Imachizuki, the Sleeping and Waiting Moon (Three Days After Full)
One day, at last, in the mid-afternoon, the fog began to lift, but there was no sign of any break in the coastline. The Japanese didn’t realize it, but the outline of the Berkeley Hills, on the opposite side of the Bay, and of Angel Island, merged into those of the northern and southern headlands framing the Golden Gate, thus concealing the presence of the Bay.
“May the makers of the American encyclopedia burn in Avichi, the lowest of the Hells, if they misdrew this San Francisco Bay,” Lord Matsudaira shouted, at no one in particular. The captain nodded in polite agreement.
Still, Lord Matsudaira had come too far to just give up. He ordered the captain to trust to the up-time map, and the captain’s latitude calculations, and take the ship closer to shore. The fog vanished, but it was not until they were perhaps six miles from the Golden Gate that they could see the water between the headlands.
“That’s it?” asked Lord Matsudaira.
“It must be,” said the captain.
“I thought it was a bay large enough to hold all the ships in the world. I can barely see any water at all.”
“It’s like the gate of a castle, my lord,” said Daidoji Shigehisa, Lord Matsudaira’s lieutenant. He had been masterless, a ronin, during Lord Matsudaira’s exile, but had returned to his service when Lord Matsudaira accepted Iemitsu’s offer and was given permission to recruit warriors. “We can only see a bit of the courtyard now.”
The captain inclined his head. “If you’re in doubt, Lord Matsudaira, we can zigzag a bit, so you can see more of the bay.”
Lord Matsudaira thought about this for a moment, then shook his head. “No, take us straight in, before the damned fog returns.”
The captain ordered the Sado Maru forward, but under courses, its lower sails, only. The Japanese sailors, accustomed to the battened sail of the Asian junk, had taken several weeks to learn how to set and unset the European style sails of the Dutch-designed Sado Maru, but after crossing the Pacific with them, it had become second nature.
Leadsmen called out the soundings as they inched forward. Almost immediately, they reported that the water was rapidly getting shallower. They were clearly coming over some kind of shoal.
“Can’t we go faster, Captain?”
“We can, but we don’t know this harbor at all. If we go too fast, we could find ourselves run aground on rocks. We have to go slowly enough so that if the bottom reaches up for us, we can steer clear.”
“I suppose you know your own business,” said Lord Matsudaira. His tone suggested that he was still reserving judgment, even though the captain had gotten them across the Pacific.
The shallowest parts of the shoal were revealed by the breaking of the waves, and the ship picked out a safe path. It was slow-going, however, and Lord Matsudaira was practically dancing with impatience by the time they made it into deeper water beyond.
The ship was now feeling the beginning of the ebb tide. Under gravitational orders from the moon and sun, over half a trillion gallons of water were streaming out of San Francisco Bay, and on the double. Their only way out was through the Golden Gate, barely a mile wide.
As the Sado Maru approached the Golden Gate, the wind continued to fall off, while the ebb tide became even more energetic, running perhaps five knots. Whereas before the Sado Maru was deliberately creeping forward, so it could avoid any dangerous rocks, now it was fighting for every yard made good, even though it had raised its topsails to capture more wind.
“Is it my imagination or are we fucking moving backward?” snapped Lord Matsudaira.
“I am sorry, my lord, the outgoing current is very strong. But I am sure it will abate in an hour or two.”
“Do you notice how low the sun is in the sky? By that time it will have set.”
The captain quickly glanced west. “Yes, you’re right, my lord. We need the light in order to see our way clear of hazard, so I recommend we turn around now, and try again tomorrow.”
Lord Matsudaira glared at him. “Turn back now? After we have waited a week—a week—for the fog to lift? And with the Golden Gate almost in our grasp? I’ll have your head.” The hilt of his katana, visible above the line of his shoulder, reminded the captain that this was not an idle threat. “Can you guarantee that the fog won’t be back tomorrow?”
“It’s a pity, I’m really very sorry—”
Lord Matsudaira pressed him further. “Can this tub go any faster? So we can get into the bay before sunset?”
“We can add bonnet and drabbler to the courses, to catch more wind.” This was European terminology; courses were the lowest sails, and bonnets and drabblers were extra pieces of canvas that were laced onto them. “But the ship will be harder to control, and the channel looks dangerous. . . . Rocks on either side of us . . .”