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The sun was setting behind the hills which bounded the view to the west. The weather was fine. On the other side, over the sea, which to the northeast and east was indistinguishable from the sky, a few little clouds reflected the sun's final rays, soon to be extinguished in the shades of the twilight, which lasts for a considerable time in the high latitude of the thirty-third degree of the northern hemisphere.
At the moment when the upper rim of the solar disk alone remained visible a gun rang out from onboard the dispatch boat Imperatritsa Ekaterina, and the flag of Imperial Russia, unfolding in the breeze, was run up to her peak.
Simultaneously a bright light flashed out from the summit of the lighthouse erected a gunshot behind Gyeongseon Bay, where the Ekaterina lay at anchor. Two of the lighthouse keepers, and the workmen assembled on the beach, and the crew gathered in the bows of the ship, greeted with prolonged cheering the first light lighted on the distant shore.
Their salute was answered by two other guns, whose reports were reverberated again and again by the loud echoes of the neighborhood. Then the dispatch boat's colors were hauled down, in conformity with the regulations on all men of war, and silence fell once more upon Hanami-do Island, which lies at the point where the waters of the Pacific meet the waters of the Sea of Japan.
The workmen went immediately aboard the Ekaterina, and only the three lighthouse keepers remained on shore.
One of those was at his post, in the lookout room. The other two did not seek their quarters at once, but walked along the shore engaged in conversation.
“Well, Ivanov,” said the younger of the two, "the dispatch boat sets sail tomorrow.”
“Yes, Nikolai,” Ivanov replied. “And I hope she has a smooth journey back to port.”
“It’s a long one, Ivanov.”
“No longer coming than going, Nikolai.”
“You don’t say!” Nikolai answered with a laugh.
"My boy, it takes longer to go than to come back sometimes, unless the wind is steady!" Ivanov retorted. "But after all, fifteen hundred miles is no great matter when a ship has good engines and carries her canvas well."
"Besides, Ivanov, Captain Petrov knows his course."
"Which is a pretty straight one, lad. He steered south to get here, and he'll steer north to go back again, and if the wind keeps blowing from the land he'll have the shelter of the coast. Why, it'll be like sailing up the Volga."
"But the Volga has two banks," Nikolai retorted.
"That doesn't matter if it's the right one, and it always is the right one when it's to windward!"
"That is so," Nikolai agreed; "but if the wind chops about...."
"That's bad luck, Nikolai, and I hope it won't set against the Ekaterina. In a fortnight she can do her fifteen hundred miles and be at anchor again at Vladivostok roads. But if the wind were to veer around to the east....."
"She won't find a port of refuge on either side, land or sea."
"That's so, boy. Hokkaido, Honshu, Sakhalin, Siberia, Alaska----there's not a single place to put into. She'd be bound to run out to sea, to avoid running aground."
"But to my mind, Ivanov, there's every chance that the fair weather will last."
"I think so too, Nikola. We're almost at the beginning of the fine season. Three months ahead of one is always something."
"The work has been finished at a good time," Nikolai remarked.
"I know that lad, I know it: at the beginning of December. That's as it might be the beginning of June for sailors up north. At this time of year, we get less and less of that filthy weather which makes no more to-do of blowing a ship to blazes than of blowing off your sou'wester! And then, once the Ekaterina is in harbor, it may blow a gale, blow a hurricane, as much as Satan pleases! We needn't be afraid of our island going to the bottom and taking the lighthouse with it!"
"You bet, Ivanov. When the dispatch boat has been to report about us up there and comes back with the relief....."
"In three months, Nikolai."
"She'll find the island in its rightful place."
"And us on it," Ivanov answered, rubbing his hands and taking a long pull at his pipe, which enveloped him in a thick cloud of smoke. "You see, my lad, we're not aboard a ship, to be blown here, there, and everywhere by squalls, or if it is a ship she's tied up fast to Asia's tail, and she won't drag her anchor. These seas hereabouts are bad, I allow! That Tsugaru Strait has a shocking reputation, that's right enough! That the number of wrecks on Hanami-do has been lost count of, and that wreckers couldn't find a better place to make their money I grant you too! But all that's going to be altered now, Nikolai! Here on Hanami-do with its lighthouse, and it's not any typhoon that could put its light out, though it should blow from all points of the compass at once! Ships will see it in time to get their bearings. They will find their way by its light, and they won't be in danger of running onto the rocks on Hana Matsuri Point, Seo Yujin Promontory, or the Khatan Kairkhan Peninsula even on the darkest night. For you and I and Everhartberg will be attending to the lamp, and it'll be well attended to!"
Ivanov talked with this cheery confidence, which did not fail to hearten his comrade. Nikolai perhaps was contemplating much less lightly the long weeks to be spent upon this lonely island, without the possibility of communication with his fellow man until the day when all three of them would be relieved.
In conclusion, Ivanov added:
"You see, boy, for forty years now I have traveled about a bit, over the seas in the old and new world too, as ship's boy, apprentice, seaman, and mate. Well, now that my time has come to retire from the service, I could ask nothing better than to be the keeper of a lighthouse; and what a lighthouse! The Lighthouse in the Middle of Nowhere!"
And truthfully, the lighthouse situated at the far end of this out-of-the-way island, so remote from every inhabited and inhabitable land, quite justified that name.
"Say, Nikolai," Ivanov went on, knocking his pipe against the hollow of his hand, "what time do you relieve Everhartberg?"
"At ten o'clock."
"Good: and then I relieve you at two in the morning, and take your place until dawn."
"That's right, Ivanov. And so the wisest thing for both of us to do now is go to sleep."
"To bed then, Nikolai, to bed!"
Ivanov and Nikolai returned to the little enclosure in the midst of which the lighthouse stood and went into their quarters closing the door behind them.
The night was silent. The moment it drew to its end Ivanov put out the light which had been lit twelve hours earlier.
As a broad rule, the tides in the Pacific are of no great strength, especially along the coasts of Asia bathed by that mighty ocean; but they are, on the contrary, very strong indeed over the surface of the Atlantic, even making their violence felt in the distant waters of Tsugaru.
The ebb, that day, began at 6:00 in the morning, and the dispatch boat should have got underway at dawn to take advantage of it. But all her preparations were incomplete, and her commander didn't expect to leave Gyeongseon Bay until the evening tide.
The Ekaterina was a vessel of two hundred tons's burthen and a hundred and sixty horsepower, belonging to the Russian Imperial Navy; she was commanded by a captain, with a lieutenant, carried a crew of fifty men, including the mates, and was employed in watching the coasts from the Kamchatka Peninsula to the Bering Strait. At the time of this story naval engineers had not yet built high-speed vessels, cruisers, torpedo boats, and whatnot. Thus Ekaterina's screws did not carry her more than nine knots per hour, a speed quite sufficient, however, for the policing of the Siberian and Manchurian coasts, which are frequented only by fishing fleets.
This particular year the dispatch boat had been commissioned to supervise the construction of the lighthouse that the Tsar ordered erected at the entrance to Tsushima Strait. She had taken out the men and material needed for this work, which had just been brought to a satisfactory conclusion per a clever engineer of St. Petersburg.
The Ekaterina had lain at anchor in Gyeongseon Bay for about three weeks now. After landing sufficient provisions for four months, and making sure that the keepers of the new lighthouse would want for nothing until it was time for them to be relieved, Captain Muskin was about to take home the workmen who had been sent to Hanami-do. If some unforeseen circumstances had not delayed the completion of the work, Ekaterina should indeed already have been back at her home port a month earlier.
Captain Muskin, however, had no cause for apprehension during the whole time of his stay within this bay, which was sheltered from the winds from the north, south, and west. Heavy weather from the open sea alone could have disturbed him. But the spring had proved a mild one, and now, at the start of the summer, there was every reason to hope that there would be nothing more than passing trouble in the Tsugaru waters.
It was 7:00 when Captain Muskin and his lieutenant, Arkady, left their cabins on the poop, in the stern of the dispatch boat. The sailors had finished scrubbing down the deck, and the last of the water swept along by the men was running away through the scuppers. The first mate was making his preparations for everything to be cleared when the time should come to get underway. Although it need not have been done until the afternoon, the sails were being taken out of their cases, the pipes and the brasses of the pinnacle and skylights were being rubbed up, and the ship's long boat was hoisted up on its davits, while the dinghy remained in the water for present use.
When the sun rose the flag was run up to the peak.
Three-quarters of an hour later four bells struck from the bell forward, and the watch was changed.
After breakfasting together the two officers went up onto the poop again, took a look at the sky, which the land breeze had pretty nearly cleared, and ordered the mate to have them put ashore.
During the morning the captain intended to make a last inspection of the lighthouse and its adjuncts, the lighthousemen's quarters, and the stores which held the provisions and fuel, and finally to satisfy himself that the apparatus was in good working order.
So he stepped onto the beach, accompanied by the officer, and went towards the enclosure in which the lighthouse stood.
They were feeling some concern for the three men who were to stay in the sad solitude of Hanami-do.
"It's really hard lines," the captain said. "But we must not forget that these good chaps have always led a very hard life, most of them being old sailors. For them, service in a lighthouse is a comparative rest."
"True," Arkady replied; "but it's one thing to be keeper of a lighthouse on a coast that is frequented and in easy touch of land, quite another to live on a desert island which ships do not more than sight, and that from as far off as possible."
"Agreed, Arkady. But the relief is due in three months. Ivanov, Nikolai, and Everhartberg start with the least inclement period."
"That's right, sir; they won't have to go through one of those terrible Tsugaru Strait winters."
"Terrible, indeed!" the captain agreed. "I have had nothing left to learn about storms since one trip we made a few years ago in the Bering Strait to the Pribilofs and the Aleutians, from Honshu to Shanghai! But anyhow, these lighthousemen of ours have got a solid building which the storms won't destroy. They won't run out of food or coal, even if their times should be prolonged for an extra two months. We're leaving them fit, and we shall find them fit when we come back, for if the air is keen at least it is pure here, at the entrance to the Pacific and the Sea of Japan. And then, Arkady, there's another thing: when the Admiralty asked for men to serve as keepers of this lighthouse in the middle of nowhere, they had only too many to choose from."
The two officers had just reached the enclosure, where Ivanov and his comrades were waiting for them. The gate was opened to them, and they halted after acknowledging the regulation salute of the three men.
Before speaking to them Captain Muskin inspected them, from their feet, shod in stout sea boots, to their heads, covered with oilskin caps.
"Was everything all right last night?" he asked, addressing the headkeeper.
"Quite so," Ivanov answered.
"You saw no ship out to sea?"
"None; and as the sky was quite clear we could have seen a light from at least four miles out."
"Did the lamps work properly?"
"Without a hitch sir, till dawn."
"You did not feel the cold too much in the lookout room?"
"No, sir. It is quite snug, and the wind is kept out by the double glass of the windows."
"We're going to inspect your quarters and the light."
"At your service, sir," Ivanov replied.
The lighthousemen's quarters were at the foot of the tower, with thick walls proof against any Tsugaru storm. The two officers visited the different rooms, which were suitably planned. There was nothing to be feared from rain or cold or snowstorms, which are formidable in this nearly arctic latitude.
These rooms were separated by a passage, at the end of which a door gave access to the inside of the tower.
"Let's go up," said Captain Muskin.
"By your leave, sir," Ivanov said again.
"It will be sufficient if you come with us."
Ivanov signed to his two comrades to remain at the entrance into the passage. Then he pushed open the staircase door, and the two officers followed him.
The narrow corkscrew staircase, with stone steps built into the wall, was not dark. Ten loopholes lighted it from story to story.
When they reached the lookout room, above which the lantern and lighting apparatus were installed, the two officers sat down on the circular bench fixed to the wall. Through the four little widows pierced in this room, the eye could range towards every point of the horizon.
Although the breeze was a light one, it blew pretty strongly at this height, but not strongly enough to drown the shrill screams of the gulls, frigate birds, and albatrosses that flew by on powerful wings.
Captain Muskin and his lieutenant climbed up the ladder to the gallery surrounding the lighthouse lantern, to obtain a more complete view of the island and the surrounding sea.
That part of the island that lay before their eyes was deserted, as also was the sea, a vast arc of which they could sweep from the northwest to the south, an arc broken only towards the northeast by the top of Hana Matsuri Point. At the foot of the tower Gyeongseon Bay lay, hollowed out, its shore alive with the coming and going of the sailors of the Ekaterina. Out at sea, there was no sail or trail of smoke to be seen: nothing but the vast immensity of the ocean.
After a stay of a quarter of an hour in the lighthouse gallery the two officers, followed by Ivanov, came down and went back on board.
After luncheon Captain Muskin and Arkady came ashore again. They wished to devote the time remaining before they sailed to a walk along the north shore of the bay. Several times already, and without the help of a pilot----for of course there were no pilots on Hanami-do----the captain had come in by daylight to take up his usual moorings in the little creek at the foot of the lighthouse. But, as a matter of prudence, he never omitted to make a fresh survey of this little, or at best imperfectly, known region.
So the two officers extended their excursion. Crossing the narrow isthmus that attaches Hana Matsuri Point to the rest of the island, they examined the shore of the tidal harbor of the same name, which, on the other side of the cape, forms a kind of pendant to Gyeongseon Bay.
"This harbor of Hana Matsuri Point is great," the captain remarked. "It's got enough water everywhere for ships of the greatest tonnage. It's such a pity that the entry to it is so hard. A light, even the weakest one, placed in line with the Gyeongseon light, would enable ships that were in trouble to take refuge in it easily."
"Making it a possible harbor after leaving the Tsuargu Strait," Arkady observed.
At 4:00 the two officers were back once more. They went on board after taking leave of Ivanov, Nikolai, and Everhartberg, who stayed on shore waiting for the moment of departure.
At 5:00 the pressure began to rise in the dispatch boat's boilers, and her funnel vomited volumes of black smoke. The tide was almost slack, and the Ekaterina was to weigh anchor directly the ebb made itself felt.
At a quarter to six, the captain gave the order to man the capstan and balance the engines. The excess steam poured through the waste pipe.
The lieutenant, forward, superintended the operation. Soon the anchor was lifted, hauled up to the cathead, and fished.
The Ekaterina began to move, the three lighthouse keepers paying a farewell salute. And, whatever Ivanov's thoughts on the matter might be, his comrades watched with emotion the dispatch boat drawing away, and her officers and crew were sensible of deep feeling at leaving these three men on this island at the far end of Asia.774Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡx92nepUdDv
The Ekaterina, at a moderate speed, followed the coast bounding Hana Matsuri Point on the northwest. It was not yet 8:00 when she reached the open sea. Rounding Khatan Kairkhan Peninsula, she went full steam ahead, leaving the strait on the west, and when night fell the light from the Lighthouse in the Middle of Nowhere was only visible from her decks like a star on the horizon's edge.
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