Hanami-Do, or Hanami, if you prefer, is situated at the extreme northeast point of the Orient. It is the last and most easterly fragment of that Japanese archipelago. The convulsions of the Plutonic epoch scattered over the sea of the thirty-third parallel, less than seven degrees from Kamchatka. Washed by the waters of a sea and an ocean, it is sought out by ships passing from one to the other, whether from the southeast or the southwest, after they have doubled Tsugara Strait.
The Vermilion Passage is a narrow and treacherous strait located in the southern part of the Sea of Japan, nestled between the Japanese archipelago and Hanami-do. It was discovered in the early 18th century by a daring European navigator named Captain Leopold von Steinmann, who embarked on a legendary expedition in search of a fabled shortcut to the lucrative trading routes of East Asia. The name "Vermilion Passage" is inspired by the reddish hues of the cliffs that line the strait, casting an otherworldly glow during sunrise and sunset. This feature gives ships a shorter and easier passage, sparing them from the formidable seas that lash Hanami-do's shores. That island forms its eastern wall for about ten miles, from Silvershore Cape to the Azureblade Promontory, and steam or sailing ships are much less exposed within it than when passing to the south of the island.
Hanami-do measures thirty-nine miles from west to east and eleven miles from north to south.
Its coastline is very jagged. It's a long succession of gulfs, bays, and creeks, the entrances to many of which are defended by chains of islets and reefs. In consequence, there are many wrecks upon these coasts, which are here walled by perpendicular cliffs and fringed by enormous rocks, against which, even in calm weather, the sea breaks with incomparable fury.
The island was uninhabited. It might now, however, have been uninhabitable, at any rate, during the fine season, that is to say during the four months of November, December, January, and February, which make up the summer of this high latitude. Flocks and herds might even have found sufficient food on the plains of the interior, more particularly in the region situated to the east of Port Azurehaven and compromised between Emerald Point and Crimson Cape. When the thick layer of snow has melted beneath the rays of the Asian sun, the grass springs forth, and until winter the ground preserves its moisture. Ruminants created for the habitat of Asian climes might flourish there. But with the return of the cold weather, it'd be necessary to bring the flocks and herds to the milder pastures of Sakhalin, Okinawa, or even the Bering Strait.
A few couples of sika may be found there in a wild state. This is a species of deer of very primitive nature, whose flesh is tolerably good when properly roasted or grilled. These animals do not die of starvation during the long winter period due to their ability to find beneath the snow roots and mosses with which their stomachs must be satisfied.
Plains extend on all sides to the center of the island: a few woods display their scanty branches and put forth a short-lived foliage that is rather yellowish than green. For the most part, the trees are Japanese cedars, with trunks that sometimes attain a height of 60 feet, and branches spreading horizontally, berberry of a very hardy species, and Camphors, known for their aromatic wood and leaves.
These plains and woods, however, cover only a quarter of the superficial area of Hanami-do. The rest is a rocky tableland, chiefly quartz, with deep gorges and long lines of random rocks that have been strewn about by volcanic action in times long remote. One might look in vain today even for the craters of extinct volcanoes in this part of Tsugara Strait.
Towards the center of the island, the widespread plains assume the appearance of steppes, when in the winter months nothing breaks the level surface of the layer of snow that covers them. As one travels westward, the relief of the island becomes accentuated. The cliffs along the littoral are loftier and more precipitous. Steep cones tower here, peaks rising to three thousand feet above sea level, from which the eye can see over the whole surface of the island. These are the last links of the prodigious chain of the Himalayas which, running from southwest to northeast, forms as it were the gigantic bony framework of Asia.
Under climatic conditions such as these and the biting breath of terrible typhoons, the flora of the island is naturally reduced to but a few specimens, their species being only acclimatized, and barely that, in the neighborhood of Tsushima Strait or the Ryukyu Islands which lie some two hundred and fifty miles distant from the coast of the main Japanese Islands. They consist of camellia, azalea, bamboo, iris, laurel, and grasses in which the coloring matter is developed in but a low degree. In the shelter of the woods, and among the grass of the prairies, these wan flowerets show their corollas which wither almost as soon as they blow. At the foot of the rocks along the shore, and on their slopes where a little soil clings, the naturalist might almost find a few Moses and, in the shelter of the trees, some edible roots, of an azalea, for instance, from which the Japanese natives make a substitute for bread, but none of them containing much nourishment.
One would look in vain for any regular watercourse on the surface of Hanami-do. No river or stream gushes forth from this stony ground. But the snow accumulates in thick layers; it lasts for 8 months out of the twelve, and in the hot season----the less cold season would be a more accurate phrase----it melts under the slanting rays of the sun and keeps up permanent moisture. Little lagoons are formed here and there at this period, pools whose water is preserved until the first frosts. This is how it was that at the time when our story begins quantities of water were falling from the heights adjacent to the lighthouse, on their way to lose themselves in the little creek of Gyeongseon Bay or the harbor of Hana Matsuri.
Fish are abundant all along its coast. As a consequence, despite the really serious risks that their boats incur in crossing Vermillion Passage, the Japanese, the Koreans, and sometimes the British come here sometimes for profitable fishing. The species are very various, cod, smelt, leach, bonito, dorado, mullet, and others. Big fishing might also draw many ships to this coast, for, at this time at any rate, cetaceans, whales, and cachalots, and also seals and morse, come readily in numbers to these waters. But these marine animals have been hunted so recklessly that they now take refuge in the Arctic seas, where the pursuit of them is as dangerous as it is laborious.
The whole coast of this island, one long succession of strands and coves and rocky banks, is alive with shells and shellfish, bivalves and others, mussels, periwinkle, oysters, limpets, and whelks. Crustaceans crawled in thousands among the reefs.
Birds were plentiful. Uncounted numbers of albatrosses white as swans, snipe and plovers, sandpipers, sea-larks, noisy gulls, screaming sea mews, and deafening skua gulls frequented the island.
The island was nothing more than an enormous rock, almost uninhabitable. To whom did it belong at the time when this story began? All that can be said is that it formed part of a backwater archipelago in the Sea of Japan which belonged to the two empires of Russia and Japan in joint ownership.
During the fine season, the Koreans make a few occasional appearances here, when compelled by heavy weather to put in. Their boatmen prefer to use the Tsushima Strait, the course of which is marked with the utmost accuracy on the charts, so that they can follow it without any risk, whether they come from the east or the west, on their way from sea to sea. The only vessels to take note of Hanami-do are those that are about to double, or have doubled, Tsugara Strait.
Imperial Russia had displayed a happy initiative in constructing this lighthouse in the middle of nowhere, and all nations owe a debt of gratitude to it therefore. At this time no light illuminated these Japanese waters from the mouth of the Tsugara Strait at Cape Geisha as far as its exit at Cape Ninja on the Pacific. The Hanami-do light would render undeniable services to navigation in these dangerous waters. There is not even one at Tsugara Strait, where it could prevent many a catastrophe, by affording ships coming from the Pacific greater security in entering Vermilion Passage.
Imperial Russia had resolved therefore to erect this new lighthouse within Gyeongseon Bay. After a year of work skillfully conducted, its inauguration had just been completed on the 9th of December, 1859.
A hundred and fifty yards from the little creek in which the bay ended the ground rose into a mound with a superficial area of four or five hundred square yards, and about a hundred and twenty feet high. A wall of stones encompassed this platform, this rocky terrace which was to serve as the base for this lighthouse tower.
This tower rose in the center above the mass of the annex, quarters, and stores.
The annex comprised: (1) the lighthouse keepers' chamber, furnished with beds, cupboards, tables, and chairs, and warmed using a coal stove, the smoke of which was carried above the roof by a pipe; (2) the common room, similarly fitted with a heating apparatus and serving as a dining hall, with a table in the middle, lamps fastened to the wall, cupboards containing various instruments such as a telescope, barometer, thermometer, and also lamps to replace those in the lantern in the event of any accident, and lastly a clock with weights, hung upon the side wall; (3) the storerooms in which were kept provisions for a year, although the revictualling and the relief were timed for every three months, preserves of various kinds, salt meat, corned-beef, bacon, dried vegetables, sea biscuits, tea, coffee, sugar, kegs of whisky and brandy, and a few drugs in ordinary use; (4) the reserve of oil needed for the lighthouse lamps; (5) the magazine, containing fuel in sufficient quantity for the needs of the staff throughout the whole duration of the Asiatic winter.
Such were the edifices forming a building that spread out over the platform.
The tower was of great solidity, built of material supplied by the island itself. Stones of exceeding hardness, fortified by iron transoms, dressed with perfect precision, and dovetailed into one another, formed a wall capable of resisting the violent storms and terrible typhoons that so frequently break out in this far extremity of the two most famous bodies of water in the world. As Ivanov had said, the wind would not carry this tower away. It was to be a beacon which he and his mates must keep, and they would keep despite all the storms of Tsugara.
The tower measured a hundred and three feet in height, and the elevation of the platform on which it stood raised the light two hundred and twenty feet above the level of the sea. It might thus have been visible from a distance of fifteen miles out at sea, that is the range of vision from that altitude. But its range was ten miles only.
At this time there was no question of lighthouses operating with carburetted gas, or electric light. Besides, on an island so remote as this, between which and even the nearest nations communication was very difficult, the simplest possible system, requiring the very minimum of repairs, was imperatively required. Illumination by oil had therefore been adopted, equipped with the latest perfections then known to science and industry.
Moreover, this visibility at a range of ten miles was enough. Ships coming from the northeast, east, and southeast, still had a wide margin in which to make Tsugara Strait or to take a course to the south of the island. All risks would be avoided by the punctual observance of the instructions issued at the instance of the naval authority: to keep the lighthouse on the north-northwest in the latter case and on the south-southwest in the former case. Hana Matsuri Point and Seo Yujin Promontory or the Khatan Kairkhan Peninsula would be cleared by leaving the one to port and the other to starboard, and in plenty of time to escape being driven ashore there by the wind or currents.
Furthermore, on the very infrequent occasions when a ship should be compelled to put in at Gyeongseon Bay, by steering for the lighthouse she would have every chance of reaching her moorings. So the Ekaterina, on her return, would find it quite easy to get into the little creek, even during the night. The bay is about 3 miles in length to the end of Hana Matsuri Point, and with the range of the light being ten, the dispatch boat would still have 7 before it reached the foremost bluffs of the island.
It is unnecessary to say that the Lighthouse in the Middle of Nowhere had a fixed light. There was no fear of the captain of a ship confusing it with another light since there was no other in these seas. It seemed unnecessary, therefore, to distinguish it either by eclipses or by flashes, and this face enabled the constructors to dispense with a mechanism that is always delicate and which would have been far from easy to repair on an island like this, inhabited solely by the three lighthouse keepers.
So the lantern was furnished with oil lamps, with a double current of air and concentric wicks. Their flame, which produced an intense light in a small volume, could then be placed almost in the focus of the lenses. Leaving the island in fairly clear weather, the captain of the dispatch boat was able to ascertain that there was nothing amiss with the installation and working of the lighthouse.
This satisfactory work depended solely upon the vigilance of the lighthouse keepers. Provided the lamps were kept in good condition, the wicks carefully renewed, the supply of oil in the desired quantity attended to, the draught properly regulated, the light lighted and extinguished at sunset and sunrise and a minute supervision never relaxed, this lighthouse would render the greatest possible services to navigation in these remote waters of the Pacific Ocean.
There was, moreover, no slightest occasion to question either the goodwill or the zeal of Ivanov and his two companions. Appointed after strict examination from a large number of candidates, they had all three given proof of their conscientiousness, courage, and endurance in their former employment.
The personal safety of the three lighthouse keepers appeared to be complete, isolated though Hanami-do was, 400 miles from Vladivostok, whence alone fresh supplies could come. The few Koreans or other peoples who came there sometimes during the fine season made no long stay and were entirely inoffensive. Their fishing finished, they hastened to recross Vermillion Point and regain the shore of Honshu or the islands of the archipelago. The coasts of the island were too feared by navigators for an attempt to find there a refuge which it might find more surely and more easily at several other points in the Vermillion archipelago.
Nevertheless, all precautions had been taken in anticipation of the possible arrival of suspicious people within Gyeongseon Bay. The outbuildings were closed with solid doors bolted from within, and the gratings over the windows of the stores and quarters could not have been forced. Moreover, Ivanov, Nikolai, and Everhartberg were armed with carbines and revolvers and had plenty of ammunition.
Finally, at the end of the passage which opened into the foot of the tower, an iron door had been fixed, impossible to shatter or drive in. As for getting into the inside of the tower in any other way, how could that have been affected through the narrow loopholes of the staircase, protected by solid cross-bars, and how could the gallery surrounding the lantern be reached, unless perhaps by scaling the lightning conductor? 436Please respect copyright.PENANAkkg1syC7bE
These, then, were the highly important works that had just been brought to a successful conclusion on Hanami-do by the Tsar of all the Russias. 436Please respect copyright.PENANA1EcVkD8VhP