Pathway to Japanese Literature

I. We Japanese people, who float upon the Pacific waves like this ship, must no longer linger in mere admiration of Mount Fuji's radiant beauty alone. The laurel crown of luminous honor and banners of wealth and power have already left dry land behind, now transferred to the world's seas. Who shall don this crown and seize these banners? There is none but the brave of the sea. The brave of the sea shall become the brave of the world. I. On the Auspicious Occasion of Tenchōsetsu (the Emperor's Birthday) Viscount Ito, Navy Admiral

Kimotsuki, Navy Rear Admiral Count Yoshii, Navy Major

Viscount Ogasawara, Navy Major

Kamimura, Navy Major I congratulate Your Excellencies' prosperity and express sincere gratitude for your gracious benevolence in bestowing both calligraphic title and preface upon this humble book. I. That I received Navy Major Kamimura's considerate guidance and rigorous proofreading brings joy not merely to this author alone—should readers gain any measure of maritime knowledge through this work, it is wholly due to the Major's benefaction. I. From afar, I pray for the continued good health of Mr. Iwaya Sazanami in Berlin.

著者※（変体仮名し）るす

Sea Island Adventure Fantasia: The Submarine Warship Table of Contents

First Chapter: Overseas Japanese Naples Port's Chance Encounter ―― Grand Trading House ―― Hamashima Takefumi ―― Mrs. Harue ―― Hideo, the Boy ―― Commander Matsushima's Standby

Second Chapter: Day and Hour of Demons Farewell Party ―― Old Nursemaid Ani ―― Saint of Mount Vulpino ―― Cursed Day of October ―― Gold and Pearls ―― Moonlit Departure

Third Chapter: Phantom Ship Resonance of the Gong ―― Beer-Barrel Captain ―― White Mast Light ―― Old-Fashioned Englishman ―― Strange Tales of Pirate Island ―― Sea Serpent Maru

Fourth Chapter: Discarded Newspaper Cigars — Commander Sakuragi’s Whereabouts — The Great Sailing Ship and Thirty-Seven Sailors — Strange New-Style Poetry — Secret Invention — Two O’Clock Clang

Fifth Chapter: Piano and Boxing Shipboard Musical Soirée — Goose-Voiced Woman — Mrs. Harue’s Honor — Deck Race — Sumo Wrestling — My Discomfiture — Circus Master’s Tiger

Sixth Chapter: Star Shell Grenades

Distress signals from a wreck—No—must be shooting stars—Preposterous!—Three sidelights—You damned phantom ship—those eerie eyes of yours!

Seventh Chapter: Indian Ocean Pirate Ship

Torpedo Destroyer or Cruiser—Pirates of Old and Pirates of Today—Submersible—Searchlight—Towering Waves Like White Horses—Shallow Seabed—Great Collision

Eighth Chapter: Human Fate

The Crescent Moon Maru's Final Moments——Hee-hee, You coward!——The Japanese Child——Two Buoys——Mrs. Harue's Whereabouts——Oh, Something Black!

Ninth Chapter: The Skiff on the Open Sea

Ani's Prophecy — Hideo the Boy's Dream — The Indian Ocean's Great Tidal Current — Sudden Rain — A Feast from Bygone Days — A Giant School of Fish

Tenth Chapter: The Goby's Water Burial

Heaven’s Gift — Countercurrent — I Am a Black Slave, The Boy Is the Charcoal Seller’s Son — Oh My, The Taste Has Turned Strange — Another Fast

Eleventh Chapter: Echoes of a Deserted Island

Was it an island inhabited by humans or demons? — Oh! That sound — A beautiful spring — A gorilla attacked — A sailor nimbly dodged — The naval officer’s face

Twelfth Chapter: House of the Navy

A southern uninhabited island—the cheerful Petty Officer Takemura—vague imaginings—ahead lay the waves of the open sea, behind stretched a palm grove—they departed to parts unknown.

Chapter Thirteen: Starlight Flickers

Welcome—Mrs. Harue Will Not Die—This Shinpachi Leads the Vanguard—The Sinking of the Naminoe Maru—This Island Is Quite Interesting!—Three Years Later

Chapter Fourteen: Undersea Shipyard

A glimpse of the Commander’s retreating figure—Lion hunting was most respectfully declined—Lightning-swift fierce dogs—A secret conversation—Folding screen rock—Terrifying footsteps—Characters on the iron gate

Fifteenth Chapter: Lightning Craft The Booming Sound of Waves—A Shape Resembling a Thrown Spear—Three-Pronged Ram—New-Style Torpedo—Scenes of Sea Surface and Seabed Reflected in a Clear Mirror—Air Generator—Poem by Master Tesshū

Sixteenth Chapter: Rising Sun Island

Hideo stood in the shade of a palm tree—international law—evidence of occupation—three-pronged memorial tower—Brilliant idea! That’s the spot!

Chapter Seventeen: The Ironclad Locomotive Automatic device—Decapitation-blade-shaped hatchet—A thump on a small chest—No room for arrogance—Kimigayo national anthem—Proclamation of “Banzai” for the Empire

Eighteenth Chapter: Baseball Game Nine Mysterious Pitches — Naive Confusion — Triumphant Toss — Divided into West and East — Lion’s Rallying Cry — Twisting the Ideal Bat — “I’m So Disappointed” — “No Way!”

Nineteenth Chapter: Fierce Beast Squad

Nature's Sanctuary ― Explosive Shells ― Rhythmic Work Chants ― Single Shoe ― Good Deeds Invite Evil ― Slippery Sands Valley, alias Valley of Death ― Midnight Beasts ― Watchfires

Twentieth Chapter: Messenger of the Fierce Dog Over mountains upon mountains thirty ri—A single document—In the afterlife or this world?—This dog was no ordinary beast—Turned pitch-black and gave chase—The water barrel stood empty

Twenty-First Chapter: Aerial Rescue

A startled reaction to something—someone’s half-visible figure emerging—the night eight days prior—three hundred bolts of white silk—a congratulatory fist blow—Inazuma, the boy, and Petty Officer Takemura

Twenty-Second Chapter: Sea's Calamity

Deserted Island’s Kigensetsu — Commander’s Ceremonial Attire — Coastal Night Soirée — Boy’s Sword Dance — Demon’s Hand Envying Human Happiness — Submarine Landslide — Lightning Boat’s Night Signals

Twenty-Third Chapter: Twelve Barrels

The submarine combat vessel's lifeblood — Sparsely populated Olive Island — The iron door reduced to dust — From heaven to hell's depths — Such recklessness could not be countenanced — Tears of bitter futility

Twenty-Fourth Chapter: Gas Balloon Flight

Become the demon of this desolate island—Drastic measures—I shall go—A silent farewell—I cried in my heart—The familiar shores of Asahijima grew distant…

Twenty-Fifth Chapter: White Cruiser

The shadow of the continent—something streaked through the air like an arrow—a lone white object—a flock of seabirds—the warship flag "Garf"—Ah! Ah! That flag! That ship!

Twenty-Sixth Chapter: Face and Face and Face Imperial Warship Flag—Captain Torahige, real name Captain Todoroki—the skiff had been retrieved along with them—full speed—a battle-hardened face—a face resembling someone—a face steeped in nostalgia.

Twenty-Seventh Chapter: Captain's Quarters

He twisted his mustache—“Could this be a dream?—I am overjoyed above all—Your complexion has grown quite dark indeed—Now it’s your turn—A story from four years ago.”

Twenty-Eighth Chapter: Memorial Warship Imperial Warship "Hinode"—as this Torahige would recount—manufactured at Thames Shipyard—a cruiser reminiscent of the Akashi—all human affairs are subject to divine will.

Twenty-Ninth Chapter: Satsuma Biwa

Mrs. Harue's Tale――The Impertinent Brute――Deck of Pure Breezes――The National Ship's Melody――Let Us Engage in Arm and Leg Wrestling――Dojo Challenger――The Strange Lieutenant

Thirtieth Chapter: Moonlit Night's Great Naval Battle

Colombo’s port in India—a ship ablaze with electric lights—battle trumpets—a pirate flag emblazoned with a demon crest and a large military sword swung with a whoosh—the Commander arrived! The Lightning Boat arrived!

―The Indian Ocean ablaze with the morning sun End of Table of Contents

Chapter One: Overseas Japanese

A Chance Encounter at Naples Port — The Grand Trading House — Hamashima Takefumi — Mrs. Harue — Hideo, the Boy — Commander Matsushima’s Awaiting Orders

It was already six years prior that I had set sail from Yokohama Port with the purpose of world travel—first crossing to America, then traversing the raging waves of the Atlantic to journey through Europe, touring the famous sights and historic ruins of renowned nations like England, France, and Germany. Having spent over twenty months and left behind a long journey of approximately fifteen thousand ri, I finally entered Italy. After sufficiently viewing its various wonders befitting a nation long celebrated as an artistic realm, I came to Naples—the country's famed port—at precisely noon on a certain clear day in mid-May when cherry blossoms scatter, exactly four years ago now, to board the steamship Crescent Moon Maru bound for the Orient that would weigh anchor at half past eleven that night.

From a station on the outskirts of the city via a horse-drawn carriage waiting for passengers, I arrived at a certain inn near the coast. Once my room was secured and lunch promptly finished, there was nothing left to do—over ten hours still remained until the ship’s departure. Those of you who have undertaken long journeys will likely understand—there is nothing more tedious than waiting idly in an unfamiliar foreign land for the departure of steam trains or steamships. Standing to look, sitting to look, flipping through newspapers and magazines yet finding nothing to hold one's attention—should I perhaps take a nap? Or maybe stroll through the town?—I leaned against the window while pondering these options and gazed out. Below lay the Gulf of Naples, its mirror-like sea surface dotted with departing ships, arriving ships, and anchored ships. As I surveyed the patterns on their decks, the flags fluttering atop their masts, and the strangely styled rooftops of trading houses stretching from the distant pier to this vicinity, all while engaging in aimless contemplation, a certain thought suddenly occurred to me. It was about a man named Hamashima Takefumi.

Hamashima Takefumi had been a fellow student of mine from when I was still attending higher school—indeed, this was some twelve or thirteen years prior—though we had shared the bond of learning together. He was four or five years my senior, and as such we were in different grades, so we did not interact much at first. However, during that time, owing to his exceptional athletic skills at school and our shared penchant for reckless adventurous travels, he and I came to be counted among the notable students, and thus were thought to share an inexplicably close bond that made us inseparable. After graduating—though he naturally should have entered university—he declared having grander ambitions elsewhere and soon left Japan, first traveling through China before crossing over to Europe. Up until six or seven years ago, it was clearly known that someone had met him at the great exposition in Paris, but I myself, being a man who roamed south by ship and north by horse, never heard detailed news of his subsequent whereabouts. Only through vague rumors have I lately heard tell that he has now established a grand trading company at a certain bustling Italian port, devoting himself wholly to commercial enterprise.

When considering Italy's bustling ports, this place was Naples—the country’s foremost harbor, where hundreds upon hundreds of trading houses lined the docks stretching toward the coastal avenue. Might Hamashima be operating his so-called trading company in this very port? Though it seemed like grasping at clouds, I summoned the innkeeper on the off chance—and indeed! The innkeeper didn’t let me finish my question and slapped his bald head with a smack, “Oh, Mr. Hamashima⁈ I know him well—he’s got a thousand employees, branches numbering ten fingers’ worth—Hoh! His residence? You go this way, then that way.” He leaned out the window, gesticulating with his mouth and hands.

“Look! That grand three-story house you can see over there!”

In a foreign land thousands of miles beyond the heavens, even a stranger sharing birth from the same mountains and rivers would stir nostalgia—how much more unbearable then to hear an old acquaintance now dwelled here. I promptly readied myself and departed the inn.

Following the bald innkeeper’s directions, I proceeded west along the bustling thoroughfare for about four or five blocks, turned left at the lone crossroads, and arrived at the third magnificent brick structure. Upon confirming the gate marked “T. Hamashima” and requesting entry, I was immediately ushered into a well-appointed room with a fine view. Before I had time to wait, there came loud footsteps—and entering with vigor was none other than Hamashima! In 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 now—Yanagawa-kun! How rare, how rare!” he exclaimed with effusive hospitality. I was genuinely delighted. Though now bearded men, our friendship retained its innocent camaraderie. As we exchanged countless stories—reminiscing about hunting together in mountain wilds where we once mistakenly shot a farmer’s duck and faced harsh consequences, or that spring sports festival when he and I became opposing team captains battling desperately for the championship banner—time slipped away unnoticed. But suddenly I became aware of unusual bustle in the household: voices conversing urgently in every room, footsteps racing down corridors at unnatural speed. Hamashima had always been imperturbable, his composure unchanged by circumstance, but even the maid who brought our coffee now wore an air of haste. Sensing this might be no ordinary commotion, I abruptly looked up—

"Is there something urgent requiring your attention?" I asked. "No, no—there's absolutely no need for concern." He took a sip of coffee at that moment and, leisurely twirling his mustache, continued: "Well now, actually there's someone about to depart." Oh—who was going where? Before I could even form the question, he spoke up. "Well now, Yanagawa-kun—are you planning to stay in this port for some time? Then will you be heading towards Spain? Or perhaps venturing further still on an African expedition?"

“Ahaha...” I said, scratching my head sheepishly. “I got carried away with old tales, but truth be told, it’s quite urgent—I must return to Japan on tonight’s 11:30 PM steamship.”

“What—you too?!” he exclaimed, eyes widening. “So it’s aboard tonight’s Crescent Moon Maru departing at 11:30 PM?” “Yes, unfortunately I’ve had to give up on Spain and Africa this time,” I replied firmly. He slapped his knee with a smack. “Well now, how curious—how curious!” While gazing at my look of scrutiny—wondering what was so strange—he continued. “Isn’t it strange? I suppose one might call this heavenly providence—the truth is, my wife and child are also returning to Japan aboard tonight’s Crescent Moon Maru.”

“What? Your wife and son⁈” I muttered in astonishment. That he had acquired a wife and child during our decade apart was in itself no surprise, but the truth was I had remained ignorant of this until this very moment—to say nothing of their imminent return to the homeland, which struck me like cold water dashed upon a sleeper’s ear. Hamashima laughed loudly and “Ha ha ha ha. You hadn’t known about my wife and child yet, had you? How rude of me, how rude!” he exclaimed, hurriedly ringing the bell for the maid who had entered. “Madam, there’s a rare guest...” she began, then abruptly turned toward me.

“The truth is, it’s like this,” he said, leaning forward slightly. “In the summer two years after establishing my trading company here in this port, I made a brief return to Japan.” “At that time—though I heard you were traveling through Siam—through an intermediary during my homecoming, I came to marry the sister of Commander Matsushima from our hometown.” “This was already over ten years ago now, and the child born afterward has reached eight years of age. Now then—my enduring wish has been that while I myself remain overseas as a mere merchant, my son at least might become a capable naval officer serving as a stalwart defender of the Japanese Empire. Moreover, I deeply believe that Japanese children must receive education on Japanese soil, lest their patriotic spirit weaken. Fortunately, my wife’s brother being a proper military man in the homeland, I had long contemplated entrusting him with overseeing every aspect of the boy’s upbringing—yet until now, no suitable opportunity presented itself.” “Then early this month, correspondence arrived from the homeland stating that Commander Matsushima—my wife’s esteemed brother and former captain of the Imperial warship Takao—has been placed on medical leave. While his condition isn’t life-threatening, as he’s her only brother, she expressed her desire to personally visit him if possible and gaze upon our native mountains’ moon after so long. With this coinciding with matters of our son’s education, they’ve consequently decided to depart aboard tonight’s Crescent Moon Maru at half past eleven.” “Of course, my wife will return sooner or later depending on the Commander’s condition, but as for my son—I intend to keep him at Mount Fuji’s foothills until he stands before the world as a splendid military man of the Japanese Empire.” Having finished speaking, he gazed quietly at my face.

“Now then, if you too are departing tonight, I must ask you to kindly look after them both aboard the ship and after returning to Japan.” Through this account, everything became clear. Even considering that, Hamashima Takefumi retained his old spirited bearing—to sever the bonds of parental affection and send his only son back to the homeland to be raised as an imperial military officer was an extraordinarily resolute decision. Though I had yet to meet his wife—Commander Matsushima’s younger sister—I privately marveled at her noble resolve: to bid even a temporary farewell to her husband and embark on a perilous journey across ten thousand ri of stormy seas, all to visit her brother’s sickbed while bearing their young child. As I further pondered the matter, this entire incident seemed like something out of a novel from beginning to end. That I had met an old friend through mere chance in a foreign land thousands of miles away; that when I arrived at this port, it happened to coincide with the very moment his wife and son were preparing to depart from here; that without any prior arrangement, we had come to share the fate of boarding the same ship at the same time to undertake this months-long voyage together—truly, as Hamashima had said, this must be what one calls a mysterious divine arrangement. While thus lost in such musings and temporary imaginings, two figures quietly opened the cabin door and entered. It goes without saying—the wife and her beloved child. Hamashima stood up

“This is my wife Harue,” he introduced to me, then turning to his wife, briefly explained how he and I had been fellow students long ago, the circumstances of my current journey, and the strange fate that would have us share this voyage to Japan together. At this, his wife uttered “Oh,” and approached with nostalgic warmth. In her mid-twenties, around twenty-six or twenty-seven years of age, with beautiful brows and a gentle mouth—she was a veritable celestial maiden in appearance. At first glance, I thought this lady must be as beautiful in heart as in form—a woman of truly noble bearing.

After completing the customary greetings, Mrs. Harue beckoned her beloved child forth. The boy—eight years old, called Hideo—approached near my knees without a trace of timidity despite being summoned. Clad in neat sailor-style Western clothes, with curly locks framing a strikingly fair complexion, his mouth resembled his father's gallant features while his eyes perfectly mirrored his mother's serene gaze—a boy whose very presence exuded charm. Involuntarily, I found myself associating him with that utterly adorable young protagonist from Little Lord Fauntleroy—the novel I had read just last night aboard the train from Rome.

Born in a foreign land thousands of miles away where encounters with compatriots beyond his parents were rare, young Hideo must have felt both nostalgic yearning and delight in his childish heart—with those limpid eyes of his, he kept gazing intently up at my face. "Oh! Uncle—you're Japanese!" he exclaimed. "I am Japanese, Hideo—we're from the same country," I said, drawing him close. "Hideo—do you like Japanese people? Do you love Japan?" When I asked this, the boy responded energetically...

“Oh, I love Japan so much! I just can’t wait to go back! Every single day I plant the Rising Sun flag and play war games in the streets! And you know what? The Rising Sun flag is so strong! We always win every time!”

"Oh! Indeed, that's exactly right—yes yes!" Overcome by how adorable he was, I hoisted the boy high overhead and shouted, "Long live the Great Japanese Empire!" whereupon he too began jumping up and down atop my head, crying "Banzai! Banzai!" Hamashima laughed heartily, and Mrs. Harue narrowed her eyes. "Oh, how delighted Hideo must be," she said, covering her smile with a crimson handkerchief.

Chapter 2: Day and Hour of Demons

Farewell Party — Old Woman Ani — Saint of Mount Urpino — Cursed Day of October — Gold and Pearls — Moonlit Departure Then our conversation blossomed anew, and as the long May day’s sky somehow became suffused with slanting sunset light, I sought an opportune moment to take my leave. “Well then, tonight aboard the Crescent Moon Maru—” I began rising, but Hamashima hastily restrained me— “Now, now—wait! What purpose would returning to the inn serve at this hour?” “Having conversed sufficiently during today’s long-awaited reunion, we must insist you depart tonight from my home.” With both him and his wife urging me so earnestly—being by nature rather unreserved—I acquiesced to their wishes. I had their household’s stablehand retrieve my luggage from the inn, thus deciding we three would depart together from there.

After receiving their generous hospitality, when the hour approached eight in the evening, all members of the household—from the head clerks down to the lowliest maids and servants—gathered to hold a farewell gathering, and I too was invited to join their company. Mrs. Harue was an exemplar of maternal kindness, and young Hideo stood as a cherished treasure among them—thus none could help but grieve at their parting. Yet Hamashima, being cast in that Oriental hero mold that abhorred tears, compelled the entire household to honor his stoicism—not a single soul let tears surface. Ah, but here there was one person who particularly caught my eye. She was an elderly Italian woman seated at the farthest end of the gathering—this female servant had been hired long ago from a distant countryside village to serve as young Hideo’s nursemaid—a short-statured, white-haired old woman of thoroughly honest appearance who, since earlier, had been bowing her head mournfully and weeping incessantly, as though seeing someone off on a journey to the land of the dead.

I felt strangely uneasy for some reason. “Oh dear, Ani’s crying over some silly notion again,” Mrs. Harue remarked, gazing at her husband’s face. When this gathering soon concluded and the hour approached ten o’clock—the appointed time for boarding the Crescent Moon Maru—Hamashima’s family and I rode in the same carriage to the pier amidst many well-wishers, then rested at a certain teahouse nearby. Thinking they would wish to exchange their own parting words here, I tactfully withdrew alone and walked out toward the waterfront.

At that moment, I suddenly noticed someone stealthily following behind me. "Huh—strange," I thought as turned around, whereupon the shadow rushed toward my feet as if stumbling. When I looked, this was the old woman called Ani who had been weeping alone earlier at the farewell gathering. "Oh—you," I said, stopping my steps as the old woman continued weeping. "Foreigner-sama, I beg of you," she implored, clasping her hands and looking up at me.

“You’re Ani, aren’t you? What do you want?” I asked quietly. The old woman stared at my face with insect-thin whispers of “Foreigner...” lingering between us. “If Madam and Master Hideo must sail tonight on the Crescent Moon Maru with you,” she ventured timidly, “couldn’t... couldn’t the departure be delayed?” What strange notions this woman harbors, I thought, my brow furrowing. Yet seeing how her entire being quivered with some unspoken torment, I held my tongue.

“Well now, I’m afraid it’s no longer possible to delay,” I said lightly. “But why do you lament so?” I gently inquired. At these words, the old woman slightly raised her face. “Truly, Foreigner, I have never known such sorrow. When I first learned Madam and Master Hideo would be returning to Japan, I was truly astonished—though of course that couldn’t be helped—but then when I properly inquired about the departure date and time…tonight at eleven-thirty…” Her lips began to tremble.

“W-well...if they set sail tonight at eleven-thirty—” “What? You’re saying they’re departing on the steamship tonight—what’s wrong?” I exclaimed, my eyes widening. Ani placed her hand on the mirror at her chest. “I swear to God—you likely don’t know this yet—but something terrible will happen.” “Time and again I’ve pleaded this matter to both the master and mistress—begged them earnestly to at least postpone tonight’s departure—but they merely laugh and say, ‘Ani, there’s no need for such worry,’ granting not the slightest heed.” “But Foreigner,” she pressed on, “I know it well—if they depart tonight aboard that Crescent Moon Maru, neither Madam nor Master Hideo will come to a safe end.”

“‘To think they won’t come through unharmed—’” I found myself drawn in despite myself. “Yes, they will absolutely not come through unharmed,” Ani said gravely, looking up at me imploringly. “I trust you—you surely won’t laugh at me,” she prefaced before continuing. “Just as the Saint of Mount Urpino declared—among all the ancient legends about voyage dates that must be carefully chosen—those who depart on ill-omened days will surely meet with disaster.” “This is truth itself! One of my own children—seven or eight years past—would not heed my desperate pleas and ran away on the cursed day of October, only to be taken at last by a terrible sea serpent.” “I know this through and through!” “Neither Madam nor Master Hideo will emerge unscathed should they sail tonight—yes—for today is the sixteenth of May, a demonic day! And this night’s eleven-thirty... how dreadful! The very hour of demons!”

I was on the verge of bursting out laughing as I listened. But the old woman paid no heed, “Foreigner, this is no laughing matter! The Day and Hour of Demons are the most inauspicious time of the entire year. When there are so many other days available—what cruel fate makes them set sail on this day, at this very hour? I can neither sit still nor stand still when I think of it.” “Moreover, when I inquired with a sailor acquaintance of mine, it appears this voyage has the Crescent Moon Maru loaded with vast quantities of gold and pearls—when gold and pearls gather upon storm-tossed seas, they will surely bring forth a terrible curse.” “Ah, misfortune upon misfortune!” “Foreigner! If you could comprehend even a thousandth part of my heart—please, think of saving Madam and Master Hideo, and postpone tonight’s departure!” she implored, clasping her hands as if in prayer. Listening to this—good grief, what utter nonsense! In the West too there are all sorts of people who speak of omens, but someone like this old woman must be quite rare. I thought to burst into uproarious laughter, but wait—even if it’s superstition, one shouldn’t heartlessly mock someone who cares so deeply and earnestly for her master’s well-being—so I forcibly suppressed the rising mirth.

“Ani!” I called out. “Ani! I’ve properly understood what you’re saying. How pleased both the master and Madam must be with your loyal heart—but—” I gazed at her face. “But these things you speak of are all old tales—there are no more Days of Demons or Cursed Days now.” “Ah, so you too are laughing at me,” Ani said, closing her eyes with a look of utter despondency. “No—I’m certainly not laughing—but there’s no need to worry over this matter. I’ll stake my very life to protect both Madam and young Hideo,” I declared. Yet Ani wore an expression of boundless despair.

“Ah, it’s no use anymore…” she sobbed while laboriously rising to her feet. “God, Buddha—please protect Madam and Master Hideo!” she cried out, then ran off like a madwoman.

At that very moment, as the boarding preparations at the rest area appeared complete, Hamashima's insistent voice calling out to me could be heard.

Third Chapter: The Mysterious Ship

The sound of the gong—the Beer-Barrel Captain—the white mast light—the Old-Fashioned Englishman—strange tales of Pirate Island—the Sea Serpent Maru.

Mrs. Harue, Hideo, and I boarded the Crescent Moon Maru—anchored far offshore—via a prepared small steamboat from the pier after bidding farewell to the many well-wishers at ten-thirty that night.

Hamashima Takefumi and three others had come to see them off to the ship. This Crescent Moon Maru was a vessel owned by the Oriental Steamship Company of Italy, with a tonnage of six thousand four hundred. A massive vessel with two smokestacks and four masts; for this voyage to various ports in China and Japan, it appeared to be carrying an immense quantity of iron materials along with no small amount of precious goods such as gold and pearls, its draft sinking remarkably deep into the water. When we reached the gangway of the Crescent Moon Maru—our boarding having already been noted on the passenger manifest—the crew came running to hurriedly handle the luggage while attendants respectfully doffed their caps and pressed through the throng crowding the deck, until at last we were ushered into a first-class cabin near the ship’s midsection. As with any steamship, among cabins of the same class, those in the midsection are the most sought-after. The reason being that one feels relatively less of the ship’s motion during voyages in such cabins, and though there had been no shortage of competitors vying to secure this particular cabin—mustachioed Germans and high-nosed Frenchmen of Romanesque style among them—it was thanks to the extraordinary efforts of Hamashima Takefumi, celebrated throughout Naples as “the wealthy and eminent Japanese,” that we ultimately came to occupy this finest of cabins. Moreover, as Mrs. Harue and young Hideo’s cabin was situated right next to mine, everything would be convenient.

As my travels were inherently of the wandering sort, I had no cumbersome affairs; I simply tossed my single leather suitcase into the cabin and immediately went to visit Mrs. Harue and the others in their cabin. At this moment, Mrs. Harue had the boy seated on her lap and was conversing with Takefumi and three others, but upon catching sight of me— “Oh, you’ve already finished settling in?” With those words, her graceful form hurriedly rose to greet me. “Nonsense—Mr. Yanagawa doesn’t have any luggage requiring arrangement!” Hamashima laughed heartily. Urging me to take a seat with a “Here now!” through his gestured chair, I joined their company. As the time for farewell now pressed upon us, the various conversations had no chance to reach conclusion—all the more so as the clamorous clang-clatter of the ship’s gong reverberated throughout the vessel.

“Oh! Oh! That sound—!” young Hideo exclaimed, his eyes wide and round as he looked up at his mother’s gentle face. Mrs. Harue remained silent, her gaze shifting to her husband. Hamashima Takefumi quietly stood up, “The time for farewell has come,” he said, glancing at the other three.

According to maritime regulations, when the sound of the gong reverberating throughout the ship was heard ten to fifteen minutes prior to departure, all visitors had to disembark from the vessel. With that, Hamashima—now preparing to leave—grasped my hand with heartfelt parting words, exchanged brief phrases with his wife, then drew his beloved son close with his right arm and stroked the child’s thick locks while saying: “Hideo, you and I must now part for a long time. Never forget your resolve—as I’ve always taught you—to become an exceptional man of the world; a capable naval officer who shall stand as bulwark for the Japanese Empire.” Having finished speaking, he watched with faint amusement as the boy nodded silently, then urged the other three companions out of the cabin.

We who had been seen off now sought to send them forth from the ship. Guiding young Hideo with my right hand and supporting the visibly despondent Mrs. Harue, I emerged onto the deck. Tonight was the thirteenth night of the lunar calendar—the deep azure sky held not a wisp of cloud, the moon shone vast and crystalline. To add to this brilliance, three or four warships of a certain nation anchored far offshore ceaselessly swept the sea’s surface with searchlights, their radiance rivaling daylight itself. Even the shapes of buoys bobbing amidst the waves were clearly visible in this luminous expanse.

When Hamashima reached the ship’s gangway, he turned back once more to gaze intently at his wife and beloved son’s faces, then turned his eyes toward me as though something weighed on his mind. “Yanagawa-kun, let us part here then—though regarding Harue and Hideo’s affairs, I must particularly...” he spoke with an uncharacteristic apprehension ill-suited to his normally bold nature, appearing as though some invisible powerful arm detained him at this scene, making departure ever more difficult. Later I would realize this might be what people call a premonition, but at that moment I could only dwell on the sorrow of parting. Nodding deeply, I responded: “Hamashima-kun, may your heart ever flourish more abundantly! Upon my very life shall this Yanagawa protect your wife and beloved child.” He then smiled gently, firmly shook hands with all three of us, descended the gangway, and transferred into the small steamboat that had been waiting since earlier. The steamboat immediately began churning through waves back toward the pier. By the turbulent waters where two or three seabirds cried as if in dreams—enough to rend any traveler’s heartstrings—young Hideo remained innocent.

“Oh, Father went off alone somewhere? Won’t he be coming back?” Clinging to Mother’s slender hand, Hideo asked. Though Mrs. Harue maintained her dignified composure, a woman’s heart stirred with vague sorrow as she gazed mournfully after her departing husband’s figure. The moon shone bright as day, yet the small steamboat’s form gradually grew hazy, leaving only its lingering smoke to trace a long farewell in the air. “Madam, why don’t we take a short stroll on the deck?” I invited the two of them. Thinking that viewing even a lively scene might provide some comfort in this melancholy moment, I led the two of them toward the ship’s bow, which appeared most bustling at this time.

With departure time fast approaching, this area had become quite crowded. Lightly-clad deckhands dashed about in mid-air frenzy; burly crew members with sturdy frames formed ranks at their designated posts; the aft gangway had already been hoisted up. At this very moment under the first engineer’s command on the bow deck, a group of sailors rushed to gather around the windlass, poised to haul up the anchor chain at the next order. On the bridge stood a captain as corpulent as a beer barrel, twisting his red whiskers while surveying his domain with haughty disdain. Moving among clusters of passengers standing here and there—Belgians with strikingly pale complexions, young French gentlemen who had sculpted their mustaches into sword-like shapes with cosmetic wax, German army officers whose noses glowed red from excessive drinking, Italian actresses who might be called specimens of beauty, and dark-skinned Indian magnates—I observed this lively scene while exchanging trivial stories with Mrs. Harue when suddenly—truly suddenly—from behind me came sailors’ voices shouting “Oh! Oh! Blast it!” in unison. Simultaneously came the sound of something falling onto the deck and shattering to pieces. When I swiftly turned to look, there at that moment was a white lamp—meant to be the spherical mast light symbolizing safe navigation during voyages—that two or three sailors had been attempting to hoist high on the foremast using a pulley. By some chance it had slipped from its cord’s edge 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 tried to dodge but lost his footing, tumbling headfirst down two or three steps of the bridge’s staircase. The sailors gasped, their faces turning pale. The captain stood up in flustered haste, his face filled with rage—yet unable to direct anger at his own disgrace—and pressed a hand against his beer-barrel-like belly as he glared at the sailors with fearsome eyes. At this moment there stood beside me a thoroughly old-fashioned Englishman with long whiskers and a balding head who upon witnessing this commotion began trembling violently,

“Ah! Ah! What ill fortune! Namu Amida Butsu!” "If only demons haven’t taken possession of this ship," he muttered.

_Bah._ More superstitious nonsense! What kind of day is this, I wonder. Of course, there could be no profound meaning behind such matters. Though undoubtedly coincidental occurrences, I felt something peculiar nonetheless. Anyone would feel this way—when even the slightest oddity occurs at a journey's outset, one cannot help but feel uneasy. Particularly unsettling was that our Crescent Moon Maru—now embarking across ten thousand leagues of waves toward perilous straits like the Mediterranean, Red Sea, and Indian Ocean—had seen its white mast light (that very symbol of safe passage) shatter into dust with its glow extinguished, while simultaneously our captain (the ship's sovereign) fell from the bridge to harbor disquiet in his heart and wrath upon his face. By certain interpretations, one might consider these ill omens foretelling disaster for our vessel. Such delusions would normally be easily dismissed, yet today Ani's earlier warnings about "Days of Demons" and "Hours of Demons," combined with Hamashima's uncharacteristic anxiety, all surged through my mind at once, creating an intensely strange sensation. When I turned to Mrs. Harue seeking to leave this place, she too appeared disturbed by both the recent spectacle and the old-fashioned Englishman's mutterings.

“Why don’t we go over to the stern?” Urging me thus with her words, she moved with lotus-like steps in that direction.

When we soon came to the stern, this area was sparsely populated. On the deck—freshly cleaned and still damp—the moonlight shone with intensified clarity. "A quiet place really is preferable after all," Mrs. Harue said with a lonely smile, proceeding straight to the ship's edge with young Hideo. Leaning against the iron railing, she gazed toward the distant pier. "Hideo, do you remember that tall mountain you can see over there?" she asked, pointing to the peak towering southeast of familiar Naples' cityscape. Young Hideo...

“It’s Morris Hill, isn’t it? I remember it very well,” he said, looking up at his mother’s face with wide eyes. “Oh, in that case, that place where so many electric lights are shining and five or six large smokestacks stand lined up—” “Sangallo Street—Mother, our house is there too, isn’t it?” the boy said, resting both hands on the iron railing. “Has Father returned home yet, I wonder?” “Oh, he has most certainly returned, and even now must be telling our nursemaid and Mr. Smith the steward how obediently you’re behaving aboard this ship,” she murmured tenderly, pressing her jewel-like cheek against her beloved child’s tousled hair as she spun this tale without pause—likely the sole comfort available to her. Deeming it heartless to disturb such tender communion, I deliberately refrained from approaching them. Instead, reclining alone some distance away upon a deck chair, I surveyed the panoramic scene. Tonight’s brilliant moonlight left no corner of vast Naples Bay beyond sight—the faintly visible Ischia Cape with its rotating lighthouse beacon appearing and disappearing, Morris Hill’s summit still crowned with snow so pure white that the moon’s glittering reflections upon it defied description. From the blazing electric lights near the pier to where we lay, golden-dragon waves rippled beneath hundreds of ships. Departing vessels with white mast lights, starboard greens, and port reds obeyed maritime law while anchored ships resembled great birds sleeping upon the swells—a vista as if plucked from a dream! I had observed such scenery countless times before, yet tonight it struck me with peculiar fascination—my gaze remained fixed until it suddenly caught upon one particular sight: a steamship anchored about five hundred meters away. A warship’s searchlight now bathed that area in relentless illumination, making every detail of its deck apparatus appear within arm’s reach. This vessel of roughly a thousand tons, painted black with twin smokestacks and twin masts, was clearly no warship—but whether merchantman, mail carrier, or some other purpose-built craft remained unclear. Of course, there was nothing particularly remarkable about its external appearance, but what struck my eyes as peculiar was how its structure seemed excessively sturdy for a vessel of approximately one thousand gross tons—its lower deck might have carried several cannons—and its draft appeared unusually deep. Now that its two smokestacks were vigorously spewing black smoke—it must have already reached its departure time—even as one watched, the bow anchor was being hauled up as it gradually began moving forward. I casually felt through my coat pocket for binoculars and was adjusting the focus when—precisely at that moment—on the other ship too, a man who appeared to be a crew member stood training his binoculars on our vessel from their bridge. How strange—the instant my gaze inadvertently clashed with his across the distance, he suddenly flung down his binoculars and turned his face sharply away. The man’s behavior was so peculiar that I instinctively tilted my head in puzzlement when suddenly—for reasons unknown—a certain story from the past rose unbidden to my mind. It was an unforgettable event from last autumn during my voyage from America to Europe when I had unexpectedly become acquainted with an old British sailor. Among his many fascinating tales, the one most deeply engraved in my memory had been his account declaring the Indian Ocean as the world’s most treacherous shipping route—the story of a pirate island lying far east of Africa beyond Madagascar’s shores, unknown even in dreams to ordinary folk. Though absent from world maps, this isolated isle supposedly hosted hundreds of pirates surpassing fierce demons in ferocity who kept seven swift and sturdy pirate ships afloat—ceaselessly patrolling those waters while sometimes venturing as far as the Atlantic coast to sink vessels laden with valuable cargo. Among European and American sailors they were not entirely unaware of this matter; yet despite this, their cunning defied description—they came like wind and departed likewise. Though none knew how these pirates detected targets—marking only ships carrying first-class valuables while rarely revealing themselves—they had since some unknown time colluded with a certain European power through profit-sharing arrangements worth nearly fifty million francs annually. Consequently receiving implicit protection whenever anchoring at trading ports under that nation’s merchant flag—truly an outrageous state of affairs.

As I now beheld this uncanny vessel with two smokestacks and two masts—whether through some trick of the nerves or not—the tale I had suddenly recalled seemed all too plausible: if that old sailor’s words held truth, might this not be such a ship? While I dwelled on how utterly ominous this pirate vessel appeared, the mysterious craft gradually increased speed and swept past our Crescent Moon Maru’s port side as though grazing it. In that instant, the light cast from our ship fleetingly revealed three characters inscribed upon its stern: “Sea Serpent Maru”—indeed, this was unquestionably that vessel’s name. As we watched, it churned up waves and vanished into the azure expanse.

“Ah, how strange! Why must such strange occurrences keep happening today?” I exclaimed involuntarily. “Oh my, what troubles you?” Mrs. Harue turned around in surprise with young Hideo. “Madam!” I began, then checked myself—wouldn’t carelessly speaking of such things, mere figments of my imagination under these circumstances, only wound the gentle heart of this beautiful person? With this realization...

“No—it’s nothing at all! Ahahaha!” she laughed with deliberate loudness. At this precise moment, seven bells resounded across the deck to announce 11:30 PM, accompanied by the steam whistle’s roar—Boo-oo, boo-oo, boo-ooh—like a lion’s roar. This was the departure signal. The Crescent Moon Maru, now entrusted with our fates, finally began its gradual advance.

Part 4: The Discarded Newspaper

Cigar tobacco — Commander Sakuragi’s whereabouts — A large sailing ship and thirty-seven sailors — A strange new-style poem — A secret great invention — Two bells KAN-KAN-KAN Until we passed through the bay mouth, I stood on deck with Mrs. Harue and young Hideo, gazing at the surrounding scenery. But as Naples Port's lights grew faint and the night wind's chill began seeping into my bones, I finally descended below deck. After escorting Mrs. Harue and the boy to their cabin and returning to my own with plans for the morning, eight bells rang out with crystalline clarity across the deck.

"Oh, it's already midnight!" I muttered to myself. The hour was late, and with the sea calm that night showing no perceptible swaying of the ship, most passengers were likely already in peaceful slumber. Only the clamorous din of the steam engines persisted alongside the occasional loud footfalls of crewmen on watch traversing the deck. I changed into nightclothes and lay down on the berth, yet found myself unable to sleep at all. The light from the spherical lamp hanging at the cabin's center blazed brilliantly, yet something about that space felt oppressive—the air pressed down on my head with such weight that sleep became truly unbearable, as if some demonic presence haunted the area. You too must have experienced such times—when sleep proves utterly impossible. The more you fret, the more wakeful your eyes become while wild fancies race through your breast.

I resolutely got up again. Going to the smoking room seemed too troublesome. Though slightly against ship regulations, I thought to smoke a cigar right there in my cabin. I rummaged through my coat pockets but found none. Then I suddenly recalled—among the numerous farewell gifts Hamashima had given me upon our departure from Naples Port was a square package wrapped in newspaper. Could this perhaps be a box of cigars? Hastily unwrapping it, I discovered indeed the finest cigars! "Perfect!" I exclaimed as I lit up, puffing away while diligently surveying the area—when suddenly I noticed the newspaper that had wrapped the cigar box.

“Oh—a Japanese newspaper!” I involuntarily picked it up. Having departed my homeland two years prior as a wanderer journeying from place to place, I felt truly nostalgic, for aside from occasionally hearing of unusual events back home at Japanese embassies and consulates, opportunities to see Japanese newspapers were exceedingly rare. When I hurriedly smoothed out the wrinkles and looked, this turned out to be a certain Tokyo newspaper from a year and a half ago. A year and a half prior—back when I was still residing on the American continent—this was indeed an old newspaper, yet its age mattered little; driven by sheer nostalgia for my homeland, I read on without lifting my eyes until suddenly one particular article caught my attention. It was a news item as seen on the left side of this paper’s second page.

◎ Concerning the Whereabouts of Commander Sakuragi == Let it be recalled by readers: Reserve Navy Commander Sakuragi Shigeo, having invented a powerful explosive some years prior and subsequently implemented meritorious improvements to several military arms including buoyant mines and garland grenades—thereby becoming known within naval circles as a man of capability—had been deeply engaged in planning since returning from England two years prior, striving to achieve a remarkable military invention that might contribute to our national defense. Having long endured arduous preparations whose traces we faintly heard of, now that the time had fully ripened—or perhaps due to other considerations—he had early this month purchased from a certain Yokohama shipping company a large sailing vessel named Naminoue Maru, through which he had been secretly collecting provisions, coal, volatile oil, coiled wax, steel cables, various chemical reagents for industrial use, and numerous other materials beyond ordinary public conjecture. Then, ere anyone could take notice, he vanished from sight. ◎ With Commander Sakuragi's disappearance, his sailing vessel likewise vanished from its berthing port. Furthermore, thirty-seven sailors—men who had obeyed him with godlike devotion through years of service—were also lost to sight. We may reasonably conjecture that the Commander exploited the cover of darkness to secretly depart our nation with his crew. This matter remains classified at the highest levels within naval circles, with none privy to their whereabouts. A plausible lead emerged from a British mail ship that entered Yokohama yesterday evening, reporting sighting a large sailing vessel flying Japanese colors near North Boruwō Island four or five nights prior. As this ship's configuration bore striking resemblance to the Commander's vessel, suspicions arise that he may have charted a course through the China Sea [※] toward Indian Ocean waters. While his current scheme remains an enigma wrapped within secrets—utterly beyond conjecture—given this extraordinary intellect's capacity for grand designs, we may yet witness his unforeseen return bearing equally unforeseen military triumphs. All eyes shall remain watchfully trained.== Etc.

Even if one had no connection to the matter, anyone reading such an article would find their heart stirred to some degree. Moreover, I was personally acquainted with Commander Sakuragi. Several years prior—before embarking on my current travels—during a summer when I had 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—a man of imposing presence whose piercing gaze and resonant voice suggested one richly endowed with vigor and resolute character. This man had now become a newspaper headline, having embarked on a journey scrutinized by the public—where could his destination lie? What might his purpose be? A great military invention—a large sailing ship—thirty-seven sailors—chemical agents. When considering these elements together, however vaguely, one could not help but imagine... Now the nations of the world drilled their troops and honed their arms, devoting full strength especially to naval power as Britain, France, Russia, and Germany vied for supremacy with none willing to fall behind; presently the focal point of this struggle lay largely in Eastern realms where the likes of China and Korea suffered constant encroachments. At this juncture, our Great Japanese Empire—veritably the hegemon of the East—bore truly weighty responsibilities: requiring extraordinary resolution both to preserve Oriental peace and at minimum maintain our nation's prestige. Yet our nation’s financial resources were limited, and there were bounds to increasing 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 patriot of impassioned spirit. During our meeting aboard that North Sea steamship years prior, when our conversation turned to such matters, he suddenly reached into his coat's depths and produced a curious new-style poem composed idly the previous night at his inn. The path of elegance taken by a fierce warrior makes for particularly amusing contrast, does it not?

The poem went like this: The moon hung high; the wind slept upon the Indian Ocean. Upon the mirror-like sea. A sudden spray erupted. Leviathans roared; dragons leapt!!! Behold, giant waves raged to seize the heavens! Black clouds hung low over the sea. Was that lightning flashing? Was that thunder roaring? Cannon fire blazed; cannon roar thundered. Behold, emerging through the gunpowder smoke, The moonlight hung its head in shame. Hundreds kicked through billows, Warships hoisted their flags northward. Leviathans fled; soaring dragons pursued! The dragons surged with valor; the leviathans— Not labored breaths but black smoke, Spewing forth, they hid their forms.

Those leviathans—to heaven's farthest edge! To every corner where earth's lands wedge. Wherever billows strike their might, Wherever precious treasures light. Turning mountainous waves to ships, Harnessing thousand-league winds for trips. Running rampant, never sated— That European Combined Fleet!!! What are soaring dragons to the East? The Rising Sun grips keys released. Radiating light across the sea— The glorious Japanese Fleet!!!

That Japan was the Orient's - A small nation resembling a soaring dragon. That Europe surpassed whales, Outdid even crocodiles in ferocity. Dominating the world, A single continent. How perplexing! The mighty fell shattered; the small triumphed. Why⁈ Hearken, To the defeated general's words: He climbed to the bridge, Gazed at stars and lamented: "We possessed a million mighty warships, Warriors thick as clouds. Cannons we had. Swords we had. Gunpowder we had. Why dread Japan's navy? Like autumn leaves scattering..."

Into sea spray they shall be swept! Advancing—the British, French, German, and Russian warships. Who could have imagined? Japan possesses mysterious magical power. This. Is it Russian artillery? It is not. Is it Shieruburu’s torpedo boats? It is not. Not yet seen. A grand military apparatus never before heard of!!! It came like the wind. It departed like the wind. Like a dolphin chasing schools of fish. Like striking an electric phenomenon. Behold, the great magical power of lightning speed that crushes our fleet!!! Ah, formidable! Formidable!

The dragon sleeps in the Sea of Japan. Dark clouds soar over the Orient's—

Sunlight cleaving the sky. The colossal war machine hidden beneath the waves!!! With such bombastic verses, it made for an utterly bizarre poem—the kind that might bring New School tax collectors pounding at one's door—yet when the Commander stood on that moonlit deck of the crisp-aired steamer, naval sword hilt reversed behind him, reciting those lines back and forth in his thunderous voice, I found myself shouting "Bravo!" before I knew it. Naturally, I gave it little thought then, but now in retrospect, I cannot deny there are instants when understanding strikes me like lightning.

Be that as it may, according to this scrap of newspaper, Commander Sakuragi had planned this secret journey fully a year and a half prior—as I mentioned earlier, during the time when I was still wandering about the American continent. Afterward, I continued traveling incessantly from place to place, so this was indeed my first time learning of this curious news. Ah—what became of the Commander afterward? Did he ultimately achieve his objective and return to Japan? Given Commander Sakuragi’s very nature, there could be no doubt he had undertaken such actions with some grand purpose in mind. And since he was not one to abandon an undertaking before achieving its purpose, there could be no doubt that when the Commander reappeared in this world, he would bring with him incomparable achievements. Therefore, if Commander Sakuragi had indeed returned to Japan, his meritorious deeds would shine brighter than sun and moon alike—and no matter how much I wandered from journey to journey, such rumors would surely have reached my ears. Yet despite having visited Japanese embassies and consulates in various national capitals several times to this day, never once had I heard any credible reports—this being clearest proof that the Commander still kept his whereabouts concealed and had not yet revealed himself to the world. Ah—when I thought about where and how the Commander might be now, all manner of imaginings came welling up.

At that moment, the second bell clanged—clang, clang. (The ship’s bells operate on four-hour shifts from one bell to eight bells.)

"Oh, it's already one bell," I said with a yawn. Realizing that endless pondering would get me nowhere and that staying up so late was extremely unwise hygienically, I crumpled up the old newspaper serving as my imaginative fodder, shoved it into a corner of the cabin, and forced myself to lie down on the berth. At first, my mind remained strangely agitated—various delusions kept rising in my chest despite my efforts to dispel them, just as before. The Day and Hour of Demons... Ani's face... the white mast light shattered to dust... that mysterious ship... binoculars... all these visions flitted through my brain like waking dreams growing ever more vivid. Yet before I knew it, worn out by daytime fatigue and without ever hearing the two o'clock bell, I sank into vague dreams.

Chapter Five: "Piano" and Boxing

Shipboard Musical Concert — The Goose-Voiced Woman — Mrs. Harue’s Honor — Deck Races — Sumo Wrestling — My Great Embarrassment — The Circus Master’s Tiger

The next morning, I was startled awake by the clang of a gong at eight-thirty, and the morning sun on the sea shone vividly through the porthole into the cabin. The 8:30 gong aboard ship typically announced breakfast. "Ah, I've overslept!" I hurriedly jumped up, changed my clothes, finished combing my hair, and rushed out to the dining room. There at the head of the splendid table sat the Beer-Barrel Captain in full ceremonial dignity according to ship's custom, flanked left and right by first-class passengers from England, France, Germany, Russia, Austria, and Italy—all resplendently dressed—among whom I could see the elegant figure of Mrs. Harue and the lovely form of young Hideo. The boy, upon seeing me, rose from his chair with evident delight and bowed his adorable head, saying simply, "Good morning." “Good morning,” I lightly acknowledged as I stepped closer to his side, turning my eyes toward Mrs. Harue who somehow appeared forlorn.

“Mrs. Harue, did you sleep well last night?” I asked. She formed a faint smile. “Yes, this child slept well, but I am not yet accustomed to the ship,” she replied. Indeed it must be so—the cheeks that would put snow to shame, now tinged with pallor at their edges, bore certain witness to her lack of sleep. The ship’s morning meal consisted of “soup,” cold meat, “rice curry,” and “coffee.” Along with spiced, beautifully decorated confections and other extremely light fare such as “pineapple,” once the meal was finished, young Hideo raced ahead toward the deck before anyone else, so both Mrs. Harue and I followed after him.

When I stepped out onto the deck, I saw that during the night the Crescent Moon Maru had passed Cape Capri's offshore waters and was now navigating with Cape Licosia visible diagonally ahead. It was mid-May—a time neither hot nor cold—and to add to this, the surrounding scenery resembled a painting come alive. The sun already high above the horizon cast brilliant light upon the water, transforming the sea into an expanse of golden waves where one or two white sails dotted the surface, while seagulls flocked peacefully between them. The scene was so refreshing to both mind and spirit that I found myself forgetting all the various unpleasant incidents since last evening, as if they had been washed away. Mrs. Harue also wore a most refreshed countenance, gazing out to sea without distraction as the soft southern wind brushed the stray hairs at her temples. Young Hideo was especially brimming with childish delight—so much so that he could hardly contain himself—darting about here and there like a lamb frolicking in a pasture. From time to time he would come running to my side with questions about the various nautical devices installed on the deck, or cling to his mother’s arm while pointing at the distant islands and exclaiming, “That one looks just like Elino Island seen from the third floor of Chopleth’s house! And this one over here resembles a bald old man fishing, don’t you think?” He appeared thoroughly delighted as he made such remarks.

The sun had risen higher, the wind was cool, and the ship advanced like an arrow. I leaned back in the deck chair and pondered deeply. Until yesterday, through thousands of miles of wandering journey, there had been not a single soul with whom to share times of sorrow or joy; whether gazing at the pure light of the morning star at dawn or beholding the resplendent hues of sunset glow in evening, there had been only myself consoling my own heart. Yet yesterday, in a land beyond the heavens ten thousand miles away, I had unexpectedly encountered my compatriots—through what could only be called a heaven-woven miracle of fate—and now to find myself boarding the same ship as the graceful Mrs. Harue and the lovely young Hideo, returning together to our homeland—what immeasurable fortune this was. On this voyage of the Crescent Moon Maru, there were nearly five hundred passengers and over seven hundred crew members when combined. Among them, only three were Japanese—the lady, the boy, and myself. Bound by this strange fate, we three now entrusted our destinies to this ship as we traversed thousands of miles across distant seas. If there existed such a thing as divine protection in heaven, I could only pray that whether we passed through the Indian Ocean in days to come or navigated the China Sea, we might continue to enjoy today’s tranquil voyage and soon celebrate our safe passage together while gazing upon Mount Fuji’s peak.

From Naples Port across several thousand miles of sea route, passing through the Archipelago Sea and entering the Mediterranean; resupplying coal and drinking water at Port Said; then taking on a pilot to traverse the Suez Isthmus; plowing through the savage waves of the Red Sea—also called the Sea of Death—whose crimson tides had chilled mariners' hearts as the world's most treacherous passage since ancient times; observing from port and starboard seas where strange atmospheric refractions made distant islands appear near and nearby ships seem far, causing countless unforeseen disasters—as evidenced by sunken wrecks in these waters whose hulls now rotted on the seabed, only their spectral masts intermittently visible among waves to memorialize those ghastly scenes; advancing steadily until reaching the Gulf of Aden, threshold to the Indian Ocean, where Socotra Island loomed faintly through distant haze—throughout this two-week voyage, each day dawned clear-skied and each sea remained calm, seasoned sailors who'd made waves their pillow for over a decade declaring it an unprecedented fine passage. Thus there remains nothing particularly noteworthy to record of this period. Only two or three incidents remain in memory: even during this peaceful period, it seemed the god of misfortune had been lurking somewhere aboard this ship—when the vessel was about to exit the Messina Strait, one passenger threw himself into the sea to meet a tragic end; and a Chinese lower-class passenger, having fallen gravely ill while still within Italian territorial waters, ultimately perished between Candia and Serigo Islands, leading to the captain and numerous crew members gathering on deck under a British missionary's guidance to bury his remains at sea according to maritime regulations. Though these were exceedingly tragic events, there were also two or three not entirely unpleasant occurrences.

On any lengthy voyage, diversions such as farces, plays, and dances are held aboard ship to alleviate the crew's tedium. Particularly as the route between Europe and the Orient remains the world's longest sea passage, such preparations are made all the more thoroughly. The Crescent Moon Maru too frequently hosted such events that we occasionally attended, but one night in the ballroom dazzling with electric lights—where a musical concert was unusually being held—hundreds of Westerners, both young and old, had gathered to clamor like madmen. There were rather farcical moments like when a bald French gentleman attempting to showcase his former violin prowess abruptly forgot the melody mid-performance and retreated scratching his head in dismay—though for the most part, these being Westerners confident in their musical skills, each would tune their specialty pieces and strut about with peacock-like pride. When Mrs. Harue and I took our seats, a middle-aged German woman happened to be performing at the piano—a lady of exceedingly haughty disposition who throughout her playing kept surveying the audience from her perch, occasionally bursting into song with goose-like honks scarcely worthy of being called skilled, yet wearing an expression of supreme self-satisfaction until concluding her performance with a twitch of her nostrils before flouncing back to her seat like a preening peacock. Wondering who might appear next, I conversed with Mrs. Harue while leaning against a chair to watch, but for some time none came forth—likely having been intimidated by that goose-voiced matron. Suddenly a British man strode briskly toward us. In a booming voice,

“Now then, it’s your turn! As representatives of Japan, do something!” he shouted, and the entire hall burst into applause at once. “Good heavens,” I hesitated. Amidst the many of the Caucasian race, we of a different race unfortunately caught their attention.

By nature, I am an utterly uncultured man, so I could do nothing but be completely flustered by this unexpected challenge. Mrs. Harue had also been vehemently declining, but that man, having once made his demand, showed no signs of backing down. Hundreds of people applauded even more vigorously. At that moment came the voice laughing mockingly from the chair beside me—it was that goose-voiced woman. “Really now, no matter how much you insist, it’s utterly pointless,” she whispered loudly enough to be overheard to the young man seated beside her. “How could these Japanese—who’ve never handled anything beyond barbaric instruments like kotos and shamisens that we’ve never even laid eyes on—possibly perform a refined Western song?”

“You wretched woman!” I bit my lip, but alas—in such matters I was an utterly unskilled practitioner. Ah! Had I known it would come to this, why hadn’t I memorized at least one verse from those London popular songs? But such regrets came too late. Overwhelmed by frustration, when I looked at Mrs. Harue’s face, she too appeared somewhat agitated by the mockery we’d just heard—her willow-leaf eyebrows quivered slightly as she quietly turned to me and said, “Shall we attempt something?” likely confident in her abilities. I silently nodded, whereupon she rose gracefully and ascended to the piano platform with the words, “Though it may scarcely be worthy of your ears.” Suddenly there came a sound like jade marbles spinning across a plate—could a god indeed dwell within this piano? As the wondrous melody unfolded, she began singing a piece that was none other than “The Maiden of the Chrysanthemum Land,” then wildly popular in Parisian social circles. This supremely elegant and ingenious composition told of a beautiful Japanese maiden in dance robes wandering moonlit waters of the Seine—each phrase blossoming more splendidly than the last, each movement growing more enthralling than its predecessor. Her celestial voice, like a heavenly nymph dancing through the skies, made even the unfeeling flowers and leaves upon the platform tremble. The entire hall fell silent as if struck by water, holding its collective breath.

As the melody concluded, crashing waves of applause immediately resounded. A group of noblewomen and ladies had already rushed to the piano platform, surrounding Mrs. Harue as she now quietly prepared to descend. With every manner of praise, they clamored for the honor of shaking hands with this rare musical virtuoso. The goose-voiced woman stood with her mouth agape, her face crimson and her eyes darting wildly—she must have been regretting her earlier thoughtless remarks. The piano's resonance from that night still lingers in my ears even now, counted among the most exhilarating events of those that have passed.

There were quite a number of other interesting occurrences as well. Two days after the musical concert, when the ship had approached the open waters of the Archipelago Sea, many passengers gathered on deck to indulge in various amusements when, at someone’s instigation, a footrace began. The largest ships in the world today measure 230 yards in length—some even exceeding two city blocks—and ours was one such vessel. The race course stretched from foredeck to aft deck, requiring four round trips across approximately 300 yards. With beautiful gifts from noblewomen passengers awaiting the winner, energetic men from England, France, Germany, Italy, Switzerland, Russia and elsewhere slapped their thighs and leapt forward. Swept into joining them, I charged recklessly at the pistol’s report. To my chagrin, a terrifyingly fast French naval reservist plunged first across the finish line, followed by an Italian naval attaché bound for Japan aboard our ship. I barely secured third place—hardly thrilling—so I cleverly proposed showcasing Japanese prowess through sumo wrestling, whereupon a crowd instantly gathered. From the crowd, the first to charge at me was a man claiming to be a German jurist—a fellow of formidable brute strength. But having some knowledge of judo, I secured victory with a masterful sweeping hip throw. The next four challengers I hurled down one after another. Then came the fifth opponent: a Russian army officer who lumbered forth—a man nearing six feet in height, fierce as the Ashura King himself. He seized both my arms with raw force, attempting to fling me aside in one motion. Though thoroughly daunted, I planted my feet and thought, *Not so fast!* For half an hour we grappled desperately until I finally forced him to one knee. Word of this spread instantly through the ship, sparking uproar—elderly men marveled while young men gnashed their teeth. Someone began circulating the baffling praise: “The Japanese are a type of iron—black yet unyielding!” For a time, my pride swelled intolerably… until a major incident arose. It was none other than an American boxing expert aboard our ship who, hearing these rumors and growing restless, proposed: “If this Japanese has such strength, why not test it in a proper boxing match?”

I had seen boxing matches before but never participated in one myself. However, when challenged like this, a man's pride compelled me to face him once - though being unskilled in such arts proved my undoing. Beaten so thoroughly that I lost consciousness, I was thrown down onto the deck where my once-proud nose was mercilessly broken. Mrs. Harue admonished me, her bright eyes glistening with tears: "Do not treat yourself so carelessly." Though filled with regret, I abandoned further action. At one point my fury grew so intense I even considered challenging him to a duel with live blades as "thanks" for the boxing match.

The day after the boxing match, another commotion arose. The chaos erupted when an Italian circus tiger bound for Hong Kong performances broke free from its cage aboard the ship, transforming the vessel into a boiling cauldron of angry sailors, shouting Chinese passengers, and women swooning in terror. This occurred just as the Crescent Moon Maru had departed port—the same ship where the mast light had shattered to pieces earlier. An old-fashioned English gentleman who had muttered "Amida Buddha! This ship's cursed by demons!" while witnessing that omen now attempted to flee from the deck to his cabin via the companionway, only to slip and wrench his hip in a headlong fall—perhaps the ship's demon had cursed him after all. The tiger was finally subdued, but in doing so seven or eight people were injured.

Amidst these varied incidents, our dear young Hideo remained as spirited as ever, constantly darting about the deck until he unexpectedly befriended an exceedingly spry old Englishman named Ripp. While amusing himself daily with this companion, there came a day when the boy grew boisterous trying to fly the diamond-shaped kite the old man had made for him. Just then, the ill-tempered captain—who had been harshly scolding sailors on the bridge—had his hat knocked off by the kite string. Though naturally quick to anger and flushing crimson as he turned toward them, even this Beer-Barrel of a man could not bring himself to shout at young Hideo's utterly guileless figure. Grumbling under his breath while pivoting his corpulent frame, he instead chased after his hat—one of many peculiar episodes, though I shall refrain from detailing every trifle.

Thus did the Crescent Moon Maru, to which we had entrusted our fates, depart Aden Bay and enter the raging waves of the Indian Ocean.

Chapter 6: Star Shell Grenades

Signals from a wreck—No, must be meteors streaking—Three absurd ship lights—Damned sea phantoms—Their eyes gleaming ominously Even after entering the turbulent waves of the Indian Ocean, days turned to nights and dawns to dusks without incident through the fifth day—but then came the sixth night. After dinner as usual, I went up to the splendid salon above the dining hall where I met Mrs. Harue. For young Hideo, I recounted tales of Captain Cook's daring voyages and Kato Kiyomasa's martial exploits, along with stories of my own travel blunders. Having stayed up late as was our custom, I escorted the lady and boy to their cabin before taking my leave with a promise to meet come morning.

Nothing experiences more extreme climatic variations than the Indian Ocean. It was now mid-May—when cool spells brought genuine comfort, but heatwaves surpassed Japan's sweltering midsummer. Particularly this night, dense clouds blanketed the heavens while the surrounding air hung unnaturally heavy, creating a sensation of being steamed alive within a cauldron. Reasoning that even returning to my cabin would grant no restful sleep, I considered the smoking room—but finding it equally stifling—ultimately yielded to curiosity and emerged alone onto the dark stern deck seeking temporary respite in fresh breezes. The clock hands had long passed eleven, leaving the vast deck deserted save for watchkeeping sailors. Our ship now plowed through the Indian Ocean's raging waves to port and starboard, advancing along the tenth parallel north. When we'd departed Naples Port, smiling moonlight had vividly illuminated these planks. Now—over two weeks later—true darkness reigned. Though earlier we might have glimpsed the new moon's faint glow somewhere astern, even that had sunk beyond the horizon's edge, leaving nothing but a blackened sea stretching endlessly. Only through rare cloudbreaks did one or two stars feebly reflect their light upon the swells.

What a desolate scene!!! For no particular reason, I found myself overcome with sorrow. All humans are creatures of emotion—in joyful times all things appear joyful, in sorrowful times all things seem sorrowful. As I now unexpectedly came to feel dread before this desolate spectacle, various delusions suddenly coiled within my breast: the ghost stories of the Demonic Day and Demonic Hour that until today I had scarcely dwelled upon. The white mast light fell; the captain’s face contorted in rage. The mysterious ship's binoculars. Then there arose vividly in my mind—as if they bore some connection to tonight’s terrifying spectacle—the whereabouts of Commander Sakuragi and his sailing ship that had been recorded in that discarded newspaper days prior.

“Ridiculous! Ridiculous!” I exclaimed aloud to myself. Striving to dispel such delusions, I deliberately strode across the deck with exaggerated movements. After pacing between the foremast and mizzenmast four or five times until that sense of dread gradually began to fade—now finally resolved to retire to my cabin for sleep—I suddenly heard a peculiar noise as my foot descended the first step of the companionway. The sound struck the distant sea surface, extremely faint—indeed so faint as to be barely discernible, yet unmistakably that of a cannon or explosive flare signal!!!

I abruptly turned my head to the left, then immediately cried "Ah!" and leapt back onto the deck. Until now I had noticed nothing at all—but looking, there came another faint cannon report from the sea about two or three nautical miles off our Crescent Moon Maru's port stern. Tar barrels and oil drums must have been set ablaze, for raging flames lit up the sea as two or three star shell grenades shot sparks into the sky, followed by rockets streaming left and right like meteors, one after another.

I was truly astonished. This was the very heart of the Indian Ocean—no islands could possibly exist within the reach of our vision, let alone rockets and star shell grenades fired at intervals of approximately one minute! These were nothing less than a shipwreck’s nighttime distress signals announcing imminent peril!!!

“This is an emergency!” I cried while scanning our ship’s port and starboard sides. Duty sailors stood watch aboard the vessel. The lookout—who should never let a single maritime incident escape notice—now swept his gaze about as if searching for purpose, while the starboard watchman remained statue-like facing the bow, the faint cannon reports apparently not registering as he stared at empty waters. Though the portside sailor clearly saw the distress signals—sparks bursting and rockets streaking from that tragic wreck—he stayed unnervingly composed, merely shielding his eyes with a gloved hand while gazing fixedly westward.

“Duty sailors! What are you doing standing there dazed?!!!” I shouted as I whirled around and ran toward the captain’s cabin. Of course, everyone knew ships maintained strict discipline. Even were lightning to shatter the heavens or ten thousand demon gods to manifest upon the seas at once, for one outside the crew to encroach upon sailors’ authority and report such matters to the captain—by maritime law—remained utterly impermissible. I was not ignorant of this, but we now faced an extraordinary emergency—every minute’s delay might mean life or death for those aboard the wreck. Moreover, our starboard duty sailor stood eyeless despite his eyes, while the portside one wore the inscrutable visage of a demon or serpent. Deeming this no moment for hesitation, I sprinted to the captain’s cabin beneath the bridge and pounded on its door.

“Captain! Your Excellency! Awaken—there’s a shipwreck! There’s a shipwreck!” I shouted. The captain—who had been lying on his bed—sat up with a gruff “What?” and opened the door. I stepped inside. “Captain! Your Excellency! Though overstepping my authority, I must report—there lies a shipwreck approximately three nautical miles off our port stern!” “Shipwreck?! Ahahahaha!” The captain boomed with laughter. I expected astonishment, but he instead furrowed his brow in irritation.

“A shipwreck?” “What’s that supposed to be? This vessel maintains duty sailors perpetually keeping watch—there’s no cause to trouble yourself.” “Naturally—yet these watchmen of yours are blind fools! Heartless wretches! One stands there gaping vacantly while his counterpart feigns ignorance!” “Your Excellency! Quickly! Quickly! That wreck’s survival balances upon seconds!”

“Won’t do!” the captain laughed coldly. “Do you not know maritime law? No matter what occurs, those outside the crew have no right to interfere. Nor am I obligated to receive such reports from you.” As he spoke, he reached out his right hand and took up a cigar from the desk. I pressed

“I’m not here to argue technicalities - I’ll take full responsibility for exceeding my authority. Don’t you believe there’s a shipwreck out there right now calling for rescue?” “I don’t believe it! I won’t believe it!” The captain threw his freshly picked-up cigar back onto the desk in irritation. “With no reports from duty sailors, I absolutely refuse to believe it. What shipwreck could exist in these calm seas? Preposterous nonsense!”

“Nonsense!” I flared up in anger. Short-temperedness had always been my chronic ailment—my temper bomb detonated all at once. “What do you mean there’s nothing?! I saw it with my own eyes just now!”

“Ha ha ha ha!” “What did you witness?” “Ha ha ha ha!” he laughed uproariously, his mind seemingly elsewhere. I truly boiled over from my very core. Let me state this plainly—from the moment I first boarded this ship, I had sensed this captain was no honest man, and indeed my suspicions proved true. Now realizing he meant to let another vessel perish merely to avoid inconvenience, I—in my fury— “You’ve seen nothing! Star shell grenades and rockets fired one after another off our port stern—don’t you even recognize shipwreck signals when you see them?”

“I have no need to hear such things,” the captain snorted derisively while

“That must simply be an error in your vision. “Heh heh heh.” “An error in vision?! This is unconscionable—I have two perfectly good eyes right here!” “Your eyes are unreliable—at sea, such optical illusions are common. You must have mistaken shooting stars for signals.” “No—even if those were genuine distress signals,” he scoffed hollowly, “any ship foundering in such calm seas couldn’t possibly be one of us sailors. We’ve no obligation to go through the trouble of rescuing them.”

Since I thought further debate was futile, I suddenly dragged the captain out of the cabin. “Can’t you see that? That—don’t you feel anything seeing those tragic signal lights?!” I cried, pointing far out over the port stern’s sea. I let out an “Ah!” and stood there gaping, unable to close my mouth for some time. Was this real? The distress signal flames that had been clearly flashing through the air until just two or three minutes ago had now completely vanished without warning, leaving in their place only a white spherical light shining several dozen feet above the sea surface, with faint green and red lights dimly visible where one would expect a ship’s port and starboard sides to be. The white light on the foremast, the green light on the starboard, and the red light on the port side—needless to say, these were the safe navigation signals!!!

“Haah! So indeed—star shell grenades and rockets fired one after another. The distress signals of a shipwreck pleading for rescue are clearly visible. You have quite remarkable eyes,” sneered the malicious captain as he glared sharply at my face, to which I offered no response. But wasn’t this truly bizarre? In the very area of sea where safety signal lights now shone, the distress signals of a tragic shipwreck had been clearly visible just moments ago. Could it truly have been an error in my vision, as the captain said? No, no—however I considered it, I shouldn’t have eyes so poor as to mistake white, green, and red lights for star shell grenades or rockets. When I thought this through, the earlier shipwreck signals must have transformed into safe navigation signals without my noticing. “Well now, how strange this is,” I thought, as I wandered lost in a thick fog of confusion.

The captain had been staring venomously at my face while sneering, but now grew somewhat serious and gazed toward the light.

“But this is strange—according to this month’s sailing schedule, there should be no ships following this route behind us at this hour.” He tilted his head slightly before bursting into a hollow, grating laugh. “Ah! Now I see! That cursed ghost ship Turkey Maru—the one that sank near here before—still can’t surface properly! Putting on some shipwreck pantomime to lure us onto hidden reefs! Not on your life—I won’t swallow that bait!” he growled at me.

“But earlier, did you clearly see distress signals from a shipwreck seeking rescue?” he sneered. It might seem absurd, but many sailors cling to such superstitions; I dismissed them outright. “Precisely! Those were unmistakable distress signals from a wreck!” I retorted, half-listening to his muttered “Hmph, no mistake—ghost ship nonsense...” as he grumbled under his breath. Scanning the sea again, I saw three distinct lights—nothing resembling the vengeful spirits or sea monsters that idiotic captain described. The green and red lights were clearly a vessel’s navigation lamps, while the white glow towering above the waves could only be a mast light hoisted over twenty feet above deck per maritime law. Now beyond doubt, some ship was giving chase to our Crescent Moon Maru through the darkness.

Chapter Seven: Indian Ocean Pirates

Torpedo destroyer or cruiser—pirates of old and new—submersibles—searchlights—waves like white horses—shallow seabeds—the great collision. As I stared intently, a ship bearing a green light on its starboard side, a red light on its port side, and a dazzling white lamp atop a foremast rising over twenty feet above the deck came steadily closer through the Indian Ocean’s blackness. Even as our Crescent Moon Maru was sailing onward at twelve to thirteen knots, for a vessel following in our wake to close in this swiftly, it had to possess tremendous speed indeed. In this modern age, a ship possessing such astonishing speed could only be either a torpedo destroyer or a torpedo cruiser. Could those lights truly belong to a warship? If it were merely a type of warship, there would have been no need for concern—but—but—when I suddenly recalled a certain matter, I couldn’t help but shudder.

To worry thus without having even discerned the ship's hull might have seemed utter folly, but witnessing its strange behavior since earlier left me deeply unsettled. First came that business of launching star shell grenades and firing rockets to mimic a shipwreck in the far-off dark sea—while the captain dismissed it as mere ghost ship antics, those mysterious distress signals were surely no work of sea demons or spectral vessels beyond mortal ken. Rather, they suggested deeds a hundredfold—nay, a thousandfold—more dreadful than such phantoms; some calculated scheme to lure our Crescent Moon Maru into those waters. Truly no voyage rivaled the Indian Ocean's terrors—typhoons and gales blinding crews in impenetrable mists, savage crosscurrents and towering waves beneath ominous cloudbanks, hardships no sailor escaped anywhere. Yet here these trials paled before one supreme horror: the scourge of pirate attacks. Since ancient times, who could know how many hundreds or thousands of ships had suffered pirate attacks in these waters to meet tragic ends? In people's accounts, pirate ships today did not roam as fiercely as in olden days; however, in those times, pirate vessels never sank their targeted cargo ships with a single strike—they would invariably close in upon us with their ship, whereupon many armed pirates brandishing swords and halberds would swarm across from their deck to ours, both sides spilling blood in fierce combat. Should the pirates prevail, the tragic aftermath needed no elaboration; yet if we were strong enough, we could slaughter those brigands to the last. However, in today's 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 gold and silver treasures upon the vast ocean, they first sank it with cannons or a ramming prow in a single strike, then deployed submersibles to retrieve the sunken riches. Of course, even today, submersible technology had not yet advanced to full perfection—this method couldn't be applied absolutely. That is to say, even the most advanced submersibles of our time couldn't function effectively when submerged below fifty meters due to water pressure and imperfect air pumps. Therefore, pirate ships employing submersibles paid close attention to this limitation—when attacking cargo vessels on tempestuous high seas, they always chose locations where seabed depth measured less than fifty meters, whether near islands or above massive submerged reefs.

Now, in the pitch-black heart of the Indian Ocean, as I watched that strange ship pursuing our Crescent Moon Maru, I suddenly recalled these matters. Dear readers, do not laugh—my apprehension may seem overly neurotic, but when considering both this narrative thus far and how that ship had raised mysterious distress signals off our starboard stern mere minutes prior, such anxious speculation could not be deemed unreasonable. Though I knew nothing precise of the Indian Ocean's seabed depths, even were we to burn coal until our engines burst across its 2,500-nautical-mile expanse, how could we ever hope to escape? Of course, even if that ship were a pirate vessel as I imagined, they would not so recklessly attempt to sink us—given the Indian Ocean's average depth here being 1,830 fathoms, destroying us in such abyssal waters would hardly serve their purpose. But if this were a pirate ship cunning enough to outwit demons and deities themselves, how could they let slip prey once marked? Should they deem old-fashioned tactics too troublesome—their razor prow charging straight through waves while sword-wielding pirates swarmed our deck like tempest clouds—they might yet attack as legends tell. If not, they might stalk us patiently until our ship chanced upon shallow island waters or reefs lurking beneath—then strike wind-swift, cloud-born, to sink us with one blow where we stood.

As I considered this, it was truly unsettling indeed—a chill crept up from the depths of my heart. While I agonized thus, the mysterious ship drew ever closer, its white, red, and green lights blazing in the dark night like the massive eyes of demonic deities, shining about four to five hundred meters off our port stern. With my heart racing, I surveyed the deck from front to back and side to side. The Beer-Barrel Captain now stood upon the bridge directly above me, staring fixedly at the mysterious ship’s direction. Though he had been spouting absurdities earlier when dimly recognizing three lights far out at sea, now that matters had reached this state, he could no longer utter such nonsensical things.

“Hmm, this is strange—that’s definitely a steamship over there. Could there be an error in this month’s navigation chart?” he muttered while gazing up at the star-flecked sky.

“No—no matter how I consider it—there’s no way we should be overtaken by such a ship on this route at this hour.” Even as he kept repeating this, an anxious expression began spreading across his face.

By this time, sailors were already gathering from all directions, pointing toward the bridge. They all watched the lights of the mysterious ship—now steadily drawing nearer—with faces etched with astonishment and intense scrutiny. “Truly astonishing—the speed of that vessel—” murmured the ship’s first engineer as he peered at the chronometer in his right hand under the lamplight, pondering intently. Following this,

“Which company’s steamship could that be?” “Is it a merchant ship? Or a mail ship?” “No—it’s undoubtedly a warship.” “Even if it’s a warship, such speed could only belong to a new-model cruiser or torpedo destroyer!” exclaimed the second engineer, off-duty helmsman, sailors, stokers, and deckhands alike, exchanging uneasy glances as they argued. Among them were likely those who had seen the earlier mysterious signals and those who had not. The mysterious ship had finally formed a V-formation with our Crescent Moon Maru. The captain on the bridge looked left and right, appearing increasingly uneasy. Our first engineer hurried to the rear deck and barked an order, whereupon a signal sailor raised a white spherical lamp high in his right hand and took position at the port stern’s “Decky.” This was the night signal required by maritime law when another vessel overtakes a ship. Yet the mysterious ship ignored this protocol entirely. A searchlight beam suddenly flashed from its deck across the sky before glaring blindingly onto ours. With two sharp blasts of its steam whistle that sent spray flying from the waves, it steadily increased speed.

In the blink of an eye, the mysterious ship’s white mast light aligned with our Crescent Moon Maru’s mast light—and now, their starboard’s green light slipped past our port’s red light by one meter—two meters—three meters—overtaking our vessel by at least half a lifeboat’s length.

At this very moment! Determined to ascertain that mysterious ship's true nature at all costs, I spun around and dashed to the port bow, staring toward the vessel with eyes wide as saucers. Yet across the moonless sea where starlight scarcely fell—though no more than a hundred, two hundred meters distant—the blackened waters stretched pitch-dark, making it impossible to discern even nearby shapes. To this were added a single white lamp at the foremast head and a red light on the port side; beyond these and the green sidelight on the starboard that glowed like a viper's massive eye, the ship showed not a single glimmer from its bridge, deck, or portholes, its entirety nearly swallowed by darkness. Yet whether through my concentrated will sharpening my senses or my eyes gradually adapting to the gloom—the moment I barely discerned those lights' source—the vessel's searchlight once more shot forth, its beam... It blazed up with blinding intensity; at the sight, I cried out in such profound shock I nearly collapsed.

“Sea Serpent Maru!!! Sea Serpent Maru!!!” I shouted. Dear readers, you must still recall that mysterious ship which had so inexplicably caught my eye when our Crescent Moon Maru was about to depart Naples Port. A vessel of approximately 1,000 tons displacement, with two funnels and two masts—its lower deck appeared laden with cannons and rifles. The same ship that had seemed submerged nearly to its waterline now loomed dimly visible upon the pitch-black waves.

“The unmistakable Sea Serpent Maru!!!” I shouted again. Ah! The Sea Serpent Maru had displayed such peculiar behavior earlier at Naples Port—departing several minutes before our Crescent Moon Maru despite possessing such tremendous speed—yet now it pursued us from behind. Could this truly be dismissed as mere coincidence??? Until now, the Sea Serpent Maru had shown no overt hostile intent. It merely cast incessant searchlight beams from its deck—sometimes illuminating the sky, sometimes directing their glare toward us, perhaps surveying the sea’s features—all while lighting the waves along our Crescent Moon Maru’s course as it steadily surged ahead. Our ship now pursued its wake instead.

When what felt like barely ten minutes had passed, the distance between the two ships had grown considerably. I involuntarily let out a sigh. 'Perhaps my worries were needless after all,' I thought, slightly easing my anxiety. At that moment, I suddenly realized—our Crescent Moon Maru, which until moments ago had been sailing with perfectly steady motion, was now rocking so violently that the deck itself seemed to tilt. Looking out, the pitch-black seas to both starboard and port were unusually turbulent, with towering waves like white horses leaping into view. The Indian Ocean isn't all thousand-fathom depths—the reason for these turbulent waves must surely be massive submerged reefs lying nearby, or perhaps the very course our Crescent Moon Maru now sailed was entirely blanketed by an extensive reef below.

A massive submerged reef! A massive reef! Even if we didn't run aground outright—the shallowness of these waters left no doubt!!! I had just thought this when suddenly an extraordinary shout erupted from the foredeck of our Crescent Moon Maru. I leapt up and scanned ahead—there in the sea directly before our bow, the Sea Serpent Maru that had been sailing a nautical mile away while sweeping its searchlight across all directions suddenly extinguished its beam. In that instant, it swung its bow around and came charging toward us like a thunderbolt from stormy skies.

"My heart pounded like alarm bells clanging wildly." What truly shocked me was seeing the captain on the bridge; the first engineer from the rear deck; second and third engineers; sailors; stokers; lookouts—all pale-faced—come rushing toward the foredeck. The distance between the Sea Serpent Maru charging straight at us and our Crescent Moon Maru had narrowed to 1,000 meters—a lethal range for steamships on collision courses. Even without invoking precedents like the Chishima-Ravenna incident, we knew even slight helm adjustments now could spell disaster. Yet this accursed ship deliberately matched our exact bearing—the very course we followed—charging toward us with deadly purpose. One minute...two...three...and our doom would be sealed—an inevitable catastrophic collision!!!

The captain and first engineer had lost all composure—charging up and down the bridge, dashing to the rear deck, leaping madly to the foredeck—screaming at the top of their voices. Sailors. The panic of the stokers and deckhands went without saying; amidst this chaos, passengers clamored while shouts from two or three crew members rose above the din. Our ship continuously launched flare signals, blared its emergency steam whistle, and rang its danger bell until it seemed the bronze might crack—yet the Sea Serpent Maru advanced soundlessly, relentlessly closing the distance. The helmsman of our ship turned the helm frantically to starboard and port like a madman, but to no avail. When we sounded one short blast and veered starboard, the Sea Serpent Maru mirrored our turn—its port red light vanishing as it swung right; when we blasted twice and turned portside, their red light reappeared as they followed suit. There could no longer be any doubt—the Sea Serpent Maru now plotted to sink our Crescent Moon Maru with a single strike in these shallow waters where white-capped waves leaped like stallions.

“Collision!” “Collision!” “Collision!” Over a hundred crew members became frantic, sprinting wildly across the deck. By this time, the distance between our ship and the departing Sea Serpent Maru was already within a mere 220-230 meters!!! The first engineer and the captain, their eyes bloodshot, shouted in unison.

“Full speed reverse! Reverse! Reverse!” At the same time as three short blasts from the steam whistle sounded, the steam engine’s roar abruptly changed pitch. The reversed propeller churned up waves that foamed like swirling snowflakes—our ship instantly reversed twenty meters—thirty meters—but by then it was too late. Now within a hundred meters of our Crescent Moon Maru’s starboard bow, the Sea Serpent Maru suddenly veered leftward; in that instant, its sharp ram struck our midship with lightning speed—CRASH!!!

The Crescent Moon Maru tilted to port with a roar like ten thousand mountains collapsing. The instant it happened, a great outcry erupted. Two hundred sailors on the frenzied deck; hundreds of passengers rushed out all at once like a black cloud.

Like the wind, like lightning, the Sea Serpent Maru came; and like the wind, like lightning, it vanished into the pitch-black waves.

In the sky, starlight glimmered here and there—one point, two points, then three; the wind died, the waves turned black, and the ship sank second by second into the Indian Ocean's depths, carrying with it the cacophony of hellish screams.

Chapter 8: Human Fate

The Crescent Moon Maru's final moments—Hee-hee! You coward!—the Japanese child—two buoys—Mrs. Harue's whereabouts—Ah! A black thing!

Ah, there is nothing as mysterious as human fate. The day after this extraordinary event found me adrift on the boundless ocean with young Hideo, our lives entrusted to a small lifeboat not even thirty feet long, tossed by the waves. Needless to say, the Crescent Moon Maru, having drunk its fill of infinite bitterness at that moment, was sent to sink to the bottom of the Indian Ocean.

When those on verdant shores, caressed by gentle winds, hear of a ship’s sinking, they might imagine it as some fascinating spectacle—attempting through plays or oil paintings to conjure in their minds various renditions of that tragic scene. But for one like myself, who remained on the Crescent Moon Maru’s deck through its wretched demise as calamity struck, even now recalling those final moments makes every hair stand erect—so unbearable that recounting it in detail is impossible. I shall here set down only the essential outline.

After the Sea Serpent Maru collided with our Crescent Moon Maru’s starboard side and vanished into the darkness like the wind, the ship was thrown into a commotion as turbulent as a boiling cauldron. The cries of weeping, shouts of alarm, and desperate pleas for rescue clashed with the dreadful roar of raging waves, creating a scene that might well have been plucked from the depths of hell. Every possible waterproof measure had been exhausted, but from the shattered hull below, seawater came gushing in like a waterfall, making it impossible to approach the vicinity. The ten pumps worked at full capacity to discharge water, but proved utterly ineffective. The 6,400-ton leviathan had already tilted halfway, pitch-black smoke belching from its two funnels as if screaming with death-throe agony.

“It’s no use! It’s no use! The sinking can’t be avoided!” cried the entire crew as they abandoned our ship’s fate.

Until this moment, I had stood rigidly at the deck's edge in a dazed state, my eyes fixed on this tragic spectacle, when suddenly—

"What has become of Mrs. Harue and Hideo?" I flew toward the cabins through the air. At the stairway entrance where we had first met, ascending from below were Mrs. Harue and the boy. Though startled awake by the sudden commotion, Mrs. Harue had not forgotten her composure even in this dire emergency; having changed from nightclothes into regular attire, she had only now managed to reach this place. The moment I saw them— “Mrs. Harue! A catastrophe—!” “Has something happened—did we strike a reef?” Mrs. Harue’s voice remained calm.

“It’s far worse than a reef—quickly now!” I ushered Mrs. Harue forward while clutching the startled, wide-eyed boy tightly against my side, dashing across the deck. The areas where people milled about in panic proved most dangerous, so our trio withdrew completely to shelter beside the chart room at the bow. What struck me foremost in this crisis was the solemn pledge I had made to Hamashima when we first departed Naples Harbor—that I would stake my very life on protecting Mrs. Harue and her beloved child. Now facing this emergency, whatever became of me mattered little—I simply had to save these two.

The ship sank second by second; the screams on deck grew increasingly violent. At last, the order "Lower the lifeboats!" resounded, and the first lifeboat hit the waves. At that moment, I turned to look at Mrs. Harue. "Now, Mrs. Harue—prepare to evacuate." According to maritime regulations, the first lowered lifeboat served first-class passengers, the second for second-class, and the third for third-class; only after all passengers had escaped would any remaining boats be allocated to crew members. As the first lifeboat descended, I pressed Mrs. Harue and young Hideo to board it by virtue of our first-class privileges. Of course—clumsy though I might be—as a Japanese man, I could never flee first in such circumstances without disgracing my nation's honor. Yet Mrs. Harue and young Hideo were those I had sworn to protect for my friend's sake; being a delicate woman and innocent child respectively, my sole urgency lay in securing their evacuation.

However, all my efforts proved utterly futile. As soon as the first lifeboat floated on the waves, hundreds of people surged toward it like an avalanche. They scrambled to board first; the human wave churned in roaring chaos like black clouds whipped by wind. “Mrs. Harue, it’s impossible,” I said, turning back after taking two steps forward. How could I possibly push through that maddened crowd to safely get this delicate woman and boy into a lifeboat? Ah—how humans discard both shame and honor when clinging to life! I observed this with a sigh, but what proved stranger still was the group now throwing themselves into that boat—neither first nor second-class passengers, but rather sailors, stokers, helmsmen, engineers and other lowly crewmen who should have remained until the end, using brute strength to shove others aside as they clamored aboard.

“Ah, what a disgraceful spectacle!” I muttered in utter dismay. Mrs. Harue stood behind me, silently holding her beloved child tight against her chest without uttering a word—yet being none other than the wife of the valiant Hamashima Takefumi and younger sister of Imperial Navy Commander Matsushima, her complete absence of disarray suggested she had already entrusted their fate to heaven. Seeing such noble conduct, I could no longer remain silent. “Ah, you irresponsible crewmen! “Despicable foreigners! “What purpose do maritime regulations serve?” I clenched my arm in grief and indignation, whereupon Mrs. Harue’s lonely face turned toward me, her voice subdued.

“No one’s desire to survive differs from another’s,” she said, turning her gaze away. “Yet with so many crowding aboard like that—the lifeboat itself may founder.” Her gentle heart forgot its own peril to worry over those who wronged us—I hardened my voice... “Mrs. Harue! This is no time for such thoughts! You and the boy must survive at all costs—I couldn’t bear otherwise!” I shouted while surveying the chaos—now came a second lifeboat lowering down, then a third—but their vicinity grew more tumultuous than before until I could only stamp my feet helplessly. What suddenly caught my eye was our ship’s captain—he who bore full responsibility—now vilely abandoning hundreds of crew members crying out beneath dim navigation lights as he scrambled toward that third lifeboat.

“Hee-hee! You coward!” I became frantic. Here stood a woman as noble as Mrs. Harue, yet that captain’s disgraceful conduct—how could I remain silent? Though ultimately futile, I resolved to at least vent my spleen by delivering my iron fist to his skull as final judgment, but as I tried to rush out, Mrs. Harue quietly caught my sleeve.

“There’s nothing more we can do.” “Even should Hideo and I vanish into sea foam as we are, I would never seek salvation through desperate clinging.” Like a white rose battered by rain, she gazed intently at her beloved child’s face while adding: “Yet if heaven shows mercy,” she lifted eyes bright with unshed tears toward the sky, “there may still be deliverance even should we sink beneath the waves.” Suddenly, a great clamor erupted across the darkened sea—doubtless because one or two lifeboats that had fled our ship, overloaded with far too many souls, had taken on water and capsized.

“Oh, how cruel!” Mrs. Harue covered her face with a handkerchief. “They’ve reaped what they sowed,” I could not help but sneer. The Crescent Moon Maru’s fate now hung on mere minutes—not a single lifeboat remained on deck. In such circumstances, what more could we dwell upon? At the very least, a dignified end remained our sole aspiration. “Mrs. Harue!” I called out calmly to her. “All lies in heaven’s will,” I declared. “Yet even in this calamity, we’ve preserved Japan’s honor—that alone brings solace.” Mrs. Harue gave a faint nod, then bent down to press a final kiss upon her beloved child’s crimson cheek, murmuring tenderly...

“Hideo, even if you face this disaster now, you mustn’t forget the words Father told you when we parted in Naples.” “I remember. “Father stroked my head and said, ‘You must never forget that you are a child of Japan,’ didn’t he?” Mrs. Harue involuntarily let tears stream down freely. “Though you and Mother may be parting forever here, should your life be spared, you must never forget those words when you make your way in this world—you must become an honest person.” As she finished speaking, a raging wave came surging up from the stern.

Realizing this was truly the end, I let my gaze wander across our surroundings when my eyes suddenly caught on two or three buoys scattered near the portside—the people rushing to the lifeboats had likely paid no attention to such things. I hurriedly grabbed them. Quickly passing one to Mrs. Harue and seizing another with my right hand, I had just called “Hideo!” and wrapped my left arm around the boy’s neck when the ship abruptly vanished into the depths with a roar as if heaven and earth were shattering.

Foaming waves and raging tides had momentarily engulfed us in a thousand-fathom maelstrom, but when we resurfaced after what felt like an eternity, the 6,400-ton Crescent Moon Maru had vanished without trace from the ink-black seascape. Here and there, fading cries for rescue still reached my ears, yet by fortune I retained my buoy and kept young Hideo firmly clasped in my right arm. But Mrs. Harue was nowhere to be seen. “Mrs. Harue! Mrs. Harue!” I called out with all my might, but there was no response. Only once did I think I heard a faint reply from far across the waves—but whether it was merely the sound of the surf or a trick of my distraught mind, I ultimately failed to find any trace of her. Having been an exceptionally strong swimmer since childhood, I had little fear of drowning easily. Clutching young Hideo while relying on a buoy’s support, I remained submerged in the sea for a time—but soon even the voices of those seeking rescue faded away, and I realized we had drifted quite far from where the Crescent Moon Maru had sunk. Suddenly, young Hideo cried out, “Look—something black!” Startled, I raised my head to see a lifeboat floating some fourteen or fifteen yards ahead—likely one of those that had capsized earlier from being overloaded with too many people. As we drew closer and looked inside the lifeboat, there was not a single human figure within; seawater filled it halfway. But regardless—rejoicing at this divine aid—I entrusted the boy to a buoy and, clinging to the gunwale while swimming, devoted myself to bailing out the seawater. By dawn, the water had finally drained completely, so the two of us climbed aboard. Now, with neither destination nor purpose, we drifted at the mercy of the waves in the very heart of the Indian Ocean.

Chapter 9: The Small Lifeboat on the Vast Ocean

Ani’s Prophecy—Young Hideo’s Dream—The Great Currents of the Indian Ocean—Sudden Rain—A Feast from the Past—Enormous Schools of Fish

The frightful night finally ended.

The eastern sky whitened, and the melting light of the morning sun shone upon us from beyond the horizon—unchanged from yesterday. What had transformed utterly was the circumstances of the two of us. Until yesterday, we had lived in the beautiful staterooms of the *Crescent Moon Maru*, rushing to the deck upon waking to gaze upon the sea’s surface—so pleasant under the cool dawn wind—yet now, to our current selves, that same sea appeared nothing but terrifying. In the vast expanse of mist-covered waters of the Indian Ocean as far as the eye could see, this small lifeboat entrusted with our fate had neither sail nor oar, merely drifting at the mercy of the waves.

When I now thought back on last night’s events, it all seemed like a dream. “Ah, why have we encountered such misfortune?” I reflected, holding Hideo—who had been trembling pitifully in the dawn wind since last night, still soaked from being submerged in seawater—on my lap. As I gazed at the waves turned desolate by the sun’s momentary concealment behind drifting clouds and pressed a hand to my chest, it seemed the god of misfortune had been trailing us from this voyage’s very outset. The white mast light shattering during departure, that passenger drowning in the Messina Strait—all appeared as if Heaven itself had orchestrated them to foretell this calamity. No—such absurdities couldn’t hold meaning—yet Ani’s tearful prophecy at Naples dock had uncannily come true. Of course I put no stock in superstitions like the Day and Hour of Demons, but the old woman’s final warning—“The Crescent Moon Maru carries an unusual abundance of gold and pearls. When such quantities gather upon the sea, a dreadful curse will surely follow”—had coincidentally proven accurate. Precisely because of these treasures, we’d suffered attack from Indian Ocean demons and history’s most fearsome pirates last night. The ship sank, Mrs. Harue vanished, and we became foam tossed by waves—pitiful remnants of fate with no hope of rescue. Contemplating this made my spirits sink further until I felt utterly lifeless.

At that moment, the sun broke through a gap in the clouds and cast forth its blazing light. Though having fallen into such circumstances, Hideo—as befit any ordinary boy—could no longer endure the fatigue from the previous night. Leaning against my knee, he had just begun to drift into peaceful slumber when suddenly dream-born words escaped his delicate lips: “Ah, Mother... Mother! Why are you abandoning me? Where are you going? O-oh! Between Naples and Mount Fuji—there’s—there’s such a beautiful bridge—Oh! Father is calling my name!” In his dreaming state, the boy was reuniting with his beloved parents.

Ah—his beloved father Hamashima Takefumi in distant Naples—what dreams might he have been weaving then? As for the mother the boy so yearned for even in his dreams, Mrs. Harue had fallen into the sea last night and vanished without trace. If heaven granted some extraordinary mercy, there remained one chance in ten thousand she might yet be saved unharmed—but should she have disappeared into sea foam with her spirit returned to heaven, then even were fortune to allow our safe deliverance hereafter, young Hideo would never again see his cherished mother’s face outside of dreams save in slumber. Thinking thus, I grew infinitely sorrowful—and when my falling tears touched Hideo’s face, the boy started awake. Seeing my tear-clouded face

“Oh, Uncle! What’s wrong?”

I suddenly realized this and deliberately laughed out loud, “Oh, it’s nothing. With Hideo falling asleep and it being so lonely, I just let out a big yawn.” Rubbing his eyelids, the boy dejectedly looked around the boat. Anyone would be the same—after a great upheaval, there is nothing as lonely as awakening from a momentary lapse into dreams. The boy, now eight years old, having fallen into this tragic situation—when he recalled that gentle figure of his mother and his father from whom he had parted in Naples—ah, how sorrowful he must have been. Now, looking around this wretched boat without a scrap of bread or piece of meat, the sight of him turning his gaze back to my face was beyond pitiable.

My pocket watch had been soaked in seawater and could no longer serve its purpose, but the time must have been between ten and eleven in the morning. It was then I suddenly realized—the lifeboat we had thought was merely drifting at the waves' mercy until now was moving with arrowlike speed from northeast to southwest. (Though we had no compass, direction could be discerned by the sun's position) I was momentarily astonished, but upon reflection realized this held no mystery—our failure to notice until now stemmed from the vast oceanic expanse offering no reference points like islands or ships to compare against, a perfectly common occurrence. Upon reflection, our lifeboat must have been drawn into one of the Indian Ocean’s famed great currents without our notice. I had somehow begun to feel a glimmer of hope. I reasoned that this current flowing from the direction of the Laccadive Islands must either be spotted by a steamship along the western coast of the Indian subcontinent or drift us to trade ports of some nation—in any case, we would surely not remain beyond rescue. However, whether all things in the world proceed so fortunately remained uncertain. The current carrying us flowed toward Africa’s coast and the South Pacific region—places teeming with perilous zones. Should we instead be swept toward cannibal lands or pirate islands, that would spell true catastrophe! But what did it matter how one thought about it? It was all divine will! Divine will!

At that moment, the previously clear sky rapidly clouded over from the west, and a tropical downpour famous in those regions came pouring down like water gushing from cart axles. The sea’s surface churned like a waterfall’s plunge pool, and whether it was unbearable or not, the boy and I—clutching our heads—crouched at the bottom of the boat. Because of this, our clothes, which had been soaked in seawater last night and were just beginning to dry, became thoroughly drenched once more. Ah! Why must heaven be so heartless? I glared at the pitch-black clouds for a time, renewing my resentment—yet upon later reflection realized that in worldly affairs, what becomes misfortune and what becomes blessing cannot be discerned in the moment alone.

Precisely because of this downpour, there later came a time when we deeply thanked heaven's mercy.

As soon as the rain completely cleared, a blazing sun came shining down upon us like arrows. The post-rain sunlight in the Indian Ocean was exceptionally intense; I thought I might be roasted alive. What first became unbearable then was the agony of thirst. Here indeed misfortune transformed into fortune—for while ordinarily castaways' greatest hardship lies in obtaining fresh water, with nine out of ten perishing from its lack, we were spared that particular trial. The rainwater that had poured down like a waterfall earlier pooled across the entire bottom of the boat—disgustingly lukewarm with an unpleasant taste, but such complaints were beyond us. I scooped it up with both hands and drank like a beast. As my thirst subsided, hunger's torment followed. Ah! Had I known this would happen, I should have stuffed at least one tin of biscuits into my pocket when plunging into the sea last night—though regretting it now proved futile. In this state, memories of last night's warm "soup," golden-brown "fry," and steaming "chicken roast" with vapor rising began welling up in my throat. Not only that, but I found myself recalling distant memories—like when I'd thrown a slightly burnt piece of grilled meat from a train window long ago—and felt utterly disheartened. And so this day passed with us remaining hungry—at night, even in our dreams, we did nothing but dream of food. When morning came, our suffering doubled again. The boy and I sat pale-faced, simply staring at each other, until finally I even conceived the foolish notion of smashing the gunwale's timber into powder to drink. The sun eventually set, and we lay down using the boat's bottom as a pillow—but that night, our empty stomachs kept us awake until dawn.

The agonizing night ended, and the sun rose once more, but I no longer had the courage to rise and greet the morning light. Hideo had been propped up on his elbows for some time, gazing out at the sea, when suddenly he let out a loud cry. “A huge fish!” “A huge fish!”

Chapter 10: Burial at Sea of Sharks

Heaven’s gift—countercurrent—I was a black slave, the boy a charcoal-seller’s child—Oh my, what a strange taste—another fast. At the boy's cry, I leapt up and scanned the sea, then shouted— “Shark domain! Shark domain!” Shark Domain was certainly a peculiar name, but in reality—located several thousand ri south of the Maldive Islands in the Indian Ocean—I had indeed read in some geography book that such a place existed. What we now witnessed was unmistakably it. From small ones measuring four or five shaku to larger ones reaching two or three jo, countless sharks had swarmed around our lifeboat. These creatures were of an exceedingly vicious nature; their sudden onslaught undoubtedly meant they had deemed us desirable prey. I too felt ambition surge through me at the sight of that swarm. In this moment of hunger, I thought how joyous it would be to catch one of those fish—but with neither net nor fishing gear, I could only burn with frustration. Suddenly, a small fish leaped from the waves into the boat. Young Hideo twisted his body like a kitten and caught it, pinning it down. “No—don’t let it escape!” I panicked and lunged forward. The joy of that moment! It was a horse mackerel about a foot long—chased by a massive school, it had accidentally leaped into our craft. As heaven’s gift, I hurriedly seized it. Truth be told, I wanted nothing more than to devour that morsel with the boy and sate our unbearable hunger—but wait! What good would hastily gulping it down do? Even a starving farmer sows his last gō of wheat rather than eat it. Surely I could multiply this little fish a hundredfold—no, two hundredfold! When I explained my plan to use it as bait for those sharks, Hideo wholeheartedly agreed. Though we lacked proper gear, fortune favored us—the lifeboat still held a sturdy iron chain with its hook-shaped ‘hook’ used for hoisting boats. Detaching it, I carefully impaled our prize and rose slowly. The fish of these boundless seas had never known fishermen—whether they’d bite mattered little. But one too large might capsize us. As a three-foot shark swam near starboard—“This one,” I muttered—casting the bait into waves that might or might not swallow it—“Damn! Missed!” I screamed. Even sea creatures knew survival’s law—beneath where the small shark swam lurked an enormous beast. Like lightning it darted forth and swallowed my hook whole. Instantly the tide foamed, waves surging backward like an approaching tsunami. Clenching the chain with all my strength, I agonized over this one-in-a-thousand chance. Reeling in this thrashing monster was impossible—it might drag us into a whirlpool’s depths. But how could I let go now? This meant life or death. Hideo watched wide-eyed behind me, his pitiful form clinging—

“Oh! That’s dangerous! That’s dangerous!” he shouted.

“No, no, it’s fine! It’s fine!” I shouted, my face turning crimson as I stood firm like a wrathful guardian deity. Amidst the chaos, the shark that had been thrashing wildly in all directions until now turned its repulsive head southward and darted off like an arrow loosed from a bow. The lifeboat was dragged along as well, racing like a gale. I was now truly desperate.

“Now that it’s come to this, we can’t let it escape!” I had completely forgotten both my empty stomach and the peril to my life. For nearly three hours we were dragged by the frenzied shark until we broke free from the ocean current, having likely put fourteen or fifteen nautical miles between us and the Shark Domain, when even that vicious creature finally succumbed to exhaustion and floated belly-up on the sea’s surface. After catching my breath and hauling it up, I found the fish far larger than expected—its bulk nearly filled half the lifeboat.

“What an ugly fish,” the boy said with a disgusted look, tapping the shark’s armored head. “Ha ha ha ha! What an ordeal that was! But at least we won’t starve for now.” I immediately drew my knife. Of course, sharks make poor eating at best, but in our state, no amount of that rancid flesh could satisfy us. “Hideo, you’ll ruin your stomach eating like that,” I warned with feigned concern—even as I crammed my own mouth full of the foul meat.

With this bountiful catch ensuring we wouldn't starve from tomorrow onward - human nature being what it is - that night's dreams were peaceful, and morning's awakening brought an unaccustomed calm to our hearts. The following day brought our first semblance of calm since drifting began. We drank the usual rainwater while relishing shark meat, keeping constant watch for any island silhouette or steamship smoke. Yet nothing obscured our view that day. The next day too passed with us merely gazing across the desolate blue expanse until we realized our lifeboat - having been pulled from its previous current by the shark - was now caught in a countercurrent flowing southwest to east. This faster stream seemed to be drawing us southward past the edges of the Maldive Islands. Apart from my involuntary cry of alarm at this discovery and that distant sighting of an immense whale pod I'd once read about in books, nothing noteworthy occurred. Of course, our present circumstances were by no means peaceful, but with our bellies now sufficiently filled, no steamship smoke could be seen on the horizon.

However, at this very moment, a major incident occurred. It was none other than this—the shark meat we relied on as our lifeline had begun to rot. From the beginning, I had not been entirely without this worry—but in any case, I had carelessly assumed that such a colossal fish, rare even in this world, would not decay so readily. On the morning of the fifth day, I suddenly became aware of it. However, in our present circumstances we endured and ate without complaint, but the Indian Ocean’s scorching heat blazed relentlessly upon us, making it unbearable. At lunchtime, when the innocent boy took a bite, he immediately spat the meat into the sea,

“Oh no! What’s happened? This fish tastes so strange!” he exclaimed—a nerve-wracking moment indeed.

When evening came, no matter how much courage we summoned, we could not bring ourselves to eat it. Yet we could not bear to cast this vital lifeline carelessly into the sea. Pushing it to the boat's farthest corner, we spent the night reliving that pitiable state from four or five days before. Come morning, an unbearable stench permeated everything—our spirits, our very souls seemed to grow distant from reality. No longer could we endure another moment with this rotting fish. With infinite regret, Hideo and I consigned the shark's carcass to the ocean depths.

Well then, we were fasting again—this day too ended fruitlessly as night fell. Contemplating what would become of us hereafter, we lay awake all night between despair and restless agitation. When morning came, the dawn wind rustled gently, whitening the eastern sky—yet I no longer had the will to rise. "Useless! All useless!" I cried out despite myself. "Our provisions are gone, no steamship in sight, no island to rely on now." But then I suddenly noticed young Hideo sleeping peacefully beside me—ah, what foolishness!—and hurriedly looked his way. Startled awake by my voice, the boy sat up abruptly and leaned halfway out of the lifeboat when—

“Island!” “Island!” “Uncle! Island!” “Island!”

“Island!” I cried out too, springing up like a kemari ball kicked skyward. By then dawn had fully broken—across sea surfaces where morning mists had cleared, about three nautical miles south of our lifeboat, palm and olive leaves grew lush green where waves crashed against rocks and scattered like shattering crystal. There lay an island.

Chapter 11: Echoes of the Uninhabited Island Is it an island inhabited by humans or demons?—Ah! That sound—A pristine spring—A gorilla's onslaught—The sailor nimbly dodging—The naval officer's countenance.

When viewed from afar, this island resembled a calf lying down in shape, its area appearing quite vast. For over ten days since the Crescent Moon Maru's sinking, we who had seen nothing but blue skies and blue waves suddenly discovered this island—our joy in that moment made us feel we would fly there if we had wings; yet cruel reality struck when we realized our lifeboat had neither sail nor oars. Though it seemed near, three ri at sea proved no easy distance. While drifting across that boundless ocean expanse, we had clung to the belief that merely spotting an island would bring immediate rescue—yet reality refused to comply. If we dawdled here, we might be swept away again to who knows where. Now was no time for hesitation—I suddenly stripped naked and plunged into the sea. Though it was a precarious endeavor, I resolved to push the lifeboat steadily toward the island while swimming. From within the boat, young Hideo frantically parted the waves with maple-leaf-like hands. Even so, whether the boat moved or not—such was its sluggishness. Yet our efforts did not prove futile in the end—when we finally reached the island after what felt like a little over half a day had passed, though it had taken over six excruciating hours to traverse a mere three ri of waves at this pitifully slow pace, I nearly died from the hardship.

After securing at the water’s edge the lifeboat that had protected our fate for over ten days, we landed on this island to find it now past mid-May. Trees so lush they dripped with emerald green covered every surface, while fields and mountains stretched beyond our sight in the distance. The landing area formed a natural grassy plain where nameless red and white flowers bloomed wildly. Each whisper of southern wind carried indescribable fragrance from land to sea—a realm fit for immortal revelry even in ordinary times. Yet having reached this paradise from such extremity of hardship, we initially doubted our senses. With tensions easing at last, fatigue and hunger began asserting themselves. Surveying the verdant landscape for sustenance, we spotted coconut and banana trees two hundred meters up a slope, branches sagging under ripened fruit. We raced like winged creatures to gorge ourselves—whether eating properly mattered little—until satiety brought new concerns: What land was this? Though vast enough in scope, did it grace world maps? Merely another Indian Ocean isolate? Or perhaps lay eastward among Bourke Islands? The climate and flora suggested proximity to Africa’s coast. Yet such musings proved futile. The critical question remained—was this island uninhabited? If so, we’d adapt accordingly; if populated by savages, immediate escape plans were essential. Resolving to circumnavigate for answers, I took the boy’s hand and began our trek. Though uncertainties loomed—the island’s breadth unknown, dangers uncharted—we deemed this preferable to spending an anxious night ignorant of its nature. We resolved to press onward until sunset or exhaustion intervened.

Realizing we must first determine our direction of progress, we pressed through the forest and discerned that a silver streak glimmering far ahead indicated the presence of a river in that area. I was truly disappointed by this sight; wherever I looked, the island's appearance left no doubt—it was uninhabited! With the entire island thus covered in mountains, forests, and valleys, there was no way to determine our direction now; venturing into such deep mountains and secluded valleys would only invite danger instead. Just as we resolved to temporarily abandon exploring the island and turn back toward the coast regardless, young Hideo abruptly halted his steps.

“Oh, what’s that sound?” he exclaimed, eyes wide. “Sound?” I too involuntarily stopped and strained my ears—a peculiar resonance carried by the wind. Just when I’d concluded this was truly an uninhabited island, from somewhere indistinct came clang-clang, clank-clank—a metallic reverberation as if iron struck iron deep within the valley’s bowels. “A hammer’s strike!” I tilted my head slightly. No blacksmith could exist on such a desolate isle—for an instant I thought it illusion, yet through the desolate air echoed that dreadful clang-clank, clang-clank, now undeniable. But upon reflection, the source lay nowhere near—the very silence surrounding us made it resonate so clearly across at least three or four miles. Whatever the case, where such sounds existed, some presence must dwell—human or demon mattered not. Having resolved to investigate regardless, I methodically descended the hill. Descending while listening intently, the resonance seemed to originate beyond a massive cape protruding from the island’s southwest.

Having resolved to proceed with the exploration despite everything, the truth was an eerie business—not knowing the source of those sounds nor what calamities might await us on the path ahead. In preparation for any contingency, I securely moored our lifeboat at the water's edge. Should danger force us to retreat here, I tore my white shirt to erect a marker ensuring its location would be instantly recognizable. With this done, I rallied my resolve and set out with the boy. We proceeded along the coast for seven or eight hundred meters until encountering a small rocky hill; crossing over it completely obscured the previously visible sea view and gradually distanced the sound of waves.

At this point, the boy appeared thoroughly exhausted, so I proceeded by giving him a piggyback ride. Anyone would feel this way—in a place too silent, even one’s own footsteps became terrifyingly loud, making conversation utterly impossible. Given that this was such an island, there could be no proper paths—we pushed through bamboo grass, stepped over centuries-old layers of fallen leaves piled like small hills, and passed beneath strange forests of yellow milk trees unique to the southern hemisphere, their trunks arranged as regularly as tent poles across several hundred ken, with sparse clusters of leaves above. Having walked what felt like one and a half ri, we came upon a spring. Clear water gushed forth from the spring, making even the surrounding plants' colors appear more vibrant. We sat down here for a brief rest—it was now nearly five in the afternoon—and that mysterious sound gradually drew nearer.

While young Hideo, having discovered beautiful small fish in the spring's flow, remained wholly absorbed in chasing them, I lay down beneath a large tree—only to be assailed by drowsiness until, whether dreaming or waking, I became enveloped in scattered thoughts—when suddenly the boy came flying back to my knees. "Terrible! Terrible! Uncle—a beast!" he cried, shaking me awake with hands gripping my shoulders. "A beast!" I sprang up from my half-dream. When I looked where the boy pointed—what calamity! From the grove of yellow milk trees we had passed through earlier, a beast burst forth with ferocious intensity.

"Mandrill!" My every hair stood on end. People may speak of lions being ferocious or wolves being vicious, but there exists no creature more terrifying than this mandrill. Even confined within an iron cage at a zoo, its visage alone would strike terror at first glance—how much more unbearable when such a fiend assailed us in these deep woods! Jolted by the thought, I momentarily considered fleeing—but what good would running do now? Just as I resolved that all hope was lost, the mandrill was already upon us. Standing nearly seven feet tall, its gray fur standing on end like needles and sharp claws exposed, the rigidly upright figure made one wonder how many centuries it had dwelled in this deep forest. True to its vicious simian nature, it did not immediately attack—baring its yellow teeth as if mocking or enraged, it let out a thunderous growl. Though I had steeled myself, I shuddered as if doused with cold water from head to toe. But what could be done now? I shielded Hideo behind my back and fixedly stared into the mandrill’s pupils. For any vicious beast will never attack while human eyes remain sharply fixed upon its face—it waits until that piercing gaze wanes and detects a moment of vacant distraction before lunging in one breath. Though I had resigned myself to being devoured, I resolved not to die in vain; should even a momentary opening appear during this staring contest, I would seize the initiative to strike first and make it regret attacking us. Thus I maintained unbroken eye contact while the mandrill grew increasingly ferocious in its observation—at this critical juncture between life and death, suddenly, utterly without warning, a gunshot rang out from nowhere. Another shot followed. The mandrill, struck by two unexpected bullets, leapt up like a kicked ball.

When we turned around in surprise toward that direction, there were two people who had suddenly emerged from the forest about two hundred yards away from where we stood.

“Ah! Ah! Japanese!” “Japanese!” both the boy and I screamed in shock and joy. Could this truly be a dream? The two figures who appeared were unmistakably Japanese—one a powerfully built sailor with sun-darkened skin and a long sword at his waist who fixedly gazed our way; the other an imposing Imperial Navy officer gripping a double-barreled firearm. When the officer glanced at the sailor, the sailor charged five or six steps toward us with fierce momentum. At that moment, the mandrill—struck by two bullets—abandoned us and galloped like a runaway horse toward them. With a shriek, it lunged at the sailor’s head like lightning. The sailor nimbly dodged, and in that instant, the long sword at his waist struck the mandrill’s shoulder without even revealing its draw. Enraged, the mandrill gripped the blade with both hands; the panicking sailor kicked upward at its chest. Amid this fierce struggle, the composed naval officer calmly approached—the muzzle of his double-barreled gun appeared to target the mandrill’s heart—when suddenly a single gunshot rang out. The mandrill, over seven feet tall, let out a shriek, vomited fresh blood, and collapsed to the ground. The boy and I felt as if caught in a dream within a dream. When we rushed to its side like lightning, the sailor mounted the beast and delivered the final blow; meanwhile, the naval officer calmly turned toward us. Overwhelmed beyond words with joy, I gazed at that person’s face—then suddenly cried out in shock as if struck by lightning.

“Ah! You’re Commander Sakuragi?!” The Commander stared at my face in astonishment, “You are—” he began, then remained silent for some time.

Commander Sakuragi! ...

Does this man's name still linger in the esteemed readers' memory? When I departed Naples Harbor, there was a man—the protagonist of that peculiar article in a discarded newspaper which had caught my eye—who one and a half years prior had left mainland Japan with some clandestine purpose, boarding an uncanny sailing vessel one night alongside thirty-seven subordinate sailors. That I should now encounter this very man upon such a desolate island—how astonishing! How utterly astonishing!—left me wandering for a time through an impenetrable fog of bewilderment.

Chapter 12: Naval Household

A southern uninhabited island—the cheerful Petty Officer Muratake—hazy imaginings—before us, the waves of the open sea; behind, a grove of coconut palms—departed to parts unknown.

Commander Sakuragi opened his mouth after a pause. "How utterly unexpected—you, on such a desolate island—" he said while intently scrutinizing our forms. "This place lies far south in the Indian Ocean—over a thousand miles even to the nearest Madagascar Islands, and who could fathom the thousands of miles separating us from the Asian continent or Europe? No ordinary person would come to such an island," he declared with a penetrating gaze. "No, this is entirely unexpected," I responded, stepping closer. Given the circumstances, I naturally omitted details but recounted our general ordeal from the ship's sinking to our drifting ashore. The Commander's face finally showed comprehension—

“I had imagined it might be something like that—you have truly met with a terrible ordeal,” he said, his eyes fixed on the corpse of the mandrill that had just been shot dead. “In truth, having suddenly decided earlier to go hunting with this petty officer, it turned out that by heaven’s grace we were able to rescue you,” he said while gazing up at the vast sky. “I would like to hear all the details,” he said, raising his gun’s barrel, “but as nightfall approaches and this area is practically a den of wild beasts, let us first make for my residence.” In the course of the conversation, I had briefly mentioned young Hideo, so the Commander turned his stern eyes toward the boy’s face.

“Oh, what a lovely child,” Commander Sakuragi said kindly while patting the boy’s head, then turned to observe the sailor standing valiantly beside us. “Here, Petty Officer Muratake—comfort this lad.” The petty officer thus addressed promptly stepped forward and energetically lifted up Hideo. “Hoh! What a fine young master! Up onto these shoulders now!” he declared, hoisting him into a piggyback position before stomping vigorously ahead.

The residence where Commander Sakuragi and his crew lived appeared to be about a mile from here. At this moment, it suddenly occurred to me—could this be where the metallic clanging we had heard earlier originated? As we proceeded along the path, the Commander inquired about various matters from me. However, I did not ask a single question regarding the Commander’s current circumstances. For there was no immediate need to ask, and I thought it would be discourteous to recklessly inquire about the Commander’s secret—one not easily disclosed. Yet from deducing the contents of last night’s discarded newspaper article about his presence on this desolate island beyond worldly affairs, and considering together with the metallic clanging still audible now—hazy though it may be—there was no lack of reasons to believe my assumption. Could it be that Commander Sakuragi, having concealed himself on this island, had now embarked upon the great military invention he had long been planning? Esteemed readers have likely already surmised this point.

After walking about seven or eight hundred meters from the site of our fierce battle with the mandrill, we once again came to a place where the sea was visible. Then, crossing two hills, fording a single clear stream, and traversing through the dimly lit depths of a great forest, we finally arrived at an open vista where we beheld the Commander’s residence.

The Commander’s residence stood atop a cliff several hundred feet above sea level, its front facing the endless expanse of the Indian Ocean while its rear was blanketed by a beautiful coconut palm grove. Of course, given that this was a remote island, it was by no means an impressive structure—yet it was a rather massive plank house, with "Naval Household" boldly inscribed on its gate. The long, clumsy rooms visible in a row were likely meant to accommodate the thirty-seven sailors under his command. On the second floor were three reasonably well-appointed rooms. In one of these, where a white window curtain swayed in the breeze, was surely the Commander’s living quarters.

As we approached the house, Petty Officer Muratake—who had Hideo on his shoulders—ran off at full speed and shouted in a cheerful voice. “Hey, all sailors—come on out! The Commander has returned! And there’s a rare guest and a lovely young master here! Quickly now—emerge and offer your greetings!” In response to the call, the group of sailors who had remained in the house all rushed out from their quarters. All were men robust enough to crush demons or gods, who lined up in front of the house and saluted respectfully. Petty Officer Muratake was a well-regarded man among their ranks; when he said a few words, the brave band of sailors uniformly tossed their caps high and shouted “Banzai!” They were likely celebrating our safe landing on this island as acquaintances of their beloved Commander Sakuragi. The Commander smiled faintly upon seeing this.

“I truly cannot contain my gratitude,” I said, unable to restrain unexpected tears of joy. The innocent young Hideo widened his eyes perfectly round as he bounced atop Petty Officer Muratake’s shoulders. The boisterous band of sailors encircled them in uproar—“Ah! What a darling lad! Let me have ’im too! Let me!”—while Commander Sakuragi raised his right hand. “Now men,” he said with a faint smile, “the boy’s sorely exhausted. You mustn’t raise such clamor.” “Rather than that—make haste preparing the new guests’ quarters! The second room on the upper floor—clear out my study—”

Having finished issuing these orders, the Commander took young Hideo from Petty Officer Muratake's shoulders and turned toward me. "First, to my quarters," he said, leading the way.

The room we were led into was one on the second floor's southern end—a chamber of about ten tatami mats. At the center stood a round table bearing a globe, compass, and similar instruments, while maps of various nations covered every inch of the walls without gaps—truly befitting a naval officer's quarters. Through the Commander's hospitality, we there quenched our thirst with coffee brought by sailors, smoked to satiation the cigars we had craved since drifting ashore, and savored exceedingly sweet pastries—clumsy yet handmade by culinary crewmen—until some fifteen minutes had passed. Then the clock struck six in the afternoon, and the lingering May sky saw the setting sun sink into the western mountains.

At this moment, the Commander slowly stood up and faced me. “As we have pressing duties to attend to now, we shall take our leave for a time. You may rest quietly here—I shall return at eight o’clock to dine together.” With these words, he departed to parts unknown.

From behind came the ever-cheerful Petty Officer Muratake who, despite his rugged appearance, kindly arranged everything—changing our seawater-soaked, sun-scorched tattered clothes, preparing a bath, and ordering a tailoring sailor to make a small flannel sailor uniform for young Hideo. During this time, our quarters ordered by the Commander were readied, so we were led there and lay down on beds for the first time in ages. At first, young Hideo and I would look at each other and rejoice at this strange fortune, talking of various things while feeling grateful for the kind treatment from the Commander and his men, but before long—unbeknownst to us—the intense fatigue from over ten days plunged us into deep sleep.

Chapter 13: Starlight Twinkling

Welcome—Mrs. Harue will certainly not die—This Shinpachi is the vanguard—The sinking of the Naminoue Maru—This island is quite interesting—Three years later

I don’t know how many hours I slept after that, but suddenly at my bedside—

“Now guests—it’s gotten dark already! The Commander’s been waiting impatiently, and dinner’s all ready! That cook Namisaburou’s rolling his eyes white and black worrying the whole roasted bird’ll burn to a crisp!” 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. The one who had awakened me was the cheerful Petty Officer Muratake. Clinging to his right hand, the lovely young Hideo smiled sweetly.

“Uncle, I’ve already washed my face,” he said, looking up at my sleep-stiffened face. “Oh dear—has even the boy come to see me as a sluggard?” I hurriedly cleansed my face with clear water and followed the petty officer’s guidance to the prepared room. Upon entering, I found Commander Sakuragi at one end of the dining table deep in conversation with two or three senior sailors. When he noticed our arrival, he turned his smile toward us. “I fear Muratake has at last disrupted your restful sleep,” he said while directing a sailor to draw two chairs near.

At the far end of the dining table, Petty Officer Muratake and three sailors lined up properly, while on this side, with young Hideo in the middle, the Commander and I sat shoulder to shoulder on the right and left—and soon dinner began. The oil lamp's light shone brilliantly, now beautifully illuminating both the flower arrangements that the rugged sailors had decorated with tender care and the olive-green leaves skillfully shaped into "Welcome" upon the walls. Given that this was a remote island, the Commander had explained there would be no lavish fare—yet through the culinary sailors' great efforts, steamed turtle eggs, salt-boiled oysters, and whole-roasted birds (called "Iwagamo" locally, resembling ducks abundant on this island but with a lighter flavor) made for quite a feast. To my present self, this felt a hundred times more delightful than being served the world's rarest delicacies at its finest hotel. After dinner, when tea was served, Commander Sakuragi and the sailors present all spoke in unison: “You must tell us everything about how you came to drift ashore on this island.” So I took a sip of coffee and slowly began my tale.

First, beginning with my departure from Yokohama port with the aim of traveling the world, I crossed to America and then journeyed through various European countries. At Naples Port in Italy, I unexpectedly encountered my old schoolmate Hamashima Takefumi—now head of an overseas trade association who had amassed immense wealth—where I met his wife Mrs. Harue and their beloved son Hideo. Bound by a strange fate, the three of us boarded the Crescent Moon Maru to return to Japan. Before departure, a superstitious Italian nursemaid named Ani desperately tried to stop our sailing that night, insisting it fell upon the day and hour of demons. When I narrated without omission—the incident of the mysterious ship’s binoculars; the full account of our great disaster in the Indian Ocean; Mrs. Harue’s commendable conduct at that time; how despite all three of us leaping simultaneously from the Crescent Moon Maru’s deck into the sea, Mrs. Harue alone disappeared without a trace; and the subsequent hardships endured during our drifting until we finally washed ashore on this island—the listeners gasped in astonishment or lamented. Petty Officer Muratake sat like a wooden statue, eyes wide and breath held as he listened, while the other sailors mirrored his demeanor.

When the tale was concluded, Commander Sakuragi quietly lifted his head. “Truly, your experiences are like something from a novel,” he said, continuing to gaze at my face for some time. Even within the tale, he seemed profoundly moved by Mrs. Harue’s admirably composed conduct. Commander Sakuragi in particular had shared a bond closer than brothers with Commander Matsushima—Mrs. Harue’s esteemed older brother—and during his time in Japan had frequently interacted with them. He had met on numerous occasions with Miss Harue herself when she was still a maiden. Now, hearing that this beautiful and virtuous lady had vanished into the Indian Ocean’s waves, he could not treat it as another’s affair. Unbidden sorrow welling within him, the Commander opened his mouth after a moment.

“Yet I remain convinced,” he said, “that heaven holds a mysterious power—those beautiful in body and spirit often find unexpected rescue even at death’s door.” As mention of his cherished mother now arose, memories of that vanished night welled up anew; Commander Sakuragi stroked the disconsolate young Hideo’s hair while continuing: “I cannot help but feel that Mrs. Harue was safely rescued afterward. It may sound strange to say this, but people possess a certain intuition. For someone like myself, there has never been a case where someone I continued thinking ‘That person must still be safe’—no matter how far away they were—ended up dead. Therefore, even now hearing that Mrs. Harue sank beneath the waves, I cannot bring myself to believe she met an unfortunate end. It may well be that she obtained unexpected rescue and has returned to Mr. Takefumi in Naples—indeed, at this very moment she might instead be worrying over your circumstances.”

“And regarding that—most detestable are the pirate ships’ actions. Such atrocious vessels must be shattered to splinters sooner or later!” he declared, his bright eyes emitting a steely glint. Upon hearing this, young Hideo leapt up. “If you really defeat the pirate ships, Naval Uncle, I’ll challenge their commander-in-chief myself!” “That’s it—the soul of Japanese men lies—” Petty Officer Muratake, who had been silent like a wooden statue, suddenly shouted.

“When that time comes, this Muratake Shinpachirou will lead the charge!” he roared, pounding the table with such force that dishes leapt into the air and a dagger clattered to the floor. Then, regarding that business of the Demonic Day and Hour, the sailors—like myself—dismissed it as baseless nonsense with laughter, though Commander Sakuragi alone remained unsmiling. Naturally, one couldn’t put stock in such omens—yet that old woman Ani might have known through some means that pirates were targeting the Crescent Moon Maru. Perhaps circumstances prevented her from speaking plainly, yet she couldn’t bear to ignore her masters’ peril—thus disguising her warning as superstitious lore to halt our departure that night. I concluded my account. Hearing it laid out thus, I found myself acknowledging there might be truth to this view. Discussions then turned to matters concerning the pirate vessel Kaijinmaru. According to the Commander’s testimony, rumors of pirate islands held factual weight—the existence of covert agreements between those marauders and a certain powerful nation had become near-open secrets among seasoned maritime circles. The sailors unanimously resolved that such fiends must be reduced to dust.

Moreover, as the Crescent Moon Maru sank, the disgraceful conduct of the captain and crew left all listeners aghast and furious. The hot-tempered Petty Officer Muratake glared fiercely, “Bah! What spineless wretches! That cowardly captain—even if he fled, it’d do him no good! Let the waves devour his rotting carcass! But if by some cursed chance he still breathes—” Petty Officer Muratake roared, slamming his fist on the table, “—this Muratake Shinpachi won’t stand for it! I’ll kick through his damned ribs myself—show the world what justice looks like!” The Commander laughed, the sailors pounded their arms, and young Hideo and I exchanged exhilarated glances.

As the night deepened unexpectedly while engrossed in such tales, and soon my account of the shipwreck concluded, Commander Sakuragi now composed his expression and turned to me.

“From your account thus far, I have understood the circumstances of your arrival on this island. Now, what are your intentions hereafter?” I interpreted this inquiry about our resolve as asking whether we two castaways on this desolate island now wished desperately to return to our homeland at any cost, or whether we were prepared to remain here with the Commander and his men until some convenient opportunity arose. Of course, my burning desire was to return to Japan even a day sooner, but considering all circumstances, I could not bring myself to make such a selfish demand of this man. So I simply

“I merely entrust our fate to Heaven’s decree and Your Excellency the Commander,” I replied. The Commander tilted his head slightly for a moment before...

“In that case, you must remain on this island until a certain time,” he resolutely declared.

I nodded silently.

The Commander continued speaking.

“There’s truly no help for it." “Of course, should you resolve to leave your fate entirely in heaven’s hands and insist on crossing the Indian Ocean’s waves once more in a lifeboat to return to your homeland, there would be no stopping you. However, I would never wish for such a reckless course. As no other means exist for departing this island today or tomorrow, you have no choice but to remain on this desolate island with our group until a certain time.”

“That was something I had already resolved myself to,” I replied. “I am only concerned that we useless ones are pointlessly troubling you all,” I said—but before I could finish speaking, the Commander hastily cut me off. “No—rather, I find it pitiful to have you all gazing endlessly at your homeland’s sky from this remote island thousands of miles from civilization,” he sighed. “Ah, if only the Naminoemaru were safe at a time like this,” I said, looking at Petty Officer Muratake’s face.

The Naminoemaru was the name recorded in that discarded newspaper—the great sailing ship that had originally transported the Commander's party to this island. Ah, had that vessel too now departed these shores for some reason? When I looked through the windowpane at the sea, upon waves under faint starlight, there floated only one or two lonesome lifeboats; not a single ship could be seen crossing this vast ocean expanse.

Petty Officer Muratake crossed his arms.

“Well now, what a shame we did that. If only the Naminoemaru were still seaworthy, I’d take the helm myself and sail you straight to Japan—but during that great storm before, she got dashed against the rocks and smashed to pieces. 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, hunt lions—you’ll end up not wanting to go back!”

The Commander gave a wry smile

“Who would wish to live permanently on such a remote island?” he declared pointedly, turning to me.

“However, all things are subject to heaven’s will,” he said. “But you must never lose heart. Someday we shall attain extraordinary fortune and gaze upon Fuji’s peak once more—nay, I am certain of it! Three years hence will assuredly be that time!” he declared resolutely, his heroic bearing undimmed as he stared toward a solitary bearing along the storm-lashed shore where breakers smashed against rocks.

Chapter 14: The Undersea Shipyard

The Commander’s figure flickered into view—no more lion hunts for me!—the secret tale of Inazuma the fierce hound—Screen Rock—terrifying footsteps—the characters on the iron gate. The next morning, when young Hideo and I awoke at eight o'clock※, it was already after Commander Sakuragi had led a group of sailors—including Petty Officer Muratake—out to some unknown destination. The sailor from the kitchen staff who brought the morning meal relayed the Commander’s instructions upon his departure, speaking as follows.

“The Commander has departed this morning to attend his regular duties,” relayed the sailor. “As pressing matters prevented him from speaking with you last night and you remained asleep at dawn, he instructed me to inform you: Within ten *cho* of this dwelling, you may go wherever you wish. Beyond that boundary, however, wild beasts and venomous snakes pose grave dangers—you must not set foot there under any circumstances. The Commander will return at dusk to meet with you again.” Both the boy and I still felt the fatigue from over ten days of hardship, leaving us disinclined toward ambitious excursions. With this warning fresh in mind, we took even greater precautions. After our meal, we passed the day writing diaries, gazing at the boundless ocean from rocky coastal perches together, knocking down beautiful fruits without restraint in the coconut grove behind the house, and—guided by a sailor who had stayed behind—angling for sea turtles along the rugged shoreline.

As the sun was setting, both Commander Sakuragi and Petty Officer Muratake returned utterly exhausted, but upon seeing our faces—we two who had spent the entire day in carefree play—looking far more refreshed than yesterday, they burst into uproarious laughter. That night too saw various pleasant conversations continuing late into the night.

The next morning, thinking the Commander had not yet departed, I left my bed around six o'clock—only to learn they had in fact left the house just moments earlier. Some time later, the boy and I leaned against the second-floor window to gaze out at the coastal view where morning mist was clearing. Around ten-odd *cho* from this house lay a bay where white-crested waves crashed against rocks. Within this inlet, rocks stood arranged like a folding screen, naturally forming a crucible shape—and there, the Commander’s figure flickered into view.

“Oh! Uncle Navy has gone and hidden behind that rock!” young Hideo remarked inquisitively, looking at me. I remained silent, still staring at that spot, when after a while, from behind those mysterious rocks came the metallic clang I had heard yesterday and the day before. At ten o’clock in the morning※, Petty Officer Muratake alone slipped back— “Now, let’s go lion hunting!” he enthusiastically urged, but I barely managed to stop him. When he then proposed giving us a tour of the island instead, we found ourselves dragged around at the petty officer’s energetic lead—through mountains and rivers, valley bottoms and deep forests, along rugged shores where rocks stood jagged like swords—until we became utterly exhausted. During this walk, there was a fierce dog that, following Petty Officer Muratake’s orders, constantly moved before and behind us, protecting us in advance from the dangers of wild beasts and venomous snakes. Its name was Inazuma, said to be Commander Sakuragi’s prized dog—a massive hound as large as a calf, with jet-black fur and a tail tightly curled upward—an exceptionally robust creature. The boy Hideo took an intense liking to it, constantly calling “Inazuma! Inazuma!” as they ran about together. Before long, they had grown quite close. Come evening when returning home, Inazuma—still playfully interacting with this charming lad—unintentionally chased him up to the second floor, only to be driven out by Petty Officer Muratake wielding a broom. So enamored was young Hideo with this hound that he even tossed his delicious beefsteak dinner straight out the window for it.

Now when the next day came, young Hideo—having made a good friend in Inazuma—no longer remained solely by my side. From early morning he went outdoors to play without respite at the coast where waves were blue and sands white, riding on the dog’s back or hugging its neck. Meanwhile, I shut myself in the room and spent the day working on translating a navigation textbook Commander Sakuragi had requested of me that morning. This translation work, which the Commander had begun some time ago during his off-duty hours to instruct the sailors, had about one-fifth remaining when I took it on reluctantly out of sheer boredom. By the time the translation had been fully completed, the Commander returned as usual with a group of sailors at dusk along the coast.

Both last night and the night before had followed their usual pattern—after finishing dinner we would open the windows of our quarters to let in the cool sea breeze and lose ourselves in casual conversation. Tonight as well, in the same manner, when we arranged chairs by the fluttering white window drapes, Commander Sakuragi turned to me with some seriousness. “Tonight, after it grows late, I have something to discuss,” he said, staring intently at my face. Wondering what this late-night matter could be, I straightened my posture. The Commander tossed his half-smoked cigar out the window and quietly began to speak.

“Yanagawa-kun,” he began, “from that day when I chanced upon your crisis by the yellow milkwood grove and rendered aid, I have held this conviction.” “That you—a familiar face—should appear on this remote island where none ought to come, though by happenstance, can only be heaven’s guidance. That fate would have us gaze upon the same moon from the same dwelling for years to come must surely stem from some karmic bond.” “I possess a secret—one known to none save myself, thirty-seven trusted sailors under my command, and certain officials within the Imperial Navy. Though it must never be divulged beyond these confines, now that we find ourselves sharing this circumstance through long months and years together, I suppose the day must inevitably come when its manifestation stands revealed before you all.” Having spoken thus, the Commander quietly lifted his gaze.

“You must have some thoughts as to why I came to this island and what I am currently engaged in here.”

“So this is it,” I gulped. “Dimly, I have formed some conception,” I answered. The Commander nodded in response. “This secret is indeed my very life. Do you recall how, several years past upon a steamship’s deck, I recited an unusual poem and compared the naval expansions of European powers with our nation’s present condition? Even now, should Japan merely add warships as it does today—or imitate their piecemeal armament production whether by wealth or mechanical progress—we cannot hope to preserve Oriental peace, much less grasp decisive diplomatic power. To leap above Europe and America demands nothing less than epochal resolve at this very juncture.” “To elaborate—I spoke then of needing an earth-shattering military invention that would become our nation’s exclusive secret, unseen by foreign lands—a weapon so mighty that European and American nations would tremble in dread, deterred from discourtesy toward Japan. At that time you merely cheered approval while I buried this aspiration deep within as singular hope. After years of grueling effort, on November thirtieth of the year before last, I loaded a great sailing ship with vast materials and thirty-seven trusted subordinates, departed Japan for distant shores, and now conceal myself on this uninhabited isle—all to fully commence the grand military invention long contemplated.” “Thus, though unworthy, this Sakuragi devotes every ounce of his life’s strength to manufacturing an unprecedented mighty armament for our Imperial Navy.”

Just as I thought! Just as I thought! My heart leapt. The Commander continued. “These matters have become the subject of rumors even in the homeland, and you must have formed some conjectures about them—but as for what exactly this invention entails, until its complete realization, no one knows. To protect this secret from foreign military spies and other self-serving individuals who covet it, I have sequestered myself on this remote island and conducted its manufacturing with utmost secrecy—” he declared with renewed intensity.

“But Yanagawa-kun, you have miraculously joined our ranks as if guided by divine providence. Considering recent developments and trusting in your character, I now believe it would be more prudent to disclose this great secret to you today—provided you can make an unshakable pledge.”

“What? To me—that great secret—” I rose from my chair. The Commander said in a grave voice, “Very well—I am confident in you. If you would pledge as our comrade to eternally guard this secret, I entreat you—swear thrice to heaven with utmost sincerity.” Without hesitation, I made a firm vow, and the Commander suddenly stood up and grasped my hand. “The oath is a formality. But you, whose patriotic spirit runs deep—even should you stumble—must not let this secret slip to those unworthy.”

“Absolutely not! Even should these lips be torn asunder,” I answered resolutely. The Commander gazed at my face with a smile. As for what this secret might be—though that night concluded with only the oath, leaving detailed explanations to be clearly demonstrated tomorrow through the actual object at its concealed location—I lay down in bed as I was, yet driven by manifold imaginings, found myself unable to fall asleep until deep into the night. Humans are such willful creatures; though I had been unable to sleep until midnight the previous night, I awoke while darkness still clung to the morning. Around 5:30, Commander Sakuragi, accompanied by Petty Officer Muratake, knocked on my cabin door. From here, we would be setting out for that secret location.

The three left the house and proceeded north along the coast shrouded in thick morning fog. Petty Officer Muratake advanced about ten paces ahead with the fierce dog Inazuma at his side, leaving the Commander and me walking side by side in complete silence. Ah—what could this secret invention be? If it was a formidable military weapon—perhaps some new type of projectile with tremendous explosive power? Or maybe a cannon imbued with some sort of magical force? No—judging by the Commander’s tone, it had to be something even more extraordinary—but as I lost myself in these speculations, we finally arrived at Byobu Rock in the bay where I had glimpsed his figure at dawn. What struck me first was how this screen-shaped formation appeared isolated like a single slab from afar, yet upon climbing it now revealed layers of identical rocks on all sides—like 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—our footsteps booming through the void with each step.

After advancing about twenty yards across Byobu Rock, we encountered an iron door set in the center of a towering rock wall that rose like a cliff before us. Before this iron door stood an armed sailor on duty, who immediately offered a respectful salute upon seeing the Commander and his party. As we drew closer, carved into the rock above the iron door loomed five characters reading "Secret Shipyard" with an air of ominous significance.

Chapter 15: The Thunderclap Craft

Thundering wave sounds―A shape resembling a throwing spear―Three-pronged ram―New-style fish-shaped torpedo―Sea surface and depths mirrored in crystal clarity―Air generation apparatus―Poem by Master Tesshū Petty Officer Muratake fumbled for the large key at 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 appeared not yet to have begun; the usual clanging of iron was absent, and the interior lay deathly quiet, unnervingly still. Following my two guides, I passed through the iron door. At first, the space forced me to walk hunched over for about ten steps. Just as it seemed to widen slightly, a steep staircase carved into the rock loomed directly ahead. After descending these stairs completely, we were plunged into utter darkness. Petty Officer Muratake promptly lit a spherical lamp, its light revealing a desolate tunnel-like path. We turned right, then left, proceeding roughly 140–150 yards until the rocks split apart before and behind us, forming a gorge through which the tide rushed in and out like arrows from beyond the cavern. Above the gorge stretched a single bridge; crossing it brought us to yet another iron door. Petty Officer Muratake pushed open this door as before, whereupon sunlight abruptly flooded in—proof that the area beyond was brightly lit. The petty officer blew out the spherical lamp with a puff. At that instant, Commander Sakuragi turned to me...

“This is the place.” With these words, he first passed through the iron door. When I followed and entered within, I immediately saw: this was a great cavern measuring hundreds of meters in all directions, surrounded front and back by chiseled rocks, while above gaped a skylight-like fissure in the massive stone through which sunlight abundantly illuminated the cavern. When I listened closely, the distant booming of waves could be heard from nowhere—beyond these sheer cliffs lay a raging, tempestuous sea, and this place was surely dozens of feet beneath the ocean floor. The scene before me was so unnaturally bizarre in its raw state that I momentarily doubted whether this place belonged to the human realm or some extraterrestrial domain. When I steadied my mind to observe carefully, the entire structure proved to be a complete small-scale shipyard: the colossal cavern was divided into several sections. Beyond the expected dry docks, cranes, and drafting rooms, the forging area contained smelting furnaces and massive hammers; the foundry was equipped with molding machines and sand crushers; the lathe workshop had well-arranged planers, boring machines, and drill presses; the boiler-making site housed hydraulic riveters; and the general workshop contained bending jigs and shearing machines. Around the circular saws and band saws lay squared timbers and iron materials piled like mountains. Beyond these stood precision machinery—air compression pumps, electric generators—alongside silver solder, pewter, tarred ropes, Manila ropes, sail-sewing threads, twisted threads, emery cloths, graphite, gasoline, linseed oil, radium paint, rust-proof paint, copper plates, iron plates, steel plates, zinc ingots, gutta-percha sheets, vulcanite boards, glass panels, glass tubes, thick porthole glass, spiral rivets, steel hinge bolts, brass cast rivets, asbestos insulation tapes, and bullet-core protective bands. One could only marvel at how such orderly preparations had been achieved on this desolate island. All these machines and materials had been transported here two years prior aboard Commander Sakuragi’s great sailing ship *Naminoe Maru*, now arranged in their proper positions with clear signs of repeated use.

At that moment, what suddenly caught my eye was an oddly shaped hull now under construction at the center of this wondrous cavern shipyard—positioned where uneven rock formations had naturally coalesced into a shipway.

“This is the Submarine Combat Vessel I am secretly manufacturing,” said Commander Sakuragi as he slowly raised his right hand and pointed at the hull. “Ah, this must be it!” With my heart pounding, I scrutinized the hull. Oh! Could there possibly exist another warship in this world so wondrous and so indomitable? Merely glimpsing its exterior left me astounded at the vessel’s ingeniously bizarre form. Then, guided by the Commander, I entered the interior of the Submarine Combat Vessel—its construction already half-completed after over two years of labor—where I observed in detail structures like the upper deck, lower deck, “waterway,” “wing passage,” double bottom, and rib frames. When I heard explanations of its endlessly varied hundred mechanisms, I could scarcely believe them to be works of human hands, and before I knew it, I found myself unable to suppress a cry of astonishment. Ah! This Submarine Combat Vessel—so divinely mysterious and unfathomable—was now being manufactured night and day in this secret cavern shipyard under Commander Sakuragi’s command. Yet when this fierce warship would be successfully completed and join the ranks of our Great Japanese Empire’s Navy, what monumental influence would it exert upon the world’s navies? I declare: even should the fleets of nations—fierce as eagles, valiant as lions—array hundreds upon hundreds of warships before us, wherever the Rising Sun flag flies, there shall be no place left unconquered.

Dear esteemed readers, I would now like to attempt a detailed explanation of the structure of this both astonishing and fearsome Submarine Combat Vessel—but as it belongs to Commander Sakuragi’s great secret, I cannot do so. To briefly summarize within the bounds of not infringing upon its secrecy: this Submarine Combat Vessel measured 130 feet 6 inches in total length, with a midship cross-sectional beam of 22 feet 7 inches. Its form bore resemblance to the throwing spears used by South Indian tribesmen to fell elephants and slay tigers with a single strike—both ends tapering into a peculiar sharp angle. The degree of these acute angles constituted an exceedingly critical feature concerning the vessel’s speed. Positioned on the upper bow of the vessel was a single elliptical observation tower. Upon its summit stood nothing but a solitary signal mast, while at one end was installed an automatically opening and closing iron door—whenever the vessel prepared to submerge beneath the waves, this door would shut itself naturally, and whenever it readied to resurface upon the sea, the door would abruptly open of its own accord. The entire vessel was constructed entirely of metal. Not only the observation tower, upper deck, and both gunwales but also the steering engine room, torpedo launch chamber, and crew quarters—all were protected by a singularly robust armor. This armor consisted of a novel composite plate possessing elasticity and resistance several times greater than the Harvey-hardened steel plates or white copper alloy plates currently in widespread use. After years of relentless refinement, Commander Sakuragi had synthesized six metals into this new composite armor plate. Confident that it could withstand assault from any projectile or torpedo devised in this century, he applied this revolutionary armor to every critical section of the Submarine Combat Vessel.

Such was the external form of this vessel. Now, as for how the Submarine Combat Vessel destroyed enemy warships—it relied on two distinct types of military mechanisms. As construction remained ongoing, I could not ascertain all details clearly, but one weapon was an exceptionally robust device mounted at the bow—referred to as the “ram” or “warship breaker.” This ram differed radically from those on ordinary armored ships or cruisers: three acutely angled prongs extended seventeen feet forward from the hull. Driven by internal engines, this razor-sharp three-pronged ram rotated at three hundred revolutions per second like a capstan winch—any ironclad lacking armor thicker than fourteen and a half inches would likely be pulverized upon impact. Yet even this fearsome weapon paled before the “new-style parallel rotary torpedo launchers” lining both gunwales. Their mechanisms defied comprehension without schematics, but within their concealed chambers lay a crystal mirror. Through electrical currents and 230 reflecting lenses, operators observed surface and subsea conditions in real time while automated systems measured currents and wave patterns. Once battle commenced, the vessel would dart through raging depths like lightning. Amidst this chaos, [operators] gazed at mirrored seascapes—by day manipulating torpedo guidance panels, by night pulling ignition keys to project white and green searchlights. After calibrating sights and scales, a turn of the rotary wheel triggered clanging alarms and shuddering launch frames—seventy-eight torpedoes erupting per minute like hail. These torpedoes measured merely 2 feet 3 inches long with diameters under 3 inches—less than one-seventh the size of standard Howell torpedoes—yet their air chambers, buoyancy tanks, and tail fins were meticulously arranged. Their warheads carried explosives equivalent to 175 *kin* of standard guncotton, enabling them to strike targets 1,400 yards away at 41 knots. Thus amid cannon roars and smoke-choked seas, as the Submarine Combat Vessel surged through waves like a dragon or *shachihoko* beast, operators gazing at mirrored vistas would turn launch wheels—starboard torpedoes obliterating ships to the right, portside volleys pulverizing those to the left—a spectacle too swift for mortal eyes to follow.

The structure of the new-style torpedo launchers and their ferocious operation were roughly as described above. Surveying the entirety of the Submarine Combat Vessel, one saw that the craft was divided into over a dozen compartments fore and aft from the central machinery room—there were a chart room, a steering room, and a submarine searchlight room. The buoyancy chamber and engine room were indeed the most crucial parts of this vessel; however, regarding this matter, I regret that I cannot utter a single word in detail due to my oath. Let me divulge just this much: the power governing the hundred mechanisms of this vessel was neither conventional steam nor electricity, but rather a chemical reaction unknown to this century. Through years of relentless refinement, Commander Sakuragi had discovered that combining twelve secret chemical solutions in precise proportions generated nearly thirty times more violent force than standard electrical power. Having applied this to all the submarine’s systems, every motion—from propulsion and three-pronged ram rotation to new-style torpedo launcher operation—was governed by this clandestine energy.

With this, my esteemed readers, you have likely formed some vague conception in your minds regarding this vessel’s structure and its astonishing combat capabilities. There was no need to elaborate further—this wondrous Submarine Combat Vessel belonged to the category of submarines whose improvement and advancement were now being fiercely contested among the world’s naval powers. True, it undeniably belonged to the category of submarines—yet I found it wholly inadequate to call this warship merely a “submarine.” For today’s Western inventors boasted yearly of novel submersibles, yet most merely tinkered with trivial improvements: water ballast systems, horizontal and vertical rudder modifications, exhaust pumps, or buoyancy devices. Their power sources remained shackled to oil engines or electricity; their hulls mimicked cigar shapes; their propeller blades twisted in absurd imitation of antiquated designs like Mr. C. Edison’s. While these vessels technically submerged—earning the name “submarine” by default—historical precedent showed them rarely diving beyond six feet due to seawater pressure and air shortages, with none sustaining submersion for over an hour. Thus even the first-class submarines from France’s Cherbourg Shipyard—acclaimed as the most advanced development of this century—could not perform adequately due to these two critical flaws. Though they successfully approached enemy warships, they were frequently sunk in turn by rapid-fire cannons, making them utterly incomparable to our Commander Sakuragi’s groundbreaking Submarine Combat Vessel. Now, through the operation of an automatic buoyancy device installed in its hull bottom, this novel Submarine Combat Vessel could submerge to depths of thirty to fifty feet beneath the seafloor. Unlike conventional submarines relying on air reservoirs or compression pumps, an intricate mechanism at its stern—connected via hundreds of variously sized zinc and copper pipes protruding from both gunwales into the sea—analyzed hydrogen and oxygen from seawater, channeling them into atmospheric chambers. As piston-like rods moved vertically within this apparatus, fresh air gushed through a massive central pipe into the vessel like steam, while exhaust pumps continuously expelled foul air overboard. Thus unhindered by oxygen deprivation, the submarine could maintain its submerged voyage for ten or even twenty hours as operational needs dictated. Its speed was fifty-six knots average and one hundred seven knots maximum per hour. That it possessed such astonishing speed undoubtedly stemmed entirely from its hull form and a power source dozens of times more potent than steam or electricity; yet one must particularly note the formidable contribution of the mysteriously rotating six-bladed propeller installed at both extremities of its stern.

Esteemed readers, I shall now cease my explanations regarding the structure of this secret Submarine Combat Vessel—for when this warship, unparalleled in this age let alone future ones, someday departs its shipyard to float upon the world's seas, what astonishment and terror shall it impart upon every nation's naval community? If there exists what one might call a monster in this world, then this warship shall undoubtedly remain etched in the memory of European and American naval circles as the most fearsome great monstrosity to ever grace the Earth’s surface. I declare: once this Submarine Combat Vessel roars through raging waves with its boundless, phantom-like prowess—even should a hundred fleets and a thousand battleships confront it with a rain of shells—they could never hinder its operations. Anyone with even a passing knowledge of naval matters knows this: once an object has submerged more than fourteen feet beneath the sea, even the world’s most powerful Gatling guns or cannons cannot inflict the slightest damage upon it. All the more so for this Submarine Combat Vessel—submerging thirty to fifty feet beneath raging waves with unlimited dive duration—once this warship has set its sights upon a target, enemy vessels become like sheep enchanted by the great demon god of Arabian deserts from ancient tales: escape is impossible even if attempted. Should they fight? Rapid-fire cannons and Gatling guns prove utterly powerless against this undersea leviathan—what can they do? Should this Submarine Combat Vessel discern a fleet opposing us, whether swiftly or slowly it completes battle preparations—if enemy ships are unarmored warships, it need not even deploy its parallel torpedo launchers, but instead rotates that astonishing three-pronged ram like a winch, charges with a single strike, and reduces them to splinters; whereas if enemy ships are armored warships of fourteen-inch plating or thicker, the vessel navigates beneath raging waves like lightning while observing enemy movements reflected in its mirrors, whereupon new-style fish-shaped torpedoes launched from port and starboard via each turn of the rotary firing wheel strike seventy-eight shells per minute. Even a grand fleet organized with thirty first-class battleships could be annihilated before the sun rises and the birds sing.

Ah, the Submarine Combat Vessel! Submarine Combat Vessel! This astonishing and fearsome warship was now being secretly manufactured under Commander Sakuragi's command within the mysterious undersea shipyard of this remote island, to join the ranks of our Great Japanese Empire's Navy.

Esteemed readers! I think there is little need to elaborate on what wars this Submarine Combat Vessel will first be deployed toward when it successfully completes construction in the coming days, fluttering the Imperial Navy flag at its stern as it floats upon the boundless blue seas of the world, nor on what astonishing feats it will perform. And so, after I had finished touring the Submarine Combat Vessel under the guidance of Commander Sakuragi and Petty Officer Muratake, it was roughly two hours later when we emerged back outside the craft. After thoroughly exploring every corner of the cavernous shipyard, I suddenly noticed a large vault naturally hollowed out by the rock in one part of the cave. There stood an imposing iron door, its surface inscribed in yellow paint with the characters: “Submarine Combat Vessel’s Life.”

“What is this?” I asked. The Commander replied calmly: “This warehouse contains what I mentioned earlier—twelve barrels filled with the crucial chemical solutions that serve as the power source for the Submarine Combat Vessel.” “Indeed, these barrels of chemical solution are the very lifeblood of the Submarine Combat Vessel,” he answered. Though countless other things remained to be seen and heard, with the hour nearing eight o’clock and numerous sailors gathering around the vessel—signaling work’s imminent commencement—and imagining young Hideo must be waiting alone and forlorn at the shore house, I decided to bid farewell to the Commander and depart. However, before leaving this secret shipyard, there was one matter I wished to inquire about: the scheduled completion date of the Submarine Combat Vessel and how it would be named. The Commander, in response to my question, calmly twisted his mustache while—

“If no unforeseen natural disasters occur, in two years and nine months—that is, upon the third Empire Day from now—we will conduct a trial run ceremony, then depart this island to gaze upon the beloved peak of Mount Fuji,” he answered. Regarding the vessel’s name, he added: “In truth, we intend to name it *Denkōtei*.” Denkōtei! Denkōtei! “How fitting a name that truly is!” I exclaimed in admiration. The Commander continued...

“This vessel’s name was taken from a poem by Master Yamaoka Tesshu, whom I deeply revere.”

“Master Yamaoka Tesshu’s poem?” I tilted my head slightly, then suddenly realized. “Within the flash of lightning, cutting the spring breeze—is this the poem?” “That’s the one,” the Commander replied with a knowing smile. “When our Submarine Combat Vessel one day unfurls the Imperial Navy flag and stands among a thousand warships, I pray it shall live up to its name—swift as divine lightning and fierce as thunder.”

When this conversation concluded, I bid farewell to the Commander and, escorted by Petty Officer Muratake, traversed that same mysterious path to exit the secret shipyard.

Chapter 16: Asahi Island

Hideo stood in the shade of a coconut tree—international law—evidence of occupation—three-pronged memorial tower—What a brilliant idea indeed!—That’s the spot! Having exited the secret shipyard, I parted with Petty Officer Muratake at the iron gate, ran at full speed with the fierce dog Inazuma in tow, and soon returned to the shore house to find Hideo standing all alone under the shade of a coconut tree at the entrance with a lonely air—he came running toward me the moment he saw my figure. “Ah, Uncle! I didn’t know what to do—when I woke up, you were gone, and Inazuma had disappeared somewhere too,” he said with a pout.

“Oh, how utterly adorable!” I pulled him close to my chest. Indeed, when I had left the house with Commander Sakuragi and the others before dawn that morning, the boy had still been wrapped in peaceful dreams. Upon waking to find neither my presence nor his beloved Inazuma—a departure from our usual routine—he must have felt both startled and forlorn. The thought filled me with unexpected pity. “Listen, Hideo—Uncle didn’t mean to make you feel lonely on purpose. “Where we went this morning had so many dark paths and dangerous bridges—places only grown-ups like the Commander’s uncle and this uncle here can go. If someone as small as you went there, they’d surely end up crying from how scary it is. That’s why I left without telling you.” As I spoke, Hideo rubbed his eyes—

“I wouldn’t cry no matter how scary the place is!” “You won’t cry?! That’s brave! But it’s too dangerous now for you to go; once you’ve grown up, the Commander’s uncle will surely be delighted to take you along.” “Now, now—since Inazuma has returned, why don’t you go play at the beach like we always do and have some fun?” I said. Young Hideo’s mood brightened instantly, and he looked up at me as if about to ask more about the pitch-dark paths and dangerous bridges I’d mentioned earlier. But just then, the fierce dog Inazuma came trotting over with ears flopping and tail wagging, immediately capturing his attention.

“Inazuma! Where did you go? Come on, let’s race now!” he cried, leapt from my lap, grabbed Inazuma’s collar, and dashed toward the waves that crashed on the shore. I returned home and shut myself indoors all day, beginning to edit the portions of this travelogue I had long planned—up to what would become the third installment’s “Phantom Ship” chapter. As I started drafting that section, the sun set. Young Hideo—exhausted from running about all day with Inazuma—returned and leaned against my lap, and as we watched the evening sky darken together, Commander Sakuragi, Petty Officer Muratake, and a squad of sailors returned from the secret shipyard, their day’s work completed.

As was customary, this evening’s dinner proved particularly gratifying to me. Until yesterday, no matter how significant the matters might be, whenever I considered Commander Sakuragi harboring secrets in his breast without confiding in me, I could not help feeling some measure of displeasure. But now that I fully comprehended both the secret shipyard and the Submarine Combat Vessel—nay, now that I perceived my revered Commander entrusting me enough to disclose such monumental secrets openly—joy overflowed my heart. Yet as my gratitude for this recognition deepened, what tormented me was this singular thought: how might I repay such profound kindness? Even if by chance—having drifted ashore to this remote island, dwelling in the Commander’s household, and receiving boundless care from Commander Sakuragi, Petty Officer Muratake, and the sailors—I found it unbearable to idly watch them daily shatter both mind and body in their duties. Resolved to fulfill whatever obligation matched my capabilities, I leaned forward with determination.

“Commander, now that I’ve become part of this island’s company, I can’t endure idly watching your daily labors any longer—any task will do. “Whether hauling iron materials or tending the steam engine’s coal—anything at all—until the Submarine Combat Vessel is complete, please assign me a proper role without hesitation.” “No, no—such concerns are entirely unnecessary,” he replied with a smile. “Since you and young Hideo are guests here on this island, you need only eat, sleep, and occupy yourselves freely while patiently awaiting Denkōtei’s completion day.”

“The construction of the Submarine Combat Vessel follows an exceedingly precise design that tolerates not a single shortage of personnel yet requires no additional hands. With thirty-three sailors laboring over the appointed period, the work shall reach completion as scheduled. Thus you and the boy need simply remain at leisure.” In the Commander’s estimation, he likely pitied the fate that had stranded us two on this lonely isle—condemned to spend coming years like wingless birds in a cage, gazing vainly at our homeland’s distant skies through prison bars of ocean waves. Yet silence proved impossible for me.

“No, that’s not acceptable! If I’m not needed for the secret shipyard’s work, I’ll serve as a cook instead!” I declared resolutely. At this, Petty Officer Muratake—who until now had been silently watching my face from his seat at the dining table—suddenly leaned forward abruptly. “Hmm! There’s just the thing!” he exclaimed in his characteristic shrill voice. “You can’t possibly expect me to do something as absurd as becoming a cook,” I began protesting before turning my gaze toward Commander Sakuragi. “Commander Your Excellency! This presents an excellent opportunity—what if we entrust them with constructing that memorial tower on this island we discussed?”

The Commander clapped his hands with a sharp crack.

“That matter!” “I too had been considering just that matter,” he said, turning to me. “If you insist on desiring some work,” the Commander began slowly, “let me explain.” “As previously stated, this remote island had not yet appeared on any world map when we first discovered it—a completely uninhabited land claimed by no nation. By international law’s principle that ‘any newly discovered island shall fall under the jurisdiction of its discoverer’s nation,’ it naturally becomes new territory of the Great Japanese Empire.” “Two years ago when we first landed here, I formally named it Asahi Island and declared it eternal territory of our empire. Since then, our Rising Sun flags have flown ceaselessly upon a coastal promontory. Yet our true purpose here—to build a secret submarine—means we must eventually depart once construction concludes.” “Though this island shall forever remain ours in principle, I cannot ignore modern realities: Western nations now vie to claim every inch of unsecured land. Should they find our flags here after our departure—symbols of incomplete control—they will feign ignorance of international law, tear down our banners to raise their own lion and eagle standards, provoking disputes to seize advantage through sheer cunning.” “While we do not fear conflict—justice being ours—this island’s isolation poses a problem. Once our flags vanish across these leagues of waves, proving our claim without tangible evidence would prove difficult indeed.”

"This remote island, which now appears of little consequence, may yet prove—thirty or fifty years hence, when our Japan wields great power across the world—to become an irreplaceable strategic bastion against Western Europe in military affairs. The time when this will become clear may yet come. Be that as it may, we must now fully secure this occupation of Asahi Island—never to be relinquished to foreign powers—and leave behind irrefutable evidence that would endure even after Commander Sakuragi and his men depart. Furthermore, we must establish a plan whereby, should any nation dare contest our claim, the fact of this being territory of the Great Japanese Empire could be incontrovertibly demonstrated with a single authoritative declaration."

Having spoken thus, Commander Sakuragi paused for breath.

“And so I came up with a brilliant plan,” he said, turning his head. “In truth, one could say the inventor of this brilliant plan is Petty Officer Muratake,” he said with a laugh. “Petty Officer Muratake, explain it all in detail from your side.” In response to the call, the cheerful petty officer stepped forward. “I’m not much of a talker, so if you don’t understand something, just ask me to repeat it as many times as needed,” he said in his usual tone. “That brilliant plan goes like this.” “As you well know, beyond the vicinity of this house, every corner of Asahi Island is perilous. Venture over ten ri into the deep mountains, and who knows what lurks—tengu or demons? Though in truth, such creatures likely don’t exist. But countless venomous snakes, savage baboons, lions, tigers, and their ilk infest those lands. Even a reckless man like me finds it too terrifying to tread there—so no one can set foot in those parts.” “So here’s my idea: we’ll build one solid memorial tower right now, haul it deep into those mountains, and erect it there. On its surface, we’ll clearly engrave ‘Asahi Island’ and inscribe that this place is territory of the Japanese Empire—‘Discovered by Commander Sakuragi of the Imperial Japanese Navy on year, month, day.’” “Then, even if foreigners come after we leave this island, it’ll be perfectly safe.” “What’s the use of foreigners toppling the Hinomaru flags along the coast and raising their lion or eagle banners? It’s utterly futile!” “The deep mountains where this memorial tower stands are too dangerous for anyone to reach—if they don’t go there, they’ll never know such evidence exists.” “If they venture in, they’ll be instantly devoured by wild beasts and venomous snakes—so it’s as if no one’s died at all.” “Therefore, even if foreigners land on this island after we’ve left and start spouting nonsense about how they were the first to discover it, it’ll be utterly futile.” “We’ve got solid proof on our side! If those bastards keep yammering, we’ll say, ‘Come take a look,’ drag ’em deep into the mountains, and show ’em the memorial tower. What’s this text say, eh? ‘Meiji [year], [month], [day]—Commander Shigeo Sakuragi of the Imperial Japanese Navy discovered this island. Now a territory of the Great Japanese Empire. Latecomers landing here must haul down their flags and scram!’ Bet they’ll faint clean away from shock!” “And we’ll drive ’em off with a Zhang Fei-style slap to the face!”

“Ahahahaha!” I roared with laughter. Brilliant plan indeed! It was just the sort of boorish idea one would expect from Petty Officer Muratake. But first off—how were we supposed to erect a memorial tower in such perilous mountains? If foreigners couldn’t reach those dangerous areas, then neither should we—the moment I thrust this pointed question at him, Petty Officer Muratake didn’t bat an eye. “That’s where the marvelously ingenious invention comes in!”

Chapter 17: The Adventurous Ironclad

An automatic device—an executioner's blade-shaped axe—thumped against its casing—it couldn't put on airs—the national anthem *Kimigayo*—now let us shout *Tennōheika Banzai*! "That's where this marvelously ingenious invention comes in!" said Petty Officer Muratake with perfect composure. "Even I wouldn't spout such reckless notions—this contraption has earned His Excellency the Commander's highest praise for its cleverness!" he declared, chest swelling with pride. "The Adventurous Ironclad—we'll build this automated Iron Cage Vehicle, ride it straight into the mountain depths!"

“Hmm, an Iron Cage Vehicle?” I tapped my forehead. Having obtained the Commander’s permission, Petty Officer Muratake brought a set of blueprints from the next room and spread them across the table. “This is the design of the automated Adventurous Ironclad—first, the iron cage vehicle’s shape resembles a wooden ox: twenty-two feet in length, thirteen feet in width, with a height of twelve feet at its ox-shaped head and ten-and-a-half feet at the rear. As its name suggests, it is entirely encircled by a sturdy iron cage. The floor consists of elastic chrome steel plates, while the upper half is partially covered with iron plates and partially constructed with iron bars. The vehicle is equipped with twelve wheels in total, six being gear wheels. The power driving these wheels derives from an exquisitely crafted self-propelled mechanism applying various principles of physics. In the front mechanical chamber resides an exceptionally robust and intricate machine reminiscent of Norden and Inge’s designs—thirty-seven types of large, medium, and small gear wheels interlock there. The assembly of devices resembling suction rods, crankshafts, and azimuth dials reaches such complexity that it appears akin to a compound steam engine.” “A person would sit on the vehicle’s platform,” he continued, “gripping a handle with their right hand to rotate a steering wheel while gradually pressing a pedal beneath their feet. Instantly, an alarm bell nearby would begin ringing *rin-rin*, and as the shaft plate below started rotating quietly, this power would reach the first large gear wheel before transferring to the second. Suction rods would move up and down while crankshafts operated too swiftly for the eye to follow. By the time this power reached the thirty-seventh gear wheel, both its rotational speed and raw force would grow intensely violent—said to rival a four-hundred-and-forty-horsepower steam engine. With this ferocious energy activating twelve external wheels via connecting rods, it finally sets this sturdy iron cage vehicle into motion.” “Given its heavy iron construction,” he added, “the vehicle’s speed wouldn’t be remarkable—on flatlands, it could likely advance over five miles per hour, but on steep slopes, it might barely manage one mile per hour.” “However,” his voice grew animated, “the Adventurous Ironclad’s defining feature is that it can traverse any perilous path except underwater. To climb treacherous mountains, it employs—beyond standard wheels—six sturdy gear wheels, a spiral-shaped lifting machine at the cabin’s front, and a propulsion machine at the rear. The spiral tip twists into a large tree ahead like a screw. As the lifting machine activates, the spiral contracts, hoisting the ironclad upward while the propulsion machine presses against rearward rocks with elastic levers, shoving the vehicle upward.” “For dense forests,” he concluded, “the ironclad has an even more ingenious apparatus: four massive rotating circular saws with twenty-one crank handles protrude from its wooden ox-shaped front, alongside eight razor-sharp self-rotating logging axes resembling guillotine blades from France’s Reign of Terror—said to have beheaded thirteen thousand daily. Any obstructing tree is sawn down at the trunk; smaller ones are felled branch and all as it charges forward. Thus no mountain or forest can halt its advance.”

The entrance and exit of the iron cage vehicle were curiously positioned atop the cabin, requiring one to climb an iron ladder to access the roof for ingress and egress. The design reflected extraordinary precautions to make the iron cage’s already robust structure even more impregnable—ensuring that no matter how formidable an enemy might attack, those inside the vehicle would remain utterly unharmed. The vehicle’s crew capacity was fixed at five members. Inside, beyond the machine room, two compartments were installed: one was neatly covered with thick glass plates to shelter against rain and dew, where crew members could lay carpets on the floor or make do with mere blankets as they pleased; the other compartment, shaped like a fixed travel chest, stored ammunition, drinks, canned goods, dried meat, and other necessities for travel.

“Once it’s completed like this, it’ll be splendid, don’t you think?” said Petty Officer Muratake, twitching his nose as he looked at me. “Magnificent! Magnificent! No, truly an astonishing invention!” I found myself leaning forward unconsciously. Petty Officer Muratake continued energetically, “You see, once this automated Iron Cage Vehicle is complete, no dangerous locale will faze us! Even if baboons and lions come charging in formation, all we’ll do from inside the cage is treat those beasts to a feast of bullets aimed right at their ugly mugs.” “So, boarding this Iron Cage Vehicle and carrying the memorial tower inscribed with Asahi Island’s name, we’ll venture thirty ri into these deep mountains—right into the midst of wild beasts and venomous snakes—to erect that tower and return! What an ingenious plan, don’t you think?” he declared, thumping his chest.

“When undertaking such ingenious work, even this Muratake Shinpachi wouldn’t be such a fool!” he declared, eyes wide as he scanned the group, then abruptly lowered his voice. “However—not to boast too much—if we were to manufacture such a vehicle as this—though I’m the one who devised it up to this point—the crucial mechanical inventions are entirely His Excellency’s doing.”

“So here’s my proposal—you’re not cut out for menial work like stoking coal or cooking. Why not instead begin manufacturing this Iron Cage Vehicle? His Excellency the Commander conceived this plan long ago—the blueprints are already complete—but with the Submarine Combat Vessel demanding priority, we can’t split our efforts. He stated we’d commence production after the submarine’s completion, but once that vessel is finished, we must return to Japan at once. So—what say you take charge? If you resolve to lead this project with full dedication, we’ll spare two or three men each—even sacrificing rest hours—to rotate shifts and assist! Then, by the time the submarine is completed, the Iron Cage Vehicle will also be ready. We’ll board it immediately, venture deep into the mountains, and erect a proper memorial tower!”

“Delightful! Delightful!” I threw up both hands. Commander Sakuragi turned to me with a smile. “Will you willingly undertake this task?” “I shall do it,” I declared.

The Automated Adventurous Ironclad! Ah, manufacturing this unprecedented Ironclad would surely be no easy task. However, I too was a man. While the Commander and his men would be engaged in constructing that astonishing Submarine Combat Vessel over the next two years and nine months—if I devoted my entire being to the task—what couldn't I accomplish? I would do it—I would do it splendidly and show them! Commander Sakuragi was greatly delighted— “If you have that resolve, it will surely succeed. I will establish the Iron Cage Vehicle’s manufacturing site somewhere within our secret shipyard—supply ample materials myself—and arrange for four sailors to be dispatched as your assistants each day—alternating between morning and afternoon shifts.” “I too—though my abilities are limited—shall offer advice on the matter.”

“If that’s how it is, I’ll stake my life on it!” I slapped my arm. “Thrilling, thrilling!” said Petty Officer Muratake, stroking his cheek whiskers. Young Hideo had been sitting politely beside Commander Sakuragi, listening to our conversation for some time now, and though his young mind seemed to grasp the gist of the discussion, he now turned his adorable eyes toward us. “If you’re making the Iron Cage Vehicle, Uncle, I want to work on it together.” “This is getting more and more exciting!” Petty Officer Muratake suddenly lifted the boy up.

Commander Sakuragi spoke with a faint smile yet clear voice as he stroked the boy’s tousled hair where he sat on Petty Officer Muratake’s lap: “Young Hideo must prepare to become an exemplary naval officer rather than a metalworker.” Turning to me, he continued formally: “Having long understood the aspirations of his father Mr. Hamashima Takefumi and Mrs. Harue, I—Shigeo Sakuragi, though unworthy—shall henceforth assume responsibility for young Hideo’s education.” At these words, I suddenly recalled my dear friend in Naples and Mrs. Harue herself. Tears of gratitude welled unbidden in my eyes at this joyous turn—that his father’s wish to entrust Hideo to a true naval officer was now being fulfilled through this unexpected man in this improbable place. The room fell utterly silent until faint strains of *Kimigayo* drifted through the seaside breeze. Peering through the window under the thirteenth-night moon, I saw clusters of the Commander’s sailors along the moonlit coast of azure waters and white sands—some seeking respite from daytime labors in lunar solace. Here a group chanted classical poetry; there others performed sword dances. Most striking were seven or eight sailors forming a circle on wave-lashed rocks, gazing toward their homeland’s distant skies as they sang with fervor—their voices swelling through *Kimigayo*’s eternal verses: *“A thousand, eight thousand generations...”*

“How glorious! How glorious!” I exclaimed. Commander Sakuragi rose slowly.

“Now, shall we go there and together sing banzai for the Empire of Great Japan?”

＊　　　　＊　　　　＊　　　　＊

＊　　　　＊　　　　＊　　　　＊

From the very next day, I devoted myself to manufacturing the Iron Cage Vehicle from the dim light of dawn until stars cast their reflections upon the sea, my body blackened with soot. Within the cavernous secret shipyard—whether at the Submarine Combat Vessel’s construction site or my own workstation—the blazing flames erupting from smelting furnaces and metallurgical kilns resembled crimson tongues of demonic deities, while the thunderous clangor of great iron hammers striking in counterpoint shook the desolate cavern walls. Even Asahi Island’s sea god must surely have quailed before this cacophony.

Chapter 18: Baseball Game

Nine types of demon pitches—Innocent disputes—Tossing someone aloft—Divided into West and East—Lion's rallying cry—Twisting a handy spear—I am disappointed—No good, I say! Then came one year, two years, three years—the wheel of time rolled onward matching our work's progress—until Commander Sakuragi's astonishing Submarine Combat Vessel stood ninety-nine percent complete per his original plans. When we finally reached that joyous stage where we could conduct the auspicious trial run ceremony on February 11th—marking the fifth Empire Day on Asahi Island for the Commander's group, and the third for young Hideo and myself—the Iron Cage Vehicle under my charge had also been fully completed.

Now that I look back, those three years truly passed swiftly. On this isolated island in the Indian Ocean thousands of miles from our homeland, I often found myself longing for Japan’s skies—memories of old friends; morning vistas of Shinagawa Bay; bustling streets around Ueno and Asakusa; the commotion of Shimbashi Station; sumo matches at Ekōin Temple; festival stalls in Kagurazaka; French novels serialized in the *Yorozu Chōhō*; political speeches at Kinkikan Hall; kabuki plays and rakugo ballads—even recalling the soba shops like Yabusoba and Umetsuki I frequented during my school days. At times I yearned for Japan so fiercely I wished I could sprout wings and fly there. Yet those three years passed relatively easily for me—no, in truth they were filled with more fascinating happenings than you could possibly imagine. We held over a dozen lion hunts, each proving another triumph for Petty Officer Muratake. There was also that time we discovered an eagle nesting in the woods behind our coastal house—our egg-gathering expedition ended in disaster. Every morning beneath lingering stars, we would depart with the Commander and his men, toiling all day in the undersea shipyard until sweat soaked our clothes. Returning along tranquil evening shores, young Hideo and the fierce dog Inazuma would invariably meet us halfway. In summer’s heat we bathed in the clear stream behind our house; during cooler days we luxuriated in baths prepared by the sailors on watch—an incongruous elegance on this remote island. After supper concluded with tropical swiftness—where lingering daylight reigns year-round—the Commander would lead us seaside for outdoor exercise. There were tennis courts, cricket grounds, shooting ranges and sumo rings—all prepared by Commander Sakuragi before leaving Japan to alleviate our isolation’s tedium. The tennis courts and shooting ranges were particularly well-maintained, yet boat races and baseball thrived most on this island. Boat races being our vocation, their popularity was natural enough. But most skiffs had been lost to a great typhoon long past, leaving only one gig and two cutters with mismatched oars—hardly fit for proper regattas. We occasionally tried races with handicaps and adjustments, but these always devolved into innocent squabbles, never matching Sumida River’s grandeur. Baseball flourished free from such woes. About a hundred meters from our coastal house lay a miraculously flat grassy field where shouts of “Out!” and “Strike!” echoed through twilight skies, the umpire’s black coat standing out conspicuously. Commander Sakuragi was thirty-three that year—a naval officer with uncommonly strong passion for games among Japanese men, still remarkably skilled. Once a star pitcher of legendary renown among peers, traces remained; on Asahi Island he ranked third after Muratake and myself. As for me—not having held a ball since my globetrotting days—my skills had surely declined, yet stationed at shortstop I’d have held my own against Yokohama’s Amateur Club. Petty Officer Muratake’s prowess defied belief—where he learned to hurl nine types of demon pitches from iron arms remained a mystery. When he pitched, no team could oppose us without bats shattering—lately we stationed him in left field instead. Even there his blazing fastballs came buzzing like angry hornets—one head strike would end your worldly cares! Their menace left us hesitant to swing. The Commander’s group had reached this island long before me. During their absence stateside, I’d heard in London—half a year before my own stranding—how USS *Olympia*’s Charlie had defeated First Higher School’s star players with his demon pitches three years prior—Japan’s baseball champions humiliated! The regret still stung. First Higher likely achieved glorious revenge by now—but if not yet, I secretly hoped someday after leaving this isle, should Muratake sail aboard a warship or tour ports in the Commander’s *Denkōtei* submarine reaching North America... Whether at Vancouver’s South Street Park or San Francisco’s golden-gated plains—anywhere would do—should we find USS *Olympia* anchored there...

If we were to see the Olympia at anchor, we would have Petty Officer Muratake as our pitcher and engage in a splendid match against Charlie’s renowned team. The enemy being an American warship and ourselves an Imperial warship, I thought it would be quite diverting for us to challenge each other through land-based sport rather than with torpedoes and naval gunfire.

How remarkable Young Hideo had become! The boy had also become one of our playmates. He was always first to rush to the sports field—his body moving with agility; never showing pain no matter what hardships he faced; possessing such remarkably strong memory that he quickly mastered all rules. Petty Officer Muratake declared he would become an exceptionally promising player—yet his excellence extended beyond baseball alone. Over those three years under Commander Sakuragi’s stern yet benevolent guidance, this twelve-year-old matured into a youth of striking dignity—his bearing spirited; movements composed—so much so one might mistake him for a young Commander Sakuragi himself transformed into vigorous boyhood form! Beyond rowing and baseball—in free moments he threw stones; climbed trees; roamed hills and fields with fierce dog Inazuma in tow—through which his physique developed magnificently! Where once his face held doll-like beauty; now slightly sun-tanned—mouth firmly set; eyes piercingly alert—he stood as figure of indescribable valor! When opportunity came for reunion with father Hamashima Takefumi—how astonished that man would be! And should Mrs Harue—that celestial maiden—by some miracle survive and behold this gallant figure—what astonishment; what delight would fill her heart!

Now, as for the health of Commander Sakuragi—who had become this island’s undisputed master—there was no need to remark; of late, he spent nearly every waking hour within the secret shipyard. Petty Officer Muratake remained as straightforward and spirited as ever, and the over thirty sailors as well were all working diligently in high spirits while awaiting the great day of hope. Amidst such joyous circumstances, the successfully completed Iron Cage Vehicle finally emerged from the workshop within the cavern. When we immediately tested its operation from atop Byōbu Rock, the results were superb: the bell clanged resonantly, and as the wondrous machinery operated vigorously, the twelve outer wheels gnawed at rocks, kicked up mud, and dashed forward in such a splendid manner that even I found myself marveling at it. For a time, the cheers showed no sign of ceasing. In an instant—whether prompted by someone’s shout—the group of sailors scattered toward me from all directions. “Long live the Iron Cage Vehicle!!!” they cried, hoisting me aloft. Their cheers were appreciated, but being hoisted up by these rowdy men—who could’ve wrestled demons—shouting “Heave-ho! Heave-ho!” from all directions was so suffocating, I thought my breath might stop altogether.

Under these circumstances, it was Petty Officer Muratake who couldn’t stay idle for another moment. He stood with arms crossed, intently watching the Iron Cage Vehicle’s operation, but suddenly bellowed— “Splendid, splendid! It moves so well, I tell you! We can’t dawdle any longer!” He dashed over and carried back the already-completed Memorial Tower. The tower stood three shaku and five sun [approximately 106 cm] tall—a three-pointed square of marble. Upon its polished surface were deeply carved eleven characters: “Great Japanese Empire’s New Territory Asahi Island.” On the reverse side, clearly inscribed, were the date of discovery and the name of its discoverer: Commander Sakuragi. Petty Officer Muratake, who had carried the tower here, turned to the Commander while panting.

“Commander, since the Iron Cage Vehicle stands splendidly completed, let us make haste and depart at once to erect the Memorial Tower! This prompt action would surely clear our minds.” The Commander suppressed a full-faced smile as he responded, “There exists no cause for hesitation. Our Submarine Combat Vessel shall conduct its trial run ceremony on Empire Day—the tenth dawn from this very day—with all preparations finalized to depart this island within the following week. Thus must we complete the Memorial Tower’s construction ere that time—”

“Therefore, let us set tomorrow at six o’clock in the morning as the Iron Cage Vehicle’s departure time. To reach the thirty-ri distant deep mountains—assuming an average speed of two and a half ri per hour—the outbound journey will take two days, one day for erecting the tower, and two days for the return. On the fifth day in total, the Iron Cage Vehicle will return here, and together we shall shout banzai.” “Ah.” “We have to wait until tomorrow morning?” Petty Officer Muratake twisted his mouth in displeasure but suddenly smacked his palm. “Ah, that’s true—things aren’t proceeding as I’d planned. If we start loading provisions and preparing drinking water now, we’ll still end up departing tomorrow morning after all,” muttered the Commander, his characteristic impetuousness on full display.

The departure of the Iron Cage Vehicle to erect the Eternal Memorial Tower atop the深山 was set for six o'clock tomorrow morning. However, as Commander Sakuragi could not leave this site for even a single day—with the Submarine Combat Vessel's trial run fast approaching—it was decided that I, young Hideo, Petty Officer Muratake, and two other sailors would crew the vehicle. Inazuma the fierce dog also joined this perilous expedition due to young Hideo’s earnest pleas. After that, we loaded the Memorial Tower onto the Iron Cage Vehicle and spent the day preparing rifles, ammunition, drinking water, provisions, and other supplies. Then, when the next day arrived, we five selected members rose before dawn and boarded the vehicle. No sooner had the Iron Cage Vehicle begun advancing with vigor than Commander Sakuragi and over thirty sailors raised cheers, seeing us off for a dozen *chō* until finally bidding farewell at the foot of a certain hill—we turned east, they west. Even the sight of Commander Sakuragi waving his handkerchief and moving his hat midway up that slope soon vanished behind palm and olive leaves. Then the Iron Cage Vehicle charged forward at full speed, heedless of field or mountain. As for the divine marvel of its construction—there was no need now to belabor details: when traversing forests, rotary circular saws and automated axes cleared paths; when climbing mountains, six gear wheels, elevators, and propulsion mechanisms 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 ever more perilous, but the spirited Petty Officer Muratake rallied himself, declaring we must cover over twenty *ri* before sunset.

We had braced ourselves for immediate attacks by wild beasts and venomous snakes upon entering the mountains, but until this moment, no such signs had appeared. The surroundings were unnervingly quiet, with only the grinding of wheels and the occasional tap-tap-tap of a woodpecker striking tree trunks from the desolate forest standing out sharply. But as the Iron Cage Vehicle pressed onward until it had just reached the edge of a certain deep forest, young Hideo suddenly tugged at my sleeve.

“Lions! Lions!” “Lions? Where?!” The group stiffened as they followed Hideo’s pointed direction. There lay a massive male lion about a hundred yards away on sunlit grass. At the Iron Cage Vehicle’s clamor, it jerked upright and roared thunderously. “The pride’s rallying cry!” a sailor muttered. Indeed, a roar like distant thunder echoed across the wilderness. From this grove and that rocky outcrop emerged packs of three or five beasts at a time. The lions, tigers, and baboons—all likely startled by this uncanny iron contraption—held back from attacking immediately.

Young Hideo raised his hearty voice and shouted, “Uncle! The lions must think we’re monsters!”—and perhaps he was right. For a moment, the lions lurked among the trees here and there, arching their backs and gnashing their fangs as they glared at us. But this hesitation lasted only briefly. True to their title as kings of beasts, they proved themselves creatures of utmost ferocity: with a thunderous roar, three or four of them charged the Iron Cage Vehicle, manes bristling. The Iron Cage Vehicle didn’t so much as flinch at such an assault; instead, it sent the beasts flying, leaving even the king of beasts tumbling head over heels across the grass like dumplings. We all burst out laughing. The tiger, being a relatively foolish creature, leaped furiously at the Iron Cage Vehicle from the front—only to have its limbs and abdomen torn apart by the fearsome rotating circular saws, letting out a pained shriek before being struck dead. The most cunning were the baboons. Extending their gnarled, tree-like arms, they gripped the Iron Cage Vehicle’s bars and strained with all their might to overturn it. The fierce dog Inazuma ferociously bit into its hand.

“Cheeky bastard!” the sailor shouted.

“Fire now!” I shouted, and in that instant, Young Hideo fired three rifle shots without missing a beat—yet the baboon stood unfazed. Petty Officer Muratake became greatly enraged, “Won’t you die already, you beast?!” he roared, twisting his spear to pierce its heart. Even so fierce a creature could not withstand this—with a thunderous growl, it collapsed backward with a thud. “Delightful! Not even the King of the World sees such sights!” the sailors leaped for joy. Young Hideo cast a sidelong glance at the baboon’s corpse.

“Even so, I’m disappointed; my rifle won’t kill the baboons,” he said with a displeased look. “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, perhaps fearing our prowess, the beasts did not approach easily; yet they did not leave this place either, instead encircling the Iron Cage Vehicle from a distance of four or five ken while roaring fiercely. The swift Petty Officer Muratake threw his head back and roared with laughter.

“Hey, hey, beasts! Does our flesh look that tasty to you?” he barked, briskly advancing toward the iron cage. “Here—try eating this fist!” he boldly thrust his iron fist outside the vehicle, but the moment an enraged beast lunged at it, he yanked his hand back. “N-no good! It’s hopeless!”

Chapter 19: The Beast Legion

Temple of Nature——Explosive Shells——Chants of “Heave-ho!”——A Single Boot——Good Deeds Breed Demons——Quicksand Valley, AKA Valley of Death——Beasts at Midnight——Watchfires

After a short while, we saw something strange again. They were white-headed monkeys inhabiting these deep mountains—an exceptionally cunning simian species. A troop of about thirty individuals had appeared from beyond the mountain ridge in a long procession, straddling the backs of several massive elephants like a caravan traversing the Arabian Desert. Yet upon catching sight of our Iron Cage Vehicle, they let out bizarre shrieks of astonishment and fled into the depths of the opposing forest. Thus, having advanced nearly twenty ri that day until sunset, we parked the Iron Cage Vehicle beneath the shade of a great tree at nightfall. Though we lit watchfires and planned to sleep in shifts of two throughout the night, not a single person attained peaceful slumber, hindered by the voices of roaring beasts. The next morning, we departed from this place while it was still dim. At first, just as yesterday, hundreds of wild beasts formed ranks and pursued the Iron Cage Vehicle from front and rear—though among them, some likely fled from exhaustion, while others—appearing not a few—were wounded or killed by our ceaselessly fired bullets. By the time we had advanced some twelve or thirteen ri this day and reached the summit of a high mountain that was surely over thirty ri from Commander Sakuragi’s coastal residence, their numbers had dwindled considerably, leaving only about twenty male lions and three massive fierce baboons still stubbornly prowling around the Iron Cage Vehicle.

This high mountain presented scenery of exceptional beauty, and the summit we had reached—with sheer rocky cliffs rising on three sides, naturally forming a grand hall-like shape—provided ideal terrain for erecting such a Memorial Tower. Thus we finally brought the Iron Cage Vehicle to a halt here. The time was 2:45 PM; now they would begin erecting the Memorial Tower. “Ready!” shouted Petty Officer Muratake. Two sailors pulled out a single black case from the large travel chest inside the vehicle. Inside this box were dozens of explosive shells.

Explosive shells! For what purpose? You readers may wonder at this, but there was great consideration behind it—now that we had reached our destination and stood ready to erect the tower, if even one or two lions or baboons prowled nearby, we could never exit the vehicle to begin our work. Thus came the plan: we would hurl these explosive shells to slaughter and scatter those beasts, then swiftly complete our task in the interim. When the preparations were complete, we stood up, each carrying an explosive shell. When we threw roughly ten kin of pre-prepared bird meat through the iron bars, the food-starved beasts swarmed over it in a pitch-black mass.

At that signal—"One, two, three!"—five explosive shells whistled through the air and fell simultaneously. In an instant, the mountains roared and black smoke billowed up in a swirling cloud; peering through gaps in the darkness, all three baboons lay shattered to atoms, while most lions too had been struck dead—when suddenly the sailors— “Look at that! What a disgraceful sight!” When we looked where they pointed, the remaining pride of lions had vanished into the depths of the forest like mist dispersing into clouds. “Now, while we can!” shouted Petty Officer Muratake as he shouldered the Memorial Tower and dashed out. The rest of us leaped from the vehicle in his wake—Young Hideo kept watch, I dug into the earth, the sailors rolled stones, Muratake bellowed orders—and with chants of “Heave-ho!”, the tower’s erection was completed in an instant. Indeed, during this time—spending just ten or fifteen minutes—it was remarkable what humans could achieve when they put their all into it.

With the erection of the Memorial Tower completed, we retreated five or six steps to gaze upon it. Upon the splendid marble surface was clearly inscribed *"The New Territory of Asahi Island, Greater Japanese Empire."* Ah! Now we could rest easy—completely at ease! As one, we doffed our caps and gave three banzai cheers for the Greater Japanese Empire. At that moment, Inazuma—the fierce dog we had left in the vehicle—suddenly began barking furiously. When we turned our heads, the pride of lions that had earlier escaped the explosive shells came charging straight from the distant forest with tremendous force. "There they come!" With this cry, we scrambled panic-stricken into the Iron Cage Vehicle. At the critical moment, Petty Officer Muratake—the last to retreat—still had half his body outside when a male lion lunged almost simultaneously. His trousers were torn to shreds and one boot savagely bitten off before he desperately tumbled fully inside. Aiming at the lion trying to leap in next, I blasted a shot, the sailor thrust with his pistol, and Young Hideo swiftly dodged to slam the entrance door shut with a bang.

“Holy hell! Nearly threw my life away there!” Even the usually fearless Petty Officer Muratake had his courage shattered as he gingerly touched his now bootless foot—but fortunately, the limb itself remained unharmed. With the tower’s construction already completed, they now had only to make their return journey. The round-trip plan of five days had successfully concluded by its second day—a stroke of extraordinary fortune. Taking advantage of this good fortune, if we were to obediently retrace yesterday’s path, we would reach Commander Sakuragi’s house on the coast by this time tomorrow, bringing this journey to an uneventful conclusion—but humans invariably yearn to attempt all manner of adventures.

"No good deed goes unpunished," as the saying goes—a logic I knew well—but such voyages come perhaps two or three times in a human lifetime. Moreover, three days still remained until the fifth day agreed upon with the Commander. Thus I reasoned that even if we took a slight detour through these deep mountains, we would not be unduly delayed, and it might prove most intriguing; with this in mind, I proposed my plan. “What do you say? We’re now headed back, but if we change course a bit from here and return via a new route rather than the old path, we’ll likely encounter all sorts of curiosities.” When I proposed this, the ever-curious Petty Officer Muratake agreed without a moment’s hesitation.

“I’ve been thinking the same thing! The Commander wouldn’t expect us to return so quickly anyway. Besides, on the promised fifth evening, the sailors at the coastal house should’ve prepared a grand feast—sneaking back before then would spoil all the fun! Let’s go!” he declared spiritedly. With both sailors and Young Hideo in full agreement, their discussion concluded at once. Surveying their options for direction, they spotted a solitary high mountain several ri west of their position—likely part of a volcanic range, its upper slopes sheer with crimson scorched rocks that rose forbiddingly, while its base sprawled into an endless primeval forest bisected by a mighty river surging through the center. Anticipating extraordinary events should they advance there, they immediately ordered the sailors to steer the Iron Cage Vehicle toward it—though beasts still lurked here and there.

The time was nearing six o'clock in the afternoon, and the evening sun was sinking into the western mountains. It was an utterly reckless endeavor—venturing into such deep woods at this hour. Yet caught up in our fervor, we advanced two or three ri with the momentum of those who see no adversary before them, until night fell completely as we finally drew near to that primeval forest. Then, a sickle-like new moon cast an eerie glow over the land below—though not nearly bright enough to guide our path—and to make matters worse, the terrain here grew increasingly treacherous, with jagged rock protrusions and coiled tree roots sprawling endlessly ahead, making the Iron Cage Vehicle’s progress painfully sluggish. The sailor at the controls appeared thoroughly exhausted by this point. I thought to myself: human stamina has its limits; charging into such depths of the forest now might verge on recklessness. When I proposed to Petty Officer Muratake that we instead camp here for the night, he refused outright.

“We can’t show weakness now! No matter what, we’re spending tonight in the heart of that forest!” he declared energetically, standing up and taking over operation of the Iron Cage Vehicle from the exhausted sailor. The Iron Cage Vehicle charged forward once more with ferocious momentum, gnawing through tree roots and crushing rocks. Ah, what a hero! This man was truly a gallant soul—though regrettably, he was somewhat too reckless. Just as I thought, “If only there’s no fatal misstep…”—suddenly—

“Oh no!” With that cry, I, Young Hideo, the sailor, and Inazuma all tumbled forward at once. Just as Petty Officer Muratake—who had been flung headlong from the control platform—shouted “Namusan! Disaster!” and sprang back up, the Iron Cage Vehicle plunged mercilessly into a gargantuan mortar-shaped pit.

The sailor, having barely managed to stand up, gazed at the pit in the faint light of the new moon and suddenly let out a shriek.

“Quicksand Valley!” “Quicksand Valley!” You readers may perhaps know that such places exist in Africa’s interior or certain islands of the Indian Ocean—they are often written of in adventure travelogues. Yet there are few places in this world as fearsome as this “Quicksand Valley.” So dreadful is it that it is called the Valley of Death, for once one falls into this pit, escape becomes utterly impossible. The pit was not particularly large in appearance. It measured approximately thirty yards in diameter and less than one jō in depth—shallow enough that one might theoretically leap out by climbing onto the Iron Cage Vehicle’s roof. However, as previously mentioned, its mortar-shaped edges consisted of extraordinarily fine sand. This sand possessed not only fineness but also a peculiar adhesive quality. Those who fell into it would attempt to scramble up only to slide back down; each slide entangled them further in the sand until they lost all freedom of movement, ultimately meeting an untimely demise. Thus, even when we departed from the coastal house, Commander Sakuragi had repeatedly warned us: “Beware the Quicksand Valley.” Yet we ultimately erred and fell into this dreadful Valley of Death.

“Ah! I’ve done something terrible!” Petty Officer Muratake ground his teeth at his own blunder. Our Iron Cage Vehicle could operate freely through perilous mountains and deep forests anywhere, but in this Quicksand Valley alone, nothing could be done. Hoping against hope, we attempted several times to rotate the wheels with tremendous force, but it proved utterly ineffective. The gear wheels, unable to gain purchase in the sand, would advance one shaku only to slide back with a gritty slither, claw their way up two or three shaku before slipping down again. Before long, the wheels too became gradually buried in the sand until they could no longer move even one sun.

“We’re done for!” they all groaned in despair. Had this been an ordinary location, even after falling into such a death trap, they might have devised a way to abandon the Iron Cage Vehicle here and save themselves alone—but deep within these thousand-fold mountains, across dozens of miles in every direction lay nothing but a nest of savage beasts and venomous serpents. Already at this moment, dozens of lions and baboons encircled the pit, grinding their teeth and sharpening their claws. Should they so much as step one inch beyond the Iron Cage Vehicle’s confines, they would immediately meet a merciless death. Even without emerging, we faced the cunning baboons—ever quick to exploit human weakness—as they leapt from distant cliffs onto our Iron Cage Vehicle’s roof, thrusting their simian arms through the bars to drag us out. We desperately fired rifles and brandished pistols to barely fend them off, but how long could this last? As night deepened, the beasts’ ferocity only intensified. Such times demanded roaring fires—so we lit our prepared bonfires fiercely, ceaselessly shooting rifles and occasionally hurling remaining explosive shells until we somehow endured till dawn. Yet daylight brought no relief: the pale sun rose over bare eastern peaks to illuminate our faces, not a single one of us bearing the complexion of the living. Young Hideo and the two sailors remained silent without a word; Inazuma, having barked incessantly through the night, appeared thoroughly exhausted and lay beside me. The only one unable to remain silent was Petty Officer Muratake; he could not bear that his own blunder had led to such circumstances.

“Ah! What a fool I’ve been!” “If my blunder were to get you and Young Hideo killed, I’d have no excuse to give Commander Sakuragi! Whether this makes up for it or not—I’ll stake my life on driving off these beasts!” he declared with a look of grim resolve, attempting to leap outside the vehicle. “Don’t do anything reckless,” I stated sternly. “Petty Officer Muratake! What good would fighting that horde of beasts do, even with your demon-defying courage?” I abruptly grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled him back. At this moment, Inazuma, the fierce dog, let out a gunshot-like growl and stood up.

“There is one plan here!” I announced to everyone.

“A plan?” The group looked up. “It’s none other than this—we must inform Commander Sakuragi of this emergency and request rescue.” “Ask the Commander for rescue?!” Everyone wore doubtful expressions. Indeed, from here to the coastal house where Commander Sakuragi and his men resided was over thirty ri—a distance across this perilous mountain that even a flying bird could not traverse. They must have been considering how to report their current emergency.

"I said resolutely. 'Use the fierce dog Inazuma as our messenger.'"

Chapter 20: The Fierce Dog's Messenger

Crossing mountain after mountain for thirty ri—a single written message—whether in this world or the next—this dog was no ordinary creature—turned pitch-black in pursuit—the water cask stood empty. In the Austro-Prussian War of 1866, there existed an anecdote of an Austrian scouting party that had fallen into enemy encirclement and sent a secret message back to headquarters via military dog collar to evade detection. While entrusting missions to dogs wasn't particularly unusual in modern times—this situation differed profoundly. The two sailors expressed doubts, Petty Officer Muratake stood arms crossed staring fixedly at Inazuma's muzzle. Young Hideo bore an anxious countenance.

“So Inazuma will part from us and cross these lonely, terrifying mountains alone to deliver our message to Commander Sakuragi’s house?” “I’m so worried... Even if Inazuma is strong, could he really return safely through all those beasts?” he murmured, bowing his head. His concern was indeed justified. I too knew full well the mission stood little chance of success—eight or nine times out of ten, it would fail. Having grown attached to Inazuma over three years until he scarcely seemed a mere beast to me, I loathed to subject him to hardship. Yet these were extraordinary circumstances demanding extraordinary resolve—should we falter, we would all vanish like dew on mountain grass, our fate unknown to any soul. Though success seemed improbable, we had to try every means available. Thus we resolved, tears streaming down our faces, to send our fierce hound Inazuma through those dreadful mountains as messenger—to carry word of our plight to Commander Sakuragi thirty ri distant. I immediately took up pencil and paper. The letter read as follows.

Commander Sakuragi, had calamity not existed in this world, we who should have stood again before you when this missive arrived beseech you to understand that dispatching such a written entreaty signals no auspicious fate. The Memorial Tower construction entrusted by you had been triumphantly completed; yet upon our return journey, through self-inflicted misfortune, we fell into the dread Quicksand Valley in mountains thirty ri east of your coastal residence. As this Quicksand Valley is truly named the Valley of Death, we can no longer move an inch. Moreover, savage beasts assail us ever more fiercely, imperiling even this Iron Cage Vehicle. We now await naught but death. Thus do we report this crisis. Should Inazuma survive to deliver this letter, O Commander, we implore you to contrive a means to rescue us from dire peril.

When I finished writing thus and set down the brush, Young Hideo murmured in a somber voice— “Ah! If a letter like this were to reach Uncle Commander while he’s waiting to see whether we return today or tomorrow, how astonished he would be.” As he spoke, Petty Officer Muratake tilted his head quizzically. “What worries me,” interjected a sailor, “is whether our chivalrous Commander might endanger himself attempting to rescue us from this great peril?”

“We cannot allow such a thing to happen,” I immediately continued writing. However, O Commander, we had long since steeled ourselves to the reality that in our present straits, even nine deaths would scarce yield one life preserved. At this moment, your existence—shouldering sole responsibility for the Submarine Combat Vessel’s triumph or failure—stands tenfold, nay a hundredfold more precious to the Japanese Empire than our mortal frames. Therefore should you court peril to deliver us, this we dread above all else. For verily, subjects of Japan must ever hold nation above self. Should no sound stratagem present itself for rescue, we beseech you—by righteous cause—forsake us here. We too shall make peace with fate and inter our bones within these mountains.

I 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 from the splendid deck of your Submarine Combat Vessel, we implore you - in place of us five - to cry but once, 'Banzai for the Great Japanese Empire!' We too shall join our voices to yours from the netherworld."

Having thus finished writing, I folded the document multiple times and securely fastened it to Inazuma's collar. The dog looked up at my face, so I stroked its jet-black fur as if speaking to a human. "Now, Inazuma—you're an exceptional dog, so I know you understand everything. Endure well and reach the Commander's house." As I spoke these words, Inazuma wagged his tail with solemn dignity, as though comprehending my every word. Young Hideo's eyes brimmed with unshed tears.

“I’m truly sad to part with you, but it can’t be helped—it’s fate. So listen—if you’re lucky enough to reach Uncle Commander’s house safely, and if by any chance our lives are spared, we’ll be able to play happily on that beautiful sandy shore again. If by ill fortune you should die along the way, I too shall surely come to see your face in the next world.” Even the fierce Petty Officer Muratake’s voice grew thick as he spoke these words—having already steeled his resolve for such an outcome.

“Ah! It’s all my fault—because of my blunder, I’ve subjected everyone to such hardship!” He sighed deeply but soon seemed to regain his resolve.

“No, no—I won’t go acting like some weepy woman,” he declared with forced vigor, giving the dog’s collar a decisive pat. “Now, Inazuma—make us proud,” he stated firmly, locking eyes with the animal. At that moment, the two sailors—obeying my command—climbed the iron ladder while clutching the dog. As previously explained, one could leap out of the Quicksand Valley from atop the Iron Cage Vehicle. The beasts outside began shifting their demeanor alarmingly fast. The sailor who’d been watching for an opening suddenly forced the exit door ajar—whereupon Inazuma coiled his muscles and sprang to the opposite bank. Several waiting lions pounced upon him like lightning strikes. For five seconds—ten seconds—screams and chaos reigned. Just when we thought Inazuma had been pinned, this extraordinary dog twisted free, clamped onto a male lion’s throat, and with one mighty shake found an opening to bolt forward. The lion pack coalesced into a black tide giving chase. Their forms blurred into a single mass vanishing into deep woods. Could Inazuma truly fulfill this monumental mission? Though prospects seemed bleak, we clung to that slender thread of hope—resolved to await Commander Sakuragi’s aid while breath remained in us.

Amidst extreme hardship, three days passed without any word from the Commander; nor could matters have been easily otherwise. Four days went by, then five, then six—until seven days had been spent in these terrifying mountains—yet no rescuers appeared. Thanks to the Iron Cage Vehicle's sturdiness and the ample ammunition we had prepared, we were spared harm from wild beasts thus far; but what now pressed upon us was the lack of food and drinking water. Since yesterday, not a single steamed rice cake remained in the food crate. The water cask lay empty in a corner of the Iron Cage Vehicle. Our group now reached the extremity of despair. We passed that day without food or drink; after a night of torment spent without a moment's sleep, morning came—yet still no word arrived. Gazing out, we saw clouds scudding low across the sky, while from beyond mountains upon mountains came ever more ghastly cries of beasts. Thus did we resign ourselves—our fate had reached its end here.

Chapter 21: Aerial Rescue

A startled reaction to something—someone’s half-visible figure—the night eight days prior—three hundred tan of white silk—a celebratory fist—Inazuma and the boy and Petty Officer Muratake Counting on my fingers, that day marked exactly nine days since we had left the coastal house—the eve of Empire Day, which had been designated for the Submarine Combat Vessel’s trial run. If such a disaster had not occurred, we would have already returned to the Commander’s house by now, spending pleasant days along that beautifully scenic coast—this thought made me wonder why we hadn’t simply retraced our path after completing the Memorial Tower’s construction, and I now found this regret unbearable.

“Ah, the fact that there’s been no word until now must mean Inazuma died along the way,” said Young Hideo despondently, gazing at Petty Officer Muratake’s face. “No, no—Inazuma isn’t some ordinary dog, so he’s surely reached the coast unharmed. But our disaster is so dire that even the Commander must be struggling to devise a rescue plan.” “Now, now, don’t lose hope—we’ll wait as long as we draw breath!” declared Petty Officer Muratake with forced cheer, embracing Young Hideo by the shoulders.

The two sailors exchanged forlorn glances. Truly, in this world, there are things within human power and things beyond it. If it were something within human power, there would be nothing impossible for Commander Sakuragi with his formidable wisdom; yet seeing how days had passed by without any word until today, I resolved deeply in my heart that even should the fierce dog Inazuma have safely accomplished his mission, rescuing us from this peril would be utterly beyond even the Commander's wisdom—though given the present circumstances, I said nothing.

At that moment, the pack of wild beasts outside the vehicle suddenly appeared startled by something and all at once began roaring toward the sky. Just then, from nowhere, came the faint report of a single gunshot!

The group jumped up and looked around in all directions, but saw nothing. Was this a delusion of the mind? Just as they exchanged glances—another BANG! Suddenly looking up at the sky, Petty Officer Muratake shouted like a cracked bell. "The airship! The airship!!"

When they looked, a large airship came flying toward them, skimming diagonally over the bare mountaintop in the east where the sun glittered brightly, carried by the wind. “Ah! Uncle Commander has come in the airship to rescue us!” exclaimed Young Hideo, leaping with excitement. “Quickly, quickly! They’re searching for us over there! Quickly—signal our location!” At my shouted command, Petty Officer Muratake and the two sailors simultaneously hurled the several remaining explosive shells. With a roar as if mountains and valleys had been overturned all at once, black smoke shot upward. The pack of beasts, startled by the sudden disturbance, fled in panicked disarray. Aboard the airship, they seemed to have instantly located our position, for someone’s upper body emerged from the gondola, waving a white handkerchief vigorously left and right.

Before long, the airship steadily approached, and when it was positioned directly above the Iron Cage Vehicle at about fifty feet, a loud voice rang out from the sky. “Is everyone unharmed?” came the dearly familiar voice of Commander Sakuragi. Simultaneously, a sailor with a recognizable face—one of the airship’s crewmembers—nimbly threw down an anchor rope that caught securely on the Iron Cage Vehicle’s edge. At the cry of “Now!”, we flung open the iron door and scrambled up the rope like monkeys. Just at that moment, the wild beasts that had once fled reappeared from various parts of the forest, but upon seeing our figures smoothly ascending into the air, they let out an eerie roar. Finally, the five of us safely reached the airship.

Even before seeing the Commander's face, Young Hideo— "Uncle, Inazuma—Inazuma—..." The Commander laughed, "He's safe, he's safe."

Due to overwhelming joy, I and the two sailors were left speechless. Petty Officer Muratake, more than anything else, confessed his grave mistake and scratched his head frantically. How joyous we were at this moment and what conversations took place I shall leave to your imagination, but I must note here one thing regarding this large airship. According to Commander Sakuragi’s account, on the evening exactly eight days prior to this day—that is, the very night we had sent the dog as our messenger—the fierce dog Inazuma returned drenched in blood with wounds in several places. It was then they first realized our dire predicament. From that moment, the coastal house erupted into uproar, and after much deliberation, they concluded that launching an airship was the only way to rescue us from this crisis. However, constructing such a vessel was no simple task. Fortunately, materials transported long ago to the island aboard the *Naminoue Maru* were available, so they immediately commenced work—though this naturally required expending considerable labor and various critical chemical solutions. Moreover, they ended up using every last one of the over three hundred *tan* of white silk brought all the way from the homeland, originally intended for decorating the Submarine Combat Vessel’s interior chambers. Having related this, Commander Sakuragi laughed and

“As punishment for inviting calamity through your curiosity, Gentlemen, you must endure undecorated cabins even upon the Submarine Combat Vessel’s completion.” The group could only scratch their heads. “Yes, yes, anything at all,” I responded, yet what truly concerned me was whether our commotion had severely hindered the Submarine Combat Vessel’s construction. When I hesitantly posed this question, the Commander calmly— “No—as scheduled, tomorrow will be the trial run ceremony, and within a week from then, we should be able to depart from the main island,” he said, turning to Young Hideo.

"Young man, seeing our long-awaited Mount Fuji won't be far off now." The group exchanged glances in unexpected delight. Petty Officer Muratake, forgetting himself, cried out loudly—

“Well now, that’s astonishing! To build an airship while completing the Submarine Combat Vessel on schedule—it means His Excellency the Commander and the other sailors must’ve worked sleepless nights while we were making fools of ourselves!” The Commander smiled and said, “Petty Officer Muratake, because of your miscalculation, some sailors labored eight days without a moment’s rest.” Muratake bowed his head; my ears grew hot. As we spoke, the airship left behind those dreadful mountains, forests, and valleys—along with the pitiable yet now useless Iron Cage Vehicle—and flew windborne through the sky. Around 3:40 that afternoon, when we gazed down like dreamers upon the beloved coastal vista once more, the sailors remaining ashore seemed to recognize us. From Screen Rock and the Commander’s house they came swarming like ants toward the landing beach, waving caps and handkerchiefs. At their forefront, kicking up sand as he charged—there raced the fierce dog Inazuma!

Finally, we landed on the coast four hundred meters from the Commander's house. Welcomed by the vigorous cheers of sailors, upon exiting the airship, Young Hideo first clung to Inazuma's collar. The two sailors, chased by a group of their comrades, ran about shouting gleefully. This was because their comrades were doling out celebratory punches—one each—for "surviving death," prompting them to flee while shouting, "We can’t handle this!" Of course it was all in jest, but it proved quite a nuisance. The Commander began to walk slowly with a laugh, and the group, surrounding us on all sides, made their way home. Along the way, Petty Officer Muratake, brimming with pride, stood amidst roaring cheers, waving his hands and spraying spittle as he launched into the tale of their recent adventure. Because this man was honest, he not only boasted of his exploits in subduing the baboons but also proclaimed his own grave mistake in a voice louder than anyone else’s.

Thus, we arrived at the Commander's house with extraordinary joy, like seeing clear skies after a great storm. Then we made a great commotion celebrating our survival and preparing for tomorrow.

Chapter 22: Calamity at Sea

Empire Day on the Deserted Island——The Naval Commander's Full Dress——Coastal Night Banquet——The Young Boy's Sword Dance——The Demon's Hand Envying Human Happiness——Submarine Landslide——The Denkōtei's Night Signal

February 11th—the long-awaited Empire Day—had arrived. The previous night had been a great commotion lasting until midnight, but today was truly no time for sleeping in. Waking at dawn and rushing to the coast, I found Commander Sakuragi, young Hideo, Petty Officer Muratake, and others already strolling along the water’s edge, their faces beaming with joy. From the eastern edge of the open sea came serenely rising morning sunlight that appeared exceptionally beautiful today. There where dawn breaks over our homeland—from bustling capital avenues to remote mountain huts—every household would surely be flying Hinomaru flags at this hour to celebrate national glory. Even we on this distant Indian Ocean isle could not neglect this day’s observance; though last year and before we had merely suspended work to offer modest congratulations, today marked not just our nation’s festival but also our Submarine Combat Vessel’s completion—a lifelong memorial now floating seaward for its maiden voyage—making this occasion doubly auspicious. Since last night our Asahi Island coast had been lavishly adorned. The Commander’s house stood completely swathed in Hinomaru flags with not an inch uncovered while an imposing green arch now framed its entrance. Atop storm-battered cliffs rose a towering flagpole from whose summit ropes stretched three ways bearing hastily made international flags that fluttered gracefully below our glorious Hinomaru standard waving triumphantly as if surveying subject nations. Alongshore stood rows of Mount Fuji models sculpted from blankets and canvas alongside dioramas of Futami Bay sunsets and Katō Kiyomasa’s tiger-hunting exploits arrayed upon pristine sands using repurposed weapons. In distant commotion sailors hauled sailcloth and old masts toward a hillfoot clearing lush with palm and olive foliage where banquet preparations raged for tonight’s grand celebration.

When 9:00 AM arrived—the scheduled time for the Submarine Combat Vessel to finally depart from the secret shipyard—a cannon shot roared. At the same time, Commander Sakuragi, who had temporarily returned home, now in his full naval commander’s dress uniform glittering with gold braid, led a team of sailors into the secret shipyard beneath Screen Rock. I, Young Hideo, and a group of sailors remained on land, planning to watch the trial run’s spectacle while launching fireworks, waving flags, and cheering loudly.

At nine thirty, with the second cannon roar, our astonishing Submarine Combat Vessel was finally launched into the sea. When the Denkōtei—a snow-white submarine measuring one hundred thirty feet from bow to stern—floated calmly upon the waves in all its majesty, Commander Sakuragi stood atop the observation tower with his naval sword raised high. At his first thundering command, the vessel raced forth like a meteor; with his second order, the deck sealed shut automatically, water spray leaping skyward as the submarine abruptly plunged beneath the waves—submerging and surfacing, darting right and left, advancing and retreating with such phantom-like maneuvers that one might doubt them to be demonic sorcery. 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 note, if one were to liken them to an enemy nation’s fleet—how would it fare? The Denkōtei instantly activated its three-pronged ram and charged like a tempestuous thunderbolt. Alas! Five or seven of those leviathans—monarchs of the sea—were reduced to fragments, staining the waves crimson. To further demonstrate the efficacy of its new-style fish-shaped torpedoes, the Denkōtei dashed through the seabed like a dragon and fired first one shot, then another at a massive rock towering above the ocean. The rock shattered into fragments that scattered across the waves. Suddenly, cheers erupted on the deck of the *Denkōtei*. At that very moment, we on land cheered "Banzai," launched fireworks, and waved flags, while Young Hideo—frantic with excitement—raced across the beach sand with the fierce dog Inazuma, kicking up sprays like a bird in flight. Truly, this was the grandest spectacle since the island’s founding!!!

Amidst all this commotion, the Submarine Combat Vessel completed its trial run, and Commander Sakuragi once again led a team ashore. The Denkōtei lay anchored near the coast like a warrior taking his rest. Now from that point onward, a commotion as if boiling over with Empire Day celebrations and festivities for this great success ensued; when night fell, the grand celebration banquet began at the coastal banquet hall that had been prepared beforehand. The grandeur of the scene defied both brush and words. Some sailors performed comic skits, others played military music, and Petty Officer Muratake proudly recited a passage from "Kawanakajima" on the Satsuma biwa. I had never noticed until today that this man possessed such a hidden talent. Particularly following Commander Sakuragi's resonant poetic recitation, Young Hideo's valiant sword dance—when he had learned it, I couldn’t say—became the crowning spectacle of the evening. As I, lacking any talent, could only scratch my head in embarrassment, it drew cheers and thunderous applause.

Thus, the banquet came to a complete end at eleven o'clock at night. Since the Submarine Combat Vessel had already surfaced, Commander Sakuragi led a team of sailors—Petty Officer Muratake at their head—and boarded the vessel to secure its deck. The remaining group of sailors, myself, and Young Hideo—since there was no need to board the vessel yet—returned once more to the house on the coast. It’s true for anyone—when one is extremely happy, sleep becomes quite impossible. After returning to the house, our group gathered in a single room and immersed ourselves in various conversations. Gazing out at the sea through the windowpane, the Denkōtei floated serenely upon the waves, bathed in starlight. Ah, now that this vessel too had been completed, within a week or ten days at most, all final preparations would surely be concluded, and we would be able to depart this island. Once we depart this island, it will be settled. With our great speed of approximately one hundred nautical miles per hour, we will cross the Indian Ocean, pass through the South China Sea, and from the beloved waves of the Japan Sea, it will not be long before we gaze up reverently at Mount Fuji’s peak. Just as the innocent sailors imagined—what would that scene look like? The reputation of the Denkōtei, Commander Sakuragi’s honors, and the various joys in each heart—there was no need to elaborate on these. If Hamashima Takefumi in Naples were to hear that Young Hideo—once thought dead—and I had safely emerged into the world alongside this illustrious Denkōtei, and if Mrs. Harue still existed in this world—how astonished and overjoyed they would be. Thinking thus was truly unbearably delightful—now in our eyes shone only the light of hope. Who among us would notice that at such a moment—precisely such a juncture—the demon’s hand envying human happiness might induce some great calamity?

However, in all human affairs—truly utterly, utterly unexpected—amidst this very joy, a terrible incident occurred.

The hour was between one and two o’clock—when even plants sleep—and during a lull in our conversation, I suddenly strained my ears at a rumbling sound like distant thunder coming from nowhere. Simultaneously, outside, the fierce dog Inazuma began barking ferociously. We leapt to our feet in alarm—and in that very instant! The resounding sound suddenly struck the sea—as if the axis of heaven had shattered in an instant—and a gust of sea wind whipped into the room along with the spray of waves.

“Great tsunami! Great tsunami!” they all shouted. When they rushed outside in panic, they saw that the sky—which until moments ago had been brilliantly lit by the Big Dipper—now looked as though ink had been spilled across its expanse, while the boundless ocean’s surface surged with raging waves, its spray swelling to fill the heavens. This tsunami—as was later determined—originated from a submarine landslide near the Maldive Islands in the Indian Ocean, having apparently caused tremendous damage from the African coast to the Arabian region; its residual waves had swept all the way to this isolated island.

In any case, tremendous commotion! Fortunately, our house had been built at the very summit of the cliff, so we were spared from becoming sacrifices to this fearsome demon. However, at that same moment, what first struck our hearts was concern for Commander Sakuragi and the others aboard the Submarine Combat Vessel. The sky was dark; the earth was dark; the sea's surface churned with raging waves as spray leapt upward—visibility so poor one couldn't see an inch ahead. Frantic, I immediately lit a lantern and rushed out, whereupon Young Hideo and the sailors all raised torches in their hands, stood at the cliff's edge, and shouted at the tops of their voices while swinging the flames wildly in every direction. Our shouts were instantly drowned out by the roaring waves' thunder, but there—in the pitch-black distance far out at sea—a single point of light flickered.

Indeed, a nighttime signal from the Submarine Combat Vessel! The signal declared: "Denkōtei is unharmed! Denkōtei is unharmed!"

Chapter 23: Twelve Barrels

The lifeblood of the Submarine Combat Vessel—the sparsely inhabited Olive Island—the iron door reduced to splinters—from heaven to the depths of hell—"Such recklessness cannot be allowed!"—tears of bitter regret.

The scene after the Great Tsunami was truly desolate.

The following morning revealed the tide had nearly returned to normal, but as far as the eye could see, the coastline lay ravaged by murky waves and raging tides. Yesterday’s beautifully decorated Kiyomasa dolls on the sand, the miniature model of Futamigaura Bay, and the barracks in the palm grove—all had vanished without trace, swept away to unknowable places. The secret shipyard too appeared to have been entirely submerged by seawater at one point, for even atop Screen Rock’s pinnacle—rising considerably high above the water’s surface—ugly seaweed remained clinging, its droplets reflecting the morning sun’s uncanny light. Truly, it was a desolate sight.

At this moment, the Denkōtei approached the coast from far out at sea, and Commander Sakuragi came ashore safely with a team of sailors, so those on land immediately rushed to that spot. For us, nothing brought greater joy than the Submarine Combat Vessel’s safety. With my face full of smiles, I grasped the Commander’s hand and rejoiced that our persons remained safe even amidst such disaster, then—

“What was last night’s scene on the sea like?” I asked while scrutinizing the Commander’s face—and was truly taken aback. The Commander’s countenance—usually composed and unshaken by any matter—now bore an expression of fathomless anguish for reasons unknown. Nor was this limited to the Commander; even the typically buoyant Petty Officer Muratake and all other sailors who had disembarked from the Denkōtei stood deathly pale, heads bowed as if contemplating some grave affair. Struck to my core, I pressed urgently.

“Has something occurred? Could last night’s tsunami have damaged the Submarine Combat Vessel?” “No,” the Commander calmly lifted his face. “There is no abnormality in the Denkōtei’s hull, but—” he said while intently gazing at my face. “However, last night’s tsunami appears to have kicked us all from heaven’s peak of hope down to despair’s valley floor.” “Wh-why?!” The shore companions all paled simultaneously. The Commander did not answer immediately, instead turning his head to gaze toward distant Screen Rock with somber inflection.

“Did you inspect the interior of the secret shipyard this morning?” “No, not yet,” I answered. If the Great Tsunami had occurred two or three days earlier—when the Submarine Combat Vessel was still in its dry dock—the first place requiring vigilance would have been there. But now, I had judged there was no need to rush an inspection. Yet from the Commander’s words and pallor, it seemed the source of his anguish lay precisely there. I hastily continued speaking.

“I have not yet inspected it personally, but as you can see, seaweed has been washed up even onto the pinnacle of that Screen Rock rising high above the sea surface. This means the secret shipyard’s interior must have suffered severe damage from seawater intrusion. Could this be causing your concern?” “Naturally,” Commander Sakuragi replied, placing a hand over his chest. “Have you forgotten that the lifeblood of the Submarine Combat Vessel still remained within that shipyard?”

“What do you mean by the lifeblood of the Submarine Combat Vessel?” I asked. “The twelve barrels.” “As you know, every mechanism of the Submarine Combat Vessel operates through twelve secret chemical solutions. These essential solutions—sealed in barrels and stored in the shipyard—ah! Not one could have withstood last night’s tsunami. No—not a single barrel *could* have survived.”

“Wh—wh—what?!” We all, having just realized this fact, were so astonished we nearly collapsed. The Commander let out a deep sigh. “My assumptions are likely not mistaken—truly, heaven’s calamities lie beyond human power to prevent—but to encounter such misfortune at this late hour is truly heartless.” “If all twelve barrels have now been lost, then there will be no way left to utilize the Submarine Combat Vessel’s miraculous power.” “It would be exactly like an ordinary steamship lacking coal—left stopped upon the waves with no choice but to rot away.” “Of course, some propulsion chemical solution loaded during the Denkōtei’s trial run still remains aboard. However, what little remains on the vessel would be insufficient to navigate beyond one thousand nautical miles. One thousand nautical miles from this island would bring us near Olive Island—the closest of the sparsely inhabited Maldive Islands—but reaching Olive Island would achieve nothing. Rather, were we to lose all freedom of movement there, it would invite catastrophe—a self-inflicted calamity.” “Olive Island is a desolate place; we could never obtain that type of propulsion chemical solution there. Moreover, attempting to communicate with other islands or the mainland to request supplies would be utterly impossible.” “Moreover, around Olive Island, notorious pirate ships are constantly active, and warships from European nations frequently patrol the area. For our Submarine Combat Vessel to lose its engine function and idly drift upon the waves there would be an act of recklessness beyond measure.” “If they learn that such a warship has now been completed for the Japanese Empire, they will never remain silent; they will surely exert every effort to seize it. Yet at that critical moment, even this Denkōtei—invincible under heaven when operational—would be powerless to act while deprived of its driving force. We would not hesitate to nobly cast away our lives there, but consider this: if the Submarine Combat Vessel were ultimately plundered by their hands, our years of grueling effort would vanish like foam on water—no, worse! What we planned for our beloved Japanese Empire would instead hand our enemies a sharpened blade.” “How could such a thing be done?” “Therefore, should all our plans be exhausted, even if we were to rot away eternally on this desolate island alongside the Submarine Combat Vessel, we cannot recklessly depart from this island.” “You see how it is.” “And if, as I now imagine, the secret shipyard has been completely destroyed by seawater and even a single one of those twelve barrels has been lost, then we can no longer depart even a single foot from this island. Thus, our cherished hope of returning to Japan—the greatest joy we could know—has been utterly stripped away.”

“Ah!” At that cry, I, young Hideo, and the other sailors stood frozen in stunned dismay. Though last night’s horrific spectacle of the Great Tsunami made clear not one of those twelve barrels could remain, we nevertheless clung to that one-in-ten-thousand hope and rushed with hollow hearts to inspect the secret shipyard within the cavern. Tragically, the Commander’s words proved true. The scene within was devastating beyond measure. Turbid waves had breached a rock wall, invading like a raging torrent through that breach. Beside it lay the iron door of the small storage vault—where propulsion chemicals once sat sealed—now shattered to splinters. Of the twelve barrels, no trace remained; all had been swept away to oblivion.

The Commander could only gaze up at the heavens in dismay; the group’s faces grew ever paler. Ah! Even if cast down from heaven to the depths of hell, a person could not possibly despair to such an extent.

The group had no choice but to return to the house on the coast—a desolate and forlorn scene like embers after a fire’s extinction. Commander Sakuragi fell silent and sank deep into thought. Petty Officer Muratake stared at the sea where vengeful waves still churned restlessly, tears of frustration welled in his eyes. Young Hideo wore an expression of utmost sorrow. “Ah...have we become unable to return to Japan again?” he murmured futilely while gazing eastward—what anguish must have filled his heart then. The over thirty sailors—men who would wrestle demons on any ordinary day—now stood utterly silent, forming clusters here and there that merely exchanged glances. Among them, two or three had ventured out to patrol earnestly, clinging to the desperate hope that even one or two of the twelve barrels might have washed ashore, though their efforts proved as futile as chasing mirages.

Chapter 24: The Flight of the Airship

We must become demons of this forsaken island—drastic measures—I shall go—a silent farewell—I wept in my heart—the familiar Asahi Island grew distant...

I thought deeply, but this time—this very occasion—must surely be an unavoidable divine calamity. As Commander Sakuragi had said, if we could not recklessly leave this island, then there was no other plan. The twelve types of chemical solutions required to activate the Denkōtei could never be manufactured on such a desolate island no matter how much time passed, nor could we request a supply from elsewhere; though we might survive ten years or twenty hence, gazing morning and evening upon the Submarine Combat Vessel—unparalleled in the world—before our eyes, we must ultimately become demons of this forsaken island.

As I dwelled on this thought, overwhelmed by infinite sorrow and gazing vacantly at my homeland's sky with unbidden tears welling up, Commander Sakuragi—who until now had been silently immersed in deep contemplation—suddenly raised his face. He finally devised a drastic measure.

The Commander opened his mouth with a resolute expression. “At this calamity, we face only two paths. The first is to resign ourselves to fate and perish on this desolate island alongside the Denkōtei—though none would desire that. The other is none but a truly drastic measure: the large airship we constructed to rescue you all when the armored vehicle fell into the quicksand valley on ※日 still remains.” “We shall launch the airship to send one or two individuals to reach either Colombo in India or another major continental city. There, they will procure the twelve types of chemical solutions required for the Denkōtei, then secretly equip a ship to transport those solutions to Olive Island—located precisely midway between the continent and this island, one thousand nautical miles away. Meanwhile, our Submarine Combat Vessel still retains some propulsion chemical solution. When the transport ship arrives at Olive Island, our Denkōtei will likewise depart this island, rendezvous with the ship there, transfer the prepared solutions aboard, and thence return to Japan.” “Of course, success or failure remains unpredictable. Should the airship burst midair or meet some other mishap that prevents it from fulfilling its mission—that would be the end of it. In such a case, our Denkōtei will depart this island on the appointed day and proceed to Olive Island. Even if we wait several days there and no transport ship arrives, we shall take that as divining the airship’s fate and resign ourselves to exhausted fortune. At that moment, we will resort to our final measure: to prevent pirate ships or other violent foreign warships from discovering the Submarine Combat Vessel’s secrets, we shall nobly destroy its hull with explosives and sink it into the depths—a thousand fathoms down.” “It is indeed a drastic measure, but under these circumstances—with no purpose, no hope, and only the recently completed Submarine Combat Vessel before our eyes—rather than idly rotting away on this desolate island, this must be the path we choose.” Having finished speaking, the Commander gazed at us all with unshakable resolve. As expected, 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 airship to fulfill this great mission, the brave sailors vied with one another to claim the duty first; yet the Commander, as if he had his own considerations, did not readily permit it. Truly, this great mission was a grave matter. After the airship would finally descend upon a continental city, the maneuvers required—from purchasing the secret chemicals to secretly outfitting a ship and proceeding to Olive Island—were no ordinary matter; having already discerned Commander Sakuragi’s intent, I stepped forward.

“Though unworthy, I shall undertake this great mission.” As I said this, the Commander was greatly pleased. “In truth, I’ve been awaiting those very words.” “This mission cannot be accomplished through courage and boldness alone.” “The airship’s landing site will undoubtedly be foreign soil—given the necessity of foreign languages and other practical considerations, we had no choice but to entrust this task to you.”

“So now, who will be my assistant?” “I shall go!” declared Petty Officer Muratake, stepping forward with eager determination. The Commander fixed his eyes and intently gazed at the Petty Officer’s face. “You—the success or failure of this mission hinges upon whether our Submarine Combat Vessel can emerge into the world as a guardian of the Japanese Empire.” “Be extremely swift, and be extremely prudent.” Petty Officer Muratake did not speak; shedding tears, he looked back at the Commander’s face. Once this great mission’s roles had been assigned to Petty Officer Muratake and myself, it became necessary for us two and Commander Sakuragi’s group remaining on the island to engage in extremely detailed coordination. The coordination was as follows. Today was February 12th. Given that the wind direction was extremely favorable, if the airship departed this island today, it should be able to traverse the vast skies of the Indian Ocean and descend near Colombo, India—the closest major city on the continent—by the 16th or 17th. Assuming we spent five days there procuring the secret chemicals and hiring a vessel, we were scheduled to reach Olive Island between the 24th and 27th or 28th of this month. Accordingly, Commander Sakuragi and his group were to depart this island aboard the Denkōtei at midnight on the 24th, arriving in the lee of Olive Island by dawn the following day. Thereupon, it was agreed that whichever party arrived first at Olive Island would wait near the island for one week, and if even after that week had passed the other remained unseen, they would resolve that fate had reached its end.

When these arrangements concluded, under Commander Sakuragi's orders, the airship was hauled onto the sandy beach with its hydrogen gas fully replenished. After provisions for several days, drinking water, and an immense sum of gold and silver coins for procuring chemicals and chartering vessels had been loaded aboard, Petty Officer Muratake and I adjusted our light travel gear and climbed into the gondola. Ah—this might well be our final farewell. Commander Sakuragi and young Hideo silently studied our faces before gripping our hands with crushing strength. The thirty-odd sailors who'd shared three years of hardships crowded around the airship in wordless parting; some wept openly as tears coursed down their cheeks. Both Petty Officer Muratake and I wept inwardly. In that moment, our shared silence carried more weight than ten thousand speeches.

Amidst all the commotion, the mooring ropes were untied, and the airship carrying us two finally began its forceful ascent. Commander Sakuragi and the others waved their handkerchiefs in unison. Petty Officer Muratake and I removed our hats and gazed downward as the wind blew from south to north, carrying our airship through skies over three thousand shaku high toward the continent. Before long, even Asahi Island—where we had grown so accustomed to living—shrank to a bean-like speck on the azure-distant horizon and vanished from sight.

Chapter 25: The White Cruiser

The shadow of the continent—we flew through the air like an arrow—a lone white object—a flock of seabirds—the warship flag "GARF"—ah! Ah! That flag! That warship! Three days had passed without incident since leaving Asahi Island. The airship carrying us two had crossed the skies of the Indian Ocean and was thought to have traveled over two thousand miles northward from Commander Sakuragi's base when we discerned a shadow resembling clouds or smoke—the outline of a continent—in a distant corner of the heavens. Petty Officer Muratake and I exchanged glances and finally let out a sigh of relief. That landmass could only be the Indian subcontinent. Just as we relaxed our brows with mutual joy—anticipating we would descend near our objective of Colombo City within three or four hours and successfully accomplish the great mission entrusted by Commander Sakuragi—another catastrophe struck. The wind that had until now blown with divine favor from south to north, steadily propelling us toward land, abruptly shifted direction to blow 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 predict than heaven's whims. This easterly gale violently altered our course, now driving us diagonally from land toward open ocean. Petty Officer Muratake and I turned deathly pale, our earlier joy obliterated by shock and dread. At this critical juncture—what fresh calamity was this? Ah! Did heaven mean to torment us without respite? Our hearts burned with frustration as we thrashed helplessly about. Before our eyes, the continental shadow vanished beyond the horizon. The winds intensified into a notorious Indian Ocean typhoon. Peering below brought vertigo—limitless ocean waves raged like ten thousand white dragons leaping skyward while tattered clouds streaked past like shredded silk. A scene of unparalleled desolation. True to a whirlwind's nature, our course became chaos—west, east, south, north. The airship whirled like goose down across Maldive archipelagos and raced over Laccadive atolls like a meteor. For four days and nights we careened through aerial madness until dawn on the fifth day brought calm winds and stilled our vessel's fury. We felt reborn. Tentatively leaning halfway from the gondola, we found ourselves above boundless ocean skies—utterly disoriented yet still aloft. Where on earth were we? We tilted our heads in vain speculation. According to Petty Officer Muratake's reckoning: "We must have crossed Africa entirely—blown far westward! That ocean below can only be the Atlantic."

he said, but I could not quite believe it was so. Though the winds over the past several days had been truly ferocious, as is typical of typhoons, our airship seemed to have been whirled about repeatedly in the same skies; thus, there was no need to fear we had been blown so very far. 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. At any rate, I thought we could not be terribly distant from the European coastal regions.

However, this was no time for pondering such matters at leisure. The anguish in our hearts at that moment was truly immense. The appointed day with Commander Sakuragi already pressed upon us. Counting on my fingers, I realized only six days remained until the 25th—the date by which we were supposed to have descended near Colombo in India as planned, procured the secret chemicals, outfitted a ship, and arrived at Olive Island. On that promised day, Commander Sakuragi would depart Asahi Island aboard the Submarine Combat Vessel with young Hideo and the others, secretly reach Olive Island, and spend his days awaiting our reinforcements—wondering whether we would come today or tomorrow. In our current predicament, could we truly fulfill this great mission? Adrift in an endless sky veiled by clouds and mist—with neither west nor east determined—now lacking even the aim of when we might reach land or proceed to Olive Island—if within this limbo both the appointed 25th day and subsequent week were to pass fruitlessly, Commander Sakuragi would ultimately resolve himself to vanish into sea foam alongside his peerless Submarine Combat Vessel. Ah! With this urgent crisis pressing upon us, I exchanged glances with Petty Officer Muratake—both of us so distraught we scarcely knew where to place ourselves—when suddenly we saw it: far on the horizon appeared a wisp of smoke like thin cloud, followed by a solitary white speck indistinguishable as bird or ship. As it gradually drew nearer, that speck revealed itself to be a white cruiser. The flag fluttering on the mizzen mast's gaff remained indistinct, making the warship's nationality indiscernible; yet now it advanced toward our airship's course—spewing thick black smoke and churning waves. At that moment I suddenly conceived a plan. Now we—bearing this grave mission yet without any aim of reaching land—continued drifting through empty skies; were we to idly let the appointed deadline pass thusly, even gnawing our navels in regret would prove futile. Fortunately—there floated a white cruiser yonder. Though its nationality and course remained unknown to us—perhaps we should seek aid from that vessel. Of course—our aerial journey's purpose and Commander Sakuragi's submarine secret must not be carelessly exposed to foreign ships—though surely some plausible pretext could be devised through quick-witted improvisation. At any rate—if rescued by that warship for our immediate plight and delivered to any continental shore—then by desperately rushing thereafter—we might still somehow complete preparations by deadline and reach Olive Island where Commander Sakuragi awaited.

Having thus made up my mind, I hurriedly consulted with Petty Officer Muratake. He naturally agreed without hesitation. Immediately whirling a white handkerchief, we sent out a distress signal. The white cruiser in the distance seemed to have spotted our airship, for on its foredeck, red and white flags appeared to flutter up and down. At that very moment! Petty Officer Muratake seemed to have suddenly spotted something and let out a shattering cry.

“Emergency!!! Emergency!!! Disaster!” I too whirled around in shock. Until then, my attention had been wholly consumed by the white cruiser, leaving me completely unaware. But now I saw—the western sky teemed with Damburō birds, seabirds peculiar to the Indian Ocean. Resembling eagles with razor-sharp beaks and elongated talons, these colossal creatures measuring seven to over ten feet in length formed such a dense flock that they blotted out the sun itself, now swooping en masse toward our airship. The two of us were utterly stunned. These seabirds were not inherently vicious enough to warrant such ferocity—had we remained calm, we might have escaped unscathed. But caught off guard and utterly flustered, we had no time to consider such possibilities; in our haste to drive them away, firing that single rifle shot proved a grave mistake. The bullet cleanly killed one of them, but at the same time, the rest of the flock—having perceived hostile intent from us—became utterly uncontrollable. Three or four birds swooped down upon the balloon with furious wingbeats like arrows—and in an instant, their sharp beaks had torn through it. At that moment, the white cruiser from earlier had advanced to within about one nautical mile of our airship, its entire structure now visible as clearly as if held in one’s hand—and just then, Petty Officer Muratake abruptly noticed its “GARF” naval flag.

“Ah! Ah! That flag—that warship!” he cried, leaping up and forgetting their urgent crisis. I too hurriedly tried to turn my eyes toward it—but it was already too late. The airship breached by Gamburō birds whirled down through the sky with a shrill whistling sound of leaking hydrogen gas—and in the blink of an eye, plunged into the very heart of the ocean.

Twenty-Sixth Chapter: Faces and Faces and Faces

Imperial Navy flag—Lieutenant Tiger Whiskers, his real name Lieutenant Todoroki—the launch hauled up alongside—full speed—a familiar face—a face resembling someone—a nostalgic face. We two who had fallen into the ocean's very heart along with the airship sank several dozen feet deep to the seabed for a time. Fortunately, owing both to the relatively slow speed of our descent and the balloon buffering against the waves, we did not suffocate. After resurfacing and swimming with all our might, human voices and oar sounds soon approached from beyond the waves. Thus were we finally rescued by a merciful launch. The one who had dispatched this launch to save us from mortal peril was undoubtedly the white cruiser we had seen earlier.

Petty Officer Muratake, who had been hauled up into the launch, suddenly shouted at this moment. “Oh! It was indeed as I thought!” “Indeed, it was as I thought!” “That gaff flag on the cruiser was our Imperial Navy flag!!!” he exclaimed, having just now spotted the same naval ensign—the one he had caught a fleeting glimpse of during their airship’s plummeting descent—fluttering at the bow of this launch. I too was truly startled and leapt up upon seeing everyone in the boat.

“Ah! Imperial servicemen! Imperial Japanese Navy personnel!” I shouted while whipping my head around. On the ocean not far from this launch, the white cruiser from earlier drifted amidst mountain-like waves, its mizzen gaff and stern bearing the naval ensign of the Empire of Japan—that sun-disk flag fluttering gallantly in the southern wind. The sailors gripping oars to port and starboard of the launch all opened their eyes wide in astonishment and suspicion upon seeing our faces. At the stern stood a stately naval lieutenant—his complexion sun-darkened, his tiger-like beard whipped by sea winds—who leaned forward while gripping the helm and stared intently at Petty Officer Muratake and me. “Ah! You’re Japanese too, aren’t you?” he exclaimed. But on this boundless ocean where east and west held no meaning, raging waves tossed the launch violently, making detailed conversation impossible. Even as he spoke, a colossal breaker smashed against the hull, nearly capsizing us. The lieutenant spun the helm starboard and barked, “Full speed ahead!” The launch instantly turned its bow to starboard and, with the sound of twelve oars cutting through waves, arrowed toward the mother ship.

Petty Officer Muratake and I felt as though dreaming within a dream. Forgetting entirely that we were soaked through like drowned rats and that our stomachs ached from swallowing seawater, our hearts leapt with astonishment and joy as we stared fixedly at the white cruiser ahead—its gaff flying our Imperial Navy flag. In these depths where anchoring proved impossible, the vessel drifted left and right like a rolling hill upon the waves. This warship displaced approximately 2,700 tons, an armored cruiser boasting two magnificent smokestacks. Now tossed by waves, its stern swung toward us—illumined by the blazing sun—where the characters "Hinode" stood clearly visible. Warship Hinode! Warship Hinode! As I found myself murmuring this name repeatedly without reason, our launch gradually drew closer to the mother ship. On Warship Hinode's deck, crew members stood in disciplined ranks from the rear bridge to the flag-fluttering stern, awaiting our return.

Before long we drew near the warship, but the sea—churning as if stirred from its depths—sent the 2,700-ton behemoth heaving high and low. Our launch leapt through the waves like an autumn leaf, utterly unable to reach the portside ladder. Spray flew, waves crashed against us. Near the towering gangway and bulwark above, officers and sailors shouted frantically. Our lieutenant at the stern gripped the helm as though to shatter it—plunging into the abyss, soaring into the sky—as our launch nearly smashed against the warship’s waterline armor belt time and again. But at last, using a crane, they hoisted our boat—still bearing over ten of us—onto Hinode’s deck. Only then did we finally let out a gasp of relief. The warship began its advance, churning through the propeller wake under a single command. The deck of a disciplined warship—even amidst such a dramatic scene—never showed any sign of losing composure.

The airship fell from the sky. The warship launched a boat. The two rescued individuals were Japanese. One was a young gentleman who appeared to be an adventurer; the other was a Petty Officer of the Imperial Japanese Navy. "'How strange! Why?' This rumor had already spread throughout Warship Hinode, yet not a single soul neglected their duty to come rushing over to our side with cries of 'Let's see what kind of men they are!'—there was not the slightest hint of disorderly conduct." The engine room sailors guarded the engine room; the signalmen stood at their posts on the battle bridge; and under the officers’ command, the first-class, second-class, and third-class sailors stowed away the recently retrieved launch. A group of officers and sailors during their off-duty hours guided us to a cabin, made us remove our soaked clothes, provided new garments, and among them, one quick-witted officer even graciously hurried to offer a cup of brandy—for our excitement’s sake. Indeed, the rigor of their military discipline was such that one could not help but feel renewed admiration.

At this moment, the valiant Lieutenant Todoroki with the tiger-like beard—who had earlier commanded the launch and rescued us two—seeing that both Petty Officer Muratake and I had finally regained our composure, abruptly stepped forward, a smile playing on his lips.

“Gentlemen! I congratulate you on your good fortune.” No sooner had he spoken than he turned his head—and there suddenly appeared a naval commander descending from the warship’s rear bridge, approaching us with measured strides. Dignified in bearing and majestic in demeanor—needless to say, he was this warship’s captain. The Captain—having apparently learned through Lieutenant Todoroki’s report that we two Japanese survivors of the airship crash consisted of one gentleman resembling an adventurer and another who was a naval petty officer—now stood before us gazing at Petty Officer Muratake and myself. Showing no particular surprise, he nodded slightly before settling into a nearby chair. Calmly twisting his mustache, he turned fully toward us.

Petty Officer Muratake and I saluted respectfully while gazing upon his face—ah, those eyes of the Captain—that mouth—how remarkably they resembled someone's nostalgic countenance I had once committed to memory, though in that urgent moment I could not immediately recall whose. Be that as it may, now that our minds had settled, we came to feel that being rescued from this great peril by fellow Japanese—nay, by the loyal and valiant hands of Imperial Navy personnel—was not merely our own good fortune. Had heaven at last not abandoned the sincere devotion of Commander Sakuragi, who even now suffered on Asahi Island? This thought made tears of emotion well up in us both unexpectedly—I bowed my head, while Petty Officer Muratake turned his face aside—when three or four sailors standing rigidly at attention beside us, who had been intently staring at Muratake’s face since earlier, saw one among them step forward and address Lieutenant Todoroki and the Captain with purposeful demeanor:

“Your Excellency, I would like to have a word with this petty officer.” “Very well.” Having obtained the Captain’s permission, the sailor slowly turned his eyes toward Petty Officer Muratake. “Long time no see, Petty Officer! Aren’t you Petty Officer Muratake—subordinate to the renowned Commander Sakuragi of the homeland?” he asked. When speaking of Petty Officer Muratake—a man renowned among Imperial Japanese Navy sailors for his cheerful disposition, artillery expertise, and remarkably strong physique—it now appeared he had unexpectedly encountered former comrades aboard this Imperial warship at the very ends of the earth.

Petty Officer Muratake opened his eyes wide in surprise. “Ah! I am indeed Petty Officer Shinpachirou Muratake, subordinate to Your Excellency Commander Sakuragi!” he declared, tapping his forehead. “My apologies—I’ve clean forgotten. Who might you be again?” “I served under Captain Takao before,” the sailor said, edging forward on his knees. “Now I’m a signalman under His Excellency Commander Matsushima, captain of Warship Hinode.” “His Excellency Commander Matsushima was returning with the newly commissioned warship Hinode from England’s Thames Estuary shipyards. We departed Aden harbor at dawn yesterday and were advancing through this Indian Ocean when an airship came crashing from the heavens. Imagine our astonishment when we rushed to rescue its occupants—only to find you! Isn’t this truly a miraculous twist of fate?” Having finished speaking, he took a step back.

This single statement! To a heartless person it might have meant nothing, but Petty Officer Muratake and I involuntarily exchanged glances and smiled wryly. Our first cause for joy was this: until this very moment, we hadn't known whether the vast ocean we were floating upon—which we'd doubted even while aboard the airship earlier—was the Atlantic or perhaps the Arabian Sea. But through the sailor's report, it became clear this was indeed the Indian Ocean—just as I'd surmised—where neither Colombo City, our intended destination, nor Olive Island, where we were meant to reunite with Commander Sakuragi and his men, lay too far distant. Another realization struck me—the moment I heard the name Commander Matsushima, I slapped my knee in sudden recognition. Dear readers! Who could this Commander Matsushima of the Navy be?

I had never met this Commander before, but he was none other than the closest friend of Commander Sakuragi—of whom I had long heard—as well as the elder brother of Mrs. Harue, a woman I could never forget for the rest of my life, and uncle to young Hideo. Nearly four years prior, Mrs. Harue—wife of my dear friend Hamashima Takefumi—had parted from her husband to visit her elder brother Commander Matsushima at his sickbed in the homeland. Taking their beloved son Hideo, she departed Naples, Italy aboard the same steamship as myself for the long journey back to Japan. Midway through that voyage, in the pitch-black heart of the Indian Ocean, they suffered a terrifying pirate attack. With the ill-fated *Crescent Moon Maru* sinking beneath the waves, Mrs. Harue’s fate remains unknown to me to this day. Yet this same Commander Matsushima—whom I had heard was on medical leave at the time—now commanded this new warship *Hinode* on its maiden voyage in full health. Ah—in that moment, everything became clear. The reason I had thought upon first glance that he resembled someone was now plain—who else could it be? This captain of Warship *Hinode* was none other than Commander Matsushima: Mrs. Harue’s esteemed elder brother and young Hideo’s uncle. Feeling an inexplicable warmth and nostalgia, I raised my eyes to gaze upon Commander Matsushima’s composed countenance before me. The Commander studied my face and Petty Officer Muratake’s with purposeful intensity. After exchanging a brief glance with Lieutenant Todoroki of the tiger-like beard, he addressed us in measured tones. First he turned to me.

“From what I gather through the conversation between one of this warship’s sailors and your companion Petty Officer Muratake,” he began, scrutinizing my nodding face before abruptly shifting his tone, “it would seem you have ties to my most intimate comrade, Commander Sakuragi Shigeo of the Navy. Is this indeed the case?” “The truth is, ever since I heard that you had miraculously fallen upon the waves of this Indian Ocean along with a large airship earlier, I have been forming a certain conjecture in my mind.” “My conjecture is none other than this: if you truly have ties to my dear comrade Commander Sakuragi, then this strange occurrence may well bear some relation to his destiny.” “I am well aware of Commander Sakuragi’s grand ambition.” “Moreover, I am well aware of the circumstances under which he has been concealing himself on this remote island in the Indian Ocean—unknown to others—along with over thirty sailors.” “Five years ago, when he bid me a long farewell at Yokosuka Naval Port, he declared with a resolute expression: ‘Five years from now, I shall achieve a great feat and be able to meet you again.’” “Five winters and summers have since passed※, yet not a single word of him has reached me. In all that time, there has not been a day when I have not prayed for his health and the success of his grand undertaking.” “Ah, has Commander Sakuragi finally achieved his grand ambition?” “Has the great military weapon to which he devoted himself with such single-minded focus finally been completed successfully?” he murmured, his voice trailing off.

“However, upon observing this untimely airship over the Indian Ocean—and particularly recognizing that one of its crew is Petty Officer Muratake, known as Commander Sakuragi’s right-hand man—I must conclude that some extraordinary crisis has now befallen Commander Sakuragi on that isolated island. Is it not true that you two have bid farewell to the Commander and undertaken this aerial mission of grave importance for that very reason?” he demanded, fixing us with an intense gaze. “Exactly! “Your deduction is precisely correct,” I abruptly leaned forward. Petty Officer Muratake struck his chest.

“Your Excellency, a truly grave incident has befallen our Commander.” Thereupon, Petty Officer Muratake and I took turns explaining in broad strokes: the submarine combat vessel of Commander Sakuragi; the circumstances of its great success; how on the night of February 11th, moments before the Commander’s triumphant departure from Asahi Island, a cataclysmic tsunami shattered the secret shipyard’s warehouse and swept away twelve barrels; and how these events ultimately compelled us to embark on this critical mission. “Therefore, Your Excellency, we two must now hasten to the port of Colombo in British India to prepare twelve types of secret chemical solutions and proceed to Olive Island—where the Denkōtei ought to be awaiting us—by dawn on the 25th of this month.”

“Splendid! Has Commander Sakuragi’s submarine combat vessel finally been completed?” For a moment he said nothing, gazing toward a corner of the eastern sky—then suddenly uncrossed his arms. “So—due to unexpected meteorological calamities—Commander Sakuragi’s party now awaits your support near Olive Island at dawn on the coming 25th? Excellent. Having received this intelligence, there remains no cause for further apprehension.” “For the Japanese Empire, for the Imperial Navy, and for the glory of Commander Sakuragi, we shall spare no effort in aiding the Denkōtei,” he declared, standing to spread a nautical chart across the nearby table and measure the latitude with meticulous care.

“The most convenient and nearest trading port from here remains Colombo in British India—approximately 1,200 nautical miles by sea. From there to Olive Island is just under 1,500 nautical miles. Therefore, this warship shall anchor at Colombo the evening after next, prepare the twelve secret chemical solutions required for the *Denkōtei*, immediately obtain permission from the homeland government via coded telegram, and proceed to Olive Island at full speed. Then—forward!” With this declaration, he turned to Lieutenant Todoroki at his side. “Lieutenant Todoroki! “Full speed ahead! Course remains Colombo Port! Relay the order to the crew!!!”

Lieutenant Tiger-Beard—his real name was Lieutenant Todoroki. “Aye!” he responded, whirling around to dash off toward the foredeck. Commander Matsushima turned his attention back to the nautical chart. At this moment on the central deck, six bells rang out to mark eleven o'clock in the morning—Clang! Clang! Clang! Clang! Clang! Clang! Petty Officer Muratake and I truly felt as if a great weight had been lifted from our shoulders. So joyous, so joyous, so joyous! At this joyous moment—now that we had already finished recounting our great mission—though it was a personal matter, I had many things I wished to ask and tell Commander Matsushima. The safety of the Commander’s esteemed younger sister Mrs. Harue—the whereabouts of her husband Hamashima Takefumi—but before addressing these matters, what I needed to convey first (the Commander surely believed her dead) was news of his nephew, young Hideo: that for the past three years※, gazing at the moon over Asahi Island alongside me, he had remained in good health even now.

I made several attempts to speak, but at this moment, the Commander's countenance was so intently focused on the nautical chart—wholly absorbed in examining the topography and sea depths near Olive Island, where we were soon meant to rendezvous with Commander Sakuragi and his submarine combat vessel—that I found myself unable to abruptly broach the matter. For a time, the cabin fell silent. Outside were the sounds of waves breaking against the hull, wind rushing through the masthead, and officers' commands echoing across the bridge. I absently rose from my chair and gazed at the masthead, gun turret, combat bridge, and deck bustling with officers and sailors—then suddenly leapt up as if struck by lightning. At this very moment, two figures emerged from the aft deck hatch—dressed in civilian attire rarely seen aboard a warship. While conversing with a group of young officers whose shoulder insignia rippled like waves, they slowly approached. One was a portly gentleman of imposing dignity; the other, a peerless beauty like a celestial maiden! Who could they be? These two people were none other than Hamashima Takefumi—from whom I had parted in Naples four years prior—and his wife Mrs. Harue: Commander Matsushima’s younger sister and mother to young Hideo, whom we had believed lost to this world.

I hurriedly wiped my eyes and looked—but indeed, it was them!!! In my overwhelming joy, I abruptly twisted Petty Officer Muratake’s head and turned it—

“Petty Officer! Look! Look! Hamashima! Mrs. Harue!” I shouted, whereupon Petty Officer Muratake—suddenly startled—straightened up and cried: “Wh-wh-where?! Wh-which person?!”

Commander Matsushima, seated at the side table and having noticed this situation, raised his eyebrows in suspicion. "How curious—who are you that you are acquainted with Hamashima Takefumi and Harue?" I abruptly leaned forward.

“I am Yanagawa—the one who parted from Mrs. Harue at the sinking of the Crescent Moon Maru four years ago.” Commander Matsushima’s composed countenance shifted ever so slightly. “Then—could you possibly know the fate of my nephew Hideo—” he began, then hastily shifted his gaze toward Hamashima Takefumi and Mrs. Harue at the stern. The two of them immediately spotted me. Mrs. Harue’s beautiful face lit up with an “Oh!” as she turned to look at her husband. I rushed toward them! They rushed toward us! As if stumbling!!!

Chapter 27: The Captain’s Cabin

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

The sun hung high, and the wind blew clear over the deck of Warship Hinode. On the foremast rigging fluttered the Imperial Navy flag; along the bulwark were lined Victory cannons, Russian cannons, and 47-millimeter rapid-fire cannons at their ports. Gazing at the distant azure expanse of sea and sky while listening to the sound of waves breaking nearby, long-separated faces sat facing each other on the beautiful long bench in the captain’s cabin. Hamashima Takefumi wordlessly grasped my hand. Mrs. Harue “Ah, Mr. Yanagawa... That I would meet you again in this world—”, she began, her beautiful face glancing around my vicinity.

Petty Officer Muratake stood at my side with a thoroughly bewildered look. Commander Matsushima, as if cutting off Mrs. Harue’s words, turned to me. “And young Hideo—is he safe—or—” I cried out joyfully. “Oh, Commander Matsushima! Hamashima Takefumi! Mrs. Harue! To your great joy—the boy is safe, safe!!!” Commander Matsushima and Hamashima Takefumi, as if in agreement, displayed expressions of joy and twisted their mustaches. Mrs. Harue, true to form as a woman—

“Ah, is this not a dream? If this isn’t a dream, how happy I would be,” she murmured, gently dabbing at her uncontainable tears of joy with a crimson silk handkerchief.

“It’s not a dream at all!” the blunt Petty Officer Muratake blurted out, thrusting his face forward abruptly. “Madam! Why would you say it’s a dream? That delicate young Hideo is now full of vigor on Asahi Island with our revered Commander Sakuragi! Even now, he’s surely gazing at Japan’s distant skies from the coastal rocks in his usual adorable manner—surrounded by sailors and his beloved dog Inazuma—yearning to leave that solitary island and reunite with you all as swiftly as possible!” he exclaimed.

“You—” As they spoke, both turned their eyes toward Petty Officer Muratake with nostalgic gazes. “This man is Petty Officer Muratake,” I introduced him to the two of them, “who became Hideo’s closest companion during our three years on that isolated island.” Taking turns with Muratake, I recounted our drift to Asahi Island, the extraordinary submarine combat vessel, our life there, and how Hideo—who had parted from his mother four years prior without childish reluctance—had grown under Commander Sakuragi’s wise guidance into the very image of a naval officer his father had always envisioned: spending each day with courage and wisdom as if before their eyes. “Commander! Hamashima! Mrs. Harue! Now fortune smiles upon us—we need only await the imminent hour of joyous reunion!”

As I finished speaking, the three listeners reacted with some in astonishment and others in joy. The Commander continued twisting his mustache. The imposing Hamashima Takefumi struck his chest

“I am happier than anything. The sinking of the Crescent Moon Maru may have actually been fortunate for Hideo. That he has now grown up receiving such devoted guidance from Commander Sakuragi—a man of undisputed renown in our time—brings me greater joy than if he had graduated from the world’s finest school.” Mrs. Harue’s voice overflowed with irrepressible joy,

“Did all of you truly show such kindness to that child? I have no words to express my thanks,” she said, her snow-pale cheeks dimpling faintly like ripples on water. “And that child has already grown so much.” “He has grown up, you say?” “If you meet him soon on Olive Island, you’ll be astonished!” interjected Petty Officer Muratake again.

“Oh!” “Not only that, but the boy’s liveliness defies description! He goes lion hunting and wrestles sumo matches. Even sailors get bested by him,” he declared with complete seriousness. “Though I should mention his complexion has darkened considerably from all this.” “Yes.” “Ohohoho,” Mrs. Harue laughed behind her handkerchief, covering half her face. “He’s become so dark!” “Nonsense—it’s a healthy tan!” At this quip from the quick-witted petty officer, the Commander, Hamashima, and I erupted in booming laughter—yet through it all, Mrs. Harue’s gentle gaze remained fixed on the southern horizon where sea met sky, her eyes brimming with nostalgic longing.

At that moment I leaned forward. "Until now we've only told our story—now it's your turn to answer." I first addressed Mrs. Harue.

“Madam! Just now, you also spoke in that manner, did you not? I too truly never imagined I would meet you again in this world—it’s truly miraculous—how on earth did you survive that time?” “Looking back—four years ago now—when I jumped into the sea clutching young Hideo as the Crescent Moon Maru sank, I called your name twice, three times. Yet all I heard was the sound of wind and roar of waves—no, just once, I thought I faintly caught a reply, but I convinced myself it was a trick of the mind. After washing ashore on Asahi Island, when I later told Commander Sakuragi of this, he divined your fate and insisted you must surely be safe. Yet despite his words, young Hideo and I had resigned ourselves to never meeting you again in this world.”

Mrs. Harue recalled the terrifying scene from that night four years prior.

“Ah, that time—it was truly dreadful. With a thunderous crash, the Crescent Moon Maru sank, and I was dragged dozens of feet deep into the churning waves. But when I resurfaced, I clearly heard your voice calling my name. I called back once, twice—yet enveloped in utter darkness with no sense of direction, we were forced to part for what felt an eternity. By fortune, at the very moment of sinking, I clung to the buoy you had thrown me, drifting through the night amidst the waves. Come morning, I saw what seemed last night’s pirate vessel far across the boundless sea, ceaselessly lowering diving gear into the water—but just then, a British mail ship chanced by and rescued me. After many wanderings, I returned to our home in Naples—this about a month after parting from my husband.”

Mrs. Harue took a breath. “When I returned to our home in Naples and tearfully reunited with my husband Hamashima, the rumors of the Crescent Moon Maru’s sinking were rampant.” “Even if I resigned myself to everything as fate, it was truly sorrowful.” “With each new rumor I heard, I became convinced that both you and Hideo had truly passed from this world. At the same time, I was deeply troubled by my brother’s illness back in Japan. Fortunately, a later ship brought news that his condition was steadily improving, which finally eased my mind—leading me to abandon any thought of returning to Japan.” “Now that four years※ have passed since then—to unexpectedly reunite with you and hear all these stories—it feels exactly like a dream, more joyful than seeing the sun after days of rain, leaving me with nothing but gratitude to heaven.” “Yes, my brother’s illness completely recovered without a trace about three months after I returned to Naples, and now he is in even better health than most—as you can see, he is currently aboard this newly commissioned warship Hinode returning from England.” Having finished speaking, she gazed gently at the faces of her brother, the Commander, and her husband, Takefumi.

Chapter 28: Commemorative Warship

Imperial Warship *Hinode*—as this Tiger Whiskers relates—built at the Thames Shipyard—a cruiser reminiscent of the *Akashi*—all human affairs are as heaven wills. Commander Matsushima was still twisting his mustache, listening to our conversation with an amused look.

Hamashima Takefumi was next to speak after Mrs. Harue. “Harue does complain quite a bit.” “That’s just how women are—utterly impossible.” “Hahahaha.” “However, I too was truly astonished when I heard about the sinking of the Crescent Moon Maru.” “Though Harue alone returned safely afterward, with your whereabouts unknown, when I resigned myself to the belief that Hideo—whom I had long delighted in raising to become a capable Imperial Navy officer to dedicate to our nation—had vanished into the Indian Ocean’s foam alongside you, it truly pained me more than tears could express.” He began to say, then suddenly burst into loud laughter.

“Hoh. “Even I ended up complaining.” “No—it’s not complaining.” “I was utterly disheartened.” “At that time, European newspapers unanimously reported in detail on the Crescent Moon Maru’s disaster—fiercely condemning those cowardly captains’ conduct while praising your actions under headlines like ‘The Japanese Spirit.’ Yet seeing this only made it unbearably heart-wrenching—ah, what became of those despicable captains, you ask?” “That’s right—they did return safely to the homeland once, but neither law nor society’s condemnation permitted it. They suffered severe punishment, endured terrible hardships, and ultimately fled to parts unknown.”

“Splendid! Splendid!” Petty Officer Muratake suddenly shouted. I stifled a laugh and continued my questioning. “Mr. Hamashima—after that incident, did you and your wife remain solely in Naples Port? And what circumstances have now led you to return to Japan aboard this warship?” I inquired earnestly, placing a hand over my heart.

“This may stretch your imagination a bit, but I’ve been considering it since earlier.” “Now, isn’t there some profound reason behind this newly built cruiser being named ‘Hinode’ as if it bears some connection to your beloved son Hideo’s name?” “That matter is best explained by this Tiger Whiskers here.” The one who had suddenly burst into the room was none other than that forthright Lieutenant Tiger Whiskers—officially Lieutenant Todoroki. First, he turned to Captain Matsushima and, after briefly concluding some official report, then faced me directly. In a cheerful tone,

“You there! The naming of this newly built cruiser as *Hinode* may indeed be said to commemorate young Hideo, exactly as you imagined.” “You’ll want more than that explanation—as you know, Mr. Hamashima had long aspired to raise Hideo as an exemplary naval officer to become a pillar of our Japanese Empire. But with the Crescent Moon Maru’s sinking, he believed this ambition had dissolved like sea foam. Unable now to dedicate his beloved son to the nation, he resolved instead to donate a warship, devoting half his fortune over three years to complete this vessel—*Hinode*—at England’s Thames Shipyard.” “This warship is a state-of-the-art third-class cruiser: 2,800 tons displacement, twenty-three knots speed—akin to the Imperial warship *Akashi* but swifter. Its armored deck measures twenty millimeters on flat sections and fifty-three on slopes. Armaments include two 8-inch rapid-fire guns, six 12-centimeter rapid-fire guns, twelve 47-millimeter rapid-fire guns, and four machine guns.” “Our government graciously accepted Mr. Hamashima’s pledge. After special naval deliberations, Commander Matsushima was appointed repatriation chairman, now sailing home as this ship’s captain. As donors, the Hamashimas boarded at Naples Port—both for the handover ceremony and because they’d wearied of foreign lands, longing to return to Japan’s beautiful mountains and clear waters.” Lieutenant Todoroki twisted his tiger-like whiskers backward.

“Warship Hinode! I firmly believe this name undoubtedly shares some connection with young Hideo’s name.” “However, Mr. Hamashima is by no means a man who seeks empty fame; this name was not one he requested. It was entirely determined at the discretion of the home government, with the three characters ‘Hinode’ being bestowed through the solemn procedures of the warship naming ceremony.” “However, I do not consider the correspondence between this name and young Hideo’s name to be mere coincidence.” “It must certainly not be a mere coincidence,” I could not help but exclaim in admiration. Petty Officer Muratake stroked his forehead.

“Well, increasingly auspicious events are coming together!” “The newly built warship is donated! The submarine combat vessel emerges! The Imperial Japanese Navy prospers evermore—!” he exclaimed, his face lighting up with a broad grin. Commander Matsushima also smiled,

“Truly, as Petty Officer Muratake states, this warrants celebration for the Imperial Japanese Navy,” declared Commander Matsushima, his mustache twitching with contained enthusiasm. “Ere long near Olive Island, we shall rendezvous with Commander Sakuragi—thereafter, this warship *Hinode* and his *Denkōtei* will sail bow-to-bow, Imperial Navy flags whipping in the salt-laden winds as we make triumphant entry into our naval port!” Lieutenant Todoroki thrust both fists skyward in a booming hurrah. Hamashima Takefumi massaged his forearms contemplatively. “All mortal affairs bend to heaven’s will,” he intoned, the merchant’s voice deepening with conviction. “What twists of fate may bring joy remain beyond our ken.” His gaze softened as it settled upon his wife. “Yet now I give twofold thanks—not merely dedicating the *Hinode* to our nation, but restoring Hideo himself, whom I’d mourned as lost to the deeps.”

Ah, as I too deeply felt that all human affairs indeed follow heaven's will, I suddenly recalled one matter. It was none other than an unforgettable incident from four years prior—when Mrs. Harue, young Hideo, and I were about to depart Naples Port's wharf. Ani, an elderly Italian woman who served as Hideo's regular nursemaid in the Hamashima household, had desperately tried to halt our voyage that night, persistently repeating strange warnings about "days of evil omen," "hours of calamity," and "curses from gold and pearls." At the time, we laughed it off as nonsense—and truly it was baseless—yet now this coincidence seemed almost like a portent foretelling the various misfortunes that followed. When I later recounted this to Commander Sakuragi during our time on Asahi Island, even that thoughtful commander tilted his head in contemplation. The matter had clung to my mind as a persistent enigma, and now seizing this opportunity—

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

Chapter 29: Satsuma Biwa

Mrs. Harue’s Story — The Impudent Son — A Deck Cleansed by Wind — The Warship’s Song — Let Us Arm-Wrestle and Shin-Kick — The Dojo Wrecker — The Bizarre Lieutenant

Mrs. Harue raised her clear brows. “Ah, that matter!” “You remembered that well, didn’t you?” “Though we dismissed Ani’s strange warnings at the time as nonsense, she later came to understand their meaning.” “It wasn’t entirely groundless talk—this is how it was,” she continued, brushing loose strands from her temples in the sea breeze. “‘Days of evil omen,’ ‘hours of calamity’—that’s what she called them.” The Crescent Moon Maru that sailed that night sank mysteriously in the Indian Ocean exactly as foretold. When I returned to our Naples home after being rescued by a British mail ship, Ani had already vanished. “We searched everywhere, but no one knew her whereabouts.” “Just as we thought it all most peculiar, a letter arrived one day from a nunnery deep in the Urbino Mountains—a remote village far removed from Naples’ bustle and worldly concerns. The handwriting was unmistakably Ani’s, and through it we finally learned the truth.”

“Wh-wh-what kind of letter—?” Yanagawa and Petty Officer Muratake leaned forward.

Mrs. Harue’s bright eyes were moist with tears. “You don’t look the least bit pitiable. “According to the letter, Ani—upon hearing of the Crescent Moon Maru’s sinking—became a nun out of remorse toward us. “That incident was a tragedy. “We had long heard that Ani had a son—an utterly dissolute man who had run away from home over a decade ago and vanished without a trace—but Ani would habitually repeat it like a refrain: ‘My son refused to heed my words and left home on the cursed tenth-month day, only to be captured by a sea serpent.’ “I had thought it truly strange that he had been captured by a sea serpent, but through that letter, I finally understood it was due to the peculiar tendency of Italians to use veiled language. “When she said her son had been ‘captured by a sea serpent,’ it was not a matter of his life—in truth, he had joined the ranks of those Indian Ocean devils aboard the infamous pirate ship *Sea Serpent Maru*, inciting bloodshed as one of its sailors. “And so Ani was left alone and desolate at home, eventually entering service at our household. As you know, she was an exceedingly honest woman, so we took particular care in employing her—until precisely the evening before the day we were to depart Naples Port. “When Ani went out on a brief errand, she unexpectedly encountered her long-lost son at the edge of the wharf. “Even a villain retains some shred of parental affection—so honest Ani said, ‘Come with me a moment,’ took her son to a small restaurant nearby, emptied her meager purse to treat him to all his favorite dishes, and tearfully entreated: ‘Now, my boy—what have you been doing these days? Still refusing to mend your wicked ways?’ To this, her son replied nonchalantly: ‘Here we go again. “You’re still as stupidly honest as ever, Ma—you think you can get by in this world being such a tightwad?’ he slurred, drunk and seething. ‘Me? I’ve got a big job coming up—came to this port for it, and I’ll be leavin’ the day after tomorrow. Once this job goes smooth, I’ll toss you a hundred or two hundred pieces of that worthless gold.’ “‘Top secret!’ or something like that—he must have let it slip without thinking.” Hearing this, Ani gasped in shock. At that time, it was well-known that the Crescent Moon Maru had departed Naples Port for the Orient loaded with an unprecedented quantity of gold and pearls. Yet no one noticed that the fearsome Sea Serpent Maru lurked secretly alongside its hull, observing its movements. But now, with Ani’s pirate-affiliated son present in this very port and the implications of his earlier words, her shock at dimly realizing this connection must have been indescribable. The purpose of the Sea Serpent Maru, which departed Naples Port on the same day and hour as the Crescent Moon Maru that we were to board, goes without saying. When she realized that what her son had called a “big job” was indeed the aim to attack the *Crescent Moon Maru* and plunder its cargo, she earnestly pleaded against his wrongdoing—but of course he would never relent. Upon inferring her discovery, that vicious son suddenly roared with ferocity: “Ma, since you’ve figured it out—this is your final reckoning! If you breathe a word of this to anyone, my head will roll—and if that happens, all bets are off! I’ll torch your master’s house and leave no one alive!” He transformed into a demon as he threatened her. Beside herself with terror, Ani rushed back to our house but found herself powerless to act—to state it plainly, she believed that not only would her son lose his head, but that some dreadful retribution would befall our household from unknown quarters. After tormenting herself with countless worries, she ultimately resorted to that bizarre pretext in an attempt to dissuade us from boarding the Crescent Moon Maru. “But no one would believe such things, you see.” “The ship’s departure being on a day and hour of evil omen—something like that.” “Ah, we paid no heed to Ani’s strange talk and set sail—and that became the cause of such disaster.”

“And so, when Ani finally heard that the Crescent Moon Maru had sunk—overwhelmed with grief and driven by her resolve to atone to us while praying for her son’s repentance—she withdrew into a nunnery beyond worldly concerns.” “Now Ani spends her days in a thatched hermitage deep in the Urbino Mountains, cleansed by the pure moonlight of truth, free from sin and defilement—while that abominable pirate son of hers no doubt still thrives upon lawless deeds, pillowing his head upon Indian Ocean waves.” Having finished speaking, Mrs. Harue lifted her luminous eyes to gaze at the far horizon.

I unintentionally struck my knee. Petty Officer Muratake, rash and single-minded, cracked his knuckles and glared out at the boundless ocean. “This is the Indian Ocean—where is that impudent brat?” he said, fixing his gaze on the warship’s rapid-fire cannons. “This is now a most joyous moment! To achieve our highest aspiration—with this newly forged rapid-fire cannon—may we annihilate those abominable pirates!” “Whoa, exhilarating!” “Exhilarating!” Lieutenant Todoroki clapped his hands. As Commander Matsushima, Hamashima Takefumi, and two or three other seated officers—their majestic faces floating faint smiles—exchanged glances, spray like scattered jewels danced across both port and starboard sides of Warship *Hinode*, its speed akin to flight.

From there, Petty Officer Muratake and I, having received hospitality from all aboard that surpassed what pen or tongue could express, proceeded through the billows of the Indian Ocean toward Colombo Port. On the sunlit deck cleansed by wind, my novel-like account of experiences—shared with Commander Sakuragi, Hamashima, Mrs. Harue, Lieutenant Todoroki, and the other officers and sailors aboard—continued ceaselessly like the waves of the Indian Ocean.

Going back much earlier: the actual circumstances at the time of the Crescent Moon Maru’s sinking. The various hardships endured while adrift in the lifeboat. The sudden downpour. A Strange Tale of Shark Fishing. The story of how the boy Hideo pinched his nose at the rotten fish meat. Then came drifting ashore on Asahi Island and savoring its delicious coconut fruits. The fierce baboon attack incident.

The chance encounter with Commander Sakuragi. The clang of iron and peculiarity of Byobu Rock. Inazuma, the Fierce Dog - a creature rare even in this world.

The tales of Commander Sakuragi, Hideo, and over thirty sailors living their tasteful daily lives—rising at dawn beneath lingering stars, returning at dusk under the moon’s glow—and in their off-duty hours sharing convivial tea gatherings, thrilling boat races, and baseball matches—how these stories must have amazed, amused, and delighted them all. Especially the full account of establishing the Asahi Island Memorial Tower—the thrilling episode when that bizarre automated exploration vehicle charged recklessly through deep mountains and vast marshes. A fierce battle against wild beasts and venomous snakes. The perilous situation of Petty Officer Muratake’s leg. How, driven by curiosity, they tumbled into a quicksand valley and narrowly escaped death. The scene of Hideo and the fierce dog Inazuma’s parting. From beyond Mount Hageyama, the large airship came gently fluttering down. And so, from the grand spectacle of Empire Day itself to the great upheaval on the night of the *Denkōtei*’s trial run—all these strange tales leading up to our current mission had kept them cheering “Hooray!” throughout, while our life on the isolated island had always been the very birthplace of slip-ups and blunders. Now, Petty Officer Muratake—who sat beside me, energetically chiming in with the story—had been patted on the back and clapped on the shoulders by Warship *Hinode*’s sailors several times over, becoming the most popular man aboard.

Though Petty Officer Muratake was now a guest aboard this warship like myself, he remained a sailor who called vessels home—a man of exceptional caliber even among sailors, peerlessly skilled in gunnery and navigation. Thus stationed on this warship, he could not remain idle for a moment. Moreover, knowing that Commander Matsushima and all hands of Warship *Hinode* were wholeheartedly exerting themselves for Commander Sakuragi—whom he revered above all—filled him with heartfelt joy and gratitude. He grew impatient to repay even one ten-thousandth part of this debt by laboring alongside the warship’s sailors. Yet naval regulations were immutable: unless one was an active-duty military member of this vessel, ascending the mast was forbidden; working in the engine room impossible. Left with no recourse, he stood watching, sat observing—gazing at boundless ocean billows from the bow; looking up at the Imperial Navy flag fluttering from bulwark-edge halyards; peering at machine guns—until, unable to bear the tedium, he restlessly rubbed his arms. But when evening arrived—that hour during voyages when warship crews found greatest delight—the many officers and sailors with leisure after duty gathered on the rear deck beneath high skies and blue waves. There, with utmost freedom and cheer, some recited poetry; others performed sword dances. Petty Officer Muratake had joined their ranks and was cheerfully shouting “How delightful!” when—how or when he had learned of this none could say—Lieutenant Todoroki’s Tiger Whiskers suddenly thrust forward.

“Here, Petty Officer Muratake! You’re remarkably skilled with the Satsuma biwa—how about giving us a tune? Let’s hear it!” “Very well, bring it here!” he ordered a nearby sailor and had him fetch the biwa he had brought along beforehand. The young officers and veteran sailors murmured “This’ll be good” as they perked their ears beneath the rear bridge near the 15cm rapid-fire cannon. Petty Officer Muratake—seizing his moment—took up the biwa and sat cross-legged beneath the Imperial Navy flag fluttering grandly at the stern. With a *twang-twangle*, he began plucking the lute’s strings while raising his voice to sing—

“Even mountains towering into the clouds— If one climbs, how could they not surmount them? The ocean that fills the sky— If one crosses, they shall surely cross it in the end. Our Dragonfly Isle is dyed crimson— A remote island in the eastern seas— Like a ship floating in the ocean’s midst—” His high notes soared like eagles beating wings against the wind, while low tones wept like stream water dammed by rocks. The Indian Ocean’s winds racing through mastheads and waves shattering against the hull harmonized with this music, leaving the entire warship momentarily silent. When the biwa’s melody ended, Lieutenant Todoroki burst into thunderous applause.

“Bravo! That’s the real deal! Good, good! Don’t sell yourself short!” he exclaimed, springing to his feet.

“Petty Officer, how about a round of arm-wrestling—” he thrust out his ironclad arm. When it came to Lieutenant Todoroki’s arm-wrestling prowess, it was legendary. However, Petty Officer Muratake knew nothing of this; he himself took great pride in his strength. “Very well, let’s do this!” he declared, tossing aside the biwa and locking arms—only to be instantly twisted down with a grunt. “Weak!” roared the lieutenant with a booming laugh. “Wh-what’s happening? Y-you’ve beaten this Muratake! ‘Let’s go another round—’” he challenged again, only to lose once more.

“This wasn’t supposed to happen,” he said, rubbing his arm, but it was no use at all. As he looked around restlessly, the officers and sailors of the *Hinode* were snickering, Hamashima Takefumi was roaring with laughter, and Mrs. Harue smiled quietly behind her handkerchief. “Too bad. All right!” Petty Officer Muratake promptly thrust out his hairy shin. “Lieutenant! As thanks—let’s have one round of shin wrestling!” “Shin wrestling?” Lieutenant Todoroki frowned, but the lieutenant—unyielding in spirit—bared his own hairy shin as if to say *What’s the worst that could happen?* and gave a single push, only to leap back with a yelp: “Agh! Owowow!”

“This hurts! There’s a deba knife blade embedded in Muratake’s shin!”

“S-so strong, is he?” The onlooking officers and sailors came rushing forward one after another, but indeed Muratake’s shin proved absurdly hard—they were all knocked down with a single strike and retreated crying “Ouch! Ouch!” Petty Officer Muratake wore a somewhat triumphant look, wriggling his nose, but Warship *Hinode*’s deck still harbored quite formidable heroes.

“Muratake! How dare you storm our Warship Hinode’s dojo! Very well—I’ll be your opponent!” From behind the mainmast’s shadow suddenly emerged a junior lieutenant—his skin deeply tanned, muscles formidable. This was a man who during his Naval Academy days had been chief of the Glutton Club, boasting a lung capacity of 5,200 units, grip strength of 78 kilograms, pole vaults reaching 13 shaku, and 600-yard dashes completed in 86 seconds. Throughout his three years there, he had always served as lead rower in his squad, his oar power declared unmatched under heaven.

“Come at me!” he roared, slamming his iron shin against Petty Officer Muratake’s so-called blade-edged shin. Both men flushed crimson as they heaved and strained against each other with no victor in sight, while the entire deck erupted in uproarious cheers of “Hooray! Hooray!” “Enough already! You’ll break your legs!” Lieutenant Todoroki circled around them, and the match ultimately ended in a draw. From the bridge, Commander Matsushima—as was his custom—twirled his mustache and gazed down with a faint smile.

Chapter 30: The Great Moonlit Naval Battle

Colombo Port in the nation of India—a warship ablaze with electric lights—battle trumpets blaring—a pirate flag emblazoned with a demon’s crest—someone swung a massive military sword with a *whoosh*—The Commander arrived! The Denkōtei arrived!

The Indian Ocean Glittering in the Morning Sun Thus, Warship *Hinode* docked as scheduled at Colombo Port on the western coast of the Indian continent two nights later. Commander Matsushima, myself, and Petty Officer Muratake disembarked into a city tiered upward from the wharf—its groves of coconut palms and banana trees low along the shore, its electric lights rivaling daylight—where we discreetly procured the secret chemical solutions for the *Denkōtei* submarine commissioned by Commander Sakuragi, sealed them in twelve barrels, and promptly loaded them aboard Warship *Hinode* without requiring additional outfitting. Simultaneously via encrypted telegram, Commander Matsushima received authorization from the home government and set course toward Olive Island, where we were to rendezvous with the submarine combat vessel at dawn on the 25th.

From Colombo Port to Olive Island was approximately 1,500 nautical miles. By day, they gazed up at the Imperial Navy flag fluttering above the sunlit deck, picturing in their hearts how before long the two commanders—paragons of wisdom and valor—would meet across the waves upon the decks of the new Warship *Hinode* and the new *Denkōtei*, then sail side by side thousands of miles over the ocean until they glimpsed Mount Fuji’s sunrise-crowned peak. By night, they conversed with Hamashima Takefumi and Mrs. Harue by the breezy bridge, all eagerly awaiting young Hideo’s dear figure. The four days and nights of voyaging passed without incident, save for the dreadful roar of the steam engine.

Aboard Warship Hinode, not a single soul was sleeping. On the bridge, led by Commander Matsushima, a cluster of officers—their epaulets rippling like waves in the moonlight—ceaselessly scanned the sea through binoculars gripped in one hand. Here and there on the deck, groups of sailors whispered quietly while others laughed merrily. Petty Officer Muratake’s eyes were wide and perfectly round. “Ah, at last! Olive Island draws near!” “Has the Commander’s submarine combat vessel already reached those island shadows, or has it not yet departed Asahi Island? Ugh, how interminable!” he exclaimed, waving his hands and stamping his feet uncontrollably. Hamashima Takefumi leaned against the massive cannon at the stern, leisurely twirling his splendid beard. Mrs. Harue’s smiling face was more beautiful than even a celestial maiden’s radiance—the passing clouds in the sky above seemed to halt their journey, and the birds crying over the waves appeared to sing praises to us. At this moment of supreme joy, an extraordinary alert was suddenly heard near the gangway. Everyone aboard the ship fell utterly silent. Looking out, about three nautical miles from our ship, north of what appeared to be Olive Island, there were two islets coiling like venomous serpents. From the shadow of that island, a single point of light suddenly flashed. Then one after another, seven strange ships in total appeared, hoisting spherical lights high on their foremasts and forming a long serpentine line. The moon was unobscured; at the vanguard, spewing black smoke as it advanced, came a ship with two smokestacks and two masts! That unforgettable one from four years ago※(!!!)

“The Kaijūmaru is here! Kaijūmaru is here!” I screamed at the top of my lungs. As I did, Lieutenant Todoroki whirled around and sprinted toward the combat bridge. All eyes saw it—from the Kaijūmaru’s bow erupted signal flares that streaked like meteors across the night. This was a nocturnal distress call meant to seize attention, yet that brazen pirate ship now launched these very signals to command our Imperial warship’s gaze. Every soul aboard our vessel turned to look.

Lieutenant Todoroki, who had once run off toward the combat bridge, now returned to my side once more and bellowed loudly—

“Strange ship!” “Strange ship!” “That vessel attempts to signal our warship!” he roared. By the disposition of forces and those seven ships’ bearing, Kaijūmaru now plainly meant to attempt some signal toward our warship. Yet I remained uncertain. Upon today’s seas exist international daytime signals; but for night signals—save each navy’s secret codes, distress flares, or critical simplisms like Kaijūmaru’s earlier pyrotechnics—no universal system prevails. Thus as we watched to see what method this strange ship might employ in signaling us, suddenly we beheld: across Kaijūmaru’s masts high and low, at prow and stern, port and starboard—flashing electric lights blazed forth, their glare near matching noonday sun. Beneath this radiance emerged a grotesque human figure; then signal flags raced up the yardarms.

How cunningly—the strange ship sought to adapt daytime signals to electric light. Triangular, square, and variously patterned signal flags fluttered in the wind. “Stop that warship!” “Stop that warship!!!” ” They displayed. Our Warship Hinode’s captain, Naval Commander Matsushima, issued an order and illuminated the entire ship with electric lights.

A First Class Signalman stood beneath the signal mast under command. “Strange ship! Who are you?” our signal flags were hoisted. The fluttering signal flags in the distance. “We are the famed pirate armada of the Indian Ocean! We have long awaited this moment to seize your newly built warship! Raise a white flag and surrender it at once! Should you hesitate, know this—we have seven stalwart vessels that shall smash your ship to splinters with a single strike!” No sooner had they spoken than their serpentine column of ships transformed into a horizontal line. Moonlight glinted off blades that could even be seen on the decks of all seven pirate vessels. Aboard our warship, every officer and sailor raised furious brows—the youngest officers already gripping their sword hilts tightly, awaiting the captain’s order. By the gangways and gunports, peerlessly fierce sailors rubbed their arms in anticipation. Hamashima laughed coldly, and Mrs. Harue fell silent.

Our valiant Petty Officer Muratake stood with hair bristling toward the heavens. "Enough games, you pirates! I'll show you what's what!" He immediately dashed toward the portside 8-inch rapid-fire gun, then suddenly remembered—naval regulations stood immovable as Mount Tai. Even with exceptional skill, non-crew members couldn't operate cannons or fire guns. Muratake ground his teeth in frustration. "Damn this! To envy our own sailors now!" he roared, shaking empty fists while standing guardian-deity-like at the warship's prow. Meanwhile, Lieutenant Todoroki—tiger-beard bristling and eyes wide—kept his right hand clenched on the 12cm cannon's firing mechanism, awaiting only the Captain's order.

At this moment，Commander Matsushima remained utterly composed，calmly issuing signal commands，while the signalman devotedly hoisted the signal flags high． “Foolish pirates！” “Do you not see the Imperial Japanese Warship Flag flying from our mast？”

In an instant, all lights aboard the Kaijūmaru snapped off. At the same time, seven pirate ships billowing black smoke came charging fiercely toward us through raging waves. With a thunderous roar, a shell screamed past our foremast. The Commander brushed his sword's scabbard with a glance and stood resolutely atop the command tower—a sharp order rang out. The warship's battle trumpet blared, officers' epaulets glinted, sailors manned their stations. Now too soon, now too late—shells from the pirate ships fell like rain or hail. Our warship countered by first unleashing its eight-inch rapid-fire guns, then following with machine-gun salvos.

The moon cast a ghastly pallor; beneath its light, cannon fire erupted across the sea as gunpowder smoke rose in hazy pillars—a scene that made one imagine even the legendary night battle of Taranto Bay must have appeared thus. The gallant efforts of officers and sailors needed no elaboration. Though not combatants ourselves, how could we remain idle? Both Hamashima and I cast off our heavy coats and rushed to transport bullets and gunpowder. Petty Officer Muratake whirled his great military sword with such force that he seemed ready to leap onto their decks himself should any pirate ship draw near. Mrs. Harue’s graceful figure resembled a cherry blossom petal fluttering through storm-laden skies; as she tenderly lifted a soldier fallen wounded in battle, one could see fresh blood from the Imperial serviceman cascading over her snow-white arms.

The naval battle began at 2:30 AM and did not conclude until the break of dawn. On our side stood the loyal, brave, righteous, and fierce Japanese warship; the enemy was none other than the notorious pirate armada of the Indian Ocean. The pirate ships likely grew impatient with the artillery exchange at this point, for three or four of their most prominent vessels aligned their prows in unison and charged forth like a tempest—their decks ablaze with glinting blades—as pirates braced to board our warship upon collision. "Hah! How dare you filthy pirates think to stain our sacred deck with your vile blood!" Our warship thundered with redoubled fury. Gunpowder smoke darkened the sea like countless thunderclaps crashing simultaneously. Commander Matsushima's orders rang ever clearer from the command tower high above, while miraculous seamanship manifested at the helm. The 2,800-ton cruiser maneuvered effortlessly. When enemy ships attacked from starboard, our rapid-fire guns pursued them; when pirate vessels approached portside, machine guns repelled them. Yet though we chased and fired relentlessly, these formidable foes pressed closer—seven sturdy ships riding backward-surging waves as bloodied pirate flags grew sharper in the howling gale, making this battle seem endless. There! Suddenly! From dawn's distant horizon came a longboat charging through raging waves, kicking up spray—and there upon its stern fluttered an Imperial Warship Flag in the morning wind! The moment I saw this, I leaped from starboard to port.

“The Commander is coming! The Commander is coming! Commander Sakuragi’s Denkōtei is coming!!!” The echoes of these shouts resounded throughout the entire ship during a lull in the gunfire, stirring the officers and sailors of the Warship Hinode into momentary commotion. At this moment, Petty Officer Muratake stood at the warship’s prow—a minor wound on his right temple sending streams of blood into both eyes, which he wiped away with a fist—surveying the sea surface intently. The Denkōtei submarine approached like lightning, now about a thousand meters from our vessel. No sooner had it seemed to submerge beneath the waves than—swiftly or slowly mattered not—a tremendous uproar arose from the sea ahead. As they watched, one pirate ship shattered into pieces with a thunderous roar, sinking beneath a thousand fathoms amidst flying spray. Fresh chaos erupted as another vessel capsized stern-over-prow into the depths, its demon-marked pirate flag striking the waves twice, thrice—vanishing without trace in the blink of an eye.

“There! Commander Sakuragi is here! Reinforcements from the Denkōtei! Don’t let those sailors laugh at us for lagging—charge!” Under this cry, the officers and sailors of Warship Hinode—their courage redoubled—fired shells without respite. Like an iceberg fracturing into crystalline shards, their projectiles struck true against pirate ships tumbling headlong through the waves. Our stern’s eight-inch rapid-fire guns instantly sank one vessel, while twelve-centimeter high-explosive shells launched simultaneously marked Lieutenant Todoroki’s crowning feat! At that very moment, a pirate ship charging recklessly toward us took a direct hit to its ammunition depot—flames erupted within and without, its rudder disintegrating as it spun like a child’s top. From the depths surged the Denkōtei with lightning ferocity, invisible yet devastating: where its whirling three-pronged ram struck, enemy hulls shattered to splinters; where its new torpedoes streaked forth like white dragons vaulting skyward, they found their marks unerringly. Of the three remaining pirate vessels, one capsized from starboard to port, another from port to starboard—decks tilting visibly as waves crashed over them—until panic-stricken pirates still clutching rifles and cannons cascaded into the sea like an avalanche. Now only a single pirate ship remained! This was the Kaijūmaru—twin smokestacks and twin masts! Likely realizing all hope lost, the Kaijūmaru furled its flag and fled toward Olive Island beneath billowing black smoke, pursued across the waves by the Denkōtei—a galloping dragon needing no submersion—while our warship fell silent for ten...twenty seconds. Its razor-sharp three-pronged ram cleaved the pirate ship’s starboard flank like celestial lightning, accompanied by a thunderous roar that shook the firmament. Thus did the utterly wicked Kaijūmaru vanish beneath the waves in a towering plume of spray.

By now, night had fully given way, and from the eastern sky resembling lapis lazuli, a brilliant morning sun rose. Our captain Commander Matsushima wiped away streaming sweat, his face brimming with a smile as he glanced around—when suddenly the military band struck up "Kimigayo." Its mysteriously stirring melody seemed to make even the Indian Ocean waves dance in rhythm. From gangways, mast platforms, and combat decks, officers and sailors of our warship Hinode raised both hands high, waved flags, and erupted in cheers—exulting, rejoicing, leaping up in unison. Hamashima Takefumi and Mrs. Harue stood voiceless from overwhelming joy, while Lieutenant Todoroki and Petty Officer Muratake—one sporting a white headband over a minor wound on his right temple, the other on his left—joined me in gazing rapturously at the dawn-lit Indian Ocean. A crisp wind swept successive waves across the waters as Denkōtei—having just shattered Kaijūmaru to splinters—now slowly turned its prow toward us. Ah!!! Behold upon that glorious command tower—Commander Sakuragi stood with martial dignity, gauntlet raised to survey Hinode's deck, flanked by over thirty sun-bronzed sailors of peerless ferocity whose muscular frames radiated raw power. Beside him stood young Hideo in his customary sailor uniform—left hand gripping the collar of the fierce dog Inazuma, right clutching the Imperial Warship Flag billowing boldly in the sea breeze. His cherubic yet valiant face gazed up at us with a radiant smile.

――――～～～～～～～～――――

Dear readers!

White clouds flew low across an Indian Ocean where raging waves leapt to the heavens. Now aligned side by side for their homeward voyage were Warship Hinode of our Empire—having shattered both the world's great demon and seven notorious pirate ships into splinters—and the phantom-like Denkōtei submarine. The lengthy telegram dispatched last night from Singapore should have reached Japan’s Naval Ministry by now. As for the two vessels—having rounded Cape Comorin at the southern tip of the Indian continent last Friday, passed Serun Island’s offshore waters under a waning moon’s pallid glow over the Bay of Bengal, exchanged salutes with encountered British, French, German, and Russian warships while expressing gratitude, viewed the Great and Little Nicobar Islands to starboard and Salang Island to port, then slipped through the Strait of Malacca—that divide between East and West—as if in a dream—they now advanced through the China Sea’s billows. Thus even should waves hereafter rise high and winds rage fierce, I believed it would not be long before these two ships appeared before you all.

By then, through newspaper extras and word of mouth in the streets, even you in the most remote mountain hamlets would surely have heard of this new and joyous event—but I especially hoped! You all who resided near the coast—from Genkainada in the west, through Shimonoseki Strait into Seto Inland Sea, thence exiting Kii Strait past Shiozaki, along the shores of Tōnada Bay, Suruga Bay, and Sagami Bay—wherever waves crashed and ships anchored: in your morning and evening leisure, you must surely have taken time to gaze across distant seas—from second-story windows, from hills beyond your homes, from harborside piers—shading your eyes with hands raised. If, upon that horizon where sea and sky merged into azure, you first spied billowing black smoke, followed by the appearance of a white new-model cruiser—and alongside it, a strange craft kicking up spray like a dragon or shachi as it approached—then I implored you: let those with flags wave them high, let those with trumpets sound fanfares, let those with neither raise both hands and shout at the top of your voices, “Banzai for the Empire! Banzai for the Imperial Navy!” And when you saw the decks of those two vessels draw ever nearer—the Imperial Warship Flag fluttering from the cruiser’s mast and the submarine’s stern—then raise three cheers for Warship Hinode! Three cheers for Denkōtei! On the Denkōtei's observation tower were Commander Sakuragi, Petty Officer Muratake, young Hideo, and over thirty fierce and peerless sailors. On the deck of Warship Hinode were Commander Matsushima; Lieutenant Todoroki; Hamashima Takefumi; Mrs. Harue; and over two hundred crew members. All of them carried binoculars in their hands, waved white cloths, and were filled with joy—likely expressing gratitude for your kindness. At that moment, I would undoubtedly have been standing near Warship Hinode’s stern—either beside the 8-inch rapid-fire guns or by the high gangway above the waterline—respectfully raising my helmet-shaped hat high in my right hand, joining you all once more in three cheers of “Banzai for the Great Japanese Empire! Banzai for the Imperial Navy! Let us give three cheers.”

(On the deck of Warship Hinode)

The Island Sword Adventure: Undersea Warship — End