenomenon. Sharks ranging from four or five shaku (approximately 1.2–1.5 meters) to two or three jō (about 6–9 meters) in size had formed a swarm and were pressing in around our lifeboat. This species of fish was extremely ferocious by nature; their sudden swarming toward us was undoubtedly because they had deemed us their favored prey. I too, upon seeing that swarm, was instantly struck by a bold idea. In this situation where we were feeling such hunger, I thought how delighted we would be if we could catch one of those fish—but with neither net nor fishing gear, I could only fret in frustration. At that moment, a small fish suddenly leapt from the waves and flew into the boat. Hideo Shōnen flipped his body like a kitten, catching and pinning it down. “Don’t let it escape!” I panicked and lunged forward. The joy of that moment! When I looked, it was a horse mackerel about a foot long—chased by a massive school of fish, it had accidentally leaped into the boat. As a gift from heaven, I hurriedly picked it up. To be honest, I was sorely tempted to devour that small fish in one bite with the boy to sate our unbearable hunger—but wait! What good would come of hastily gulping it down now? A farmer, no matter how starved he may be, sows a single gō of wheat into the earth rather than eating it, planning for the year ahead. I too could devise a way to multiply this little fish a hundredfold—no, two hundredfold. Very well—I resolved to use this small horse mackerel as bait to catch one of those enormous sharks. When I explained this plan to the boy, he wholeheartedly agreed. Of course, we had no proper fishing gear—but fortunately, the lifeboat still contained the sturdy iron chain used for hoisting it back onto the main ship, along with its attached hook-shaped “hook.” Removing these, I carefully impaled our freshly caught mackerel on the hook and rose to my feet. The fish of these boundless, desolate seas had never seen a fisherman’s shadow, so there was no concern about being caught or not—but one too massive might capsize our lifeboat. As I threw the bait at a three- or four-foot shark that had just swum near the starboard side, shouting “This one!” my lure sank into the waves before I could react. “Oh no! Blast it!” I cried out in despair. It seemed that even among the fish of the sea, the law of survival of the fittest could not be escaped, for beneath the waves where the small shark had been swimming, there lurked an astonishingly enormous specimen which, with a lightning-like flick of its body, swallowed my baited hook in a single gulp. Suddenly, the tide foamed and the waves surged backward, creating a scene like a tsunami crashing ashore. I desperately gripped the iron chain, my heart pounding as if facing a one-in-a-thousand crisis. Of course, with such a monstrous fish thrashing violently, there was no question of hauling it up—indeed, we were on the verge of being dragged to the seabed along with the lifeboat. Yet how could I release this iron chain now? Whether the shark would prevail or I would lose—whether we caught it or not—this was the line between life and death. Hideo Shōnen watched this terrifying spectacle with eyes wide and round, his pitiable form clinging to me from behind...

“Oh, dangerous! It’s dangerous!” he cried. “What? What? It’s fine! It’s fine!” I shouted, my face flushing crimson as I stood firm like a temple guardian statue. Amidst the chaos, the shark that had been thrashing wildly about now turned its grotesque head southward and shot off like a loosed arrow. The lifeboat was dragged along too, racing like a gale. I was now utterly desperate.

“All right—if it’s come to this, I won’t let it escape!” By now, I had completely forgotten both my empty stomach and the peril to my life. For roughly three hours, we were dragged by the frantically swimming shark until we had unknowingly broken free from the ocean current and were likely some fourteen or fifteen nautical miles from the Shark’s Territorial Waters. At last, even that ferocious fish finally exhausted itself and collapsed, its pure white belly floating upside up on the sea surface. After heaving a sigh of relief and hauling it up, I saw that the fish was far larger than I had imagined—its bulk nearly filling half of the lifeboat.

“My, what an ugly fish,” said the boy, tapping the creature’s rock-hard head with a look of disgust. “Hahahaha. I’ve been through hell. But with this, we won’t have to worry about starving for a while,” I said and immediately took out my knife. Of course, shark wasn’t particularly tasty, but in this situation, no matter how much we ate, it never felt like enough. “Hideo-san, you’ll ruin your stomach if you keep this up,” even I—despite my look of concern—was stuffing my mouth full of that rank meat.

With this bountiful catch, when we thought we need no longer fear starvation from tomorrow onward—as humans do—that night’s dreams came peacefully, and morning’s awakening brought an uncharacteristic calm to our hearts. The following day—for the first time since beginning our drift—our minds settled somewhat as we drank the usual rainwater and smacked our lips over the shark meat, constantly scanning for any island silhouette or steamship smoke. Yet nothing obstructed our view that day, nor the next, when we merely gazed emptily across the vast blue ocean’s surface. Only this much became clear: our lifeboat, having been pulled from the previous current by the shark’s efforts, now found itself caught in a countercurrent—this time flowing swiftly southwest to east, then southward past the Maldive Islands. When I realized this, I cried out—though aside from that and having once glimpsed a distant pod of whales described in books I’d read, nothing else had changed. Of course, our current circumstances were by no means peaceful—though our stomachs were now full, no steamship smoke appeared on the horizon.

However, a major incident occurred here. It was none other than this: the shark meat we relied on as our lifeline had gradually begun to rot. From the beginning, I had not been entirely free of this worry, but in any case, I had carelessly assumed that such a giant fish—rare in the world—would not rot so easily. However, on the morning of the fifth day, I suddenly realized it. But in our current situation, we endured without complaint and kept eating, though the Indian Ocean's scorching heat blazed down on it relentlessly, making it unbearable. At that midday meal, when the innocent boy took a bite, he immediately spat the meat out into the sea,

“Oh my, oh my! What’s wrong? This fish has taken on such a strange taste!” he cried—a truly disheartening turn of events.

When evening came, even mustering the greatest resolve we could summon in our lives, we found ourselves utterly unable to bring it to our mouths. Yet we could not bear to carelessly discard this crucial lifeline into the sea. Pushing it as far into a corner of the boat as possible, we endured another night, repeating the pitiful state we had been in four or five days prior. But come morning, the stench grew utterly unbearable—so overpowering that our very spirits seemed to flee our bodies. No longer able to share even a moment’s coexistence with this rotten fish, swallowing infinite regret, the boy and I together buried the shark’s corpse deep beneath the waves.

"Well then—we were fasting again. The day ended fruitlessly as night fell. When I considered what would become of us hereafter, despair and restless energy kept us awake all night. Come dawn the next morning, a gentle breeze rustled while the eastern sky brightened—but by then we lacked even the courage to rise. 'Bah! Useless!' I cried out involuntarily. 'Our provisions are gone! No steamship in sight! Now there’s not even an island to rely on!' But then I suddenly noticed Hideo Shōnen sleeping peacefully beside me. Ah—what a needless outburst! I hurriedly turned to look at him only to find the boy startled awake by my voice. He sat up abruptly and leaned halfway out of the lifeboat—then suddenly cried out in astonished delight—"

“An island! An island! Uncle, an island! An island!” “An island!” I too leapt up like a kicked ball to look. By then, the sky had fully dawned. On the sea’s surface where the morning mist had cleared—about three nautical miles south of our lifeboat—palm and olive leaves grew lush green, and waves crashed against the shore, scattering like jewels. There lay an island stretched out before us.

Chapter 11: Echoes of the Uninhabited Island

Is this an island inhabited by humans or demons?—Ah, what’s that sound?—A beautiful spring—A gorilla’s attack—A sailor nimbly dodges—The face of a naval officer. When viewed from afar, this island resembled a recumbent calf in shape, its area appearing quite vast. For over ten days since the sinking of the *Sengetsumaru*, we who had seen nothing but blue skies and blue waves were struck by such joy upon discovering this island unexpectedly—a joy so fierce we wished for wings to fly there at once. Yet when we came to our senses, our lifeboat had neither sail nor oar. Even if it seemed near, three nautical miles at sea proved no easy feat. While drifting across the boundless ocean, we had believed that merely spotting an island would bring immediate rescue—yet reality refused to comply. If we lingered here, we might be swept away again to who knows where. Hesitation was no longer an option. I suddenly stripped completely naked and plunged into the sea—a precarious act indeed—resolving to push the lifeboat steadily toward the island while swimming. From within the boat, Hideo Shōnen frantically parted the waves with his maple-leaf-like hands. Yet despite these efforts, whether the boat moved or not—its progress remained agonizingly slow. Still, our labor did not prove futile. We finally reached the island after what felt like nearly half a day had passed—though it was merely three nautical miles traversed at an excruciatingly slow pace over six hours. Even so, I suffered as though facing death itself.

After over ten days of drifting, we left the lifeboat—which had faithfully guarded our fate—at the water’s edge and landed on this island. It was now past mid-May, and verdant trees glistening with dew covered the entire island, while far in the distance lay fields and mountains stretching beyond sight. The area where we landed was a natural grassy plain, lush and verdant, dotted here and there with nameless red and white flowers blooming in profusion. Each time the southern wind blew softly, it carried an indescribable fragrance from land to sea. Even without this, it was a realm fit for immortals at play—but for us, who had come ashore from extreme hardship into this extreme paradise, we could scarcely believe it was not a dream at first. Now that things had come to this, the tension that had kept us on edge began to loosen somewhat—and with that, both fatigue and hunger made themselves felt. Given how lush this island was, we thought there must surely be some food to be found. When we looked around, sure enough, on the slope of a small hill a couple hundred meters away stood a grove of coconut and banana trees, their sweet fruits ripened so abundantly that the branches bent as if about to snap. We rushed as if flying through the air—whether we ate or not was a moot point—and soon our stomachs were sufficiently filled. The next problem that arose was: What kind of island was this, after all? Surveying the area, it appeared to be a rather vast landmass. Did it appear on any world atlas? Was it merely a solitary island in the Indian Ocean? Or perhaps it lay far to the east, belonging to one of the Borneo Archipelago? Judging by the climate and types of vegetation, we also felt it might be close to the African coast. However, no amount of pondering such matters could yield an answer. The critical question was whether this island was originally uninhabited or not. If uninhabited, we would need to steel ourselves accordingly; even if inhabited, should it prove to be a fearsome den of savages, that would spell disaster—necessitating immediate plans to escape. To ascertain this, we concluded we must first circumnavigate the island. Thus, hand in hand with the boy, we set out at a steady pace. Speaking of circumnavigating the island—we had no idea how vast it was, nor what dangers might lie along the way—but we concluded it would be better to press onward than to remain here in vague uncertainty, spending a sinister night without even knowing the island’s true nature. Thus, we resolved to advance as far as our legs could carry us until sunset.

First, we had to determine our direction of advance. Peering through the forest, we saw a silver streak glimmering in the distance—a sign that a river lay in that area. The sight filled me with genuine disappointment; as far as I could see, the island’s appearance left no doubt—this was an uninhabited island! With the entire landmass covered in mountains, forests, and valleys, we could no longer choose a clear path forward. Venturing into those deep mountains and remote valleys would only invite greater danger, so we decided to suspend our exploration for now and return to the coast. But just as we turned to retrace our steps, the boy Hideo abruptly halted.

“Oh! What’s that sound?” he exclaimed, eyes widening.

“A sound?” I too stopped short and pricked up my ears—an echo borne on the wind. Just when I had convinced myself this was truly an uninhabited island, from somewhere came clang-clang-clank-clank—the unmistakable ring of iron striking iron deep in the valley’s bowels. “A hammer’s blow!” I cocked my head. No blacksmith could exist on such a desolate isle. For an instant I thought it a trick of the mind—yet through the still air it rang clear: clank-clang-clank-clang—too dreadful and persistent to deny. But as awareness dawned, I realized the source lay nowhere near—the very silence amplifying its clarity across what must have been three or four ri. Yet where such sounds echoed, some presence surely dwelled—be it man or demon mattered not. Setting aside doubts, I resolved to investigate and began edging down the slope. When we reached the hill’s base and listened anew, the echoes seemed to originate beyond a massive southwestern cape looming across the island.

Though we had resolutely determined to explore, the truth remained unnerving—not only did we not know the source of the sound, but we also had no inkling of what calamities might arise along the way. Anticipating any contingency, I securely moored our lifeboat at the water’s edge and tore my white shirt to set up a marker there, so that even if we fled back from danger at any moment, its location would be clear at a glance. Then, steeling ourselves, the boy and I set out. Proceeding along the coast for seven or eight chō, we came upon a small rocky hill. Once we crossed over it, the ocean view that had been visible until then vanished entirely, and the sound of the waves gradually faded into the distance.

At this point, the boy appeared thoroughly exhausted, so I proceeded by giving him a piggyback ride. Anyone would feel this way, but in a place so utterly silent, even one’s own footsteps sounded terrifying, making conversation quite impossible. On such an island, there could be no proper paths to speak of. We pushed through thickets of dwarf bamboo, trod upon layers of fallen leaves piled over centuries into hill-like mounds, and passed beneath strange groves of southern hemisphere trees—their sparse clusters of foliage crowning trunks that stood like tent poles, arranged with eerie regularity across hundreds of yards in every direction. By the time we walked what felt like one and a half *ri*, we arrived beside a spring. Clear water gurgled from a spring, the colors of the surrounding plants growing even more vibrant. It was nearly five in the afternoon when we sat down here for a rest—the strange reverberation had finally drawn closer.

While Hideo Shōnen, having discovered beautiful small fish in the spring’s flow, remained wholly absorbed in chasing them, I lay down beneath a large tree. Before I knew it, sleep overtook me, and as I became enveloped in a jumble of thoughts—neither fully dream nor reality—the boy suddenly flew back to my knee. “It’s terrible—terrible! Uncle, a wild beast—a wild beast!” he cried, shaking me awake by the shoulders. “A wild beast!” I leapt up from my sleep.

When I looked in the direction the boy was pointing, it was truly dire! From within the grove of yellow-fruited trees we had passed through earlier, a wild beast emerged with fierce momentum. "A savage baboon!" Every hair on my body stood erect at once. People may speak of lions as ferocious or wolves as vicious, but no creature rivals the terror of this savage baboon. Even confined within an iron zoo cage, its visage alone could make one shudder—how much more unbearable when such a horror descended upon us in this deep forest. I jolted upright and briefly considered fleeing, but what use would running serve now? By the time I resolved myself to certain death, the baboon already loomed before us. It stood nearly seven feet tall, gray fur bristling like needles, sharp claws bared—impossible to tell whether it had dwelled in these woods for centuries. True to its vicious simian nature, it withheld attack—baring yellow teeth as if mocking or enraged—until unleashing a piercing roar. Though prepared for death, I shuddered as if doused in icy water from head to toe. Yet what could be done? I shielded Hideo Shōnen behind my back and locked gazes with the beast's pupils. However savage a beast may be, none attack while meeting human eyes. They wait for that glint to fade—for a vacant moment—before lunging in one breath. Resigned to being devoured, I vowed not to die passively—if the slightest opening appeared during our stare-down, I'd strike first to inflict pain. Thus I maintained my glare while the baboon intensified its scrutiny. At this life-or-death precipice—suddenly, utterly without warning—a gunshot rang through nowhere. Another shot followed. Struck by two unexpected bullets, the baboon leapt upward like a kicked ball.

We turned in surprise toward that direction, and at that moment, from the forest about two hundred yards away from where we stood, there were two people who had suddenly appeared. “Ah! Ah! Japanese! Japanese!” Both the boy and I cried out in shock and delight.

Could this truly not be a dream? The two figures who appeared were unmistakably Japanese. One was a burly, sunburnt sailor with a great sword at his waist, his gaze sharply fixed upon us. The other wore the imposing uniform of an Imperial Navy officer; gripping the barrel of a double-barreled gun, he glanced at the sailor, who then rushed five or six steps toward us with fierce momentum. At that moment, the baboon—struck by two bullets—cast us aside and charged like a galloping horse. With a roar, it lunged at the sailor’s head like lightning. In the blink of an eye, the sailor nimbly dodged—and in that same moment, without even a flicker of his hand, the great sword at his waist sliced into the baboon’s shoulder. Enraged, the baboon gripped the sword blade with both hands. The sailor, panicking, kicked upward at its chest. Amidst this fierce struggle, the composed naval officer calmly advanced—the twin barrels of his gun seemingly trained on the baboon’s heart—when suddenly, a single gunshot rang out. The savage baboon, over seven feet tall, let out a guttural cry and spurted fresh blood as it collapsed lifeless to the ground. The boy and I felt as though we were dreaming within a dream. When someone rushed to their side like a whirlwind, the sailor straddled the beast and delivered the final blow; the naval officer turned calmly toward us. Overwhelmed with joy and at a loss for words, I gazed at that person’s face—then suddenly let out a startled cry as if struck by lightning.

“Ah! You are Commander Sakuragi⁉”

The Commander too stared at my face in astonishment, “Ah, you—” he began, then fell silent for a moment.

Commander Sakuragi! Commander Sakuragi! Commander Sakuragi!

Does the name of this man remain in the esteemed memory of you, our readers? At the moment I departed Naples Port, he was the protagonist of a strange article in a discarded newspaper that had unexpectedly caught my attention—a man who, one and a half years prior, had left Japan proper aboard an uncanny sailing vessel one night, bearing some secret with thirty-seven sailors under his command. To now encounter this very man on such a desolate island—how utterly unexpected! For a time, I wandered in a dense fog of bewilderment.

**Chapter Twelve: House of the Navy**

A southern uninhabited island—the lively Petty Officer Takemura—hazy imaginings—before us lay the boundless ocean waves; behind us stretched a grove of coconut palms—they departed into the unknown.

Commander Sakuragi spoke after a moment’s pause. “How utterly unexpected—that you should come to such a desolate island...” he said, scrutinizing us intently with an air of deep scrutiny. “This place lies far south even of the Indian Ocean—over a thousand miles from Madagascar Islands nearby, and thousands upon hundreds of miles from Asia or Europe. By no means an island people would normally reach.” “No—it was entirely unforeseen,” I replied, stepping closer. Given the circumstances, I naturally omitted details but recounted our ship’s sinking and subsequent drift to this island. At this, the Commander’s face finally showed comprehension—

“I had imagined it might be something like that,” he said, gazing at the corpse of the savage baboon he had just shot dead, “but to think you encountered such a dreadful ordeal.” “The truth is, we had just decided on a whim to go hunting with this petty officer—and by heaven’s grace, it led us to your rescue,” he said, gazing up at the sky. “I would like to hear all the details, but as nightfall approaches and this area is practically a den of beasts, let us first retreat to my residence.” He raised the barrel of his gun. In the course of our conversation, I had briefly mentioned Hideo Shōnen, prompting the Commander to turn a stern gaze toward the boy’s face.

“Oh, what an adorable child,” he said kindly, patting his head, then turned his gaze to the sailor standing valiantly beside us. “Here, Petty Officer Takemura—take care of this boy.” The petty officer called Takemura promptly stepped forward and energetically lifted up the boy. “Ho! What a cute kid! C’mon, up on my shoulders!” he said, hoisting him into a piggyback ride before thudding off ahead. The residence where Commander Sakuragi and his men lived appeared to be about one ri from here. At that moment, it suddenly occurred to me that the source of the metallic clanging we’d been hearing since earlier might be there. As we walked, Commander Sakuragi asked me about various matters. However, regarding the Commander’s current circumstances, I did not pose a single question. There was no immediate need to inquire, and I thought it would be impolite to rashly broach the Commander’s weighty secret. However, from the discarded newspaper article the other night, I could infer that the Commander was now on this desolate island removed from the world; and when I considered this together with the metallic clanging still audible even now, there was indeed a vague sense of having grasped something. Is it not that Commander Sakuragi, now hiding himself on this island, has embarked upon the great military invention he had long been planning? Dear readers, you have likely already imagined this much.

When we had walked a little over half a mile from the site of our fierce battle with the savage baboon, we once again came to a place where the sea was visible. Then, crossing two hills, fording a clear stream, and passing through a dimly lit primeval forest, we finally caught sight of Commander Sakuragi’s house where the view opened up. The Commander’s house stood atop a cliff hundreds of feet above sea level, its front facing the boundless Indian Ocean and its rear enveloped by a beautiful grove of coconut palms. Of course, given that this was such a remote island, it was by no means an impressive structure—yet it was a rather massive plank house, its gate boldly inscribed with "House of the Navy," and one could see several long, awkwardly shaped rooms lined up inside, likely to accommodate the thirty-seven sailors under his command. On the second floor were three somewhat well-proportioned rooms. The one with a white curtain fluttering in the wind at its window was surely the Commander’s living quarters.

When we approached the house, Petty Officer Takemura—who had young Hideo on his shoulders—dashed off ahead and shouted in a lively voice. “Come out, come out, all sailors! The Commander has returned—and with rare visitors and a lovely boy in our midst! Hurry now and come greet them!”

At the call, every sailor who had remained in the house came rushing out from the barracks. Each man—so stalwart they could have crushed demons—lined up before the house in a row and rendered a respectful salute. Petty Officer Takemura, an influential figure among them, barked a few words, whereupon the valiant band of sailors threw their caps high in unison and shouted “Banzai!” They were likely celebrating our safe landing on this island as acquaintances of their revered Commander Sakuragi. The Commander smiled faintly at this sight.

“I truly cannot contain my gratitude,” I said, unable to hold back the tears of joy that flowed unexpectedly. The innocent Hideo widened his eyes into perfect circles and leapt about on Petty Officer Takemura’s shoulders. The lively group of sailors surrounded them, making an uproar—“Ah, what a lovely boy! Let me have him for a bit!”—as Commander Sakuragi raised his right hand...

“Now, sailors—the boy is terribly exhausted. Don’t make such a ruckus,” he said with a chuckle. “Rather than that, hurry and prepare the new guests’ quarters. The room is on the second floor—Room No. 2. Clear out my study—.”

Having finished giving these orders, Commander Sakuragi pulled Hideo from Petty Officer Takemura’s shoulders and turned to face me.

“First, to my quarters,” he said, stepping forward. The room we were led into was one at the southern end of the upper floor—a ten-tatami-mat chamber. In the center stood a round table bearing a globe and compasses, while maps of various nations covered every inch of the walls—a space unmistakably befitting a naval officer. Through the Commander’s hospitality, we sipped coffee brought by sailors, smoked our fill of cigars craved since drifting adrift, and relished absurdly sweet pastries—crudely shaped yet delicious—crafted by cook-sailors. When some fifteen minutes had passed, the clock struck six, and May’s lingering daylight saw the sun begin its descent beyond western peaks.

At this moment, the Commander slowly stood up and faced me. “We have certain duties requiring our immediate attention, so we must beg your temporary leave. Please rest quietly here until my return at eight o’clock, when we shall dine together.” With those words, he departed without further ceremony. Then came the ever-lively Petty Officer Takemura from behind. Despite his rugged exterior, he kindly attended to our needs—replacing our seawater-soaked, sun-scorched rags of clothing, preparing baths, and even commissioning a tailoring sailor to make a small flannel sailor uniform specially for young Hideo. During this time, our quarters—ordered by the Commander—were prepared, and we were at last led there to lie upon beds for the first time in what felt an eternity. Initially, Hideo and I exchanged glances of wonder at this miraculous turn of fortune, chatting gratefully about the Commander’s considerate treatment—but soon, overwhelmed by the accumulated exhaustion of over ten days’ ordeal, we unwittingly sank into profound slumber.

Chapter 13: Starlight Twinkling

Welcome... Harue Fujin will absolutely not die—This Shinpachi leads the charge—The sinking of the Namiohmaru—This island’s truly something!—Three years later...

I do not know how many hours we slept after that, but suddenly at my bedside— “Now then, guests—it’s grown dark already! The Commander’s been waiting impatiently, and what’s more, dinner’s fully prepared! That cook Namiou’s got the whole roasted bird burning to a crisp—he’s rolling his eyes white and black!” came a loud voice shaking me awake. Startled into consciousness, I found night had fully fallen. Through the glass window of our quarters, the sea’s surface shimmered with beautiful twinkling starlight.

It was the lively Petty Officer Takemura who had woken me. Clinging to his right hand, the lovely Hideo Shōnen was smiling.

“Uncle, I’ve already washed my face,” he said, looking up at my sleep-stiffened face. “Oh my—even the boy sees me as a Sleepyhead!” I hurriedly washed my face in clear water and, following the Petty Officer’s guidance, entered the prepared room. There, at one end of the dining table, Commander Sakuragi was engrossed in conversation with two or three senior sailors. Yet the moment he caught sight of us, he turned his smile our way—

“It seems Takemura has finally disturbed your peaceful sleep,” he said, ordering a sailor to bring two chairs closer. At the far end of the dining table, Petty Officer Takemura and three other sailors stood in orderly formation, while on our side—with young Hideo placed between us—the Commander and I sat shoulder to shoulder flanking him, whereupon dinner promptly commenced. The lamplight blazed brilliantly, now illuminating flower arrangements tenderly crafted by rough-handed sailors and olive-green leaves artfully shaped into “Welcome” upon the walls. Though the Commander had warned there would be no feast on such a remote island, the cook sailors’ tremendous efforts produced steamed sea turtle eggs, salt-boiled oysters, and whole-roasted birds—locally called “rock grebes” for their duck-like appearance yet lighter flavor—that felt a hundredfold more delightful to my weary self than any rare delicacy at the world’s finest hotel. When tea commenced after dinner, Commander Sakuragi and all present sailors spoke as one: “Pray recount fully how you came ashore here.” Taking a sip of coffee, I began my tale.

First, beginning with my departure from Yokohama Port aiming to travel the world, I crossed over to the United States and then journeyed through various European countries. At the Italian port of Naples, I encountered by chance my old schoolmate Hamashima Takefumi—now a master of overseas trade who had amassed immense wealth—and there met his wife, Harue Fujin, and their beloved son Hideo Shōnen. Bound by a strange fate, the three of us boarded the *Sengetsumaru* to return to Japan together. Before departure, Ani—a superstitious old Italian woman—had earnestly urged us to halt our departure that night, insisting the ship’s sailing hour fell upon the "Demonic Hour of Demons." The incident with the mysterious ship’s binoculars; the details of our great disaster on the Indian Ocean; Harue Fujin’s noble conduct at that time; how despite all three of us leaping from the *Sengetsumaru*’s deck into the sea at once, Harue Fujin alone vanished without a trace; and then the tale of our drifting through countless hardships until we finally washed ashore on this island—when I recounted all this without omission, some listeners gasped in shock, others groaned in lamentation. Petty Officer Takemura sat like a wooden statue, eyes wide and breath held as he listened; the other sailors were much the same.

When I finished speaking, Commander Sakuragi quietly lifted his head. “Truly, your experiences are like a novel,” he said, continuing to gaze at my face for a while. Even within the tale, he seemed no less moved by Harue Fujin’s noble conduct. Commander Sakuragi had shared a bond with Commander Matsushima—Harue Fujin’s elder brother—closer than that of siblings. When the Commander was still in Japan, he had frequently visited their household and met Harue herself during her maidenhood on numerous occasions. Now hearing that this beautiful and noble lady had vanished beneath the waves of the Indian Ocean—a matter he could not dismiss as unrelated—the Commander, overcome with sorrow, opened his mouth after a moment’s pause.

"But I have always been certain," he said, stroking young Hideo's despondent hair as memories of that vanished night resurfaced—the night when mention of his beloved mother had just arisen—"that heaven holds a mysterious power. Those beautiful in both body and spirit often find unexpected rescue even when teetering on the brink of death." “Somehow… I cannot help but feel that Harue Fujin was safely rescued afterward.” “It may sound strange to say this, but people possess a kind of intuition. In my case, no matter how far apart someone may be, there has never been an instance where someone I’ve thought, ‘That person must still be safe,’ has died.” “Therefore, even now, hearing that Harue Fujin sank beneath the waves, I cannot bring myself to believe she met an unfortunate end. Perhaps she found unexpected rescue and has returned to Mr. Hamashima in Naples—indeed, she may even now be worrying over your fates.” Cutting off his words, he placed a hand on the head of young Hideo, who sat with bowed neck in despondency.

“And above all—the pirate ship’s conduct is abominable! Such a vessel of appalling atrocity shall soon be shattered into splinters!” he declared, bright eyes emitting a stern light. Hearing this, young Hideo abruptly leapt to his feet. “Truly! If Uncle from the Navy defeats the pirate ship, I shall face off against the enemy commander myself!” “There it is—the soul of Japanese men!” Petty Officer Takemura, who had been silent as a wooden statue, suddenly roared.

“When that time comes, this Takemura Shinpachirō will be the vanguard!” he declared spiritedly, pounding the table so hard that plates jumped and a dagger clattered to the floor. As for that matter of the so-called “Demonic Hour of Demons,” the sailors—like myself—laughed it off as nonsense, but Commander Sakuragi alone remained unsmiling. Of course, one could not believe such things from an omen perspective, but that old woman Ani might have known beforehand—through some means—that the pirate ship was targeting the Sengetsumaru. Unable to state it plainly due to circumstances, yet unable to feign ignorance of her masters’ impending calamity, she had perhaps resorted to that superstitious tale to stop their departure that night. he concluded. Now that I heard it put this way, I could not deny there were moments that came to mind. Furthermore, regarding the pirate ship Umihebimaru, various discussions arose at the gathering. According to the Commander’s account, rumors of a pirate island were factual—indeed, even the existence of a secret pact between those pirate associates and a certain powerful nation had become practically an open secret among maritime circles versed in naval affairs. Such demons must be crushed to dust—this was the united resolve of all sailors.

Now then, at the time of the Sengetsumaru’s sinking, the shameful conduct of the captain and all the crew could not be heard without shock and anger, and the short-tempered Petty Officer Takemura glared with blazing eyes— “Good grief! What a bunch of spineless fools! That coward of a captain—even if he fled, it ain’t gonna do him any good! He’d probably get swallowed by the waves and croak! But if by some chance that bastard’s still alive, this Takemura Shinpachi ain’t about to let it slide! I’ll kick his ribs in for all the world to see!” he bellowed. The Commander laughed, the sailors slapped their arms, and young Hideo and I exchanged hearty looks.

As we spent the night deep in such tales and my account of the shipwreck soon concluded, Commander Sakuragi—his expression now slightly altered—turned to me.

“From your account up to now, I have understood the circumstances of your drifting ashore on this island. Now then, what is your resolve henceforth?” I considered that this question about our resolve meant: Now that we two had drifted ashore on this desolate island, did we obstinately wish to return to our homeland at all costs, or were we prepared to stay here with the Commander and his men until some opportunity arose? Of course, more than anything I wanted to return to Japan even a day sooner—but upon considering the circumstances, I found I could not voice such a selfish request to this man now. So I simply

"I answered, 'We can only entrust our fate to divine providence and Your Excellency the Commander.' At this, the Commander tilted his head slightly for a moment—" "In that case, you must remain on this island until a certain time," he declared resolutely.

I silently nodded.

The Commander continued speaking. “Truly, there is no alternative.” “Of course, if you resolve to entrust your fate entirely to heaven and attempt to cross the Indian Ocean’s waves once more in a lifeboat to return to the homeland, there would be nothing to stop you. But I would never wish for such lawless recklessness. As there exists absolutely no means of departing this island today or tomorrow through other methods, you have no choice but to remain on this desolate island with our party until a certain time arrives.”

“That is something I had already resolved myself to,” I answered.

“It’s only that we unneeded ones fret about troubling you all needlessly,” I said, whereupon the Colonel urgently cut off my words. “No, no—rather, I find it pitiful to have you gazing eternally at your homeland’s skies from this island beyond heaven’s reach,” he sighed while— “Ah, if only the Naminoemaru were safe now,” I thought, looking at Petty Officer Takemura’s face.

The Naminoemaru—that was the name recorded in the discarded newspaper, referring to the great sailing ship that had initially transported the Commander's party to this island. Ah, had that vessel too now left this coastline for some reason? As I gazed through the windowpane at the sea, upon waves faintly lit by starlight, there floated only one or two lonely lifeboats—not a single ship could be seen crossing this vast expanse.

Petty Officer Takemura crossed his arms.

“Well now that it’s come to this—what a terrible mistake I’ve made! If only the Naminoemaru were safe, I’d steer her proper and send you straight back to Japan. But that night of the great storm, she finally got dashed against the rocks and smashed to pieces. There’s nothing to be done about it now,” he said, turning to the boy. “But this island’s quite interesting too—you can catch loads of fish, go lion hunting. You’ll end up not wanting to leave!”

The Commander gave a wry smile and “Who would wish to live permanently on such a remote island?” he all but declared, turning to me.

“But all things are governed by fate,” he said. “Yet you must never despair. Someday we shall obtain extraordinary fortune and gaze upon Mount Fuji once more—nay, I am certain of it! Three years hence will surely be that time.” Having declared this, he gazed toward a particular bearing along the windswept shore where brave gales roared and waves shattered against the rocks.

Chapter Fourteen: The Undersea Shipyard

The Commander’s figure was glimpsed—"Lion hunting is strictly declined"—the secret tale of the fierce dog Inazuma—screen-shaped rock—terrifying footsteps—the inscription on the iron gate. The next morning, when Hideo and I awoke at eight o’clock, Commander Sakuragi had already departed, leading a contingent of sailors including Petty Officer Takemura to an undisclosed location. The sailor from the kitchen staff who brought breakfast relayed the Commander’s message from his departure, stating as follows.

“The Commander has departed this morning as well to attend his regular duties. As he was unable to speak with you last night due to pressing matters and you were still asleep this morning, he has instructed me to relay this message: You are free to go anywhere within ten cho of this residence. However, beyond that area, due to the extreme danger posed by wild beasts and venomous snakes among other hazards, you must under no circumstances venture further. The Commander will return by evening and meet with you again.” Both the boy and I, still feeling the fatigue from over ten days, had no intention of venturing far—especially with this warning—so we took extra care. After meals, we spent the day writing in my diary, gazing out at the endless ocean from rocks along the shore just the two of us, knocking down beautiful fruits carelessly in the coconut grove behind the house, or being guided by a sailor who had remained at the house to fish for sea turtles by the rugged coastline.

At sunset, Commander Sakuragi and Petty Officer Takemura returned utterly exhausted, but upon seeing our faces—we two who had spent the whole day carefreely playing—looking considerably better than we had the day before, they burst out laughing. That night too, we engaged in various pleasant conversations until late into the night.

The next morning, thinking the Commander had yet to depart, I rose from bed around six o’clock—only to learn that he and his men had left the house just moments before. Leaning against the second-floor window with the boy, we gazed out at the view of the coast where the morning mist was clearing. About ten-odd blocks from this house lay a stretch of bay where white-crested waves crashed against the rocks. Within this inlet, rocks stood arranged like a folding screen, naturally forming a crucible-shaped depression—and there, we caught a fleeting glimpse of the Commander’s retreating figure.

“Oh! Naval Uncle has hidden behind that rock!” said young Hideo, looking at me searchingly. I remained silent and kept staring at the spot when presently from that mysterious rock’s shadow arose again the metallic clang we had heard yesterday and the day before. When ten o’clock came, only Petty Officer Takemura returned casually. “Now then, time for lion hunting!” he urged enthusiastically, which I barely managed to dissuade him from. Then under pretext of guiding us about the island, we were dragged around mountains and rivers, valley bottoms and deep forests, along rugged shores where sword-like rocks jutted upward—all at the petty officer’s tireless pace—until we were thoroughly exhausted. During this stroll, obeying Takemura’s orders, a fierce dog constantly moved before and behind us, protecting us in advance from wild beasts and venomous snakes. Its name was Inazuma, said to be Commander Sakuragi’s prized hound—a powerfully built creature as large as a calf with jet-black fur and a tightly curled tail. Young Hideo grew so fond of it he kept crying “Inazuma!” as they ran about together until they became fast friends without realizing it. Even when returning home at dusk, Inazuma playfully chased this endearing boy up to the second floor until driven out by Takemura wielding a broom. For the dog’s sake, Hideo even tossed his delicious dinner beefsteak straight out the window.

Now, when the next day came, young Hideo—having made a fast friend in Inazuma—no longer remained solely by my side. From early morning he would go outdoors to play without a care along the shoreline with its blue waves and white sand, sometimes straddling the dog’s back or clinging to its neck. Meanwhile, I shut myself indoors and spent the day working on translating a navigation textbook Commander Sakuragi had requested of me that morning. This translation work—which Commander Sakuragi had begun some time prior during his free hours to instruct the sailors—had reached about one-fifth remaining when I, out of sheer idleness, took it over reluctantly. By the time the translation had been fully completed, the Commander returned as usual at dusk to the shore with a company of sailors.

Last night as well as the night before, it was our custom after finishing dinner to open the windows of the room and indulge in all manner of casual conversation while being cooled by the refreshing sea breeze. Tonight as well, when we arranged chairs by the fluttering white window drapes, Commander Sakuragi turned to me with a somewhat serious expression.

“Tonight, once it grows late, I have something to discuss,” he said, fixing his gaze on my face. Wondering what this late-night discussion could be about, I abruptly straightened my posture. The Commander tossed the remains of his cigar out the window and quietly began to speak. “Mr. Yanagawa, ever since that day when I unexpectedly came to your aid during your crisis by the grove of yellow milk trees, I have been thinking thus.” “For you—an old acquaintance—to appear on this remote island where people rarely ever come, even if by chance, must be entirely heaven’s guidance. That we are fated to spend several years gazing upon the same moon from the same house must also be some karmic bond.” “I possess a single secret—one known to none but myself, thirty-seven trusted sailors under my command, and certain officials within the Imperial Navy. Though it must never be divulged to others, now that we find ourselves sharing this fate for many moons to come, the time will inevitably come when this matter manifests itself before you.”

“You must have some thoughts regarding why I came to this island and what I am currently engaged in.” Just as I thought, I swallowed a mouthful of saliva. “I have formed a vague conception,” I answered, whereupon the Colonel nodded emphatically.

“This secret is indeed my very life. Several years ago now—do you recall?—on the deck of a steamship, I recited an unusual poem and compared the expansion of European naval powers with our nation’s present state. In terms of wealth and advancements in mechanical science, if our nation continues as it does today—merely increasing its number of warships by a few and largely imitating others in the production of piecemeal military equipment—we can never hope to maintain peace in the Orient, much less seize significant diplomatic power. To rise above Europe and America in one leap requires nothing less than a monumental resolution here and now.” “To elaborate—I spoke then of the necessity to create a world-shaking military invention, one that would be guarded as a state military secret unique to our nation alone, utterly inconceivable to foreign powers. A weapon so formidable that European and American nations, so long as it exists, would tremble in fear and no longer dare show disrespect toward Japan. At that time, you merely exclaimed ‘Bravo!’ while I harbored this aspiration deep within my heart. After years of relentless effort, on November 30th of the year before last, I departed Japan aboard a great sailing ship laden with vast materials and thirty-seven trusted subordinates. The reason I now conceal myself on this uninhabited island is precisely to undertake this long-planned grand military invention—” “Indeed, unworthy as I am, this Sakuragi has devoted all the strength of his lifetime to embark on the manufacture of an unprecedented and formidable military weapon for our Imperial Navy.”

Just as I thought! Just as I thought! My heart leaped. The Commander continued. "Matters concerning this endeavor have already become the subject of rumors even in our homeland, and you yourself must have formed some conjecture about them. Yet what exactly this invention entails remains unknown to anyone until its full completion. To safeguard this secret entirely from foreign military spies and others driven by selfish ambition, I have concealed myself on this isolated island and conducted its manufacture with utmost secrecy—" As he began to say this, he infused his words with renewed intensity.

“But Mr. Yanagawa, you have miraculously joined our ranks as if guided by heaven. Considering present circumstances and trusting your character, I believe it would be more advantageous to disclose this great secret to you today—provided you can make an unwavering pledge.” “What? To me—that great secret—” I rose from my chair. The Commander declared in a grave voice: “Very well, I have faith in you. If you—as our comrade-in-arms—deign to vow eternal guardianship of this secret, I entreat you from sincere conviction to swear thrice to heaven.”

As soon as I made a firm oath without hesitation, the Commander abruptly rose and grasped my hand. “The oath is a formality—but you, with your deep patriotic heart, must never divulge this secret to unnecessary parties even should [circumstances change].”

“Absolutely! Even if my lips were torn asunder!” I answered resolutely. The Commander gazed at my face with a smile. As for what this secret might be—though the night concluded with merely the oath, and precise details were to be clearly demonstrated tomorrow at the site where said secret lay concealed through actual objects—I lay down in bed that night, yet driven by endless imaginings, found myself unable to fall asleep until late into the night. Humans are capricious creatures; despite having been unable to sleep until midnight the previous night, I awoke while it was still dark the next morning.

Around 5:30 a.m., Commander Sakuragi, accompanied by Petty Officer Takemura, knocked on the door of my cabin. From here, we were setting out for that secret location.

The three left the house and proceeded north along the coast shrouded in thick morning fog. Petty Officer Takemura, accompanied by the fierce dog Inazuma, maintained a position about ten paces ahead throughout, leaving Commander Sakuragi and me walking side by side in complete silence. Ah—what could this secret invention possibly be? If we spoke of formidable military weapons, might it be some new type of bullet with tremendous explosive force? Or perhaps a cannon imbued with arcane power? No—no—judging from the Commander's tone, this had to be something far more revolutionary. As I entertained these wild speculations, we finally reached Screen Rock in the bay where I'd glimpsed the Commander's retreating figure at dawn yesterday. What first struck me as strange was how this screen-shaped formation appeared as an isolated slab from afar, yet upon climbing it revealed multiple identical rocks stacked across three or four compass points—resembling nothing so much as the vaulted roof of an ancient Roman basilica. Below lay an unmistakable cavern where raging waves battered every crevice outside while utter stillness reigned within—a stillness broken only by our footsteps echoing through the void with terrifying BOOM-BOOM reverberations.

After proceeding about twenty yards across Screen Rock, we came upon an iron door at the center of a massive boulder that stood like a wall before us. Before this iron door stood an armed sentry at solemn attention, who respectfully saluted upon catching sight of the Commander and his party. As we drew closer, the five characters 「秘密造船所」—Secret Shipyard—carved into the rock above the iron door loomed with an air of significance.

Chapter 15: The Electric Submarine The booming of waves—a shape resembling a throwing spear—a three-pronged ram—new-style fish-shaped torpedoes—scenes of the sea’s surface and depths reflected in a mirror—an air generator—the Poem of Master Tesshū.

Petty Officer Takemura took out the large key from his waist and opened the iron door. "This is the entrance to the secret facility," Commander Sakuragi said, turning to look at me.

At this time, construction seemed not yet to have begun; the usual clangor of iron was absent, and the interior lay utterly silent—eerie in its stillness. Following my two guides, I passed through the iron door. For the first ten paces or so, I had to walk hunched over until the path widened slightly. Directly ahead lay a steep staircase carved into the rock. When we had descended completely, we entered pitch darkness. Guided by the light of a globe lantern Petty Officer Takemura promptly kindled, we proceeded along a desolate tunnel-like path—turning right, then left—until after advancing some hundred forty yards, the rocks split apart fore and aft to form a gorge through which tides rushed in and out like arrows from beyond the cavern. A single bridge spanned the gorge's crest. Upon crossing it, we found another iron door. Petty Officer Takemura pushed open this door as before. Sunlight stabbed through instantly—beyond lay unmistakable brightness. As the petty officer blew out the lantern with a soft puff, Commander Sakuragi turned to face me.

“This is the place,” he said, leaving those words behind as he first passed through the iron door. When I too followed and entered within, I suddenly beheld: a cavern hundreds of *ken* in all directions, surrounded front and back by rocks as though carved, while above gaped a massive fissure in the stone like a skylight, through which sunlight poured abundantly to illuminate the interior. When I listened closely, the booming of waves could be heard from all directions, for beyond these sheer cliffs lay a raging, churning sea—this place was surely dozens of *shaku* beneath the ocean floor. The scene before me was so unnaturally bizarre in its raw grandeur that I momentarily doubted whether this was a place of humans or some realm beyond the world. Yet when I steadied my mind to observe closely, its entire structure proved to be nothing less than a fully equipped shipyard. The colossal cavern was partitioned into several sections: a dry dock, cranes, and drafting rooms stood ready, while the foundry housed smelting furnaces and massive iron hammers. The casting area boasted molding machines and sand crushers; the machining section had lathes—vertical borers, horizontal planers, drilling rigs—all arranged with precision. The boiler workshop contained hydraulic riveters, and the assembly area held bending presses and shearing machines. Around the circular saws and band saws lay heaps of square timber and iron materials. Beyond these stood an array of intricate machinery—air compressors, electric generators—and supplies ranging from silver solder and pewter to tarred ropes, Manila ropes, sail-sewing threads, twisted cords, emery cloth, graphite, volatile oils, linseed oil, radium paint, rust-proof paint, copper plates, iron plates, steel plates, zinc ingots, gutta-percha sheets, ebonite boards, glass panels, glass tubes, thick porthole glass, spiral rivets, steel hinge bolts, brass-cast rivets, asbestos insulation belts, and cartridge-core casings. It was astonishing to see such orderly preparations on this remote island—all these machines and materials had been transported here over two years prior by Commander Sakuragi aboard the great sailing ship *Naminoemaru*. Now each item occupied its proper place, bearing clear traces of repeated use.

At that moment, what suddenly caught my eye was an area at the center of this wondrous cavern shipyard where the uneven rock formations naturally formed a slipway—and there, now under construction, lay a vessel of utterly bizarre design. “This is the submarine battleship I have been secretly manufacturing,” Commander Sakuragi declared, slowly raising his right hand to point at the vessel. “So this is it!” I thought, my heart pounding as I scrutinized the vessel’s hull. Ah—could there exist another warship in this world so wondrously bizarre, so formidably robust? Merely glimpsing its exterior left me staggered by the ingenious peculiarity of its design. Then, guided by the Commander, I entered the submarine battleship—its construction already half-completed after over two years of labor—and observed in detail the upper deck, lower deck, watertight compartments, wing passages, double bottom, rib materials, and other structural elements. When I heard explanations of its hundred transformative mechanisms, I could scarcely believe these were human creations—unable to suppress a cry of astonishment. Ah—this divinely wondrous submarine battleship, now being manufactured day and night under Commander Sakuragi’s direction in this secret cavernous shipyard—what tremendous impact would this ferocious warship exert upon the world’s navies when it was successfully completed one day and joined the ranks of our Great Japanese Imperial Navy? I declare: Even should the fleets of nations—with eagle-like ferocity and lion-like valor—array a thousand ships abreast, wherever the Rising Sun flag faces, there shall be no place left unconquered.

Beloved readers, I would now like to provide a detailed explanation of the structure of this astonishing and fearsome submarine battleship; however, as it pertains to Commander Sakuragi’s great secret, I cannot. To briefly describe within the bounds of not infringing upon its secrecy: This submarine battleship measured 130 feet 6 inches in total length, with a beam of 22 feet 7 inches at its midship cross-section. Its shape bore resemblance to the throwing spears of South Indian tribesmen—weapons said to fell giant elephants and slay tigers in a single strike—with both ends forming a peculiar sharp angle. The degree of this acute angle constituted an exceedingly critical feature concerning the vessel’s speed. At the upper bow of the submarine was positioned an elliptical observation tower. Upon the tower stood nothing but a single signal mast, while at one end was installed an automatically opening and closing iron door—such that when the submarine was about to submerge beneath the sea, the door would naturally shut, and when it rose again to the surface, the door would abruptly open of its own accord. The entire submarine was constructed entirely of metal. The observation tower, upper deck, and both sides of the hull went without saying, but even the steering engine room, torpedo launch chambers, and crew quarters—all were protected by a type of exceptionally robust armor. This armor, far surpassing the elasticity and resistance of Harvey-hardened steel plates or white copper steel plates currently in widespread use, consisted of a novel composite plating. Through years of relentless experimentation, Commander Sakuragi had synthesized six metals into this new armor, believing it capable of withstanding any projectile or torpedo assault conceivable in this century. He had applied this revolutionary composite plating to every critical section of the submarine battleship.

Now that I had described the submarine battleship’s external form, you might wonder by what method it destroyed enemy vessels. This was achieved through the operation of two distinct types of armaments. As construction was still underway at that time, precise details remained unclear. One weapon consisted of an immensely robust and baffling device mounted at the bow—called the “ram” or “warship penetrator.” This ram differed starkly from those fitted on conventional ironclads or cruisers: its form featured three acutely angled prongs extending over seventeen feet forward from the hull. Driven by the submarine’s internal engine, this razor-sharp triple-pronged ram rotated at three hundred revolutions per second like a winch. Any vessel struck by it—save those armored beyond fourteen and a half inches—would surely be pulverized. Yet this ram was not the submarine’s most remarkable weapon. Far more astonishing were the “new-style parallel rotating torpedo launchers” installed along both sides of the hull. Their ingeniously complex mechanisms defied comprehension without detailed schematics. Within their secret chambers lay a large mirror that, through electrical currents and two hundred thirty reflective surfaces, enabled real-time observation of both surface and subsea conditions. Automated targeting systems gauged current speeds and wave directions. Once battle commenced, the submarine would plow through raging swathes of ocean like lightning. From within, operators monitored scenes reflected in the mirror: by day adjusting torpedo trajectory dials; by night triggering ignition keys to project white or green superheated beams for sighting. A single turn of the rotary wheel activated alarms and launch frames, unleashing seventy-eight torpedoes per minute—falling like rain or hail. These torpedoes measured a mere two feet three inches in total length with maximum diameter under three inches—less than one-seventh the size of Hoshi-type torpedoes then common in naval warfare. Yet their air chambers, buoyancy compartments and tail fins were meticulously arranged. The explosive charge in their warheads equaled 175 *kin* of conventional torpedo gunpowder, enabling them to travel 1,400 yards at 41 knots. Amid oceanic battles where cannon fire roared and smoke shrouded the waters, the submarine battleship surged through waves like a dragon or killer whale. As operators gazed upon the seascape reflected in the mirror and rotated the launch wheel—once for starboard targets, again for portside—the torpedoes obliterated enemies with such rapidity that the spectacle scarcely registered to the eye.

The structure of the new-style torpedo launch tubes and their fierce operation were as outlined above; however, surveying the entirety of the submarine battleship revealed it to be partitioned into ten-odd compartments fore and aft from the central military machinery room—including a chart room, a steering room, and a searchlight room. Particularly, the ballast room and engine room formed this vessel's most vital sections; yet regarding these, I regretfully could not utter a single word without violating my oath. Let me briefly disclose this: The power governing this submarine's hundred mechanisms was neither conventional steam nor electricity, but a chemical reaction unknown in this century. Through years of relentless experimentation, Commander Sakuragi had discovered that combining twelve secret chemical solutions in precise proportions generated a force nearly thirty times more potent than standard electrical power. This revolutionary energy source had been applied to all systems—propulsion, rotation of the triple-pronged ram, operation of new-style torpedo launchers—each governed entirely by this clandestine kinetic force.

With this, my beloved readers must have formed a vague impression in your minds regarding this vessel’s structure and its astonishing combat capabilities. There is no longer need to elaborate in tedious detail: this wondrous submarine battleship is a type of submersible that today, within the naval societies of all nations across the world, vie with one another in their improvements and advancements. It is true that this warship belongs to the category of submersibles; however, I am not satisfied with merely calling it a “submersible.” For today’s inventors from Europe and America boast year after year of having devised novel submersibles, yet most merely add trivial improvements—such as water ballast or modifications to horizontal and vertical rudders—alongside exhaust pumps and ballast systems. Their power sources remain fixed to either petroleum engines or electricity, their hulls shaped like cigars with propellers featuring oddly twisted blades—all slavishly imitating the outdated models of Mr. C and Mr. Edison. While the name “submersible” is not false, given their ability to navigate underwater, historical examples show these vessels rarely descend beyond six feet due to seawater pressure and air shortages, with none sustaining submersion for over an hour. Thus, even the first-class submersibles of France’s Cherbourg Shipyard—reputed to be the most advanced and developed in this century—cannot perform adequately due to these two flaws; despite successfully approaching enemy ships, they are often conversely sunk by rapid-fire cannons and the like. Truly, they cannot be compared to Commander Sakuragi’s groundbreaking submarine battleship of ours. Now, this novel submarine battleship could submerge to depths of thirty to fifty feet via an automatic buoyancy device installed in its hull. Unlike conventional air reservoirs or compression pumps, a sophisticated mechanism at its stern—using countless zinc and copper pipes protruding from both sides into the sea—extracted hydrogen and oxygen from seawater, channeling them into a central air chamber. As a piston-like apparatus rose and fell, fresh air surged into the interior through a massive pipe like steam, while exhaust pumps continuously expelled foul air from within. Thus, the vessel experienced no shortage of breathable air, enabling it to sustain submerged operations for ten or even twenty hours as needed. Its speed was fifty-six knots average and one hundred seven knots maximum. That this vessel possesses such astonishing speed is undoubtedly due entirely to its form and a power source dozens of times more potent than steam or electricity; however, one must particularly note the formidable contribution of the mysterious rotating action of the propulsion screw—equipped with six blades at both ends of the stern—in enabling such velocity.

Dear readers, I ceased my explanations regarding the structure of this secret submarine battleship—for not only in this age but even in future ones would such a warship scarcely be found again. When the day came that it departed its shipyard and floated upon the world’s seas, what astonishment and terror would it bring to the naval societies of every nation? If there existed such a thing as a monster in this world, then this warship would undoubtedly remain etched in European and American naval memories as Earth’s most fearsome monstrosity. I declared: Once this submarine battleship kicked through raging waves to demonstrate its unrestrained might—appearing and disappearing with magical prowess—even if a hundred fleets and a thousand battleships confronted it with bullet rains, they could never hinder its operations. Anyone with naval knowledge knew this: against objects submerged over fourteen feet underwater, even the world’s strongest Gatling guns or Canet cannons proved powerless to inflict damage. Moreover, this submarine could submerge thirty to fifty feet beneath waves indefinitely—once targeted by it, warships became like lambs ensnared by Arabian desert demons: unable to flee or fight back effectively against this leviathan lurking beyond reach of rapid-fire cannons or Gatling guns. Upon detecting hostile fleets requiring no combat preparation delay—if facing unarmored ships—it pulverized them instantly with its triple-pronged ram rotating like a winch; against fourteen-inch armored vessels plowing through waves like lightning while observing enemy movements mirrored before launching seventy-eight torpedoes per minute from starboard and portside launchers— Even grand fleets of thirty first-class battleships could be annihilated before dawn’s first birdsong.

Ah, the submarine battleship! Submarine battleship! This astonishing and fearsome warship was now being secretly manufactured under Commander Sakuragi's direction within this remote island's wondrous undersea shipyard, destined to join the ranks of our Great Japanese Imperial Navy. Dear readers! I deemed it unnecessary to elaborate on what conflict this submarine battleship would first engage in—or what dazzling feats it might accomplish—once successfully completed and floating upon boundless azure seas with imperial naval flags fluttering at its stern.

Now then, after I had finished inspecting the submarine battleship under Commander Sakuragi and Petty Officer Takemura’s guidance, it was nearly two hours later when I finally emerged outside the vessel again. From there, I toured every remaining corner of the cavernous shipyard until my eyes suddenly caught a massive vault naturally carved into a rocky recess—a fortified iron door stood there, its surface emblazoned in yellow paint with the words: “The Life of the Submarine Battleship.”

“What is this?” I asked. Commander Sakuragi replied calmly: “In this warehouse are stored twelve barrels filled with the crucial chemical solutions that serve as the power source for the submarine battleship, as I mentioned earlier. Indeed, these barrels of chemical solution are what could be called the lifeblood of the submarine battleship.” There were still many things I wished to see and inquire about, but as the hour neared eight o’clock, numerous sailors had already gathered around the submarine, indicating that work was about to commence. Moreover, I imagined Hideo Shōnen must be waiting all alone at the shore house—undoubtedly feeling lonely. Thus, I bid farewell to the Commander and resolved to depart. Just before leaving this secret shipyard, there remained one final matter I desired to ask: the submarine battleship’s completion date and how it would be named. Commander Sakuragi, in response to my query, calmly twirled his mustache while—

“If no unforeseen calamities occur, in two years and nine months—that is, when we greet our third Empire Day from now—we shall conduct trial operations and depart this island to behold the cherished peak of Mount Fuji,” he answered. Regarding the vessel’s name, he stated: “We intend to name it Denkōtei.” Denkōtei! Denkōtei! As I marveled at how perfectly the name suited it, the Commander continued: “This vessel’s name derives from a poem by Master Yamaoka Tesshū, whom I deeply revere.”

“Master Yamaoka Tesshū’s poem?” I tilted my head slightly, then suddenly realized. “Is it this poem: ‘In the shadow of lightning, slashing the spring breeze’?” “That’s the one,” the Commander replied with a faint smile. “When our submarine battleship one day flies the Imperial Navy flag and stands among a thousand-ship fleet, I pray it will live up to its name—swift as lightning and fierce as thunder.” When this conversation concluded, I bid farewell to the Commander and, escorted by Petty Officer Takemura, traversed the mysterious path once more to exit the secret shipyard.

Chapter 16: Asahi Island

Hideo Shōnen stood beneath the shade of a coconut tree—international law—proof of occupation—three-pronged memorial tower—Truly ingenious!—That’s the spot! After leaving the secret shipyard, I parted ways with Petty Officer Takemura at the iron gate and dashed off with Inazuma in tow. When I soon returned to the shore house, Hideo Shōnen stood alone beneath the coconut tree at the entrance, looking forlorn—but upon spotting me, he came running over. “Ah, Uncle! I didn’t know what to do—when I woke up, you were gone, and Inazuma had disappeared somewhere too,” he pouted.

“Oh, you poor dear…” I drew him close to my chest. Indeed, when I had left the house with Commander Sakuragi and others in the predawn hours that morning, it had been while the boy was still bound in peaceful dreams. Upon later awakening to find neither my presence nor that of his most beloved Inazuma—a departure from our usual routine—he must have felt both startled and forlorn. This realization made me unexpectedly feel sorry for him. “Listen, Hideo-kun, Uncle didn’t mean to make you feel lonely on purpose. The place we went this morning had so many dark paths and dangerous bridges—a place only grown-ups like Commander Uncle or this Uncle can go. If someone as small as you went there, it’d be so frightening they’d surely cry. That’s why we left without telling you.” As I spoke, Hideo rubbed his eyes—

“I won’t cry, no matter how scary it gets!” “You won’t cry?! That’s brave! But it’s too dangerous for you now. When you’ve grown up properly, Commander Uncle will surely be happy to take you along. Now then—since Inazuma’s back too, why don’t you go play at the beach like always and have some fun?” I said. At this, young Hideo’s mood brightened instantly, and he looked up eager to ask about the pitch-black paths and perilous bridges I’d mentioned—but just then Inazuma came trotting over with drooping ears and wagging tail, immediately capturing his attention—

“Inazuma! Where did you go? Come on, let’s race!” he cried, leaping from my lap. Grabbing the dog’s collar, he dashed toward the waves crashing against the shore. I returned home and shut myself indoors for the rest of the day, beginning to edit the earlier sections of this travelogue I had long planned to compile. By the time I had started writing up as far as the third installment’s “Phantom Ship,” the sun had set. Hideo Shōnen—utterly exhausted from running about every which way with Inazuma all day—returned and leaned against my knee as we gazed at the darkening evening sky together. It was then that Commander Sakuragi, Petty Officer Takemura, and a group of sailors returned from the secret shipyard, having finished their day’s work.

As was customary, that evening’s dinner proved particularly enjoyable for me. For until yesterday, however significant the matters might be, I had felt some lingering displeasure whenever suspecting Commander Sakuragi kept secrets locked within his breast without confiding in me. But now that I fully comprehended both the secret shipyard and submarine battleship—nay, now that my revered Commander trusted me enough to disclose such grand secrets—joy overflowed my heart as gratitude for his confidence deepened ever further. Yet this very sentiment tormented me with a single thought: how might I repay such profound kindness? Though arriving here by chance alone—drifting ashore to this remote island to dwell in the Commander’s house, receiving immeasurable care from Commander Sakuragi, Petty Officer Takemura, and their sailors—I found it unbearable to idly watch them daily strain body and soul in their duties. Resolving to fulfill whatever obligation lay within my power, I leaned forward earnestly.

“Commander, now that I too have become part of this island’s community, I cannot idly watch you and your men endure daily hardships. Any task will do.” “Whether transporting iron materials or stoking the steam engine’s furnace—anything at all—please assign me a proper role without hesitation until the submarine battleship is completed.” I pleaded earnestly, but the Commander merely gave a faint nod. “Now, now—there’s no need for such concerns. Since you and Hideo Shōnen are honored guests here, you need only eat, sleep, and pass your days freely while patiently awaiting the Lightning Boat’s completion,” he replied with a gentle smile.

“The submarine battleship’s construction follows an exceedingly precise design—while we cannot spare a single worker, there’s equally no need to add another soul. With thirty-three sailors laboring over the appointed years to complete it exactly as planned, you and the boy need only enjoy yourselves.” In the Commander’s mind, he likely pitied us two—cast ashore on this desolate island through unforeseen disaster, doomed to spend years like wingless caged birds fruitlessly gazing at our homeland’s skies. Yet I could not stay silent.

“No, that’s not acceptable! If there’s no need for me at the secret shipyard, I’ll work as a cook!” I declared resolutely. At this, Petty Officer Takemura—who until now had been silently watching my face from one end of the dining table—suddenly leaned forward abruptly. “Hmm, there’s just the thing!” came his characteristic shrill voice. “Do you truly believe I could accomplish something as absurd as becoming a cook?” I began, turning my gaze toward Commander Sakuragi— “Commander Sakuragi! This presents an excellent opportunity! How about entrusting them with constructing that Memorial Tower we discussed for this island?”

Commander Sakuragi smacked his palm.

“That’s it!” “I was just thinking the same thing,” he said to me. “If you so strongly desire some task,” the Commander began slowly, according to his words.

As previously noted, this isolated island had not yet appeared on any world map. Until Commander Sakuragi’s group first discovered it, it had remained entirely uninhabited and unclaimed by any nation. Under international law—which stipulates that “any newly discovered island on Earth shall fall under the dominion of the nation to which its discoverer belongs”—it naturally should have become new territory of the Great Japanese Empire. Thus, two years prior, when Commander Sakuragi first landed on this shore with his party, he immediately named the island “Asahi Island” and declared it would forever remain territory of the Great Japanese Empire. Since then, the Rising Sun flag had flown ceaselessly from a promontory along the coast. However, upon careful consideration, the true purpose behind the Commander’s landing had been to manufacture a secret submarine battleship—and with its completion, they would eventually have to depart this place. There was no doubt that even after their departure, this island should eternally remain territory of the Japanese Empire. Yet what caused unbearable anxiety was this: surveying the global situation, Western nations competed to claim even an inch of land as their own. Should they find an uninhabited island—no matter how minor—where a nation’s sovereign control was not fully established, they would brazenly ignore international law’s principles. Feigning ignorance, they would topple prior claimants’ flags, raise their own national banners, and ultimately provoke great disputes to seize marginal gains—their cunning defied description. Thus, though Commander Sakuragi had discovered this island honorably, named it Asahi Island, and raised multiple Rising Sun flags along the coast to declare it imperial territory, the matter of what followed after their eventual departure remained no small concern. Of course, as a remote island in distant seas, it seemed unlikely to suffer foreign encroachment within three or five years. Yet this assurance proved unreliable when considering our own example—how we two had drifted here by chance following the sinking of the *Sengetsumaru*. Even after Commander Sakuragi’s party achieved their purpose and departed, there was no guarantee foreigners would not replace them. The insatiably greedy Westerners would not hesitate—in an instant, Rising Sun flags would be torn to shreds, replaced by banners bearing lions or eagles as they brazenly occupied this island. We did not fear disputes—justice was ours. Yet on this distant island separated by leagues of raging waves, once our sole irrefutable proof—the Rising Sun flags—were removed, even with overwhelming righteousness on our side, gaining global recognition without evidence would prove exceedingly difficult.

Though this isolated island might not have seemed particularly important at the time, there would come a day when its value as an irreplaceable military bastion against Western Europe would become clear—thirty or fifty years hence, when our Japan stood ready to exercise great power across the world. In any case, they had to thoroughly secure their occupation of Asahi Island—never to be surrendered to foreign hands—and devise a plan to leave behind incontrovertible evidence that would endure even after Commander Sakuragi and his men departed. This way, should any nation dare raise objections, they could instantly demonstrate this land’s status as territory of the Great Japanese Empire.

Having spoken thus, Commander Sakuragi paused to take a breath.

“And so we conceived a brilliant scheme,” he said while turning his head. “In truth, one might say Petty Officer Takemura here is the architect of this plan,” he added with a booming laugh. “Petty Officer Takemura—explain it thoroughly.”

In response to the summons, the cheerful petty officer stepped forward. “I’m not good at explaining things, so if you don’t understand, just ask me to repeat it as many times as you need,” he said in his usual manner. “The brilliant plan goes like this.” “As you well know, this Asahi Island is dangerous everywhere except near this house. Venture over thirty miles into the mountains, and who knows what lurks there—goblins or evil spirits? Well, perhaps not those exactly, but venomous snakes, savage baboons, lions, tigers, and such creatures swarm beyond count. Even a reckless fool like me finds it too terrifying to go there—so no one can set foot in those parts.” “So here’s my plan: we’ll build a sturdy memorial tower now, carry it deep into those mountains, and erect it there. On its surface, we’ll properly engrave ‘Asahi Island’ and state that this place is the territory of the Japanese Empire, followed by the inscription ‘Discovered by Commander Sakuragi on [year], [month], [day].’” “Then, even if foreigners come after we leave this island, it will be perfectly safe.” “What’s the use of foreigners toppling the Hinomaru flags along the coast and raising banners with lions or eagles? It’ll be pointless!” “Since it’s too dangerous for anyone to reach the deep mountains where this Memorial Tower stands, those who don’t go there remain unaware of such evidence.” “If you go even a single step, you’ll immediately be devoured by wild beasts or venomous snakes—so it’s as if no dead people exist at all.” “Therefore, even if foreigners land on this island after we’ve left and start blustering about how they were the first to discover it, their claims will be in vain.” “We’ve got solid evidence right here! If those blowhards make such a racket, we’ll say, ‘Come and see for yourselves!’ Drag ’em deep into the mountains and show ’em the Memorial Tower. What’s this? Can’t read these characters? ‘Meiji [year], [month], [day]: Commander Sakuragi Shigeo of the Great Japanese Imperial Navy hereby discovered this island. It is now occupied territory of the Great Japanese Empire. Any who land hereafter shall promptly take down their flags and depart.’ Bet those bastards’ll faint clean away from shock!” “Then we’ll slap ’em across the face with ferocious boldness and drive ’em off!”

“Ha ha ha ha!” I laughed aloud. A brilliant scheme indeed! Exactly the sort of rough-hewn idea one would expect from Petty Officer Takemura. Yet first—how could we erect a memorial tower in such perilous mountains? If foreigners couldn’t reach those dangerous areas, shouldn’t it be equally impossible for us? When I swiftly pressed this point, Petty Officer Takemura remained utterly unfazed. “That’s where the wondrously ingenious invention comes in!”

Chapter 17: The Adventure Iron Vehicle

The automatic device—a guillotine-shaped axe—tapped sharply against his chest—No need for bravado—the national anthem Kimigayo—Now, let us proclaim Banzai for the Empire! "That’s precisely where the wondrously ingenious invention comes in," declared Petty Officer Takemura with a straight face. "I’m not one to spout such reckless nonsense either! Even His Excellency the Commander was quite impressed by the ingenuity of this device," he declared spiritedly. "The Adventure Iron Vehicle—we’ll manufacture an automatically-operated iron cage vehicle like that, ride it, and set out into the mountain depths."

“Hmm, an iron cage vehicle?” I tapped my forehead. Petty Officer Takemura, having obtained the Commander’s permission at this moment, brought a set of blueprints from the adjacent room and spread them out across the tabletop. “Here it is—the design of the automatic Adventure Iron Vehicle. First, this iron cage vehicle’s shape resembles a wooden ox: length twenty-two shaku, beam thirteen shaku, height twelve shaku at the bovine-shaped head section and ten-and-a-half shaku at the stern. As its name suggests, all four sides are enclosed by sturdy iron bars. The floor consists of elastic crawler steel plates, while the upper half is partly armored with iron plates and partly constructed with iron bars. The vehicle is equipped with twelve wheels in total—six being gear wheels—powered by an exquisitely crafted self-rotating mechanism applying various principles of physics. In the front mechanical compartment resides an exceptionally robust and precise machine reminiscent of Norden/Inden mechanisms, where thirty-seven types of large, medium, and small gear wheels interlock. Instruments resembling suction rods, crankshafts, and azimuth dials achieve such complexity that they might be mistaken for a compound steam engine.” “Now, there’s a person sitting on the vehicle platform,” he continued, “gripping a handle with their right hand to turn the rotating wheel while gradually stepping on the pedal beneath their feet. Instantly, the alarm bell device beside them begins ringing *lin-lin-lin*, and as the lower axle plate starts rotating quietly, the power reaches the first large gear wheel, transfers to the second gear wheel, and simultaneously causes the suction rods to move up and down while the crankshaft’s motion becomes too swift for the eye to follow. By the time this power reaches the thirty-seventh gear wheel, both its rotational speed and force grow intensely violent—nearly rivaling a 440-horsepower steam engine. This ferocious power drives twelve external wheels via connecting rods, finally setting this sturdy iron cage vehicle into motion.” “Of course,” Takemura added, “given this structure and the iron vehicle’s considerable weight, it won’t achieve much speed. On flatlands, it could likely manage an average of over five miles per hour—but on steep slopes with severe gradients, it’d barely scrape by at about one mile per hour.” “However,” he pressed on, “the defining feature of this Adventure Iron Vehicle is that it can traverse any rugged terrain except underwater. To ascend perilous mountains, it employs—in addition to its standard wheels—six sturdy gear wheels, a spiral-shaped lifting mechanism installed at the front compartment, and a propulsion mechanism mounted at the rear. Utilizing large trees and boulders along mountain paths as anchor points, the spiral tip first twists into a forward tree like a screw. As the internal lifting mechanism operates, this spiral naturally contracts to gradually haul the iron vehicle upward. Conversely, the propulsion mechanism uses elastic lever extensions against rearward rocks as a fulcrum to forcefully thrust the vehicle upward.” “For traversing dense forests,” he concluded with pride, “the iron vehicle employs an even more ingenious apparatus: protruding from the upper and lower sections of its wooden ox-shaped front are four massive rotating circular saws, each equipped with twenty-one blade handles, and eight sharp self-rotating tree-felling axes—their form eerily reminiscent of the guillotines said to have beheaded thirteen thousand daily during France’s revolutionary era. With this mechanism, it saws down giant trees blocking its path from their trunks and cuts through smaller trees branch and all as it charges forward. Thus, no matter how treacherous the mountains or dense the woods it encounters, there is absolutely no risk of its advance being halted.”

The entrance and exit of the iron-barred vehicle were curiously positioned atop the compartment, requiring one to climb an iron ladder to access the roof. This was a special precaution—one born from their desire to make the iron-barred enclosure’s already formidable sturdiness even more impregnable—so that no matter how mighty an enemy might attack, the safety of those inside the vehicle would never be compromised. The vehicle’s crew capacity was fixed at five members. Inside, beyond the mechanical room, two compartments had been installed: one was neatly covered with thick glass plates to shelter against rain and dew, where the crew could lay carpets on the floor or make do with blankets as they pleased; the other compartment, shaped like a fixed travel chest, stored ammunition, beverages, canned goods, dried meat, and other necessities for the journey.

“Once it’s completed, wouldn’t it be splendid?” Petty Officer Takemura remarked, twitching his nose as he gazed at me. “Magnificent! Magnificent! No, this is truly an astonishingly great invention!” I exclaimed, not even noticing how I had leaned forward in my eagerness. The petty officer continued with undiminished vigor, “Now, once this Automatic Iron Cage Vehicle is completed, just you wait and see! No matter how dangerous the location, we’ll breeze through without a care! Even if baboons and lions come charging in a whole procession, we’ll just sit safe inside the iron cage and treat those savage beasts to a feast of bullets right between their ugly mugs!” “So we’ll ride this iron vehicle, carry the Memorial Tower engraved with Asahi Island’s name, venture about thirty miles from here into the deepest mountains, and erect that tower right in the midst of wild beasts and venomous snakes! Now ain’t that a clever scheme?” He tapped his chest sharply.

“With such ingenious plans in play, even this Takemura Shinpachi can’t be called a complete fool,” he declared, widening his eyes as he scanned the group—but then abruptly lowered his voice. “Though I can’t boast too much—if we were to manufacture such a vehicle, while *I* devised it up to this point, the crucial mechanical inventions all belong to His Excellency the Commander,” he said with a wry smile. At this, Commander Sakuragi and the entire group burst into uproarious laughter at the sheer absurdity, while Petty Officer Takemura turned to me with an unperturbed expression—

“So here’s my proposal—you’re not cut out for coal stoking or kitchen duty foolery. How about taking charge of manufacturing this iron-barred vehicle instead? His Excellency the Commander’s had this plan for ages—blueprints ready and all—but with the submarine battleship being top priority, we couldn’t split our manpower. He said we’d start production after the sub’s done, but once that’s finished, we’ll want to hightail it back to Japan pronto! So whaddya say? If you’re game to lead this project full throttle, even two or three of us’ll ditch our downtime and work shifts to pitch in! By the time that sub’s seaworthy, our iron chariot’ll be ready too—then we’ll pile in, charge deep into those mountains, and plant that fancy Memorial Tower proper!”

“Splendid! Splendid!” I exclaimed, raising both hands. Commander Sakuragi smiled and turned to me. “Will you willingly undertake this mission?” “I’ll do it,” I declared. Automatic Adventure Iron Vehicle! Ah, the manufacturing of this unprecedented iron vehicle would surely be no easy task. However, I too was a man. Over the next two years and nine months—while the Commander and his men would be engaged in constructing that astonishing submarine battleship—if I were to devote my entire being to the task, what couldn’t be accomplished? I would do it—do it splendidly and show them!

Commander Sakuragi was greatly delighted, “If you possess such resolve, it will surely be accomplished. We shall establish the iron vehicle’s manufacturing site somewhere within our secret shipyard. I will provide all necessary materials from my side. As for your assistants, I shall arrange for four sailors to be dispatched in shifts each morning and afternoon.” “I too, though my abilities may be modest, shall offer advice on the matter※（一／力）.” “If that’s how it’s to be, I’ll stake my life on it!” I slapped my arm.

“How amusing, how amusing!” Petty Officer Takemura stroked his beard. Young Hideo had been sitting properly beside Commander Sakuragi, listening attentively to our discussion. Though young, he seemed to have fully grasped the thread of our conversation, for he now turned his adorable eyes toward us. “If you’re making the iron vehicle, Uncle, I want to help work on it too.” “This just keeps getting better!” declared Petty Officer Takemura as he suddenly hoisted up the boy. Commander Sakuragi wore a wry smile yet spoke in hearty tones,

“Young Hideo must prepare to become a splendid naval officer rather than a metalworker,” said Commander Sakuragi, stroking the boy’s thick locks of hair resting on Petty Officer Takemura’s knee as he turned to me. “In place of the aspirations of his father, Mr. Hamashima Takefumi, and Madam Harue, which I have long been made aware of, I, though unworthy, shall henceforth take upon myself the responsibility of young Hideo’s education—I, Sakuraki Shigeo.” At these words, I instantly recalled my dear friend Koopers and Madam Harue. Tears of gratitude overflowed from my eyes at this joyous fate—that the aspiration of his father, who had sought to entrust young Hideo into the hands of true naval officers, was now being accomplished in an unexpected place by an unexpected person.

For a moment, the room fell silent. Then, from somewhere unknown, strains of *Kimigayo* could faintly be heard, carried on the tranquil seaside breeze. Hm? I thought, and looked out the window. Tonight was the thirteenth night of the lunar calendar. Under the moonlit glow illuminating the blue waters and white sands of the coast, a group of sailors under the Commander had gathered here—perhaps seeking to soothe their daytime fatigue with this moonlight. There, a cluster—some were reciting classical poetry. Others performed sword dances. Among them, seven or eight sailors had formed a harmonious circle atop a rocky outcrop jutting into the waves. Gazing at distant skies over their homeland, they sang praises to *Kimigayo*’s glory—the imperial reign lasting a thousand, eight thousand generations—with spirited cadence.

“Ah, magnificent! Magnificent!” I shouted. Commander Sakuragi slowly stood up. “Come—shall we too go there and join in singing banzai for the Great Japanese Empire?”

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From the very next day, I devoted myself to manufacturing the Automatic Iron Cage Vehicle from the dim light of dawn when eastern clouds first glowed until evening when starlight fell upon the sea, becoming blackened with grime. Within the cavern's secret shipyard—whether at the submarine battleship's site or my own workstation—the blazing flames spewing from smelting furnaces and metallurgical kilns resembled crimson demon tongues, while the reverberations of massive iron hammers striking in unison shook the desolate cave with such fury that even Asahi Island's sea deity must surely have been struck with terror.

Eighteenth Baseball Match

Nine Types of Demonic Pitches——Innocent Entanglements——Triumphant Toss-Ups——Divided into West and East——Lion’s Companion Call——Twisting Handy Spears——I Am Regretful——It’s No Good, Dammit! And so—one year, two years, three years—the chariot of time raced onward at the same speed as our work’s progress※（with the radical 「咼」 replaced by its symmetrical counterpart）, until just as Commander Sakuragi had long planned, even that submarine battleship capable of astonishing the world now stood ninety-nine percent complete. At last, on February 11—marking the fifth Empire Day celebration for the Commander’s group since landing on Asahi Island, and the third for Hideo Shōnen and myself—the joyous occasion arrived when we could conduct the auspicious test operation ceremony. By this time, my assigned automatic iron vehicle too had been fully completed.

Now, looking back, those three years truly passed in the blink of an eye. Here on this solitary island in the Indian Ocean, thousands of miles from our homeland, I often grew deeply nostalgic for Japan’s skies—memories of old friends; the morning vistas of Shinagawa Bay; the bustling streets around Ueno-Asakusa; Shimbashi Station’s comings and goings; sumo matches at Ekō-in Temple; festival days at Kagurazaka; French novels serialized in the Yorozu Chōhō; political speeches at Kinkikan Hall; theater performances and rakugo storytelling—and then too, recollections of Yabusoba and Baigetsu, those eateries I frequented during my school days. So intense was my longing that had I wings, I might have flown there at once. Yet comparatively speaking※（with the radical 「咼」 replaced by its symmetrical counterpart）, these three years passed easily for me. Nay—during that time, there were countless fascinating happenings beyond what any of you could imagine. The lion hunts were held over a dozen times—each instance another great achievement for Petty Officer Takemura. Another time, we discovered a great eagle nesting in the woods behind our coastal house and went to take its eggs, only to suffer a terrible ordeal. Every morning under starlit skies, we would leave home alongside the Commander to toil all day in the submarine shipyard, returning along the tranquil shoreline at dusk—where Hideo Shōnen and the fierce dog Inazuma would invariably come partway to meet us. Afterward, on sweltering days we cleansed ourselves in the clear stream behind our house; on cooler days we bathed in the incongruously splendid bathhouse—prepared by the sailors keeping watch and Hideo Shōnen—that graced this remote island. Once our cheerful supper concluded—as is customary in tropical climes where daylight lingers year-round—we would all head to the shore after meals for an hour of outdoor exercise led by the Commander. There was tennis; there was cricket; there was a shooting range; there was a sumo ring—all facilities Commander Sakuragi had prepared before departing Japan to alleviate our boredom during this isolated life. The tennis courts and shooting range were particularly well-organized. Yet what thrived most were boat races and baseball matches. Boat races naturally flourished here given our profession, but most vessels had been lost in a great typhoon long past—only one Giku and two Cutters remained with mismatched oars making proper racing impossible. We occasionally attempted handicaps and adjustments, but innocent disputes always arose, never matching Sumida River’s grandeur. Baseball however flourished daily—on a miraculously flat grassy ground a hundred meters from shore where shouts of “Out!” echoed at twilight beneath an umpire’s solitary black coat. Commander Sakuragi at thirty-three remained an anomaly among Japanese naval officers—a skilled gamesman who’d once been a renowned pitcher whose reputation lingered still. On Asahi Island he ranked third after Takemura and myself—though my own skills had waned since my globetrotting days, I fancied I could still hold my own against Yokohama’s amateur clubs at shortstop. But Petty Officer Takemura’s prowess stood unparalleled—his iron arm conjured nine types of demonic pitches so fearsome we’d banished him to left field lest bats shatter and skulls crack under his blistering fastballs that buzzed through air like angry hornets. The Commander’s party had preceded me to this island by years—during their absence I’d heard in London how Church’s famed pitches from USS Olympia had humbled Japan’s baseball champions at Yokohama half a year before my arrival here—news already three years stale that still rankled. Though First Higher School has likely avenged this by now—if not—I secretly hope someday after leaving this island we might see Olympia anchored off North America’s coast where Takemura could face Church’s crew on diamond rather than sea—our warships trading fastballs instead of torpedoes.

If we were to see the Olympia anchored there, with Petty Officer Takemura as our pitcher, we could engage in a splendid match against the renowned Church’s team. The enemy being an American warship and we an Imperial warship, to challenge each other not with torpedoes or cannon fire but through land-based sports would be quite an amusing spectacle, I thought. What a boy Hideo Shōnen had become! The boy too had become one of our playmates. He was always first to dash to the sports ground—his agile movements, refusal to show pain despite injuries, and remarkably sharp memory that let him master rules instantly led Petty Officer Takemura to declare him an exceptionally promising player. But beyond baseball, through three years under Commander Sakuragi’s stern yet compassionate tutelage, this twelve-year-old now carried himself with maturity belying his age—his bearing spirited, actions composed—as if we were seeing a young Commander Sakuragi reborn as this valiant boy. When not at boats or baseball, he spent his free time throwing stones, climbing trees, and racing through wilderness with the fierce dog Inazuma. These pursuits had splendidly developed his physique. His face, once doll-like in beauty, now bore a sun-kissed hue, lips set firm and eyes keenly alert—a figure of undeniable valor. How astonished his father Hamashima Takefumi would be when they reunited! And should Madam Harue—radiant as a celestial maiden—by some miracle be safe and witness this gallant figure, what astonishment and joy would fill her!

As for Commander Sakuragi—now the central figure of this island—his health went without saying; these days, he spent nearly every waking hour within the secret shipyard. Petty Officer Takemura remained as composed and spirited as ever, and the over thirty other sailors were all in high spirits, diligently working while eagerly anticipating the great day of hope. Amidst such joyous circumstances, the successfully completed Automatic Iron Cage Vehicle finally departed from the workshop within the cave. When we immediately tested its operation from atop the familiar Byōbu Rock, the results were superb: the ship’s bell clanged resoundingly, and as the wondrous machinery sprang into vigorous motion, twelve outer wheels began gnawing at rocks, kicking up mud, and dashing forward with such spectacle that even I found it splendid beyond words. For a time, cheers showed no sign of ceasing. At someone’s shout, the group of sailors scattered toward me from all directions and began tossing me into the air while crying, “Banzai for the iron vehicle! Banzai! Banzai!” Their cheers were appreciated, but being hoisted up by these rough men who’d wrestle even demons—shouting “Heave-ho!” from all sides—was so suffocating I thought I’d stop breathing.

When matters reached this state, the one who could not remain idle for even a moment was Petty Officer Takemura. He stood with arms crossed, intently watching the iron cage vehicle’s operation when suddenly he raised his voice—

“Hey, well done! It moves smoothly—we can’t afford to dawdle any longer!” he exclaimed, suddenly running off and returning carrying the already completed Memorial Tower. The tower stood three shaku five sun (approximately 106 centimeters) in height—a three-pointed square of marble. Upon its polished surface were deeply carved the eleven characters reading “Great Japanese Empire’s New Territory of Asahi Island,” while on the reverse side, clearly inscribed, were the date of discovery and the name of its discoverer: Commander Sakuragi of the Imperial Navy. Petty Officer Takemura, who had carried the tower, turned to the Commander while panting heavily.

“Your Excellency, since the iron vehicle stands splendidly completed, how about departing this very moment to erect the Memorial Tower? It would surely clear our minds.”

The Commander was suppressing a smile across his face. “There is certainly no need for hesitation. Our submarine battleship is scheduled to conduct its test run ceremony on Empire Day—the tenth day from today—and depart this island within a week thereafter once all preparations are complete. The Memorial Tower’s erection must therefore be completed prior—” “Therefore, let us set the iron cage vehicle’s departure for tomorrow at six in the morning. With its average speed of two and a half ri per hour to reach those deep mountains thirty ri away—two days outward, one day for erecting the tower, two days back—on the fifth day total, the vehicle will return here, and we’ll all cheer banzai together!”

“Ah.” “Do you mean we must wait until morning?” Petty Officer Takemura grimaced, but then suddenly clapped his hands— “Ah—right you are! Things ain’t goin’ as I reckoned,” he muttered to himself. “What with loadin’ provisions and preparin’ drinkin’ water from now, departure’ll have to wait till dawn after all.” This man remained as spirited as ever. The departure of the iron vehicle to erect the permanent memorial tower atop the remote mountain was set for tomorrow morning at six o’clock. However, Commander Sakuragi—with the submarine battleship’s test operation imminent—could not leave this site for even a single day. Thus, it was decided that I, young Hideo Shōnen, Petty Officer Takemura, and two other sailors would board the iron vehicle. Inazuma the war dog also joined this perilous journey at Hideo Shōnen’s earnest request.

After that, we loaded the Memorial Tower onto the iron vehicle and spent the day preparing rifles, ammunition, drinking water, provisions, and other supplies. When the next day arrived, we five selected members rose before dawn and boarded the vehicle. No sooner had the iron vehicle begun advancing vigorously than Commander Sakuragi and over thirty sailors raised cheers, seeing us off for over ten chō until finally bidding farewell at the foot of a certain hill—we turning east, they west. Even their figures atop that hill, waving handkerchiefs and hats amidst coconut and olive leaves, soon vanished from view. Then the iron vehicle charged forward at full speed, heedless of plain or mountain. As for its miraculous mechanisms—now hardly worth elaborating—when traversing forests, rotating circular saws and automatic axes cleared paths; when climbing slopes, six gear wheels, elevators, and propulsion devices gnawed earth and crushed stones to advance. After advancing approximately four or five ri along the path, the mountains grew increasingly deeper and the road steadily steeper, but the spirited Petty Officer Takemura rallied himself, declaring we had to cover over twenty ri before sunset.

We had steeled ourselves for immediate assaults by wild beasts and venomous serpents upon entering the mountains, yet until this moment there had been no trace of such occurrences. The surroundings lay in an unnerving stillness, with only the grinding of wheels and the intermittent *tock... tock* of woodpeckers striking tree trunks from within the desolate forest rising distinctly to our ears. But as the iron vehicle pressed ever forward, just reaching the verge of a particular dense woodland, Hideo Shōnen abruptly tugged at my sleeve.

“Lions!” “Lions? Where?” The group stiffened and looked where he pointed. There, about a hundred yards away on sunlit grass, lay a massive male lion. At the iron vehicle’s clamor, it abruptly surged upright and let out a thunderous roar.

“The lion’s calling its friends!” whispered one of the sailors. Sure enough, as a roar like distant thunder echoed across the fields and mountains, ferocious beasts began emerging in groups—three here, five there—from forests and rock shadows all around. The lions, tigers, and savage baboons must have all been momentarily stunned by this bizarre iron-caged vehicle; none dared make a move. Hideo Shōnen raised his voice in a robust tone. “Uncle! I bet those lions think *we’re* the monsters!” Hideo cried—and he might well have been right. For a time, the lions lurked among the trees here and there, arching their backs and gnashing their fangs as they glared at us. But this lasted only briefly. True to their title as kings of beasts, they proved creatures of utmost ferocity: with a thunderous roar, three or four of them charged the iron vehicle, manes bristling. The iron vehicle didn't budge an inch from such an assault; on the contrary, it sent the beasts flying, leaving even the king of beasts tumbling head over heels across the grass like dumplings. Our entire group burst out laughing. The tiger, being a relatively foolish animal, furiously leaped at the iron vehicle from the front—only to have its limbs and abdomen torn apart by the fearsome rotary circular saws, letting out a pained howl before being struck down. The most cunning were the savage baboons. Extending their gnarled, grotesque arms like ancient trees, they gripped the iron vehicle’s cage and strained with all their might to pull it down. Inazuma the war dog ferociously bit into its arm.

“This impudent wretch!” shouted a sailor. “Fire!” I shouted, and in that instant, Hideo Shōnen promptly fired three rounds from his rifle—yet the savage baboon remained unfazed. Petty Officer Takemura became greatly enraged. “Haven’t you passed on yet, you beast?” he roared, twisting a handy spear to pierce its heart. Even this savage creature couldn’t withstand it—with a thunderous growl, it collapsed backward with a thud. “What joy! What joy! Not even the world’s greatest king could witness such a spectacle!” The sailors leapt for joy. Hideo Shōnen cast a sidelong glance at the corpse of the savage baboon.

“Even so, I’m disappointed—the savage baboon didn’t die from my rifle,” he grumbled. “No, that’s not it. This beast’s hide is hardened like iron with mud and pine resin, so rifle bullets can’t easily pierce it,” I reassured him. After this great commotion, the wild beasts—perhaps fearing our prowess—did not approach easily. Yet they did not leave this place; instead, they surrounded the iron-barred vehicle from a distance of four or five ken, roaring ferociously. The spirited Petty Officer Takemura opened his mouth wide and let out a booming laugh.

“Hey, hey, you beasts! Does our flesh look that tasty to you?” he boldly approached near the iron cage. “Here, try eating this fist!” he thrust his iron fist outside the vehicle, but the moment the enraged beast lunged to attack, he swiftly yanked his hand back. “N-no! No good, ain’t it!”

Chapter 19: The Beast Brigade

Nature's Cathedral—Explosive Shells—Chants of "Heave-ho!"—A Single Shoe—Best-laid Plans Go Awry—Quicksand Valley, alias Valley of Death—Beasts of the Deep Night—Watchfires

After a short while, we saw something strange again. They were a species of extremely cunning monkey called white-headed apes that inhabited these deep mountains—a troop of thirty-odd members straddling the backs of several massive elephants, appearing from beyond the mountain ridge in a long procession like a caravan traversing the Arabian Desert. But upon catching sight of our iron vehicle, they let out strange cries in great astonishment and fled into the opposing deep forest. Thus, having advanced nearly twenty ri that day until sunset, we parked the iron vehicle beneath a great tree for the night, lit a bonfire to keep watch, and planned to take turns sleeping in pairs. However, tormented by the roars of enraged beasts, not a single one of us could enjoy a peaceful dream.

The next morning, we departed from this place while it was still dim. At first, just as on the previous day, hundreds of beasts formed ranks and pursued the iron vehicle from front and rear. Among them, some likely retreated from exhaustion, while others—no small number—were wounded or killed by our ceaselessly fired bullets. By the time we had advanced approximately twelve or thirteen ri this day and reached the summit of a high mountain that surely lay over thirty ri from Commander Sakuragi’s coastal residence, their numbers had considerably diminished. Now only about twenty male lions and three massive savage baboons persistently prowled around the iron vehicle.

This high mountain boasted exceedingly beautiful scenery, and the summit we had reached—with steep cliffs rising on three sides, naturally forming the shape of a cathedral—provided ideal terrain for erecting such a memorial tower. Thus, we finally halted the iron vehicle here. The time was 2:45 PM; we would now begin erecting the Memorial Tower. “Ready!” shouted Petty Officer Takemura, whereupon two sailors pulled out a single black box from the large travel chest inside the vehicle. Inside this box were dozens of explosive shells.

Explosive shells! For what purpose? Dear readers, you may wonder at this—but there had been great deliberation behind it. Now that we had reached our destination and were about to erect the tower, if even one or two lions or savage baboons lingered nearby, it would have been utterly impossible to exit the vehicle and begin our work. Thus, our plan had been to launch these explosive shells—killing and driving off the beasts—then swiftly complete our task in that interval. When preparations were complete, we each stood up carrying an explosive shell in hand. When we threw about ten kin of pre-prepared bird meat through the iron cage bars, the beasts—starved for food—swarmed over it in a seething black mass.

At that signal—one, two, three—five explosive shells whistled through the air and plummeted down simultaneously. Instantly, mountains roared as thick black smoke billowed upward. Peering through gaps in the smoke, we saw all three savage baboons shattered to pieces while most lions lay dead or wounded. At that moment— “Look there! What a wretched sight!” When we followed the sailor’s pointing finger, we saw the surviving pride of lions vanish into the deep forest like mist dissolving into clouds. “Now’s our chance!” shouted Petty Officer Takemura as he hoisted the Memorial Tower and charged out. We all followed—Hideo Shōnen keeping watch, me digging foundations, sailors hauling stones, Takemura barking orders—and with hearty “Heave-ho!” chants, completed erecting the tower in mere moments. Truly—though it took just ten or fifteen minutes—when people devote their utmost effort, they reveal astonishing capability.

The construction of the Memorial Tower was completed, and when we stepped back five or six steps to look, the surface of the beautiful marble tower bore the clear inscription: "The Great Japanese Empire’s New Territory: Asahi Island." Ah, with this came relief! The entire group removed their caps and gave three cheers for the Great Japanese Empire.

At that moment, Inazuma the war dog—left behind in the vehicle—began barking furiously. When we turned our heads, we saw the very pride of lions that had escaped the explosive shells now charging at us with tremendous force, storming straight out of the distant forest. "There they are!" With a shout, we panicked and scrambled into the iron-barred vehicle. At the critical moment, Petty Officer Takemura—the last to dive in while still halfway outside—had his trousers torn to shreds and one shoe savagely ripped off by a male lion that pounced almost simultaneously. He barely managed to scramble inside with his life. Aiming at the lion attempting to leap in next, I fired a shot, the sailor lunged with his pistol, and Hideo Shōnen swiftly twisted his body to slam the entrance door shut.

“That scared me half to death! I nearly threw my life away there!” Even the stalwart Petty Officer Takemura turned pale with fear as he gingerly felt his bare foot—but fortunately, it was unharmed. With the tower’s construction now completed, we had only to begin our journey back. The five-day round trip had successfully concluded by its second day—an extraordinary stroke of luck. Taking advantage of this fortune, had we obediently retraced yesterday’s path, we would have safely reached Commander Sakuragi’s coastal residence by this time tomorrow and ended this journey without incident. Yet humans are ever creatures who yearn to attempt all manner of adventures.

"The best-laid plans often go awry"—so people often say, and I was not unaware of this logic. But such a journey does not occur two or three times in a man's lifetime. Moreover, we still had three days remaining until the fifth day agreed upon with the Commander. Therefore, I concluded that even if we detoured slightly through these deep mountains, it would not make us significantly late—and might prove quite an interesting endeavor—so I put forth the proposal.

“What do you say? We’re about to head back now, but if we change our route a bit from here and return from a new direction rather than retracing our old path, we might encounter all sorts of novel things.” When I proposed this, the ever-curious Petty Officer Takemura agreed without hesitation. “I was just thinking the same! The Commander surely doesn’t expect us to return so early. Besides, on the promised fifth evening, the sailors at the coastal house must be preparing a grand feast for us. Slinking back before then would be downright dull—let’s go for it!” he declared spiritedly. The two sailors and Hideo Shōnen were also in full agreement, so the discussion was settled immediately. But when we looked around to decide which direction to take, we saw a solitary high mountain several ri to the west—apparently part of a volcanic range. Its upper half rose precipitously with terrifying crimson burnt rocks, while its base stretched into an endless expanse of deep forest through whose heart flowed a great river, torrential in its course. Thinking that advancing in that direction would surely lead to extraordinary events, we immediately ordered the sailors to steer the iron vehicle toward it. Beasts still lurked here and there.

The time was nearing six o'clock in the afternoon, and the setting sun was sinking into the western mountains.

It was a thoroughly reckless endeavor to venture into such a deep forest at this hour. Yet, caught up in our excitement, we pressed forward with an air of invincibility. After advancing two or three ri, by the time we drew near to that forest, daylight had completely faded. Then, a sickle-like crescent moon cast an eerie glow over the lower world, though of course it was not bright enough to guide our way. Moreover, the path here grew increasingly treacherous, with jagged rock edges and coiled tree roots sprawling endlessly across our route, making the iron vehicle’s progress rather unsatisfactory. The operator sailor also appeared quite fatigued by this point. I pondered—human stamina has its limits. Charging into such a deep forest now seemed somewhat recklessly overbold. When I suggested to Petty Officer Takemura that we should rather camp here for the night, he stubbornly refused to listen.

“We can’t show weakness now! We’re pushing through to spend tonight right in the heart of that forest!” he declared boldly, standing up with vigor before taking over operation of the iron vehicle from the exhausted sailor. The iron vehicle charged forward once more with ferocious momentum, gnawing through tree roots and shattering rocks. Ah, what a hero! This man was truly a gallant fellow, but regrettably, he’d charged ahead with a touch too much recklessness. I had just begun to fear some fatal misstep might occur—when suddenly—

With a shout of “Oh no!”, we all—myself, Hideo Shōnen, the sailors, and Inazuma—pitched forward violently. When Petty Officer Takemura, who had been flung headlong from the control platform, sprang up crying “Heavens above! A disaster!”, the iron vehicle had already plunged into a colossal mortar-shaped pit—a pitiful sight indeed.

The sailor who barely managed to stand up gazed at the hole in the faint light of the crescent moon and let out a sudden scream.

“Quicksand Valley!” “Quicksand Valley! Quicksand Valley!” Dear readers, you may already know that such places exist in Africa’s interior or certain islands of the Indian Ocean—often described in adventure travelogues—but there may be few locations in this world as terrifying as this “Quicksand Valley.” So dreadful was it that it was called the Valley of Death, for once one fell into this pit, escape became utterly impossible. In appearance, this pit was not particularly large. It measured roughly thirty yards in diameter and barely ten feet deep—shallow enough that one might theoretically leap out by climbing onto the iron-barred vehicle’s roof. However, as previously mentioned, its mortar-shaped edges consisted of extraordinarily fine sand. This sand was not merely fine; it possessed a mysterious adhesive force. Those who fell into this place would attempt to claw their way up only to slip back down, becoming further ensnared until they lost all freedom of movement and met a tragic end. That was why Commander Sakuragi had repeatedly warned us when we departed from his coastal house: “Beware of Quicksand Valley.” Yet we ultimately erred and fell into this dreadful Valley of Death.

“Ah! I’ve done something terrible!” Petty Officer Takemura gnashed his teeth at his own blunder. Our iron vehicle could maneuver freely through perilous mountains and deep forests anywhere—except here in Quicksand Valley. In hopes of a miracle, we attempted several times to rotate the wheels with tremendous force, but it proved utterly futile. The gearwheel, unable to bite into the sand, would advance one shaku only to slide back with a grinding slip, claw up two or three shaku only to slip down again. Gradually, the wheels too became buried in the sand until they could no longer move even an inch.

“We’re done for!” sighed the entire group. Had this been an ordinary location, even fallen into such a deadly spot as this, they might have devised a way to abandon the iron vehicle here and escape with their lives alone. But deep within these countless mountain peaks—a den of fierce beasts and poisonous snakes stretching dozens of miles in every direction—dozens of lions and baboons already surrounded the pit at this very moment, gnashing their fangs and sharpening their claws. Should they so much as step outside the iron-barred vehicle, they would immediately meet a merciless death. Even if we didn’t go out, the savage baboons—quick to exploit human weakness—swiftly leaped from the distant cliff onto our iron vehicle’s roof and stretched their simian arms through the iron bars, intent on seizing us. We desperately fired our rifles and brandished pistols to barely fend off their attacks—but how long could this last? As night deepened, the ferocity of the beasts only intensified. In such times, lighting abundant fires was our only recourse; thus we set our prepared bonfires roaring fiercely and ceaselessly fired our rifles while occasionally hurling remaining explosive shells. We barely survived the night—but dawn brought no respite. The morning sun rose bleakly over the bare eastern mountain peaks to illuminate our faces; not a trace of vitality remained among us. Hideo Shōnen and the two sailors remained silent without a word, while Inazuma—having barked all through the night—appeared quite exhausted and lay down beside me. The only one unable to remain silent was Petty Officer Takemura; he could not bear that his own blunder had led to such a predicament.

“Ah! What a foolish thing I’ve done! If my blunder were to get you and young Hideo killed, I’d have no excuse before His Excellency the Commander. Whether this suffices as apology or not—I’ll stake my life on driving off these beasts!” he declared with desperate resolve, attempting to leap outside the vehicle. “Don’t act recklessly,” I said sternly. “Petty Officer Takemura! Even with demonic courage, what could battling that horde of beasts achieve?” I instantly seized his shoulders and dragged him back. At that moment, Inazuma the war dog rose with a thunderous growl.

“There is only one course here,” I addressed the group. “A plan?” The group lifted their faces. “It’s none other than this—we must report this crisis to Commander Sakuragi and request rescue.” “Ask the Commander for rescue?!” they exclaimed with doubtful expressions. Indeed, over thirty ri lay between this place and the coastal house where Commander Sakuragi and his men resided—a perilous mountain range impassable even to flying birds. They must have been deliberating how to communicate their present emergency.

"I declared resolutely. 'I will send Inazuma the War Dog as our messenger.'"

Chapter 20: The War Dog's Messenger

Crossing mountain after mountain—thirty ri—a single letter—in the afterlife or this world?—Inazuma was no ordinary dog—now pitch-black from pursuit—the water cask had run dry. In the Austro-Prussian War of 1866, there exists an anecdote about an Austrian reconnaissance unit that had fallen into enemy encirclement. To evade detection, they fastened a secret message to a military dog’s collar and dispatched it to their headquarters. In modern times, employing dogs for such missions was hardly extraordinary—yet our circumstances differed profoundly. The two sailors voiced their doubts while Petty Officer Takemura stood arms crossed, staring fixedly at Inazuma’s face. Hideo Shōnen wore an anxious expression,

“So Inazuma must leave us and cross these lonely, terrifying mountains alone to deliver our message to Commander Uncle’s house?” “I’m so worried—even if Inazuma is strong, can he truly return safely through all those beasts to the house on the coast?” He hung his head with reluctance. His concern was entirely justified. I too knew full well that this mission’s success was improbable eight or nine times out of ten. Moreover, having grown attached to Inazuma over three years—this dog now so beloved we scarcely regarded him as an animal—I wished to spare him even a modicum of hardship. But these were extraordinary circumstances demanding extraordinary resolve. Should we falter, our entire group would vanish like dew on mountain grass, unknown to any soul. Though success seemed unlikely, we resolved to exhaust every possible means. Thus, with tears, we determined to send Inazuma through these dreadful mountains as our messenger—to report our crisis to Commander Sakuragi thirty ri away. I immediately took up a pencil and wrote a letter. Its contents were as follows.

Commander Sakuragi—had this world held no misfortune, by the time this missive reached you, we would have stood once more before your person; that we must now send such a written messenger betrays no auspicious fate—this truth you must surely perceive. The Memorial Tower entrusted to your humble servant has been successfully erected; yet upon our return journey, through calamity of our own making, we have fallen into the dread Quicksand Valley—thirty ri east of your coastal residence within these mountains—a place rightly called Valley of Death where we can no longer stir even an inch. Moreover, the onslaught of wild beasts grows ever fiercer, now threatening this very iron-barred carriage. We can but await death. Thus do we report this tribulation unto you. Should Inazuma by fortune survive to deliver this letter, Commander—we beseech you to devise some stratagem and rescue us from dire extremity.

Having written this and laid down his brush, Hideo Shōnen said in a subdued voice—

“Ah, Commander Uncle must be waiting for us to return today or tomorrow—imagine how shocked he’ll be when this letter arrives,” said Hideo Shōnen. Petty Officer Takemura tilted his head slightly and remarked, “What worries me is whether His Excellency the gallant Commander might endanger himself in attempting to rescue us from this great peril.” “That simply won’t do,” I promptly added to the letter.

However, Commander, we had long prepared ourselves that even a one-in-ten chance of survival would prove difficult in our present circumstances. At this hour, your life—you who alone bear the fate of the submarine battleship—is a hundredfold more precious to the Japanese Empire than our own lives. Therefore, should you dare brave perils to rescue us, this is what we deeply dread. For paramount above all for Japan's subjects, in any circumstance, is to think of nation before self. If no sound means exists to save us, we implore you—for the sake of greater duty—to abandon us. We too shall resign ourselves to fate and inter our bones within these mountains.

and added several more lines "If by misfortune we should vanish like dew in these deep mountains, then on that day when you gaze upon Mount Fuji’s peak from the resplendent deck of your submarine battleship, we implore you—in place of us five—to shout but once, 'Long live the Great Japanese Empire!' We too shall join our voices to yours from the realm beyond."

Having finished writing thus, I folded the letter into multiple layers and securely fastened it to Inazuma’s collar. The dog looked up at my face, so while stroking its jet-black fur as if speaking to a human, “Now, Inazuma—you’re a dog who surpasses all others in this world. You understand everything fully, don’t you? Endure well and reach the Commander’s house.” As I spoke these words, Inazuma wagged his tail with solemn resolve, as though comprehending my every syllable. Hideo Shōnen had silent tears welling in his eyes.

“I’m truly sad to part with you, but it can’t be helped—this is fate. So listen—if you’re lucky enough to reach Commander Uncle’s house safely, and if by some miracle our lives are spared, we’ll be able to play happily again on that beautiful sandy shore.” “If by ill fortune you were to die along the way, I too will surely come to see your face in the afterlife.” His words revealed a resolve already steeled within him—even the fierce Petty Officer Takemura’s voice grew somber.

“Ah! This is all my fault! My blunder alone has brought such misery upon everyone.” He sighed deeply but quickly composed himself again. “No no—I won’t speak such womanish words,” he declared with forced vigor, giving Inazuma’s collar a resounding tap.

“Now, Inazuma—do your best.” He stared intently into his face. At this moment, two sailors, following my orders, climbed the iron staircase while carrying the dog. From atop the iron-barred vehicle—as previously mentioned—it was possible to leap out beyond the Quicksand Valley. The wild beasts outside the vehicle began to change their demeanor before our very eyes. The sailor who had spotted an opening swiftly forced open the exit door, whereupon Inazuma fiercely leaped and jumped up onto the distant shore. The several lions lying in wait leaped upon them like lightning. For five seconds—ten seconds—we cried out in alarm, certain Inazuma had been pinned down. But this was no ordinary dog. Suddenly he sprang up, sinking his fangs into the throat of a male lion that had just leaped upon him. With one fierce shake that seemed to scatter the beast, he somehow found an opening and dashed toward the distance like lightning—the pack of lions turning into a black mass as they gave chase. Before our very eyes, their form coalesced into a single mass and vanished into the depths of the forest. Would Inazuma truly be able to fulfill this great mission? When I considered it, the odds seemed exceedingly precarious, yet even so, I felt a thread of hope still remained. We resolved to await Commander Sakuragi’s aid with every ounce of life we had left.

Three days passed amidst great hardship, yet there was no word from the Commander; nor could it have been expected to be so easily resolved. Four days passed, then five, then six—until by the seventh day spent in these terrifying mountains, still no rescuers had appeared. Thanks to the iron vehicle’s sturdiness and the ample ammunition they had prepared, they had been spared from the beasts’ attacks until now; however, what had begun to trouble them was the lack of provisions and drinking water—already since the day before, not a single steamed rice cake remained in the food crate. The water cask had become empty and lay in a corner of the iron vehicle. The group had now reached the depths of despair. This day passed without food or drink, and after a night of torment that brought not a moment’s sleep, morning arrived—still with no word. Looking out, clouds hung low in the sky, and beyond the endless mountains, the roars of wild beasts grew ever more dreadful. We resigned ourselves that our fate had reached its end.

Chapter 21: Aerial Rescue

A look of shock at something—someone’s half-visible figure emerging—eight nights prior—three hundred bolts of white silk—a congratulatory punch—Inazuma, the boy, and Petty Officer Takemura. When I counted on my fingers, that day marked exactly nine days since we had left the house on the coast and was the eve of Empire Day—the date previously designated for the submarine battleship’s trial operation. If such a calamity had not occurred, by now we would have already returned to the Commander’s house and been spending delightful days along that beautiful coastline—when I think of this, I cannot help but bitterly regret why we did not simply retrace our original path after completing the Memorial Tower.

“Ah—the fact that there’s been no word until now must mean Inazuma died along the way too,” said Hideo Shōnen despondently, gazing at Petty Officer Takemura’s face. “No, no—Inazuma ain’t some ordinary mutt! He must’ve made it safe to shore! But our fix here’s so bad even His Excellency’s gotta be rackin’ his brains for a rescue plan.” With forced cheer, Petty Officer Takemura declared this and clasped Hideo Shōnen by the neck.

The two sailors exchanged glances forlornly. Truly, in this world there exist matters within human power and matters beyond it. If it were a matter within human power, that Commander Sakuragi—with his formidable intellect—would surely find no impossibility. Yet seeing how days had passed without any word until now, I resolved deeply in my heart that even should Inazuma the War Dog have safely accomplished his mission, rescuing us from this peril would lie utterly beyond even the Commander’s wisdom. But given our present circumstances, I said nothing.

At that very moment, the pack of wild beasts outside the vehicle—appearing startled by something—all at once turned toward the sky and let out a roar. Instantly, a single gunshot rang out faintly from an indeterminate direction!

The group jumped up and looked around in all directions, but they could see nothing. As they exchanged glances, wondering if this was a delusion of the mind, another BANG! rang out.

Suddenly, Petty Officer Takemura looked up at the sky and let out a cry like a cracked bell. “Hydrogen balloon! Hydrogen balloon!” When they looked, a large hydrogen balloon came flying toward them, skimming diagonally over the bare mountaintop to the east where the sun glittered brilliantly, carried by the wind.

“Oh! Commander Uncle has come to rescue us with a balloon!” Hideo Shōnen leapt for joy. “Quickly, quickly! They’re searching for us over there! Quickly—let them know our location!” At my shouted command, Petty Officer Takemura and two sailors hurled out all remaining explosive shells at once. With a thunderous roar that seemed to upend mountains and valleys, black smoke cracked through the air. The beast horde scattered in panicked disarray. From the hydrogen balloon above—now clearly having spotted us—a figure leaned halfway out of the gondola, waving a white handkerchief vigorously side to side.

Before long, the balloon steadily approached until it was about fifty feet directly above the iron vehicle when a loud voice rang out from the sky: “Are you all unharmed?” It was Commander Sakuragi’s voice—achingly familiar—that shouted this. Simultaneously, a sailor with a well-known face among the crew deftly threw an anchor line. As it caught firmly on one end of the iron-barred vehicle, we flung open the iron car’s door and clambered up the rope like monkeys to the cry of “There!” At this very moment, the beasts that had once fled reappeared from various parts of the forest, but upon seeing us smoothly ascending into the air, they let out a strange, eerie roar. Finally, the five of us safely reached the hydrogen balloon. Sooner than seeing the Commander’s face, Hideo Shōnen—

“Uncle—Inazuma—Inazuma—!” Commander Sakuragi laughed. “He’s safe! He’s safe!”

The two sailors and I were so overjoyed we couldn’t utter a single word. Petty Officer Takemura, more than anything else, confessed his grave blunder first and began scratching his head vigorously.

How joyous this moment was, and what conversations took place, I shall leave entirely to your imagination; however, there is one thing I must note here—the matter of this great hydrogen balloon.

According to Commander Sakuragi’s account, eight nights prior to this day—the very night we had sent Inazuma as our canine messenger—the war dog returned bloodied and bearing multiple wounds. It was then they first realized our dire plight. The house on the coast erupted into an uproar as if boiling over, and after much deliberation, they concluded that launching a hydrogen balloon was the only means to rescue us from this crisis. Constructing the balloon, however, was no simple task. Fortunately, materials transported to the island aboard the *Naminohiemaru* were still available, so they began work at once. This required not only considerable labor and expenditure of vital chemicals but also consumed every last bolt of the over three hundred bolts of white silk brought from the homeland—originally intended to adorn the submarine battleship’s interior chambers. Having recounted this matter, Commander Sakuragi laughed and

“As punishment for inviting calamity through your curiosity, even once the submarine battleship is completed, you must endure bare-bones quarters without decoration.”

The group could only scratch their heads. "Yes, yes, whatever you say," came the reply, but even so, I found myself haltingly asking whether our commotion might have severely hindered the submarine battleship’s construction. The Commander responded with unruffled calm— "No, as scheduled, the trial operation will be tomorrow, and within a week from then, we should be able to depart from this island," he said, turning to Hideo Shōnen.

“Young man, seeing Mount Fuji—the sight you’ve long awaited—is not far off now.”

The group exchanged looks of unexpected joy. Petty Officer Takemura, beside himself, shouted loudly: “Well now, what a feat! While we were busy making the hydrogen balloon, you went and finished the submarine battleship right on schedule! So while we’ve been playing the fools, His Excellency the Commander and the rest of the crew must’ve been working round the clock without sleep!”

The Commander smiled and “Petty Officer Takemura, because of your blunder, there were sailors who worked for eight days without a wink of sleep.” Petty Officer Takemura hung his head; my ears burned. As we spoke, the hydrogen balloon—leaving behind those fearsome mountains, forests, valleys, and even the regrettable yet now unnecessary iron-barred vehicle—flew through the air, carried by the wind. Around 3:40 PM that day, when we again looked down upon the nostalgic coastal scenery as if in a dream, the sailors who had remained on the coast seemed to have recognized us. From atop Screen Rock and from the Commander’s house, they waved their caps and swung handkerchiefs before streaming toward the beach where the balloon appeared to descend, gathering like ants. At the very forefront, kicking up a cloud of dust as he charged forward was none other than Inazuma the War Dog!

Finally, we descended upon a beach four or five *chō* away from the Commander’s house. Welcomed by sailors’ hearty cheers upon exiting the hydrogen balloon, Hideo Shōnen was first to cling to Inazuma’s collar. The two sailors ran about shouting gleefully as their comrades chased them—this being because each would receive a celebratory punch for their “survival,” prompting cries of “We can’t handle this!” Of course it was all in jest, but proved rather troublesome.

The Commander laughed and began walking slowly forward, with the group surrounding us on all sides as we started for home. Along the way, Petty Officer Takemura, brimming with pride, stood amidst the raucous cheers, waving his hands and spraying spittle as he launched into the tale of their recent adventure. Being an honest man, he not only boasted of his exploits in defeating the baboons but also loudly proclaimed his own grave blunders. Thus, like seeing clear skies after a violent storm, we arrived at the Commander’s house with immense joy. Then, between celebrating our survival and preparing for the next day’s events, there was a great commotion.

Chapter 22: Sea's Peril

Empire Day on the Deserted Island——The Naval Commander’s Full Dress——A Seaside Soirée——The Boy’s Sword Dance——The Demon’s Hand Envying Human Happiness——A Submarine Landslide——The Lightning Boat’s Night Signal

February 11th—the long-awaited day of Empire Day—arrived. The previous night had been a great commotion lasting until midnight, but today was certainly no time for sleeping in. When I awoke at dawn and rushed to the coast, Commander Sakuragi, Hideo Shōnen, Petty Officer Takemura, and others were already strolling along the water’s edge, all beaming with joy. From the eastern edge of the vast ocean, the light of the rising sun, ascending serenely, looked exceptionally beautiful today. In that land where the sun rises—our homeland—they must surely be celebrating the glory of the Empire at this very hour, from the bustling streets of the capital to the loggers’ huts deep in secluded mountains, every household flying the Rising Sun national flag. Even we, stationed on this remote island in the Indian Ocean, could not possibly refrain from celebrating this day. In years past—last year and the year before—we had suspended all work for the entire day to express our heartfelt congratulations. Yet this year’s day was not merely our homeland’s grand festival; for us, it also marked the inaugural launch of the submarine battleship into the sea—a triumph worthy of lifelong commemoration. Thus, its auspiciousness was doubly extraordinary. Since last night, the coast of our Asahijima had been decorated to the fullest extent possible. The Commander’s house was completely surrounded by Hinomaru national flags, and at its front, a magnificent green gate had been erected. At the edge of the storm-washed cape where thundering waves crashed, a tall flagpole had been erected. From its pinnacle stretched three ropes tied to hastily made flags of various nations that fluttered in the wind. At the very top, our glorious Hinomaru flag flew triumphantly, as if surveying all nations beneath its gaze. Along the beach here and there, models of Mount Fuji, replicas of Futamigaura’s evening scenery, and dolls depicting Kato Kiyomasa’s tiger subjugation—all crafted from blankets, canvas, and various repurposed weapons—were lined up neatly atop the beautiful sand. Meanwhile, in another area, a group of sailors were whooping and making a racket. When I looked to see what was happening, I found them at the foot of a small hill where palm and olive leaves grew lush and verdant, making the surrounding scenery exceptionally beautiful. They were in the midst of great commotion, hauling out sailcloth, old masts, chairs, and tables to prepare for a grand celebration banquet to be held at an encampment set up there that evening.

When 9:00 AM arrived—the scheduled time for the submarine battleship to finally emerge from the secret shipyard—a cannon shot roared. At the same moment, Commander Sakuragi—who had briefly returned home—now resplendent in his full naval dress uniform adorned with gold braid, commanded a unit of sailors and advanced into the secret shipyard beneath Screen Rock. Hideo Shōnen, a group of sailors, and I remained on land, watching the spectacle of the trial operation while setting off fireworks, waving flags, and preparing to raise a great cheer.

At 9:30 AM, with the second cannon roar, our astonishing submarine battleship was finally launched into the sea. The majestic sight of the 130-foot-long, snow-white Lightning Boat floating serenely on the waves—Commander Sakuragi stood atop the observation tower, his sword raised high. At his shouted command, the submarine raced forth like a meteor. With a second order, its deck sealed shut automatically, and as plumes of spray seemed to soar skyward, the vessel abruptly plunged beneath the surface. Submerging and resurging, diving and rising, it executed phantom-like maneuvers—now right, now left, forward then backward—so uncanny one might doubt them the work of demonic forces. Just then, far out at sea, a pod of whales as large as hills came blowing spouts while swimming nearer. Though mere beasts unworthy of count, when likened to an enemy fleet—how fearsome they became! The Lightning Boat instantly activated its triple-pronged ram and charged like a stormwind and thunderbolt. Alas, five or seven of the whale kings—lords of the sea—were reduced to dust, staining the waves crimson. To further demonstrate the capabilities of its new model torpedoes, the submarine raced through the seabed like a dragon and launched one shot, then another at a massive offshore rock formation. The rocks shattered into fragments that scattered across the waves. Suddenly, cheers arose from the deck of the Lightning Boat. At the same moment, we on land shouted "Banzai!", set off fireworks, and waved flags, while Hideo Shōnen, beside himself with excitement, dashed along the beach alongside Inazuma the War Dog like a soaring bird, kicking up sand. Truly, this was the grandest spectacle the island had seen since its founding!!!

At length, the submarine battleship completed its trial operation, and Commander Sakuragi led a unit ashore once more. The Lightning Boat was anchored near the coast, like a warrior taking his rest. Now, from then on, there was a commotion as if boiling with celebrations for Empire Day and this great success; when night fell, a grand celebration banquet began at the seaside encampment that had been prepared beforehand. The magnificence of the scene defied both brush and words. Some sailors performed skits, others played military music, and Petty Officer Takemura proudly narrated a passage from "Kawanakajima" on his Satsuma biwa. I had never noticed until today that this man possessed such hidden talents. Especially following Commander Sakuragi’s resonant poetry recitation, Hideo Shōnen’s spirited sword dance—when had he learned it?—became the highlight of the evening. As I, lacking any such talents, could only scratch my head in embarrassment, the audience erupted into thunderous applause and cheers.

Thus, the gathering came to a complete end at eleven o'clock at night. Commander Sakuragi, since the submarine battleship had already surfaced on the sea, led a unit of sailors including Petty Officer Takemura to board the vessel in order to guard its deck. The remaining group of sailors, myself, and Hideo Shōnen, since there was no need to board the submarine yet, returned once more to the coastal house.

Everyone feels that way—when one is extremely happy, sleep becomes quite impossible. Our companions who had returned home then gathered in one room and engaged in various conversations. When I looked out at the sea through the windowpane, the Lightning Boat floated serenely on the waves bathed in starlight—Ah, now that this vessel had been completed thus, within a week or ten days at most, we would be able to finish all preparations and depart this island. Once we departed this island, it would be as good as done—with our great speed of approximately one hundred nautical miles per hour, we would cross the Indian Ocean, traverse the South China Sea, and before long gaze up at the peak of Mount Fuji from the beloved waves of the Japan Sea. As those innocent sailors imagined—what a sight that would be. The Lightning Boat’s renown, Commander Sakuragi’s honor, and the myriad joys in each heart—these required no elaboration. If Hamashima Takefumi in Naples—and Madam Harue, should she still be in this world—were to hear that Hideo Shōnen and I, once thought dead, had safely emerged alongside this illustrious Lightning Boat, how astonished and overjoyed they would be. When I thought of this, it was truly unbearably delightful—now in our eyes shone only the light of hope. Who among us could have imagined that a demon’s hand envious of human happiness would, at such a moment—precisely such a juncture—invariably stir up great calamity?

Yet human affairs are truly unexpected upon unexpected—in the midst of this joy, a tremendous incident occurred.

The hour was between one and two when even plants slumbered. As our conversation momentarily lulled, we suddenly strained our ears at a rumbling like distant thunder. Simultaneously outside, Inazuma the War Dog began barking furiously. Startled, we leapt to our feet—and in that instant! The boom struck the sea as if heaven’s axis had shattered; a gust of sea wind whooshed into the room with spray from the waves. “Tsunami! Tsunami!” everyone shouted.

When we rushed outside in panic, the sky—which until then had been brilliantly lit by the Big Dipper—now looked as though ink had been spilled across its expanse, while the boundless ocean surface churned with raging waves, its spray swelling to fill the heavens. This tsunami—it was later determined—originated from a submarine landslide near the Maldive Islands in the Indian Ocean and apparently caused immense damage from the African coast to the Arabian region, with its residual waves having surged all the way to this isolated island. Utter chaos!

Fortunately, our house was built at the summit of the cliff, so we were spared from becoming victims of this dreadful demon. However, at the same moment, what struck us first and foremost was the safety of the submarine battleship carrying Commander Sakuragi and his men. The sky was dark; the earth was dark; the sea’s surface churned with raging waves, spray leaping up until even an inch ahead became indistinguishable. In my frantic state, I immediately lit a spherical lantern and rushed out. Hideo Shōnen and the sailors alike raised torches in their hands, stood at the cliff’s edge, and swung the fiery lights in all directions while shouting at the top of their voices. Our shouts were instantly drowned out by the roar of the raging waves—but there, far out on the pitch-black open sea, a single point of light flashed.

Indeed—a nighttime signal from the submarine battleship!

The signal read: "The Lightning Boat is unharmed! The Lightning Boat is unharmed!"

Chapter 23: Twelve Barrels

The Lifeline of the Submarine Battleship—The Sparsely Populated Olive Island—The Iron Door Shattered to Pieces—From Heaven to the Depths of Hell—Such Recklessness Is Impossible—Tears of Regret The scene after the tsunami was utterly devastating. By the next morning, the tide had nearly returned to normal, but as far as the eye could see, the coastline lay ravaged by turbid waves and raging tides. The sand figures of Kiyomasa that had been beautifully arranged the day before, the replica of Futami Coast, and the coconut grove encampment—all had vanished without a trace, swept away to who knows where. Even the secret shipyard appeared to have been entirely submerged by seawater at one point, for ugly seaweed clung to the lofty peak of Screen Rock high above the waterline. Morning sunlight reflected eerily off droplets falling from that seaweed, casting a truly desolate scene.

At this moment, the Lightning Boat approached the coast from far offshore, and as Commander Sakuragi had safely come ashore with a unit of sailors, those of us on land immediately rushed to that spot. For us, nothing brought greater joy than the submarine battleship’s safety. With my face filled with a smile, I grasped the Commander’s hand and rejoiced that we had remained unharmed through such a disaster—when—

“What was it like at sea last night?” I asked while scrutinizing the Commander’s face—and was truly shocked. On the Commander’s features—usually composed and unshaken by any matter—there now inexplicably appeared a look of profound anguish. Not just the Commander—even the normally cheerful Petty Officer Takemura and all other sailors who had disembarked from the Lightning Boat stood uniformly pale, their heads hung low in deep thought. My heart raced as I pressed urgently.

“Has something happened? Could it be that last night’s tsunami caused damage to the submarine battleship?” “No,” the Commander calmly raised his face. “There is no damage to the Lightning Boat’s hull, but—” he said, gazing intently at my face.

“However, last night’s tsunami appears to have cast us all down from heaven’s hope into despair’s deepest chasm.” “Wh-why? Why?” The shorebound comrades paled as one. The Commander did not answer at once but turned toward Folding Screen Rock looming in the distance, his voice heavy as he asked, “Have you inspected the secret shipyard this morning?” “Not yet,” I replied. Had this tsunami struck two days prior—when our submarine still lay docked—that yard would have demanded immediate attention. But now? I saw no urgency warranting hasty inspection. Yet reading anguish in both words and countenance, I pressed onward—

"I haven't inspected it yet, but as you can see, seaweed has been washed up even onto the peak of that Folding Screen Rock high above sea level. This means the secret shipyard's interior must have suffered great damage from seawater intrusion. Is this the cause for concern?" "Of course," the Commander said, placing a hand over his heart. "Have you forgotten that within the secret shipyard, the lifeblood of the submarine battleship still remained?"

“The submarine battleship’s lifeblood?” I inquired. “The twelve barrels.” “As you know, all mechanisms of the submarine battleship operate through twelve secret chemical solutions. The foundational fluids were entirely sealed within twelve barrels and stored in the shipyard’s vaults. Ah, but last night’s tsunami—not a single barrel could have survived intact. No, they absolutely cannot have remained unharmed.”

“Wh-wh-what?!” We all, realizing this for the first time, were so astonished we nearly collapsed. The Commander let out a deep sigh. “My assumption is likely not mistaken—indeed, heaven’s calamities lie beyond human control. Yet to encounter such a disaster at this very moment... it is a truly cruel turn of events.” “If all twelve barrels have indeed been lost, then there will be no way left to utilize the submarine battleship’s miraculous power.” “Just as with an ordinary steamship lacking coal, it will remain stopped upon the waves, left to rot away.” “Of course, some propellant fluid loaded during the Lightning Boat’s test operations still remains aboard. However, what’s left on the vessel alone is insufficient to navigate beyond 1,000 nautical miles. At 1,000 nautical miles from this island—the closest point being near Olive Island, one of the sparsely populated Maldive Islands—we might reach its vicinity. But arriving at Olive Island would achieve nothing. Worse, if we were to lose all mobility there, it would spell catastrophe—a reckless invitation to disaster.” “Olive Island is a desolate place—obtaining that type of propellant there would be utterly impossible. Nor could we ever hope to communicate with other islands or the mainland to request supplies.” “Moreover, near Olive Island, notorious pirate ships constantly roam, and European nations’ warships frequently patrol those waters. For our submarine battleship to lose its operational capacity and drift idly on the waves there would be the height of folly.” “If they were to learn that such a battleship has now been completed for the Japanese Empire, they would never remain silent. They would undoubtedly exert every effort to seize it. But at that time, even this Lightning Boat—invincible when operational—would be powerless to act while deprived of its motive force. We would not hesitate to lay down our lives there without regret. But if, because of that, the submarine battleship were to fall into their hands—all our years of grueling labor would come to naught. No, worse—what we planned for our beloved Japanese Empire would instead hand a sharp blade to the enemy.” “How could we ever allow such a thing?” “Therefore, in the event that all plans are exhausted, even if we were to rot eternally on this desolate island alongside the submarine battleship, we cannot recklessly depart from the main island.” “You see that this is so, do you not?” “If, as I now imagine, the secret shipyard has been completely destroyed by seawater and even a single one of the Twelve Barrels has been lost, then we can no longer venture even a single shaku beyond this island. Thus, our cherished hope of returning to Japan—our greatest joy—has been utterly stripped away.”

“Ah!” With that cry, I, Hideo Shōnen, and the other sailors were all left bewildered and at a loss. Given the horrific spectacle of last night’s tsunami, we knew not a single one of those twelve barrels could possibly remain. Yet clinging to that one-in-ten-thousand hope, we raced through the cavernous passages to inspect the secret shipyard’s interior—only to find, in bitter confirmation, that the Commander’s words held true. The scene inside was truly devastating. The muddy waves and raging tides had breached one of the rock walls, pouring in like a torrential flood. The iron door of the small warehouse beside it—where the propellant fluids had been stored—lay shattered into fragments. As for the twelve barrels, not a trace remained; they had been swept away to who knows where.

The Commander could only look up at the sky dejectedly; everyone's complexions grew increasingly pale. Ah, even if cast down from the heavens to the depths of hell, people would not despair to such an extent.

The group had no choice but to return to the coastal house—a lonely and forlorn scene, like after a fire had gone out. Commander Sakuragi fell silent and sank deep into thought. Petty Officer Takemura had tears of frustration welling in his eyes as he glared at the sea, where hostile waves were still churning restlessly. Hideo Shōnen looked utterly grief-stricken.

“Ah... So we can’t return to Japan again?” he murmured, gazing vainly eastward—what anguish must have filled his heart. The thirty-odd sailors—men who would wrestle demons under normal circumstances—now stood utterly silent in scattered clusters here and there, merely exchanging glances. Among them, two or three had gone out to patrol diligently along the shore, clinging to the faint hope that even one or two of the Twelve Barrels might have washed up, but of course, it was all in vain.

Chapter 24: Flight of the Hydrogen Balloon

We must become demons of this isolated island—drastic measures—I will go—a wordless farewell—I wept in my heart—the familiar Asahi Island grew ever distant.

I thought deeply, but this time—this very occasion—was surely an unavoidable heaven-sent calamity. If it was indeed the case that we could not recklessly depart from the main island, as Commander Sakuragi had stated, then there remained no other course of action. The twelve types of chemical solutions required to activate the Lightning Boat could never be manufactured on this isolated island, however much time might pass. Moreover, if we could not secure a supply from elsewhere, though we might survive here for ten or twenty years—gazing each day upon the world’s unparalleled submarine battleship before our eyes—we would ultimately have no choice but to become demons of this desolate island.

As I dwelled on these thoughts, overwhelmed by boundless sorrow and gazing vacantly at the skies of my homeland with silent tears welled in my eyes, Commander Sakuragi—who until then had been silently immersed in deep contemplation—suddenly raised his head. He had finally devised a drastic measure.

The Commander opened his mouth with a resolute expression. “At this calamitous hour, there are but two paths before us. The first is to resign ourselves to fate and rot on this desolate island alongside the Lightning Boat—though none here would wish for that. The other is none other than a most drastic measure: the large hydrogen balloon we constructed to rescue you when the automated iron vehicle fell into the quicksand valley ※(note: ‘咼’ replaced with its mirror image) still remains.” “We shall launch the hydrogen balloon to dispatch one or two individuals to reach either Colombo in India or another continental city. There, they will procure the twelve types of chemical solutions required for the Lightning Boat. From that location, they will secretly load the solutions onto a ship and transport them to Olive Island—positioned precisely midway between the continent and this island, 1,000 nautical miles away. Meanwhile, since a small quantity of propellant fluids still remains aboard our submarine battleship here, our Lightning Boat will depart this island to rendezvous with the transport vessel at Olive Island when it arrives. We shall transfer the prepared solutions to the submarine and then return to Japan.” “Of course, success is difficult to anticipate. Should the balloon burst midair or fail its mission due to other mishaps, that ends the matter. Our Lightning Boat will depart this island on the agreed day and proceed to Olive Island. Even if we wait several days and no ship arrives, we shall take that as divining the balloon’s fate and resign ourselves to exhausted providence. At that time, as a final measure—to prevent pirate ships or other violent foreign warships from discovering the submarine battleship’s secrets—we shall destroy the vessel with explosives ourselves and sink honorably into the thousand-fathom depths.” “It is indeed a drastic measure,” he concluded, “but under these circumstances—without purpose, without hope—rather than idly rotting away on this desolate island while gazing upon the submarine battleship we have at last completed, the path we should take is surely this one.” Having finished speaking, the Commander looked at us all with unshakable resolve. Needless to say, none could raise objections to the Commander’s words, and thus the matter was settled. But when it came to deciding who would board the hydrogen balloon to fulfill this great mission, the valiant sailors competed to volunteer first, each clamoring, “Let me take this duty!” Yet the Commander, as if guided by his own considerations, did not readily permit it. Truly, this great mission was a grave matter. Once the balloon finally descended to a continental city, the dealings from purchasing the secret chemicals to secretly outfitting a ship and proceeding to Olive Island would be no ordinary matter. Having already discerned Commander Sakuragi’s intent, I stepped forward.

“Though unworthy, I shall take on this great mission.” As I said this, the Commander was greatly pleased.

“In truth, I had been waiting for those words of yours.” “This mission cannot be accomplished through courage and daring alone.” “Where the balloon descends will be foreign lands—given matters of foreign tongues and other necessities, we had no choice but to rely on you,” he said, sweeping his gaze across the group. “Now—who shall serve as the second?” “I’ll go!” proclaimed Petty Officer Takemura—ever vigorous—as he thrust himself forward. The Commander fixed him with an unwavering stare. “You—the success of this mission will decide whether our submarine battleship emerges as guardian of the Japanese Empire or perishes unseen.” “Be swift as lightning—cautious as winter ice.”

The petty officer said nothing; tears streaming down his face, he met the Commander’s gaze. Once this great mission’s roles had been assigned to Petty Officer Takemura and myself, it became imperative for Commander Sakuragi and the others remaining on the main island to engage in meticulous planning with us two. The details of our plan were as follows. Since today was February 12 and the wind direction proved extremely favorable, if the hydrogen balloon departed this island today, it would traverse the Indian Ocean’s vast skies and likely descend near Colombo, India—the closest continental city—by the 16th or 17th. Assuming we spent five days there procuring secret chemicals and hiring a vessel, our arrival at Olive Island was scheduled between the 24th and 27th or 28th of this month. Accordingly, Commander Sakuragi and his men would depart the main island aboard the Lightning Boat at midnight on the 24th, with the promise of arriving in the lee of Olive Island by dawn the following day. Thereupon, whichever party arrived first at Olive Island would wait near the island for one week; if even after that week had passed the other party still did not appear, they were to resolve that fate had run its course.

Once these arrangements were concluded, under the Commander’s orders, the hydrogen balloon was pulled out onto the sandy coast, its gas fully replenished. After loading several days’ worth of provisions, drinking water, and the immense sum of gold and silver coins required for purchasing chemicals and hiring vessels, Petty Officer Takemura and I lightly adjusted our travel gear and climbed into the cradle-like basket. Ah, this might be a farewell for life. Commander Sakuragi and Hideo Shōnen, the boy, gazed silently at our two faces and grasped our hands with all their strength. The over thirty sailors—comrades familiar from three years past—had gathered around the hydrogen balloon to bid farewell, yet not a single one uttered a word; among them were those so overcome with emotion that tears streamed down their faces. Both Petty Officer Takemura and I were truly weeping in our hearts. At this moment, the silence shared by us all held a meaning deeper than ten thousand words.

As they busied themselves with the final preparations, the ropes binding it were untied, and the hydrogen balloon carrying us two finally began its vigorous ascent. Commander Sakuragi and the others waved their handkerchiefs in unison. Petty Officer Takemura and I removed our hats and gazed downward as the wind blew from south to north; our hydrogen balloon gradually traversed the vast sky over three thousand shaku high toward the continent until even the familiar Asahi Island vanished like a speck on the azure, distant horizon.

Chapter 25: The White Cruiser

The continent’s silhouette—we flew through the air like an arrow—a solitary white speck—a flock of seabirds—the naval ensign “Garf”—Ah! Ah! That flag—! That warship! Three days had passed uneventfully since departing Asahi Island. The hydrogen balloon carrying us two had traversed the skies of the Indian Ocean, heading ever northward over two thousand miles from Commander Sakuragi’s base when, in a distant corner of the heavens, a shadow resembling clouds or smoke—the silhouette of a continent—came into view. Petty Officer Takemura and I exchanged glances and finally let out a breath. That continent was undoubtedly India. Just as we relaxed our brows in mutual joy—thinking that in three or four hours we would descend near Colombo City and successfully accomplish the great mission entrusted by Commander Sakuragi—yet another upheaval occurred. It was none other than this: the wind that until now had blown steadily south to north, carrying our hydrogen balloon toward land as if by divine grace, suddenly shifted direction—now blowing east to west. When we first departed Asahi Island, Commander Sakuragi had observed the heavens and declared there would likely be no drastic wind changes for three or four days—but nothing proves harder to foresee than heaven’s whims. This easterly wind made our hydrogen balloon abruptly alter course—now blown diagonally from land toward open sea. Petty Officer Takemura and I lost all traces of joy, our faces turning ashen with shock and dread. Just when success seemed within reach—what was this sudden change? Ah! Would heaven curse us without end? Our hearts raced and bodies thrashed helplessly. In moments, even the continent’s shadow vanished beyond our sight as the wind intensified into a famed Indian Ocean typhoon. Looking below dazzled the eyes—the boundless ocean’s surface churned with raging waves like myriad white dragons leaping forth. Amidst wind shrieks like tearing silk, tattered clouds streaked past—a scene of utter desolation. Whirlwinds being directionless by nature, our hydrogen balloon soared and plunged like goose down—flying diagonally over Maldives, racing across Laccadives like meteors. For four days and nights we careened through air until dawn on the fifth day brought calmer winds and stilled turbulence—making us feel reborn. Trembling, we half-emerged from the cradle to gaze below—now blown to unknown skies where east and west blurred—still soaring above endless ocean. Wondering where on Earth we were, we tilted our heads in vain puzzlement. According to Petty Officer Takemura’s estimation: “We’ve crossed Africa and been blown far west—that sea below must be the Atlantic.”

he said, but I couldn’t quite bring myself to believe it was so. The winds over the past several days had been exceedingly fierce, but as is typical of typhoons, our hydrogen balloon had likely been blown around repeatedly in the same skies; thus, there was no need to worry we had traveled as far as that. In my estimation, what lay below us were still the waves of the Indian Ocean—perhaps west of Madagascar Island or off the Gulf of Aden—and I believed we were not too far from the European coast after all.

However, this was no time for such leisurely contemplation. The anguish gripping our hearts at that moment was truly overwhelming. The day of our promise with Commander Sakuragi loomed perilously close. Counting on my fingers, I realized only six days remained until the 25th—the date by which we were supposed to descend near Colombo in India as planned, procure the secret chemicals, outfit a ship, and reach Olive Island. On that appointed day, Commander Sakuragi would depart Asahi Island aboard the submarine battleship with Hideo Shōnen and the others, stealthily arriving at Olive Island to await our reinforcements day after day—but given our current predicament, could we possibly accomplish this monumental task? Adrift in an endless sky shrouded by misty clouds, with neither east nor west discernible in this directionless void, we now lacked any clear objective—no timeline for reaching the continent or proceeding to Olive Island. Should the scheduled 25th pass unheeded and the subsequent week slip away fruitlessly, Commander Sakuragi would ultimately resolve to vanish into sea foam alongside his extraordinary submarine battleship. Ah! With our critical mission hanging by a thread, Petty Officer Takemura and I remained locked in mutual gaze, our minds so tormented we lost all sense of bodily presence—when suddenly we saw it: on the distant horizon appeared a wisp of smoke-like cloud, followed by a solitary white speck indistinguishable as bird or vessel. As it drew nearer, the form revealed itself to be a white cruiser. The flag fluttering on its mizzen gaff remained indistinct, making the warship's nationality unclear. Yet now it came plowing through waves, belching thick black smoke as it advanced toward our drifting hydrogen balloon. At this moment, I abruptly conceived a plan. Here we were bearing this grave mission yet drifting aimlessly through the skies with no timeline for reaching land—if we idly let the scheduled date pass by in this manner, no amount of regretful navel-gazing would suffice later. "Look—that white cruiser over there," I thought urgently. "Though we don't know its nationality or course, shouldn't we seek their aid first?" Of course, we couldn't carelessly reveal our aerial mission's purpose or Commander Sakuragi's submarine secrets to foreign vessels—but surely some improvisational excuse could be devised. At any rate, if that warship could simply assist our immediate crisis by delivering us to the nearest continental shore—any shore—then through desperate efforts afterward, we might still complete preparations by the deadline and reach Olive Island where Commander Sakuragi's team awaited.

Having thus resolved, I hurriedly consulted Petty Officer Takemura, and he naturally raised no objections. He immediately waved a white handkerchief to send a distress signal, and it appeared that the distant white cruiser had also spotted our hydrogen balloon, as white and red flags on its foredeck were seen fluttering up and down. At that very moment!

Petty Officer Takemura, having suddenly spotted something, let out a shattering cry.

“Disaster! “Disaster! “Disaster!!”

“Disaster!” I too whirled around in shock. Until now, I had been entirely preoccupied with the white cruiser and noticed nothing else. But looking westward, I saw the sky filled with Gambro birds—a species unique to the Indian Ocean—resembling eagles with razor-sharp beaks and elongated talons, their bodies measuring seven to over ten or twelve shaku (roughly seven to ten feet). They swarmed in such numbers that even the sun itself seemed to darken as they descended upon our hydrogen balloon. We two were utterly astonished. These seabirds were not inherently so vicious by nature that, had we remained calm, we might have escaped unscathed. However, caught off guard and utterly flustered, we had no time to consider such things; in our haste to drive them away, firing a rifle shot proved to be our fatal mistake. The bullet struck down one of them with precision, but simultaneously, the rest of the flock, having perceived hostile intent from us, became uncontrollable. Three or four at a time, with furious beats of their wings, they swooped upon the balloon like arrows—and in the blink of an eye, the hydrogen balloon was pierced through by their razor-sharp beaks. At that moment, the white cruiser from earlier had advanced to within about one nautical mile of our hydrogen balloon, its entire structure now visible as if held in one’s hand. Just then, Petty Officer Takemura abruptly noticed its "Garf" naval ensign—

“Ah! Ah! That flag! That warship!” he cried, leaping up and forgetting even the urgent crisis. I too hurriedly tried to turn my eyes that way—but it was already too late.

The hydrogen balloon, breached by the Gambro birds, danced down from the sky with a hissing whistle of escaping hydrogen gas and—in the blink of an eye—plunged into the very heart of the ocean.

Chapter 26: Faces, Faces, Faces

Imperial naval ensign—Tiger-Whiskers Lieutenant, real name Todoroki Lieutenant—along with the launch, were retrieved—at full speed—a recognizable face—a face resembling someone—a nostalgic face. Plunged into the very heart of the ocean along with the hydrogen balloon, we two sank dozens of feet deep to the seabed for a moment—but fortunately, due to our relatively slow descent speed and the balloon acting as a buffer against the waves, we did not suffocate. Resurfacing, we swam with all our might when before long, from beyond the waves came approaching voices and the sound of oars—until at last we two were mercifully hauled aboard a launch. The launch that had been sent out to rescue us from our life-and-death crisis was undoubtedly dispatched by that white cruiser we had seen earlier.

Petty Officer Takemura, who had been hauled into the launch, suddenly shouted, "Oh! It really was! That gaff flag on the cruiser was our Imperial naval ensign!!!" he exclaimed—having glimpsed the same-patterned naval flag during their fall from the hydrogen balloon and now spotting it at the bow of the launch.

I too saw everyone in the launch and was so startled I leapt up.

“Ah! Imperial soldiers! Japanese naval personnel!” he cried, whipping his head around. Not far from the launch, the white cruiser we had seen earlier drifted upon waves like rolling hills. On its mizzen gaff and stern, the naval ensign of the Great Japanese Empire—radiant as the rising sun—fluttered vigorously in the southern wind. The sailors gripping oars on both the starboard and port sides of the launch stared wide-eyed in shock and bewilderment at our faces. At the stern stood a dark-complexioned navy lieutenant commander with a tiger-like beard streaming in the sea wind—his imposing figure leaning forward as he gripped the helm. “You there! You’re Japanese too, aren’t you?” he barked, fixing his gaze on Petty Officer Takemura and me. But on this boundless ocean where east and west held no meaning, raging waves tossed the launch violently, leaving no room for proper exchange. Even as he spoke, colossal waves crashed against the hull, threatening to capsize us. The lieutenant commander wrenched the helm hard to starboard and roared, “Full speed ahead!” The launch instantly swung its bow to starboard and, with twelve oars cleaving through waves, arrowed toward the main ship.

Petty Officer Takemura and I felt as if in a dream within a dream. Forgetting entirely that I was drenched like a drowned rat or that my stomach churned from swallowing seawater, my heart leaped with shock and joy as I gazed fixedly at the white cruiser ahead—its gaff flying our cherished Imperial naval ensign. Anchoring here being impossible in these deep-sea depths, it drifted left and right upon the waves like a swaying hillock. This warship displaced approximately 2,700 tons, an armored cruiser boasting two magnificent smokestacks. At that very moment, as its stern—tossed by the waves—swung toward us, three characters blazed vivid under the radiant sun: "Sunrise." Warship Sunrise! Warship Sunrise! As I found myself murmuring these words repeatedly without reason, our launch steadily drew closer to the main vessel. On Warship Sunrise's deck, stretching from the rear bridge to the ensign-fluttering stern, crew members stood arrayed in disciplined ranks to welcome our launch's return.

Soon we reached the vicinity of the main ship, but the sea churned as if stirring a basin of water—the over 2,700-ton behemoth swaying heavily up and down—while our launch tossed about in the waves like an autumn leaf, completely unable to approach the portside gangway. Water spray flew and counterwaves crashed as officers and sailors shouted fiercely near the bulwarks by the towering gangway. The lieutenant at our launch’s stern gripped the helm with such force as if to shatter it—plunging into the abyss one moment, soaring into the sky the next—while our craft nearly smashed against the warship’s armored waterline belt multiple times. At last, using a crane, they hoisted our launch—still bearing over a dozen of us—onto Sunrise’s deck. Only then did we finally gasp in relief. The warship began advancing, churning propeller waves at a single command. The disciplined warship’s deck—even amid such dramatic events—never once lost its composure.

"The hydrogen balloon had fallen from the sky." "The warship lowered a launch." "The two people rescued were Japanese." "One was a young gentleman who appeared to be an adventurer; the other was a petty officer of our navy." "How strange! Why?"—this rumor had already spread throughout Warship Sunrise, yet not a single person forgot their duty by rushing to our side with disorderly exclamations like "Well now, what sort of men are they?" The engine room soldiers guarded the engine room, the signalmen stood at the combat tower, and the first-class, second-class, and third-class sailors, under the officers' command, were stowing the recently retrieved launch. A group of off-duty officers and sailors guided us to a cabin, made us remove our soaked clothes, and provided fresh garments. Among them, one quick-witted officer even hurriedly offered a glass of brandy, saying it was "for the excitement." Indeed, the strictness of their military discipline left one with nothing but renewed admiration.

At this moment, the valiant Tiger-Whiskers Lieutenant—who had earlier commanded the launch and rescued us two—stepped forward with a smile upon seeing that both Petty Officer Takemura and I had finally regained our composure.

“You two! I congratulate you on your good fortune.” No sooner had he spoken than he turned his head to survey his surroundings—and suddenly, a Naval Captain descended from the warship’s rear bridge, approaching us with measured strides. Dignified in appearance and imposing in presence—needless to say, he was the captain of this warship. The Naval Captain, having already received Tiger-Whiskers Lieutenant’s report, appeared to know that we two Japanese—one a gentleman resembling an adventurer and the other a Petty Officer of the same navy—had fallen with the hydrogen balloon. Now standing before us, he gazed at Petty Officer Takemura’s face and mine without showing astonishment. With a nod, he settled into a nearby chair, twirled his mustache, and calmly turned toward us.

The Petty Officer and I saluted respectfully while abruptly gazing at his face—Ah, this captain’s eyes—his mouth—so resembled the cherished countenance of someone I had once committed to memory, yet in that urgent moment, I could not bring it to mind. Be that as it may, now that our hearts had settled, we realized this great peril from which we had been rescued—by fellow Japanese, no less, and by the loyal and valiant hands of Imperial naval personnel—was not merely our own fortune alone. Had Heaven at last not forsaken Commander Sakuragi’s unwavering devotion, even as he suffered on Asahi Island? The two of us felt tears welling up unexpectedly—I bowed my head, while Petty Officer Takemura turned his face away—when three or four sailors standing rigidly at attention beside us, poised to receive the captain’s orders and who had been intently staring at Takemura since earlier, saw one among them step forward. With deference toward Tiger-Whiskers Lieutenant and the captain, he began in a meaningful tone—

“Your Excellency, I would like to speak a word with this petty officer.”

“Very well,” the Captain permitted. The sailor then slowly turned his gaze toward Petty Officer Takemura. “Long time no see, Petty Officer! You are none other than Petty Officer Takemura, subordinate to His Excellency Commander Sakuragi of the Imperial Navy, renowned in the homeland—are you not?” he inquired. Speaking of Petty Officer Takemura, he was a man who had gained no small renown among his fellow sailors in the Imperial Japanese Navy for his cheerful disposition, his skill in gunnery, and his formidable physical strength—and now, here he was, quite unexpectedly encountering old comrades aboard this Imperial warship in the farthest reaches of the ocean.

Petty Officer Takemura widened his eyes in surprise. "Oh! Well, I am indeed Takemura Shinpachirō, subordinate of His Excellency Commander Sakuragi!" he declared, striking his forehead. "My apologies, I've completely forgotten—who were you again?" "I’m a signalman under His Excellency Commander Matsushima—the former captain of *Takao*, now captain of Warship *Sunrise*," the sailor said, leaning forward. "At present, His Excellency Commander Matsushima is returning from the Thames Estuary shipyard in Britain with the newly built Warship *Sunrise*. This vessel departed Aden Harbor at last dawn and was advancing through this Indian Ocean when, just as a hydrogen balloon fell from the heavens, we hurried to rescue its occupants—and lo, it was you! Truly a miraculous coincidence, is it not?" Having finished speaking, he stepped back.

Those words! A heartless person hearing this might think nothing of it, but Petty Officer Takemura and I inadvertently exchanged glances and smiled faintly. First and foremost among our joys was this: until this very moment, as we had doubted while on the hydrogen balloon earlier, we had not known whether this vast ocean we now sailed was the Atlantic or even the Arabian Sea. But according to the sailor’s words, this expanse was indeed—just as I had thought—the Indian Ocean, not too distant from Colombo, our intended city, nor from Olive Island, where we were to reunite with Commander Sakuragi and his men. Another thing—the moment I heard the name Commander Matsushima, I suddenly struck my knee with a pop.

Dear readers! Who could Commander Matsushima be? I had never met this commander before, but he was none other than the closest friend of Commander Sakuragi of the Imperial Navy—of whom I had long heard—and furthermore, he was the esteemed elder brother of Madame Harue, whom I could never forget for the rest of my life, and the uncle to young Hideo. Nearly four years prior, Madame Harue—wife of my dear friend Hamashima Takefumi—had parted from her husband in Italy to visit her esteemed elder brother Commander Matsushima, who lay ill in our homeland. Accompanied by her beloved son Hideo Shōnen, she departed from the Italian port of Syracuse aboard the same steamship as I, bound for Japan. Yet midway through their homeward voyage across the darkened Indian Ocean, they suffered a fearsome pirate attack. With the ill-fated *Sengetsumaru* sinking beneath them, Madame Harue’s fate remains unknown to me to this day. But now I realized in a flash—this very Commander Matsushima, whom I had heard had been convalescing, was now commanding the maiden voyage of this new warship *Sunrise*! The reason I had thought upon first glance that he resembled someone became clear—who else could it be? This very captain of the *Sunrise* was none other than Commander Matsushima, the esteemed elder brother of Madame Harue and uncle to young Hideo. With a vague sense of warmth and nostalgia, I raised my eyes and gazed upon the composed countenance of Commander Matsushima before me. The commander, bearing a meaningful air, studied my face and that of Petty Officer Takemura in turn, then exchanged a brief glance with the Tiger-Whiskers Lieutenant before addressing us in calm tones. First, he turned to me,

“You,” he began, “from the conversation between a sailor of this warship and your companion Petty Officer Takemura, it appears you both have some connection to our closest comrade, Naval Commander Sakuragi Shigeo. Is that correct?” He studied my nodding face intently before abruptly changing his demeanor. “The truth is, from the moment I heard that you all had so miraculously dropped onto the waves of this Indian Ocean alongside that large hydrogen balloon, I have been forming a certain conjecture in my mind.” “My conjecture is none other than this: if you indeed have ties to our beloved Commander Sakuragi, then this mysterious incident may hold some connection to his fate.” “I am thoroughly acquainted with Commander Sakuragi’s great ambition.” “Moreover, I am well aware of how he has been concealing himself on this unknown solitary island in the Indian Ocean alongside over thirty sailors.” “Five years ago, when he bid me a long farewell at the Yokosuka naval port, he declared with a resolute countenance: ‘Five years from now, I shall surely accomplish a great achievement and be able to meet you again.’” “Five winters and summers have passed since then, yet not a single word of his whereabouts has reached me. In all that time, there has not been a day when I have failed to pray for his health and the success of his grand undertaking.” “Ah—has Commander Sakuragi finally achieved his grand objective?” “Has the great naval weapon he devoted himself to with such single-minded effort finally been completed successfully?” he murmured, lowering his voice—

“Yet when I now observe this untimely hydrogen balloon over the Indian Ocean—and particularly since one of its crew is Petty Officer Takemura, known as Commander Sakuragi’s right-hand man—I must infer that some grave crisis has befallen him on that solitary island. Is it not true that you two, compelled by this calamity, bid farewell to the Commander and undertook this aerial mission bearing a vital charge?” he pressed, fixing us with an intense stare.

“That’s it! Your deduction is precisely correct,” I said, leaning forward. Petty Officer Takemura struck his chest and— “Your Excellency, Captain—a most extraordinary calamity has befallen His Excellency Commander Sakuragi.” Thereupon, Petty Officer Takemura and I took turns recounting the full account: Commander Sakuragi’s submarine battleship, its great success, and how—on the night of February 11th, mere moments before the Commander’s triumphant departure from Asahi Island—a cataclysmic tsunami shattered the secret shipyard’s warehouse, causing twelve barrels to be lost. From this disaster arose our present critical mission.

“Your Excellency, Commander! Therefore, we two must now hasten to reach the port of Colombo in India, prepare twelve types of secret chemical solutions, and proceed to Olive Island—where the Lightning Boat is to rendezvous—by dawn on the 25th of this month.” Upon finishing this report, the listening sailors exchanged looks of astonishment. The valiant Tiger-Whiskers Lieutenant rose from his chair with a cry blending joy and shock to gaze at Commander Matsushima’s face. The Commander—so gripped by satisfaction and fervor that he seemed unaware of crushing his sword’s hilt—abruptly raised his countenance.

“How splendid! Has Commander Sakuragi’s submarine battleship finally been completed?” After a momentary silence spent gazing toward the eastern sky, he suddenly uncrossed his arms— “So, due to an unexpected celestial disturbance, Commander Sakuragi’s party now awaits your support near Olive Island at dawn on the coming twenty-fifth? Very well—having heard this, there is no longer any need for concern.” “For the Empire of Japan, for the Imperial Navy, and for the honor of Commander Sakuragi, we shall go forth with all our might to aid the Lightning Boat.” He rose to his feet, spread out a nautical chart on the nearby table, and began meticulously measuring the latitude—

“From here, the most convenient and nearest trading port remains Colombo in India—approximately 1,200 nautical miles by sea. From there to Olive Island is just under 1,500 nautical miles. Therefore, this warship shall drop anchor in Colombo by tomorrow evening, prepare the twelve secret chemical solutions required for the Lightning Boat, immediately obtain our homeland government’s approval via coded telegram, and proceed to Olive Island at full speed. Onward!” “Lieutenant Todoroki! “Full speed ahead! Direction remains Colombo Port! Relay the order to starboard!!!”

Tiger-Whiskers Lieutenant’s real name was Lieutenant Todoroki. “Aye,” he replied, whirling around and dashing off toward the foredeck. Commander Matsushima turned back to the nautical chart.

At that moment on the midship deck, six bells clanged—Clang! Clang!—announcing eleven o'clock in the morning. Clang! Clang! Clang! Clang!

Petty Officer Takemura and I truly felt as if a great weight had been lifted from our shoulders. How delightful, how delightful, how utterly delightful!

At this joyful moment—now that our great mission had been fully recounted—though it concerned personal matters, I had many things to ask and tell Commander Matsushima. The safety of His Excellency’s younger sister Madame Harue—the whereabouts of her husband Hamashima Takefumi—but before all this, what I had first to convey (the Commander surely believed him dead) was news of his nephew young Hideo Shōnen: how for three years he had gazed at Asahi Island’s moon alongside me, and how he remained in good health even now.

I started to open my mouth several times, but at that moment, the Commander’s countenance was so wholly engrossed in studying—with utmost fervor toward the nautical chart—the topography and sea depths near Olive Island, where we were soon to rendezvous with Commander Sakuragi and his submarine battleship, that I found myself unable to abruptly broach the matter. For a time, the ship’s cabin fell silent. Outside the room: the sound of waves breaking against the hull, the voice of the wind rushing through the masthead, the officers' commands echoing across the bridge. I casually rose from my chair and gazed at the mast, the gun turrets, the combat tower, and the deck teeming with officers and sailors’ brisk activity—then suddenly leaped up as though struck by lightning. At that very moment, two figures emerged from the rear deck hatch—engaged in conversation with a group of young officers whose epaulets rippled like waves—and began approaching us with measured steps: a portly gentleman of imposing dignity and a peerless beauty akin to a celestial maiden, both clad in civilian attire rarely seen aboard a warship! Who could have known—these two were none other than Hamashima Takefumi, from whom I had parted in Naples four years prior, and his wife—Madame Harue, whom he had believed to be no longer of this world—Commander Matsushima’s younger sister and the mother of young Hideo.

I hurriedly wiped my eyes and looked—but it was indeed them!!! Overwhelmed with joy, I abruptly twisted Petty Officer Takemura’s head around. “Petty Officer! Look! Look there! Mr. Hamashima! Madame Harue!” I shouted—whereupon Petty Officer Takemura, suddenly startled,

“Wh-wh-where?! Which one?!” he exclaimed, straightening up. Commander Matsushima, who was at the side table and had noticed this scene, raised his suspicious eyebrows.

“I must inquire—who are you to know of Hamashima Takefumi and Harue?” I leaned in suddenly. “It is I, Yanagawa, who parted from Madame Harue during the sinking of the Sengetsumaru four years ago.”

Commander Matsushima's composed countenance shifted slightly— “Then you—could it be you know the fate of my nephew Hideo Shōnen—” he began, then swiftly turned his gaze toward Hamashima Takefumi and Harue Fujin at the stern. At that moment, those two also spotted me immediately. Madame Harue’s beautiful face lit up with an “Ah!” as she turned to look at her husband. I rushed toward them! They came this way! As if stumbling!!!

Chapter 27: The Captain’s Cabin

He twirled his mustache—Could this be a dream?—I was overjoyed—Your complexion has darkened quite a bit, yes—Now it’s your turn—The story from four years ago.

The sun stood high and the wind blew clear aboard the warship *Sunrise*. Upon the foremast yard fluttered the Imperial Naval Ensign; along the bulwark stood ranked Katsu cannons, Russian cannons, and 47mm rapid-fire cannons at their ports. As they gazed out at the distant azure union of sea and sky while listening to waves crash nearby, those long-parted faces sat facing each other upon the elegant long chairs in the captain's cabin. Hamashima Takefumi wordlessly gripped my hand.

Madame Harue— “Ah, Mr. Yanagawa—that I should meet you again in this world—” Her beautiful face glanced around my vicinity as she spoke.

Petty Officer Takemura, at my side, wore a look of utter bewilderment. Commander Matsushima, as if cutting off Madame Harue’s words, turned to me.

“And young Hideo—is he safe—or—” I shouted joyfully. “Oh, Commander Matsushima! Mr. Hamashima Takefumi! Madame Harue! To your utmost joy—the boy is safe! Safe!!!” Commander Matsushima and Hamashima Takefumi exchanged looks of delight and twirled their mustaches in unison. Madame Harue, true to her womanly nature,

“Ah—could this be a dream? If it isn’t, how happy I would be,” she murmured, dabbing her unstoppable tears of joy with a crimson silk handkerchief. “It’s no dream at all!” declared the blunt Petty Officer Takemura, thrusting his face forward abruptly. “Madame! Why would you say it’s a dream? That dear Hideo Shōnen is now on Asahi Island with our revered Commander Sakuragi, bursting with vigor! Even now, he’s surely his usual charming self—perched on coastal rocks with sailors and his beloved dog Inazuma—gazing at Japan’s distant skies, longing to leave that lonely isle and reunite with you all as swiftly as possible!” he exclaimed.

“You—” The eyes of the two turned upon Petty Officer Takemura with nostalgic intensity. “This man is Petty Officer Takemura—one who became exceptionally close to young Hideo during our three years on that solitary island,” I introduced him to them. Then Takemura and I took turns recounting our drift to Asahi Island, the unparalleled submarine battleship, our life on the isle, and how Hideo—who had parted from his mother four years earlier without a trace of childishness—had now grown into a stalwart lad. Under Commander Sakuragi’s nurturing these three years, peerless in wisdom and valor, he had become through and through the naval man his father had always envisioned—spending each day with keen intellect and bravery. “Commander! Mr. Hamashima! Madame Harue! Thus we now await only heaven’s favor unfolding—the imminent hour when we shall reunite in extraordinary joy!” When we finished speaking, the three listeners reacted with mingled astonishment and delight—some startled, others overjoyed. The commander kept twirling his mustache. The imposing Hamashima Takefumi struck his chest—

“Nothing could make me happier. The sinking of the Sengetsumaru may have been rather a blessing for Hideo. That he has grown under such earnest mentorship from Commander Sakuragi, a man of renown in our time, brings me greater joy than if he had graduated from the world’s foremost school.”

Madame Harue, in a voice overflowing with irrepressible joy, “Did all of you truly show such care for my son? This humble one has no words adequate to express her gratitude,” she said, her snow-white cheeks faintly rippling. “And that child has already grown so much.” “He’s grown so much?” “If you meet him soon on Olive Island, you’ll be astonished!” Petty Officer Takemura interjected again.

“Oh!” “Not only that—the boy’s liveliness defies description! He hunts lions and wrestles in sumo. He even defeats weaker sailors,” he declared with utmost seriousness. “However, his complexion has grown quite dark in exchange.” “Yes.” “Oh ho ho ho,” Madame Harue murmured, covering half her face with a hand. “He’s become that dark?” “No—a healthy medium!” At this quip from the quick-witted petty officer, the commander, Hamashima, and I all roared with laughter—while Madame Harue’s gentle eyes gazed nostalgically at the southern waters and skies.

At that moment, I leaned forward. “Up until now we have only spoken of our experiences, but now it is your turn to answer,” I began, addressing Madame Harue first. “Madame! Earlier, you also said as much. “Earlier, you also said as much. “I too truly never imagined I would meet you again in this world—it’s truly miraculous. How exactly did you survive that time?” “When I look back—four years ago now—as I leapt into the sea clutching young Hideo Shōnen when the *Sengetsumaru* sank, I called your name twice, thrice… Yet all I heard were the howling winds and crashing waves. No—just once, I thought I faintly caught a reply… but I convinced myself it was a trick of the mind. Later, after we drifted ashore on Asahi Island, when I recounted this to Commander Sakuragi, he assured me your fate was secure—that you were certainly alive. Yet despite his words, both Hideo and I had resigned ourselves to never meeting you again in this world.”

Madame Harue recollected the terrifying scene from that night four years prior. “Ah, that time was truly dreadful.” “With a thunderous roar, the Sengetsumaru sank, and I was plunged dozens of feet into the churning waves. But when I resurfaced, I heard your voice calling my name.” “I called out once, then again, but surrounded by utter darkness with no sense of direction, we were forced to part ways for what felt an eternity.” “By fortune, at the moment of sinking, I clung to the buoy you threw for me and drifted amidst the waves. When morning came, I saw a ship resembling last night’s pirate vessel far across the boundless ocean, repeatedly lowering submersible devices. But just then, a British mail ship happened to pass by and rescued me. After many detours, I returned to my home in Naples—this was about a month after parting from my husband.”

Madame took a breath and “When I returned to my home in Naples and tearfully reunited with my husband Hamashima, rumors of the Sengetsumaru’s sinking were rampant.” “Even when I resigned myself to fate, it was truly heartbreaking.” “With every rumor I heard, I became convinced that you and Hideo were truly lost to this world. At the same time, I was tormented by news of my brother’s illness back home. But fortunately, word later arrived by mail ship that his condition was steadily improving, so I finally breathed easy and resolved to abandon my plans to return to Japan.” “Now that four years have passed since then, to unexpectedly meet you again and hear all these stories feels like a dream—more joyous than beholding the sun after endless rains—leaving me with nothing but gratitude to Heaven.” “Yes, my brother’s illness—after this humble one returned to Naples—recovered completely within about three months, leaving no trace. Now he is healthier than most, currently aboard this newly built warship *Hinode* on its voyage from Britain, as you can see,” she concluded, turning her gentle gaze toward her brother, the Commander, and her husband Takefumi.

**Chapter 28: The Memorial Warship**

Imperial Warship *Hinode*—as this bearded one relates—built at Thames Shipyard—a cruiser reminiscent of *Akashi*—all human affairs rest with divine will. Commander Matsushima continued to twirl his mustache as ever, listening to our conversation with an amused expression.

Hamashima Takefumi was the next to speak after Madame Harue.

“Harue does tend to grumble quite a bit.” “Women are like that—nothing to be done about it.” “Ha ha ha ha!” “But I too was truly appalled when I heard of the *Sengetsumaru*’s sinking.” “Though Harue alone returned safely afterward, your whereabouts remained unknown, and I—who had long delighted in raising Hideo to become a promising Imperial naval officer to dedicate to our nation—had resigned myself to believing he had vanished into the Indian Ocean’s foam alongside you. At that time, the sorrow was truly harder to bear than tears.” He began to say—then suddenly laughed loudly—

“Oh.” “Even I ended up grumbling.” “No, it’s not a complaint.” “I was truly disheartened and disappointed.” “At that time, European newspapers unanimously reported in detail on the *Sengetsumaru*’s disaster, fiercely condemning those cowardly captains’ conduct while praising your actions under headlines like *‘The Soul of Japan.’* Yet even seeing such praise, I truly couldn’t endure the heartache—what became of those despicable captains, you ask?” “Indeed—they did return safely to their homeland once. But neither the law nor society’s judgment permitted it. They suffered severe punishment, endured terrible hardships, and ultimately fled to parts unknown.”

“Splendid! Splendid!” Petty Officer Takemura suddenly exclaimed. I continued my questioning with a wry smile. “Mr. Hamashima—so after that, did you and your wife remain solely in Naples Port? And now, what circumstances have led to your returning to Japan aboard this warship?” I asked, placing a hand on my chest. “This may stretch the imagination a bit, but I’ve been considering it since earlier. Now, isn’t there some profound reason why this newly built cruiser has been named ‘Hinode’ as though it bears some connection to your beloved son Hideo Shōnen’s name?”

“It would be most fitting for this bearded one to recount that matter,” declared the familiar hearty Bearded Captain—Lieutenant Todoroki by name—as he suddenly burst into the room. First, he faced Commander Matsushima, exchanged a few words to conclude his official report, then turned squarely toward me in a lively tone.

“You! That this newly built cruiser was named ‘Hinode’ can indeed be said to commemorate young Hideo, exactly as you imagined.” “Left at that, you might not fully grasp it—as you know, Mr. Hamashima had long aspired to raise young Hideo into an accomplished naval officer to serve as a bulwark for the Japanese Empire. However, with the sinking of the *Sengetsumaru*, that ambition was thought to have vanished entirely like sea foam. Now, unable to dedicate his beloved son to the nation, he instead resolved to donate a warship—splitting half his fortune and spending three years to complete it at Britain’s Thames Shipyard—resulting in this vessel, the *Hinode*.” “This warship is a state-of-the-art third-class cruiser with a displacement of 2,800 tons and a speed of 23 knots—a vessel reminiscent of the Imperial warship *Akashi*, yet swifter. Its armored deck has a flat section of 20 mm and an inclined section of 53 mm. The armament comprises two 8-inch rapid-fire guns, six 12-cm rapid-fire guns, twelve 47-mm rapid-fire guns, and four machine guns.” “The Japanese government graciously accepted Mr. Hamashima’s patriotic offer, and after special deliberations within our naval authorities, His Excellency Commander Matsushima was promptly appointed chairman of the repatriation committee. Now sailing back to Japan in his capacity as this warship’s captain, Mr. and Mrs. Hamashima—as the vessel’s donors—boarded this ship from Naples Port both to attend its formal handover ceremony and, having grown weary of foreign skies, to return at last to Japan, where mountains stand beautiful and waters run clear.”

“Warship Hinode! I firmly believe this name indeed shares a profound connection with young Hideo Shōnen’s name,” declared Lieutenant Todoroki, his beard quivering with conviction. “However, Mr. Hamashima would never seek empty glory—this name wasn’t his choice. It was wholly determined by our home government through the solemn protocols of the warship christening ceremony.” He leaned forward, eyes gleaming like polished brass. “Yet I refuse to consider this alignment of names mere happenstance.” “This correspondence cannot possibly be accidental,” I exclaimed, my voice trembling with awe. Petty Officer Takemura ran a calloused hand across his sweat-beaded forehead.

“Ah! Auspicious events keep gathering one after another!” “The newly built warship was dedicated, the submarine battleship made its appearance, the Japanese Navy prospered evermore—” he declared cheerfully, raising his lively face in a grin. Commander Matsushima also wore a smile, “It was indeed as the Petty Officer says—a matter for great celebration for the Japanese Navy.” “Before long, we would meet Commander Sakuragi near Olive Island, and from there, with this warship *Hinode* and Commander Sakuragi’s *Lightning Boat* sailing bow to stern, their Imperial naval ensigns fluttering in the bracing sea wind—how grand and joyous it would be when we soon arrived at an imperial naval port!”

Lieutenant Todoroki raised both hands and shouted in triumph.

Hamashima Takefumi rubbed his arm.

“Truly, all human affairs rest with divine will. As things turn, one cannot know what may bring happiness. I now give thanks that I can dedicate not only the warship *Hinode* but also Hideo—whom I once thought lost—to the nation,” he said, turning to his wife with boundless satisfaction.

Ah, as I too deeply felt in my heart that all human affairs truly rest with divine will, I suddenly recalled one matter. It was none other than an unforgettable incident from four years prior—when Madame Harue, young Hideo, and I were about to depart Naples Port’s wharf. Ani, an elderly Italian woman serving the Hamashima household as Hideo’s full-time nanny, had frantically repeated strange warnings that night to halt our sailing: “A Day of Demons,” “An Hour of Curses,” “Retribution from gold and pearls.” At the time, we dismissed it as absurdity—and indeed, it *was* absurd—yet now, looking back, those words coincidentally aligned as if they had been omens foretelling the myriad calamities to come. When I later recounted this to Commander Sakuragi during our days on Asahi Island, even that prudent commander tilted his head in contemplation. The question had clung unrelentingly to my heart—and now, seizing this opportunity...

“Do you have any recollection regarding this matter?” I asked Madame Harue.

Chapter 29: Satsuma Biwa

Madame Harue’s Tale――The Ungrateful Wretch――A Wind-Cleansed Deck――The Warship’s Melody――Let Us Arm-Wrestle and Shin-Wrestle――The Dojo Wrecker――The Bizarre Lieutenant

Madame Harue raised her delicate eyebrows. "Ah, that matter! "You remembered it well, didn't you? "At the time, I paid no mind to Ani's truly strange words, but later I came to realize their meaning. "They were not entirely baseless—that's how it was," she continued, brushing back her stray locks in the sea breeze that whispered past.

“She spoke of a Day of Demons and an Hour of Curses.” “The Sengetsumaru that sailed that night sank mysteriously in the open Indian Ocean exactly as foretold. When I was rescued by a British mail ship and returned to our Naples home, Ani had already vanished.” “We searched everywhere, but none knew her whereabouts.” “Just as we thought it truly strange, one day came a letter from a nunnery beyond worldly affairs—in a remote village deep within the Urpino mountains far from Naples—bearing Ani’s unmistakable hand, through which we finally understood the circumstances.”

“Wh-wh-what kind of document—?” Petty Officer Takemura and I leaned forward.

Madame Harue’s bright eyes glistened with tears as she spoke. “You needn’t pity me. “According to the letter, Ani became a nun upon hearing of the Sengetsumaru’s sinking, believing she could never atone to us. “That matter was a tragedy in itself. “We had long known Ani had a son—a thoroughly dissolute man who ran away from home over a decade prior and disappeared—but she would habitually repeat it like a refrain: ‘My son refused to heed my words and fled on an ill-omened October day, only to be taken by a sea serpent.’ “I always found it strange—this talk of sea serpents—but through that letter, I finally understood it was due to Italians’ peculiar use of coded language. “Her son being ‘taken by a sea serpent’ didn’t mean his death. In truth, he’d joined forces with Indian Ocean demons and joined the crew of that notorious pirate ship called *Umihebimaru*. “Left utterly alone, Ani eventually entered service in our household. As you know, she was an honest soul, so we treated her kindly—until the very evening before our scheduled departure from Naples Port. “When Ani went out on a brief errand, she unexpectedly encountered her long-lost son by the wharf. “Even villains share bonds with their parents,” Harue continued. “Honest Ani said, ‘Come with me,’ and took him to a small eatery nearby. She emptied her meager purse to treat him to his favorite dishes before tearfully pleading, ‘My son—what have you been doing? Won’t you abandon this wicked path?’ But he coolly retorted, ‘Here we go again.’ “‘Ma, you’re still hopelessly naive! You think you can survive this world being so stingy?’ he slurred, thoroughly drunk. ‘Me? I’ve got a big job coming up—came to this port for it. We set sail again tomorrow night. Pull this off smooth, and I’ll give you two hundred pieces of blinding gold!’ “‘Keep it quiet…’ he must’ve blurted out thoughtlessly.” Hearing this, Ani gasped in shock. At the time, everyone knew the *Sengetsumaru*—loaded with unprecedented amounts of gold and pearls—would soon depart Naples Port for the Orient. Yet none noticed the fearsome *Umihebimaru* lurking alongside it. When Ani dimly realized through her son’s drunken boasts that pirates were present in port, her shock must have been unimaginable! “The *Umihebimaru*’s purpose in departing Naples alongside our *Sengetsumaru* needs no explanation. “When Ani realized her son’s ‘big job’ was attacking our ship to plunder its cargo, she desperately pleaded with him—but he wouldn’t relent. Having his scheme exposed, that wicked son suddenly roared: ‘Ma! Since you’ve figured it out—this is your last warning! Snitch to anyone, and my head rolls! Then I’ll burn your masters’ house down—leave no survivors!’ He became a demon threatening her. “Ani rushed home in terror but could do nothing. Plainly put—she feared both her son’s execution and some vengeful strike against our family. After endless anguish, she resorted to those strange omens to stop us from boarding. “But who could believe such things? “That our sailing fell on a ‘Day of Demons’ at a ‘Cursed Hour’? “Ah—we dismissed Ani’s warnings once more and sailed regardless. That became our calamity’s cause.”

“And so, when Ani finally heard that the Sengetsumaru had sunk, beside herself with grief, she withdrew to a nunnery beyond the secular world to pray for atonement toward us and her son’s repentance.” “And so Ani now lives free of sin and defilement in a thatched hut deep in the Urpino mountains, under the pure moonlight of Suchness—but that detestable pirate son of hers likely continues to brazenly commit his wicked deeds, pillowing his head upon the waves of the Indian Ocean.”

I involuntarily slapped my knee. The ever-impulsive Petty Officer Takemura cracked his arms and glared around at the boundless ocean,

“This is the Indian Ocean—where’s that insolent brat hiding?!” he growled, glaring at the rapid-fire cannons on deck.

“Now’s an unparalleled joyous moment! If you want even greater hopes fulfilled—we’ll massacre those damnable pirate scum with these newly cast rapid-fire cannons!” “Whoa, magnificent! Magnificent!” “Magnificent! Magnificent!” Lieutenant Todoroki clapped his hands. As Captain Commander Matsushima, Hamashima Takefumi, and a few other attending officers exchanged glances with gallant smiles upon their faces, the warship *Sunrise*’s port and starboard sides were a tumult of spray like scattered jewels, the vessel’s speed seemingly taking flight.

From then on, Petty Officer Takemura and I, having received indescribable hospitality from everyone aboard the ship, plowed through the waves of the Indian Ocean as we advanced toward the port of Colombo. On the deck bathed in gentle sunlight and crisp winds, my tale of experiences—akin to a novel—continued endlessly like the waves of the Indian Ocean as I recounted it to the Commander, Hamashima, Madame Harue, Lieutenant Todoroki, and the other officers and sailors aboard. Going back much earlier—the actual circumstances at the time of the Sengetsumaru’s sinking. The myriad hardships endured while adrift in the lifeboat. The sudden downpour. The strange tale of shark fishing. The story of Hideo Shōnen pinching his nose at the rotten fish meat. Then we drifted ashore at Asahi Island and found the coconut fruits delicious. The savage baboon attack incident. The unexpected encounter with Commander Sakuragi. The clang of iron and the strangeness of Folding Screen Rock. Inazuma the Fierce Dog was a dog of truly rare quality in this world. The daily lives of the Commander, the boy, and over thirty other sailors—rich in their interests—rising at dawn beneath lingering stars and returning at dusk under the moon’s light; in their off-duty hours, harmonious tea gatherings, thrilling rowing competitions, baseball matches—these tales must have astonished them with delight, brought laughter to their lips, and filled them with joy. Especially the full account of the Asahi Island Memorial Tower’s establishment—the thrilling episode when that bizarre self-propelled冒险 vehicle charged unrestrainedly through deep mountains and vast marshes. A great struggle against fierce beasts and poisonous snakes. The perilous moment involving Petty Officer Takemura’s leg. The incident of plunging into the quicksand valley out of curiosity and narrowly escaping death.

The episode of Hideo Shōnen and the fierce dog Inazuma’s parting. From beyond Mount Hakutou, the large hydrogen balloon came fluttering down. Now then—the grand spectacle of Empire Day itself, followed by the strange tale stretching from the great calamity during the Lightning Boat’s test operation that night to our current mission—these stories kept them cheering “Hooray!” throughout, while our life on that isolated island remained the very birthplace of blunders and missteps marked by that obscure character ※. As for Petty Officer Takemura, who now sat beside me striking lively interjections into the conversation—he was patted on the back and clapped for by the crew of Warship Sunrise time and again, becoming the most beloved figure aboard.

Though Petty Officer Takemura was now a guest aboard this warship like myself, he remained a sailor who called vessels home—a man of exceptional vigor even among sailors, peerlessly skilled in gunnery and navigation. Thus stationed on the warship, he could not bear idle contemplation for even a moment. Moreover, seeing how Commander Matsushima and all hands of the *Sunrise* devoted themselves wholeheartedly for Commander Sakuragi—whom he revered above all—filled him with heartfelt joy and gratitude. He grew increasingly impatient to repay even a ten-thousandth of this debt by laboring alongside the warship’s crew. Yet naval regulations brooked no exception: unless one was an active-duty serviceman of this vessel, ascending the masthead was forbidden, working in the engine room impossible. Left with no recourse, he wandered—standing to gaze at the boundless ocean waves from the prow, looking up at the Imperial Naval Ensign fluttering from the bulwark’s edge, peering into the rapid-fire cannons—until restlessness drove him to incessantly rub his arms. But when evening fell—this hour being the crew’s merriest during voyages—the many officers and sailors with leisure after duties gathered on the rear deck beneath high skies and azure waves. There, with utmost freedom and vivacity, some recited poetry while others performed sword dances. Petty Officer Takemura had joined their ranks and was making a lively commotion, shouting "How delightful!" over and over, when—from who knows when or where—Lieutenant Todoroki’s tiger-like whiskers suddenly thrust forward.

“Hey, Petty Officer Takemura! You’re quite skilled at the Satsuma biwa! How about playing us a piece? Go on, do it!” “Very well!” he ordered a nearby sailor and had them fetch the biwa he had brought along. The young officers and veteran sailors, murmuring “This is fascinating,” gathered attentively near the 15cm rapid-fire cannons and beneath the rear bridge. Petty Officer Takemura, seizing his moment, took up the biwa and sat cross-legged beneath the fluttering Imperial Naval Ensign at the stern. With a twang-twanging and strum-strumming, he launched into a biwa melody, raising his voice—

“Even mountains towering into the clouds— If we climb them, how could we not prevail? Even seas that engulf the sky— If we cross them, we shall surely sail! Our Dragonfly Land blazes crimson-bright, An isle adrift in dawn’s eastern light— Like a lone ship mid-ocean’s endless blue...” The high notes soared like eagles cleaving through gales, while low tones wept like mountain streams choked by stones. These melodies intertwined with the Indian Ocean winds whistling through the masthead and waves crashing against the hull, creating a symphony that resonated across the warship without pause. As the biwa’s final notes faded, Lieutenant Todoroki—his tiger-like whiskers quivering—burst into thunderous applause.

“Excellent! The real deal! Good! Good! Don’t undersell yourself!” With that, he sprang to his feet. “Petty Officer! How about a round of arm-wrestling—” he barked, thrusting out an arm like iron. Lieutenant Todoroki’s arm-wrestling prowess was legendary. Yet Petty Officer Takemura knew nothing of this—he too boasted of his own great strength. “Very well, let’s do it!” He cast aside the biwa and locked arms, only to be instantly twisted down with a thud.

“Weakling!” laughed Lieutenant Todoroki heartily. “Wh-what’s going on here? Y-you’ve defeated this Takemura? ‘Come on, one more round—’” I fought, but lost again. “This wasn’t how it was supposed to go,” I muttered while rubbing my arm, but no matter how I tried, nothing worked. Looking around restlessly, I saw the officers and sailors of the *Sunrise* chuckling under their breath, Hamashima Takefumi laughing heartily, and Madame Harue smiling discreetly from behind her handkerchief.

“Too bad, then. Come on!” Petty Officer Takemura abruptly thrust out his hairy shin. “Lieutenant, sir! As thanks, let’s have a round of shin-wrestling!” “Shin-wrestling?” Lieutenant Todoroki frowned, but being an officer who refused to back down, he bared his own hairy shin as if it were nothing and gave a push—only to leap back with a yelp of “Agh, ow ow ow!” “This hurts! There’s a honed blade in Petty Officer Takemura’s shin!” “S-so strong?!” exclaimed the onlooking officers and sailors as they too charged forward, but indeed Takemura’s shins were astonishingly hard—all were knocked down with a single strike and retreated crying “Ow ow ow!” Petty Officer Takemura wore a somewhat smug expression and twitched his nose, but the deck of the warship Sunrise still held quite a few formidable figures.

“Takemura! Outrageous—you’ve gone and done a dojo-wrecking act on our Warship Sunrise! Very well—I’ll take you on!” From behind the mainmast’s shadow suddenly emerged a dark-complexioned young ensign with Herculean muscles—a man who during his Naval Academy days had been the undisputed leader of gluttony clubs, boasting a lung capacity of 5,200 units, grip strength of 78 kilograms, pole-vaulting prowess reaching 13 shaku, and sprinting 600 yards in 86 seconds. Throughout his three-year tenure, he had always served as his squad’s lead oarsman, his rowing strength declared unmatched under heaven.

“Come at me!” With that roar, [the young ensign] smashed his iron-forged shin against Petty Officer Takemura’s so-called “honed blade” shin. Both combatants flushed crimson as they strained and heaved in a stalemate, while the whole deck crew whooped and hollered in rapturous delight at the spectacle.

“Enough! Enough! You’ll break your legs!” shouted Lieutenant Todoroki as he circled round and round the two combatants, until the match finally ended in a draw. From the bridge, Captain Matsushima of the Navy, as was his custom, twirled his mustache while gazing with a faint smile.

Chapter 30: The Great Naval Battle Under the Moonlit Night

India’s Colombo Port—a fully lit warship—battle trumpets—a pirate flag emblazoned with a demon’s crest—swung a great military sword with a whoosh—the Commander arrives! The Lightning Boat arrives! The Indian Ocean Glittering in the Morning Sun Thus, Warship *Sunrise* docked at Colombo Port on India’s western coast as scheduled two nights later. Captain Matsushima of the Navy, myself, and Petty Officer Takemura disembarked into a city where coconut and banana groves thinly veiled the shoreline, ascending from the wharf’s edge toward tiers of streets ablaze with electric lights that rivaled daylight. There, we discreetly procured the secret chemicals for the *Lightning Boat* entrusted to us by Commander Sakuragi, sealed them in twelve barrels, and promptly loaded them aboard Warship *Sunrise* without requiring further retrofitting. Concurrently, through an encrypted telegram, Captain Matsushima received authorization from the homeland government and set course toward Olive Island—where we were to rendezvous with the submarine battleship at dawn on the 25th.

From Colombo Port to Olive Island was approximately 1,500 nautical miles. By day, gazing up at the Imperial Naval Ensign fluttering upon the sunlit deck, they envisioned with exhilaration how before long the two naval commanders—paragons of wisdom and valor—would meet across the waves upon the decks of the new warship *Sunrise* and the new *Lightning Boat*; how thenceforth the two vessels would sail side by side over thousands of miles of ocean until they beheld Mount Fuji’s silhouette bathed in morning light. By night, gathered where calm sea breezes caressed the bridge, they conversed with Hamashima Takefumi and Madame Harue while yearning for the dear figure of Hideo Shōnen. The four days and nights of sailing passed without incident; only the roar of the steam engine proved dreadful.

Aboard Warship Sunrise, there was not a single soul asleep. On the bridge, Commander Matsushima of the Navy and his assembled officers—their resplendent shoulder insignia rippling like waves under the moon—kept their binoculars gripped in one hand trained ceaselessly upon the sea. Here and there on the deck, groups of sailors could be seen whispering among themselves while others laughed merrily. Petty Officer Takemura stood with his eyes perfectly round, “Alright! Olive Island is finally approaching!” “Has His Excellency the Commander’s submarine battleship already reached that island’s shadow? Or has it not yet departed Asahi Island? Hah! How interminable this waiting!” he exclaimed, waving his hands and stamping his feet uncontrollably.

Hamashima Takefumi leaned against the giant cannon at the stern, leisurely twisting his fine beard. Madame Harue’s smiling face was more beautiful than even that of a celestial maiden; the passing clouds in the heavens above seemed to halt their course, and the birds crying over the waves appeared to sing our praises. At this moment of supreme joy, suddenly, an extraordinary alert was heard near the gangway. Everyone aboard fell silent. Looking out, over three nautical miles from our warship, north of what appeared to be Olive Island, there were two isles coiled like poisonous dragons. From the shadow of that island, a single point of light suddenly flashed. Then one after another, seven strange vessels hoisted spherical lanterns high on their foremasts and appeared in a long serpentine formation. The moon shone unobscured; spewing black smoke at the forefront advanced a ship with two smokestacks and two masts! That unforgettable one from four years ago!!!

“Here comes the Umihēbimaru! Here comes the Umihēbimaru!!” When I screamed, Lieutenant Todoroki whirled around and dashed toward the combat tower. All we saw was a signal flare—streaking like a meteor from the bow of the *Umihēbimaru*. This nighttime signal, meant to alert other ships, now served an unexpected purpose: that audacious pirate vessel was somehow using it to draw the gaze of our Imperial warship.

The gazes of all aboard our ship indeed turned toward that direction.

Lieutenant Todoroki, who had once run off toward the combat tower, now returned to my side and shouted loudly— “Strange vessel!” “Strange vessel!” “That ship is attempting to signal our warship!” Indeed, judging from the situation and those seven ships’ appearance, the Umihēbimaru now clearly intended to attempt some signal toward our warship. Yet I knew. On today’s seas, while universal daytime signals existed, nighttime signals—apart from each navy’s secret codes and critical yet simple ones like distress flares such as the Umihēbimaru had just fired—lacked any international standard. As I watched to see what method this strange vessel would use to signal us, suddenly lights blazed across the Umihēbimaru’s masts, decks, bow, stern, starboard and portside—illuminating the entire ship with daylight-rivaling brilliance. Beneath that glare, an uncanny human figure materialized, and instantly a signal flag rose high on the mast yard.

How cunning! The strange ship was attempting to apply daytime signals using electric lights. Triangular, square, and variously patterned signal flags fluttered in the wind.

“Stop that warship!” “Stop that warship!!!” ” displayed the signal. Captain Matsushima of the Navy, commander of Warship Sunrise, issued an order and illuminated the entire ship with electric lights. The first-class signalman stood beneath the signal mast under command. “Strange vessel! Who art thou?” our signal flag rose.

The fluttering signal flags in the distance conveyed: "We are none other than the Indian Ocean's most notorious pirate fleet! We have long awaited this moment to seize your newly built warship! Raise a white flag at once and surrender your vessel! Should you hesitate, know this—we command seven sturdy ships that shall smash yours to splinters in a single strike!" No sooner had this declaration been made than their serpentine column shifted into a horizontal battle line. Moonlight glinted off swords and halberds visible on the decks of all seven pirate ships. Aboard our warship, officers and sailors alike raised their brows in fury—young officers already gripping their swords' hilts tight, awaiting the captain's order; at gangways and gunports, peerlessly fierce sailors rubbed their hands in anticipation. Hamashima laughed coldly, and Madame Harue fell silent.

Our valiant Petty Officer Takemura stood with his hair bristling skyward in fury,

“Hah! Enough of your games, you pirates! I’ll show you what’s what!” he immediately bolted toward the portside eight-inch rapid-fire cannon—but then he remembered. Naval regulations stood as unyielding as Mount Tai; even one with extraordinary skill could not operate cannons or fire rifles unless they were an official crew member. Petty Officer Takemura ground his teeth in frustration, “Blast it all! How I envy this warship’s sailors at a time like this!” he shouted while brandishing empty fists and adopting a fierce stance at the warship’s bow. Meanwhile, Lieutenant Toraige stood with his tiger-like beard bristling and eyes wide, the firing mechanism of the Twelve-Centimeter Naval Gun gripped in his right hand awaiting only the captain’s order.

At this moment, Commander Matsushima of the Navy remained utterly composed, calmly issuing his signal command; the signalman devotedly hoisted the signal flag high. “Fools, you pirates! Do you not see the Great Japanese Empire Naval Ensign fluttering upon our gaff yard?” Suddenly, all electric lights aboard the *Umihēbimaru* snapped off. Simultaneously, seven pirate ships charged toward us through raging waves, black smoke billowing. A roaring shell screamed past, grazing our foremast. With a single glance, Commander Matsushima swept his sword from its scabbard and stood resolute atop the command tower; a sharp order rang out as the warship’s battle trumpet blared. Officers’ epaulets glinted while sailors rushed to their stations—whether too soon or too late mattered little now, for shells from pirate ships fell like rain or hail. Our warship responded first with eight-inch rapid-fire cannons, followed by machine guns. The moon cast a ghastly pallor; upon the moonlit sea erupted bursts of gunfire while gunpowder smoke rose hazily—a scene that might have rivaled legendary night battles of Tarento Bay. The gallantry of officers and sailors needed no recounting. “Even non-combatants cannot stand idle!” Both Hamashima and I cast off heavy coats to urgently transport bullets and powder. Petty Officer Takemura whirled his greatsword with a *whoosh*, poised to leap onto any pirate deck that drew near. Madame Harue’s graceful form resembled a lone cherry petal fluttering through stormy skies; tenderly lifting a wounded soldier, her snow-white arms became streaked with fresh blood gushing from an imperial serviceman.

The naval battle had begun at 2:30 AM and did not conclude until dawn's first light. Our side was the loyal and valiant Japanese warship; the enemy was none other than the Indian Ocean's most notorious pirate fleet. Perhaps finding the artillery exchange too sluggish, three or four of the pirates' most prominent ships suddenly aligned their prows and charged forth like a stormwind. On their decks where blades and halberds glinted coldly, the pirates braced to swarm aboard our vessel upon impact. "Hah! How insolent! How dare you filthy pirates presume to stain our sacred deck with your vile blood!" Thus our warship fought with redoubled fury. Gunpowder smoke darkened the sea like a thousand thunderclaps crashing down at once. Commander Matsushima's orders rang out ever clearer from the command tower while miracles of seamanship unfolded in the helm room. The 2,800-ton cruiser maneuvered with sovereign mastery. When enemy ships attacked from starboard, our rapid-fire cannons pursued them; when pirate vessels approached portside, machine gun salvos struck them down. Yet even as we fought, the enemy proved formidable. Seven sturdy ships closed again—waves churning backward, winds raging wild—their bloodstained pirate banners snapping ever sharper and fiercer in the gale. In that moment, it seemed this battle might never end. Suddenly—they saw! From dawn's distant horizon came a longboat charging straight through spray and raging waves—and as it drew nearer, there at its stern fluttered the Naval Ensign in the morning wind! The instant I saw it, I leaped from starboard to port.

“The Commander comes! “The Commander is coming! “Commander Sakuragi’s Lightning Boat arrives!!!” The echoing cry resounded through the entire warship during a lull in cannon fire, stirring momentary commotion among Warship Sunrise’s officers and sailors. At that moment, Petty Officer Takemura—standing at the bow with a minor wound on his right temple—wiped blood flowing into both eyes with his fist and sharply scanned the seascape. The submarine battleship approached like lightning until just 1,000 meters from our vessel—then seemed to vanish beneath waves in an instant—only for a tremendous uproar to erupt directly ahead on the sea’s surface moments later. Watching, they saw a pirate ship shatter from keel upward with a thunderous roar, spray flying as it sank into abyssal depths—chaos ensued as another vessel capsized stern-first, its demon-marked pirate flag slapping waves twice, thrice—then vanishing without trace.

“There! Commander Sakuragi came! “The Lightning Boat’s reinforcements are here! Don’t let those laggard sailors laugh at us! Charge! Charge!” Under this command, the officers and sailors of the Warship Sunrise doubled their courage. Their ceaselessly fired shells scattered like jewels from a shattered iceberg, mercilessly striking pirate ships reeling in disarray. The eight-inch rapid-fire cannon at our stern promptly sank one vessel, while simultaneously launched twelve-centimeter explosive shells marked Lieutenant Toraige’s crowning achievement! A pirate ship charging toward our warship in desperate frenzy had its ammunition depot struck true—inside and out, raging flames erupted as its rudder shattered into splinters and it spun like a top. From beneath the waves surged the submarine battleship with lightning speed; though its form remained unseen, wherever its three-pronged ram whirled through the water, enemy vessels disintegrated into dust. The new torpedoes raced forth like white dragons leaping skyward. Of the three remaining pirate ships, one tilted from starboard to port, another from port to starboard—their decks slanting visibly as waves crashed over them—and panicked pirates clutching cannons and rifles alike plunged into the sea like an avalanche. Now only a single pirate ship remained! This was none other than the *Umihēbimaru*—the pirate ship with two smokestacks and two masts! Deeming further resistance futile, the *Umihēbimaru* furled its flag and fled toward Olive Island amid billowing black smoke—while the submarine battleship, refusing even to submerge beneath the waves, pursued it across the surface like a galloping dragon. Our warship fell silent for ten... twenty seconds. The sharp three-pronged ram struck the pirate ship’s starboard side like lightning flashing across the sky with a thunderous roar—the utterly wicked *Umihēbimaru* finally sent up spray and sank beneath the waves.

By now, night had fully broken, and from the sapphire-blue eastern sky rose a blazing morning sun. Our captain, Commander Matsushima of the Navy wiped away streaming sweat and surveyed the scene with a smile brimming across his face—whereupon the military band struck up *Kimigayo*, its resounding notes so fiercely triumphant they seemed to make even the Indian Ocean’s waves leap for joy. From gangways, mastheads, and battle stations, officers and sailors of our warship *Sunrise* raised both hands high, waved flags, and erupted into cheers—exulting, rejoicing, surging to their feet. Hamashima Takefumi and Madame Harue stood voiceless from sheer delight; Lieutenant Toraige and Petty Officer Takemura—each sporting a white headband over minor wounds on opposite temples—joined me in gazing eagerly at the dawning Indian Ocean. A fresh wind swept across the waves in gust after gust as the *Lightning Boat*—having just shattered *Umihēbimaru*—now turned its bow leisurely toward us. Ah!!! Behold its glorious conning tower! There stood Commander Sakuragi of peerless majesty, gauntlet raised to shade his eyes as he observed our warship *Sunrise*’s deck, followed by over thirty tanned, muscular sailors of unmatched ferocity. Beside him stood Hideo Shōnen in his sailor uniform—his left hand gripping the collar of the fierce dog Inazuma and his right clutching the Naval Ensign that fluttered briskly in the sea breeze—his cherubic yet courageous face tilted upward toward us with a gentle smile.

――――～～～～～～～～――――

Esteemed readers!

White clouds flew low over the Indian Ocean, where raging waves leapt to the heavens. Our Imperial warship *Sunrise* and the phantom-like *Lightning Boat*—having shattered the world’s great demon and its seven notorious pirate ships into splinters—now sailed side by side, homeward bound. The lengthy telegram dispatched last night from Singapore should by now have reached Japan’s Naval Ministry. The two vessels rounded Cape Comorin at India’s southern tip this past Friday, passed Ceylon Island’s offshore waters, and—under the pale waning moon at the Bay of Bengal’s edge—expressed gratitude to British, French, German, and Russian warships encountered along their salute-exchanging course. Viewing the large and small Nicobar Islands to starboard and Saran Island to port, they slipped through the Strait of Malacca—the divide between West and East—as if in a dream. Now they advanced through the South China Sea’s waves; thus, even should swells rise high or winds rage hereafter, I do not think it will be long before these two ships appear before you all.

By then—through newspaper extras and public talk—even you in mountain hamlets and remote regions would surely have heard newer, more joyous news! But I especially hoped this: You who dwell near shores where waves crash and ships anchor—from west of Genkai Nada’s edge, passing through Shimonoseki Strait into Seto Inland Sea, exiting via Kii Channel past Shiozaki, along Tōtōmi Nada’s coast to Suruga Bay and Sagami Nada—must spend your mornings and evenings observing the distant sea! From second-floor windows! From hills beyond your homes! From coastal piers—raise gauntleted hands to shade your eyes and watch! If upon that horizon where sea and sky merge into azure—you first spy billowing black smoke! Then see a white new-model cruiser emerge! And alongside it—a strange craft churning spray like a dragon or shachi charging toward you! Then I implore you: Let flag-bearers wave banners! Let trumpeters sound fanfares! Let those empty-handed raise both palms! Shout with all your might—“Banzai for the Empire! Banzai for the Imperial Navy!” And when you see—as those two decks draw near—the Naval Ensign fluttering on the cruiser’s gaff yard! And on that strange craft’s stern! Then—at that instant—shout thrice: “Banzai for Warship Sunrise! Banzai for Lightning Boat!” For on Lightning Boat’s conning tower stood Commander Sakuragi of the Navy! Petty Officer Takemura! Hideo Shōnen! And thirty-odd fierce sailors unmatched in all creation!

On the deck of the warship *Sunrise* stood Captain Matsushima of the Navy, Lieutenant Toraige Todoroki, Hamashima Takefumi, Madame Harue, and over two hundred crew members. Each of them carried binoculars in hand, waved white cloths, and beamed with joy—likely expressing gratitude for your kindness.

At that moment, I will surely be standing at the stern of the Warship Sunrise—near where the eight-inch rapid-fire cannon lies, or perhaps by the high-waterline gangway—respectfully raising my helmet-shaped hat high in my right hand, and once again shouting “Banzai for the Great Japanese Empire!” together with you all! Banzai for the Imperial Navy! Let us give three cheers!

(On the deck of the *Warship Sunrise*)

The Island Sword Adventure: Submarine Battleship – End