December 28th.—Since early this morning I have been visiting ships. Here is a description of life in a torpedo-boat,—crowded, dirty, hot, and always rolling; the decks littered with various things, the crew sleeping in every corner. Dogs are crowded together, and in several boats there are monkeys. There is nowhere to walk. The crew—good, resolute, bold, and crafty—are crowded with the officers, but do not inconvenience them.

I called on the Borodino and went into the wardroom and captain's cabin. During the last voyage they got up theatricals for the amusement of the crew. They were very successful. The clowns especially excelled; they say they were as good as professionals.

The sun here scorches one severely. I descended from the Kamchatka, sat on the wooden thwart of the cutter, and jumped up quickly—I had burnt myself.

December 29th.—To-day from 12.30 I was on shore with the captain, buying wood. We were at a German factory, and I asked the Germans to send a letter when opportunity offered. I think they may be depended on.

Letter No. 74 was sent by collier to Port Said, where the mail will be handed over to the Consul, and he will dispatch them to the staff, who will forward them to the addresses—a lengthy procedure. A steamer has arrived with provisions (the Esperanza).

On shore I saw a negro suffering from the so-called elephantiasis. His legs were swollen, and were as thick as wooden posts. The disease only attacks negroes and Malays.

I wonder what telegrams the admiral has received? A French torpedo-boat brought some service telegrams, as well as private ones, from Mayung (Mojanga). The former are, of course, in cipher. They are deciphering them now.

My servant has just come to ask me to change his Russian money for French money. I gave him five francs. There is very little foreign money in the fleet, and great trouble in changing Russian. No decision as to the fate of our fleet has been received from Petersburg. They are silent—perhaps they are consulting.

Three officers have been discharged from the fleet: an ensign who went mad, a lieutenant through illness, and the paymaster of the Aurora. A court of inquiry has been appointed to survey the transports Malay and Kniaz Gortchakoff, which are being sent to Russia. I am one of the members. I wanted to go ashore to-morrow, but shall not be able, owing to this inquiry. It is very trying, having to remain waiting the decision of the fate of the fleet from Petersburg.

December 30th.—I was unable to finish my letter yesterday, as I was sent to the Borodino. I went there at twelve, midnight. An unfortunate accident occurred. Two sailors went into the wing passage and were suffocated, although the manhole was open. The closeness in these passages is frightful—there is little air, and poisonous gases accumulate. The sailors, in my opinion, became weak, could not lift themselves up the ladder, fell, struck their heads on something, and were suffocated. They wanted to make a post-mortem on the deceased, but did not do so.

I passed the night in the Borodino, in the admiral's dining-cabin on a sofa. At six I got up, having slept for two or three hours. They provided me with a mat and a pillow. It was fearfully hot and stuffy, although the doors and ports were open. The heat is unbearable. You are always wet with perspiration. Yesterday I saw a case of sickness from the heat. A writer was taken ill at night, though it was cooler then than in the day.

A sailor in the Suvaroff was also nearly suffocated in the wing passage. Sunstrokes are frequent. I called this morning at the Suvaroff, and was immediately sent on board the Malay for the inquiry. While there I was twice sent for by the admiral. He wrote a severe order about the death of the two sailors in the Borodino. He ordered me to add to this order some technical details. Taking advantage of this, I toned the order down as much as I could in sending it to be printed.

At four o'clock the dead sailors from the Borodino were buried. The admiral was present at the requiem service. Their bodies were taken in a boat to the torpedo-boat Bravy. She took them further out to sea and committed them to the deep. It was a sad ceremony. When the cutter shoved off from the Borodino with the bodies, they fired guns; the band played the funeral march, "Kol Slaven." The officers and crews of all the ships stood at "attention."

Phew! how stuffy! I can scarcely write. In the Borodino I saw that the officers, to escape the heat, slept on deck among the coal, like the crew, undressed and dirty. The beds of the officers are only distinguished from those of the crew by being mats. When I first saw this sleeping company I could hardly believe my eyes.

What an unfortunate day it has been for the Ural! In the morning a sailor had a sunstroke, and in the evening two officers, an ensign and a lieutenant, were struck by the traveller of the Temperley,[5] which had carried away. The ensign was killed on the spot—his chest was crushed and his spine broken. There is still hope of saving the lieutenant. He received a blow on the head, and fell down unconscious; it may be he will pull through. It is a strange thing about this lieutenant. He is a Black Sea officer, and has only just come to the Ural. He was sent from the Black Sea at half an hour's notice to this cruiser. You see many officers in the fleet, but his Black Sea cap (all white with a peak) attracted the eye. He was on board the Suvaroff an hour before the accident. They induced him to remain; he was late for his watch; but all the same, to his misfortune, he went to his ship. When he came on board us he met some comrades, told them a lot about the Black Sea fleet, abused it and its personnel. I was sitting near and was an involuntary listener. His stories interested me. Abusing the personnel, he related how three of his comrades with whom he lived made an end of their lives. "See," he said, "I lived with four comrades, and three of them have put an end to their lives, and something of the same kind will happen to me." He said this about an hour before the accident. For a few minutes before his departure I talked to him, and he told me how he had come to the Ural.

There is a great talk in the wardroom now about the Suvaroff being forbidden communication with the shore, because a sailor was absent and they made no attempt to find him. In every ship you must look out for animals—parrots, monkeys, oxen, chicken, geese, chameleons, frogs, pigs, and dogs; in a word, every sort is collected together. In one of the ships they brought a snake in the hay for the cattle. It bit an engineer in the breast, which swelled tremendously. They feared he would die. Now he is all right; the swelling has subsided.

It is late; I must go and try to sleep. Haven't slept much for the last two nights.

December 31st.—There has been a great deal of talk about the sending of money to Russia for the crew. It cannot be managed. New Year's Eve is on us, but the days are so much alike that no one ever thought about it up to the present time. The sailor who had sunstroke died, and after death the temperature of his body was 43° R.

I had scarcely finished my letter when I had to go in the cutter to the Ural. The Ural is one of the steamers bought from the Germans. She is very well finished. In the saloons are paintings, gilt and carved decorations. She is very big.

I went below, and the requiem service began. I shall not forget it soon. Here were joined luxury and poverty, elegance and squalor. The church is the former first-class saloon, now the wardroom, turned into a shrine. Eight large fans made a peculiar noise in quick time. A crowd of officers were there, dressed in white. The choir sang almost a gay chant—badly, but in tune; the priest helped them. During the pauses the dull noise of the fans was clearly heard. There were sentries on both sides of the coffin, which rested on a rude table, not covered with anything. It was more like a box than coffin, and had been made roughly out of pine boards, badly painted. The wood showed through the paint in streaks. During the service they sewed the coffin up in white calico. They could not find a whole piece, so added scraps. The wreaths were composed of fresh flowers.

A sad spectacle. Apparently the ensign was not killed by the traveller, but by the Temperley itself. After the service the coffin was lowered into the boat by the very Temperley that wrought the accident. A steam cutter towed the boat to the shore, and was followed by a long line of boats, filled with the funeral party. When the coffin was being lowered, they fired a gun, and all ships put their ensigns at half-mast. The crews stood at "attention," and the band played the funeral march.

Two bands awaited the procession on shore; they had accompanied the other dead man. This was the sailor (from the same Ural) who died from sunstroke. At the cemetery the funeral service was read, the coffins lowered into the graves, and the escort fired three volleys. Simple crosses were erected, and then all dispersed. They left behind two Russians to lie in their graves, far from their fatherland, among strangers, under simple white crosses with a crooked and uneven superscription roughly carved on them. Little did they think that fate would send them death far from Russia in a strange country, in the midst of luxurious though foreign nature! Little did they think that they would lie side by side—that both would be buried in the same hour. Indeed, one cannot escape fate.

Another sailor has gone mad in the Orel.

But enough of this....

January 1st.—I left the wardroom at four o'clock. Many remained and occupied themselves in drinking. I returned on board the Suvaroff yesterday, in the Borodino's boat.

The population of Nosi Be is a mixed one. You may meet negroes, Malays, Jews, Indians, and a few Europeans. Horses are scarce, and you travel in litters borne on the shoulders of men.

There are numerous breeds of monkeys, parrots, lizards, crocodiles, etc.

Cattle are plentiful; the oxen have humps, and immense horns. Yesterday a scene occurred with the oxen! When the funeral procession came up to the cart, to which oxen were harnessed, the band was playing. The oxen were frightened and ran wild. One tore himself away from the yoke and charged the firing-party following the coffin, with lowered horns. A catastrophe was narrowly averted. They soon succeeded in driving him away. The other struggled for a long while in the yoke, and at last got free.

Chosen officers are going from each ship to all the others with congratulations. It is evident that they will return to their ships late, and not quite themselves. They are treated generously, and offence is taken if they drink too little.

A torpedo-boat has arrived from Mojanga with telegrams; some are cipher telegrams from Petersburg—they have not yet read them. There is news that the Oleg passed through the Suez Canal on the 31st. If that is so, she may arrive here on the 22nd inst.

Am just going round the ships.

January 2nd.—The Kuban has arrived. To-morrow I may go on board her. I have journeyed somewhat to-day. After lunch I went to the Aurora, Nachimoff, Jemchug, Sissoi, and Voronej. The latter belongs to the volunteer fleet. On board her I procured a thousand cigarettes for ten roubles. I was much pleased with this. In going on board the Aurora I lost the top of my helmet. It acted as a ventilator, and cannot be replaced. I must go about without it.

Several of us, I among the number, have prickly heat. It is not very disquieting, but at the same time does not afford any pleasure. In the Jemchug, where I have not been since Libau, they did not recognise me. I am so changed in face, owing to my beard.

We remain here, and know nothing of when and where we are going. Probably we shall wait for the Oleg, Isumrud, and torpedo-boats. Persistent rumours are floating about that the fleet will return. Letters have been received from Sevastopol with very bad news. It is said that the sailors there have mutinied and created much trouble. They say there are serious disorders in Petersburg.

To-day I should have gone to some ships, but could not, as all the boats were away for the exercise of landing parties. Finished my work, "Notes on Ships of the Borodino Type." Handed them into the office to be typewritten. If it is true that we leave on the 6th or 7th, I shall hardly be able to send them to Petersburg. Can it be that we shall not wait for the Oleg and other ships coming with her? That would be idiotic! To stay quietly and strengthen the fleet does not interfere with the cruisers and torpedo-boats.

January 3rd.—What a day it has been! I scarcely got through lunch when, at two o'clock, I went to the Donskoi, from there to the Borodino, and then to the Ural. Have only just returned to the Suvaroff, having had nothing to eat anywhere, and now only bread-and-butter. It is a good thing I fortified myself with chocolate. The Ural is the former steamer Queen Maria Theresa. She ran between Hamburg and America.

There are a lot of sick in the fleet; two belong to the staff, the flag engineer and the flag intendant. The senior auditor is sick, but is doing his duty. It is the fault of this climate.

January 4th.—I have been to the Kuban, which was formerly a German passenger steamer and ran across the Atlantic Ocean. She has all the conveniences of life, is roomy and luxurious, but as a warship the Kuban, like the other purchased ships, is useless. She has few guns; their calibre is small, and there is no armoured protection. All is wood.

More animals have made their appearance in the ship. They have brought a hare, a porcupine, and a dog off from the shore. Wherever you look now you see birds, beasts, or vermin. On deck oxen are standing ready to be slaughtered for meat, to say nothing of fowls, geese, and ducks. In the cabins are monkeys, parrots, and chameleons.

Having scratched you a letter, I went to put it with some postcards into the box. At the post-office were crowds of people, hurrying to post letters to catch the outgoing steamer. I scarcely waited to buy stamps for the postcards. As stamps would stick together while being kept, those having greater values are not covered with gum. This is very inconvenient, as you have not always gum at hand. I had to buy some gum-arabic in a shop. Indians are the principal shopkeepers here. Boys in the street call out simple words of Russian, and frequently repeat them. Profiting by the arrival of the fleet, everything is dreadfully dear. They have never before done such a roaring trade. One of the places here has a high-sounding name—"Parisian CafÉ." The landlord of this cafÉ says that after the departure of the fleet he will close it and go to Paris. He will never earn more than now.

From the post-office I went to this cafÉ. They persuaded me to play vint (Russian whist). Close by were a lot of officers playing macao. They play very high (during our stay at Nosi Be one officer succeeded in losing more than £400—i.e. 4000 roubles). I did not sit down to play macao; but just trifled with it, lost sixty francs, and then went to the quay. It was time—just six o'clock—and the boat was due to shove off. By seven I was on board, having been on shore less than four hours. On going into my cabin I learnt some news. We leave on the 7th. The post was sent by GÜnsburg. Whether we leave Madagascar on the 7th, or are only going to change our anchorage, I do not know. Either is possible.

January 5th.—I went on shore to-day. There was a large crowd around the post-office, all Russians. Some were posting letters, others buying stamps. I thought I would go into a cafÉ to get a drink. I asked for a bottle of soda-water with ice, and squeezed a grenadine into it. For this they charged four francs.

I left the cafÉ and went to the cemetery, where the Russians and other Europeans were buried, and sat there awhile. It is a poor place, all overgrown. The memorial crosses are the only white spots. Everything is sunk, hidden by the tropical growth. It is almost a forest. Many birds flutter about in the trees—some remarkably pretty, with rich plumage of all colours. I saw a colibri there (the smallest bird in the world). I used to think they were considerably smaller than they actually are.

From the cemetery I returned to the post-office. My companion lost all hope of posting his letter, so many were waiting their turn. I persuaded him to remain, and we managed to do our business there. We went to the quay, but the boat was not there. We had to wait, so, being tormented by thirst, we went to the cafÉ. I drank a bottle of lemonade, and my companion a bottle of beer, and it cost four francs. A bottle of champagne costs forty francs—i.e. about fifteen roubles.

In every corner of the cafÉ officers from the fleet are sitting at tables and playing cards, vint and macao. At three tables macao was being played for heavy stakes. French officers from the torpedo gunboat looked on in astonishment. I did not play.

Several men obtained riding-horses and mules—tired, broken, and lean beasts. A large number of officers from the Borodino walked through a virgin forest, forcing their way through the lianas. They made themselves very dirty. Two officers from the Suvaroff went out shooting, but bagged nothing. At seven o'clock I returned on board, fairly tired, having walked nearly all day.

January 6th.—Although I was tired, I went to bed last night at twelve. It rained all night. This cooled our hot sides, which do not generally grow cool during the night.

Now there are constant rain squalls. There was mass, prayers, and the blessing of the water to-day. The priest made a procession to sprinkle the ensign and the jack.[6] There was chicken pie for lunch, but a very inferior one. The French torpedo-boat again brought official telegrams. They have not yet been deciphered: perhaps they contain something interesting.

January 7th.—Yesterday a steam cutter from the Donskoi went aground. They got her off to-day.

A native came and complained that a boat from the fleet had sunk his catamaran (native boat), in which was a case of champagne, a case of rum, and a box of lemons. He was probably indemnified.

I had just sat down to write when I was required to go on board the Jemchug. Just returned.

The ladies' committee of the "Society to help the Wounded" sent the admiral the ikon of St. George "the Victorious," and fifty small crosses for the officers and crew. I received a cross and hung it to a chain with my own. It is very pretty, and made of mother-of-pearl.

The rainy season, which should have begun a fortnight ago, was late. It has now begun—another pleasure for us.

Many of the wardroom tumblers are broken. They cannot be bought here. Jam-pots are used instead.

It is difficult to imagine how the local traders live. They have raised all prices considerably, and continue to raise them.

The provision-ship Esperanza will no longer accompany the fleet. I wanted to go ashore at 6 a.m. to-morrow with some one, to explore the interior of the island; but it is impossible. An inquiry is to be held in the Malay to survey the coal left in her. I have to take a part in this inquiry.

Again there are rumours that the fleet will leave here on the 11th. I think this is only supposition. The French mail-steamer leaves for Europe on the 9th. Perhaps this letter will be the last that will go in her. There will then be a break in my letters. Steamers do not often call here—only once or twice a month.

Some chameleons were brought on board, and have now spread all over the ship. They are harmless; but to me, at all events, they are repulsive. Some fellows take them in their hands and allow them to crawl over their heads and faces.

January 8th.—Since 4 a.m. there has been such a downpour, difficult to imagine if you have not seen it. Many men, desiring to wash in fresh water, took advantage of the rain to go on deck with a piece of soap and wash themselves.

At this blessed moment I have to go to the inquiry in the Malay.

While I was standing at a closed hatchway on deck, waiting for the captain of the Malay, a man was wandering about in white uniform, barefooted and capless. I paid no attention to him. Suddenly he approached me and stretched out his hand. I hesitated, thinking he was a drunken sailor playing a joke. "I knew you very well long ago. I am Titoff," he said. Then I guessed that this was the mad ensign from the battleship Orel. I shook hands with him, and said that I had not recognised him because he had grown a beard, although in deed it was only of two or three days' growth. He began to laugh, asked me if I feared Death, and had I seen him; and, pointing all round, he said, "This is all Russia," etc. They were not very pleasant minutes that I spent in his company. It was sad to see him. He walks about the dirty deck half undressed. He does what he likes. He may fall overboard, or fall down a hatchway, or slip from a ladder—no one looks after him. A melancholy spectacle!

I returned to the Suvaroff from the Malay at twelve o'clock. I was hot and tired. Now the sun's rays are nearly vertical. I wetted my head with salt water and put a wet handkerchief in my cap. The leather of my boots burnt my feet. I found a letter from the captain of the Jemchug awaiting me. I must go there and to the Donskoi. I am tired of going to the latter; I have to go there nearly every day. I lunched in my cabin. The orderly who waited on me said, "I have brought you a beetle."[7] I did not understand at first what he meant. Apparently it was a block of wood to put under the feet when sitting at the writing-table.

6 p.m.—Have been to the Gortchakoff, Borodino, Donskoi, and Jemchug. In the latter they are also using jam-pots as tumblers. It is a wearisome cruise. Officers and men have so many inconveniences and discomforts to bear.

A fine company are collected in the Malay to go back to Russia—the sick, prisoners, men dismissed from the service, lunatics, and drunkards. The captain has already reported that they do not obey him—abuse and threaten to kill him. Their conduct is defiant, and they will not submit to any orders. If they do not send a trusty guard he will always have to carry a loaded revolver, and shoot the first one who disobeys. In this steamer a strong and firm captain is required in order to reach a Russian port in safety with such a crew.

A court for trying offences during the voyage was appointed to the fleet. To-day this court assembled to try a sailor of the Suvaroff. He had abused the chief boatswain, threatened, and disobeyed the orders of the first lieutenant. He was sentenced to three and a half years in a disciplinary battalion. Probably he will be sent to Russia in the Malay.

January 9th.—The foreboding about the Malay is beginning to be justified. Last night an armed crew had to be sent to arrest the mutineers. They arrested four of the Malay's hired crew. These have been divided among the battleships, in order that they may be put in cells. The most insolent is on board the Suvaroff. The appearance of the armed crew in the Malay produced a great sensation. The rest of her crew instantly quieted down. They evidently had not expected the matter to end in this sad way.

After those arrested have done some days in cells, it has been decided to put them on shore and abandon them to the dictates of fate. To be in cells on board the Borodino is tolerable, but in the Suvaroff, "God forbid!" The temperature there is fearful, and there is no ventilation. I do not think that a man could remain there long. Among the four prisoners one only is the ringleader. It is he who is in the Suvaroff. One of them actually cried. To be cast upon a nearly desert shore! What will they do? There is no employment for them, and they lack the means of getting away. Could they join the foreign legion? It is not here, now that this place is unimportant.

I have not told you what the foreign legion is. The French Government only enlists foreigners in it. It is stationed in wild places in the colonies where the population is unsettled. Desperate men, criminals, escaped convicts, and adventurers serve in it. On entering it they do not ask for passports, nor do they inquire into antecedents. In it are to be met representatives of every nation and of every grade of society. Its ranks consist of common soldiers, aristocrats, officers, and hawkers. Discipline in the legion is very strict in order to keep this rabble in submission. There are said to be many Russians in it. The legion was stationed in Madagascar for a long time, but the French transferred it to some other place. Now they regret this, and have brought the legion back, because it required so large a force of ordinary troops to cope with the natives. The foreign legion alone could deal with them. I suppose it dealt harshly and savagely with the natives, killing, robbing them, and burning their villages for every offence, real or imaginary. Owing to this the settlements were peaceful, and dared not rise against the French.

January 10th.—In the wardroom of the Suvaroff there is a piano on which they play with the help of a pianola. There are very few who play the piano. To-day a sub-lieutenant came on board from another ship. He proved to be a splendid musician. For a long time they listened to his playing. Then they started capering and playing tricks. It was curious to see officers dancing the cake walk and the Kamarinsky (a Russian national dance), etc. They dressed up for these dances. They did this from sheer boredom. This wearisome and monotonous cruise has lasted so long. On the 16th the fleet will have been kicking their heels here for a month. No wonder they are silly from stagnation. Here is another of their amusements—they bait the dogs, and every one eagerly watches, applauding the fighting curs.

There are many suspicious characters in Madagascar. One appeared at Nosi Be, speaking Russian. He offered his services as contractor to supply provisions for the Suvaroff and other ships. This person roamed about in Tamatave, and now without any apparent cause has come here. He is very badly dressed and has long hair like a Slav woman.

The mail-steamer left to-night for Europe. From Mayung cipher telegrams have been received. Perhaps they again tell us nothing useful. The situation of the fleet is most unsettled. Will it return to Russia, will it remain somewhere here, or will it go to the East? No one knows. This uncertainty oppresses me as well as others.

Bad meat is daily thrown overboard in the Esperanza. Food for the sharks is abundant. They have collected in great numbers at Nosi Be. Nearly all the ships keep oxen on deck. There is even a cow and a calf on board the Suvaroff. They have built them a manger. The crew look after them with special fondness, feeding them with bread and giving them names.

It is a curious sight, watching these animals being brought on board. They come tied up in boats, and are generally hoisted into the ship by means of a strop (loop of rope) tied under their bodies. For some reason, on board the Suvaroff they are dragged up by the horns. The frightened animals, with wild and glaring eyes, struggle violently, hanging in mid-air. They lie down on deck at first, half crazy, and then suddenly jump on their feet and toss themselves about. They are then held and pacified.

It was quite different with the cow. She tore herself loose and galloped frantically about the deck. All the spectators fled wherever they could. She charged at the deck-house, where an officer was sitting writing. He had hardly time to shut and lock the door. Somehow or other they caught the cow, but her milk supply has ceased, owing to fright, and the calf is still young. They now feed him on condensed milk. We wonder if the milk will come back to the cow. We are all interested in the matter, and discuss it freely. Life on board is so dreary, dull, and monotonous, that the most paltry trifles, which we would never dream of talking about on shore, become a ceaseless topic of conversation. If we only could get quickly out of this mire!

January 11th.—Heat, stuffiness, damp, dirt—everywhere beastliness, deadly gloom, uncertainty of the near future, lack of news from the seat of war, oppress and overwhelm us; but can incompetence reigning everywhere, laziness, stupidity, ignorance, unwillingness to work, listlessness, make us cheerful? What goes on here is perfectly incredible.

There is news that the Hamburg-American liner Bengal sank near the southern coast of Madagascar, having ripped her bottom on a sunken rock. She was a large 18,000-ton steamer, and was bringing coal for the fleet. Her crew were saved.

A deplorably sad and stupid incident occurred in the Nachimoff yesterday. Ships having no bakery on board obtain their bread, when at anchorage, from other ships or from the shore. They did not trouble about the matter in the Nachimoff. The crew were living on rusks. Yesterday they demanded fresh bread. The affair spread, and the men offered passive resistance by not dismissing after prayers, though ordered to do so. There is now to be an inquiry. At other times and under other conditions some of the crew would have been distributed among the other ships, and some would have been shot—there would have been no other alternative. Now they are trying to hush the matter up. In spite of this, some will suffer.

One of the Malay prisoners who was in cells in the Alexander has been sent to the hospital-ship Orel, as he fell ill from the hot temperature in his prison.

[5] An apparatus for hoisting coal in bags out of colliers into the ships.