August 13th.—We were anchored in the bay the whole night waiting for the break of day, and left Nagasaki at six in the morning. The day is very fine. I lay comfortably stretched in my chair on the deck, covered all over with an awning to ameliorate the ardour of the sun. The crew was exercising on the upper deck. I hear the command of “Fire!” (powder charges). A second “False alarm” was rung, “Man overboard!” someone cried, and in the space of three minutes a life-boat was equipped and lowered, manned by two sailors who brought up triumphantly to the officer on duty the huge club, which represented the shipwrecked man.
August 14th.—The barometer has fallen. The wind is blowing very hard, and the sea is swelling rapidly. I remained shut up in my cabin all day stretched inertia in my narrow berth; I see the ceiling rise and descend. A very disagreeable feeling indeed!
August 15th.—The sea is something frightful. The wind moans and our ship pitches and groans as if she was going to fall in pieces.