Izzy Bird, angry at the ocean
Izzy Bird, of course there is

Izzy Bird, the junk


Today is Isabella’s last day in Hokkaido and she is about to step on the boat that will bring her back to Yokohama.

From her room in Hakodate, the sun is “shining brightly over the grey and windy capital, touching the pink peaks of Komono-taki with a deeper red, and is brightening my last impressions, which, like my first, are very pleasant.”

Sixty boats are in the bay, most Japanese but some are foreign. She goes on the describe the boat* in great detail, all of which is lost on me. It sounds nice enough.


Today was her last day with Ito. The parting brought her great regret. “He has served me faithfully, and on most common topics I can get much more information through him than from any foreigner. I miss him already, though he insisted on packing for me as usual, and put all my things in order. He goes to a good,** manly master, who will help him to be good and set him a virtuous example, and that is a satisfaction.”

She boards the boat on placid seas and is traveling with two other British people. The captain promises a 50-hour sail and a “rapid and delightful passage before us.” That, however, is not what happens.

* It’s a junk, technically.

** in this instance, “good” means “like a white European christian.” But this was waaaaaay before the British started to reckon with being colonizers so.


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