Free Anthology of Japanese Literature by Donald Keene

reflected in the bottom of the sea—it must have been on a night like this that the ancient poet wrote of "oars piercing the moon on the waves, the boat traversing skies in the sea's depths." At least, those are his words so far as I remember. Someone composed this poem on a similar theme:
As we row over the moon in the sea bottom,
Will our oars be entangled in a Katsura tree?
    Hearing this, another said:
Gazing down, we row across a firmament
Beneath the water—how small we feell
    As we proceed it grows gradually lighter. "Dark clouds have suddenly appeared!" shouts the pilot. "It will blow, I think. I'm turning the boat back!" We return to the harbor amid rain, feeling miserable.
    They wait for several more days at Murotsu, for a chance to round Muroto Cape.
    Twenty-first day: At about the hour of the Hare we set out once more. All the other boats move out at the same time, so that, as we look around us, it seems as if the early spring seas are already dotted with fallen autumn leaves. Perhaps in answer to our constant prayers, the wind no longer blows, and we row along in bright sunshine. ... As we continue on our way, talking of this and that, the master of the boat anxiously scans the seas. It seems that, now that we are leaving the bounds of the province, there is a danger that pirates may seek vengeance on the ex-governor. As we think of this, the sea once more becomes a place of terror. All of us have grown white-haired in these last weeks. Truly, an age of seventy or eighty years is soon reached on the sea!
Tell us, Lord of the Islands, which is the whitest—
The surf on the rocks or the snow on our heads?
    Ask him, pilot!
    Twenty-second day: We set out from last night's harbor. Mountains are visible in the far distance. A boy of eight—looking even less than his years—was amazed to discover that, as our boat moves, the mountains appear to move with us. He composed this poem:
Viewed from a moving boat, even mountains move—
But do the mountain pines know this?
    It is a fitting poem for a child. Today the sea is rough. Around the rocks the foam is like driving snow, and the waves themselves are flowers in bloom:
A wave is but a single thing, we're told; but from its hue
You'd think it was a mixture—flowers and snow!
    Twenty-third day: The sun appears, but is soon obscured by cloud. Since we have been told that this particular area is infested by pirates, we pray for the protection of the gods and Buddhas. . . .
    Twenty-sixth day: Being told again (with what truth, I do not know) that pirates are on our tracks, we started out at about midnight, and on our way made offerings to the gods. The pilot cast our paper charms into the sea, and as they drifted off to the east he cried: "In the same direction in which these offerings drift, vouchsafe that this vessel may speed!" Hearing this, a young girl made the poem:
Blow steadily, wind, behind our boat, even as you blow
These charms offered to the ocean gods.
    At about this time the wind was good, and the pilot—with an air of self-importance, and with evident relief—ordered the sails to be raised. Hearing his words of command we women, young and old alike, were overjoyed, feeling that Kyoto is not far off now. . . .
    The next two days are stormy, and the boats remain in harbor—the place is not specified, but it is presumably somewhere in the region of the present city of Tokushima. On the twenty-ninth day of the second moon they move on to Naruto, and the following day they make for Awaji Island and the mainland.
    Thirtieth day: The wind and rain have stopped. Having heard that pirates operate only by day, we started at about midnight, rowing past the Awa whirlpool. It was pitch dark and we could see to neither right nor left. As we passed the whirlpool men and women alike prayed fervently to the gods and Buddhas. Near dawn we passed a place called Nushima, and then Tanagawa. Pressing on in great haste, we arrived at Nada in Izumi