Fate had apparently been kind to us, as up to the present we had not been discovered. The sending of telegrams in the fleet was forbidden, so we were able to intercept Japanese messages, and our torpedo officers made every effort to fix the direction from which they emanated. On the morning of 26th May and later on the same day, a conversation between two installations had begun, or perhaps more correctly speaking it was the reports of one ahead of and nearer to us to which the other, more distant and on the port side, was replying. The messages were not in cypher, and although our telegraphists were unaccustomed to the strange alphabet, and notwithstanding the gaps in the sentences by the time we received them, it was still possible to pick out separate words, and even sentences. “Last night” ... “nothing” ... “eleven lights ... but not in line” ... “bright light ... the same star ...” etc.

In all probability this was a powerful coast station on the Goto Islands, reporting to some one a long way off what had been seen in the Straits.

Towards evening we took in a conversation between other installations, which at night had increased to seven. The messages were in cypher, but by their brevity and uniformity and by the fact that they commenced and ceased at fixed times, we were able to calculate with tolerable accuracy that these were not reports, but merely messages exchanged between the scouts. It was clear that we had not been discovered.

At sunset the fleet closed up, and in expectation of torpedo attacks half the officers and crew were detailed for duty at the guns, the remainder sleeping by their posts, without undressing, ready to jump up on the first sound of the alarm.

The night came on dark. The mist seemed to grow denser, and through it but few stars could be seen. On the dark deck there prevailed a strained stillness, broken at times only by the sighs of the sleepers, the steps of an officer, or by an order given in an undertone. Near the guns the motionless figures of their crews seemed like dead, but all were wide awake, gazing keenly into the darkness. Was not that the dark shadow of a torpedo-boat? They listened attentively. Surely the throb of her engines and the noise of steam must betray an invisible foe?

Stepping carefully, so as not to disturb the sleepers, I went round the bridges and decks, and then proceeded to the engine-room. For a moment the bright light blinded me. Here, life and movement was visible on all sides. Men were nimbly running up and down the ladders; there was a tinkling of bells and buzzing of voices. Orders were being transmitted loudly, but, on looking more intently, the tension and anxiety—that same peculiar frame of mind so noticeable on deck—could also be observed. And then it suddenly occurred to me that all this—the tall, somewhat bent figure of the Admiral on the side of the bridge, the wrinkled face of the man at the wheel stooping over the compass, the guns’ crews chilled to the bone at their posts, these men talking loudly and running about, the giant connecting-rods whose steel glittered dimly in the dark, and the mighty hissing of steam in the cylinders—was one and the same thing.

I suddenly remembered the old sea legend of the ship’s spirit dwelling in every rivet, nail, and screw, which at the fated moment takes possession of the whole ship with her crew, and turns both crew and surroundings into one indivisible supernatural being. Of a sudden it seemed that this spirit was looking right into my heart, which beat with unusual rapidity, and for a moment it seemed as if I had become this being to whom the name Suvoroff—so sacred to all of us—was no more than a mere rivet!

It was a flash of madness, which quickly passed, leaving behind it only a sensation akin to daring and grim determination.

Alongside of me, the chief engineer, Captain Bernander, my old shipmate and friend, was angrily explaining something to his assistant. I did not hear what he said, nor could I understand why he was so excited when everything had been finally settled. Whether for better or for worse it was impossible to alter things now.

“All in good time, my dear fellow,” said I, taking his arm. “Let us go and drink some tea—my throat is parched.”

Turning his kind grey eyes on me in astonishment, and without replying, he allowed me to lead him away.

We went up to the ward-room, which at this hour was usually crowded and noisy. It was empty. Two or three officers, after being relieved, as well as some from the nearest light gun batteries, were sound asleep on the sofas, awaiting the alarm, or for their turn to go on watch. The messman, however, who was always ready for any emergency, brought us tea. Again on all sides this dreadful, painful stillness.

“The chief thing is, not to be in too great a hurry.—One straight shot is better than two bad ones.—Remember that we have not a single spare shell, and, till we reach Vladivostok, none are to be got,” came in a somewhat inaudible voice from behind the closed door of the stern cabin. Evidently a sub-lieutenant, Fomin by name, was holding forth.

“Preaching!” angrily said Bernander, helping himself to some hot tea.

I saw that he was very annoyed about something and wished to unburden himself.

“Well! tell me all about it! What is the matter?”

“It is all this cursed German coal,” he said, and lowering his voice and looking rounds—“You know, of course, that we had a fire in the bunkers?”

“Yes! I know; but surely, thank goodness, they put it out? Do you mean there’s another?”

“No! Not quite! Listen! There’s a vast difference between rapid-burning and slow-burning coal. Much more is consumed. Compared to good coal, 20 to 30 per cent.——”

“Shut up!” I interrupted. “Why, what’s up with you? Are you afraid you’ll run out? Up till now, surely, you have been burning our surplus! You ought to have in hand the full normal quantity.”

“Full or not, we shall have less than 1000 tons by morning.”

“But it’s 600 miles to Vladivostok! Where do you want to go?”

“Have you forgotten the Cesarevitch? On 10th August, when her funnels were shot away, she burnt 480 tons in the twenty-four hours! Well—we are burning more!”

“Pooh! your nerves are unstrung,” I exclaimed. “All your bunkers haven’t caught fire!”

“You don’t understand!” angrily exclaimed Bernander, and, quickly finishing his tea, he seized his cap and went out.

I remained in the ward-room, settled myself down in an easy-chair, and, making myself comfortable, dozed. I heard indistinctly the watch being relieved at midnight. Some of the officers coming off duty came in to get some tea, and in low voices abused the infernal rawness of the night air. Others stretched themselves on sofas, sighing with relief at being so comfortable, and said: “We’ll sleep till four! it’s a holiday at home!”

I also went to sleep.

About 3 A.M. I awoke, and again went round the ship and up on deck. The scene was just the same as in the evening, but it was lighter. In the last quarter the moon had risen well up, and against the mist, dimly whitened by its silver rays, the ship’s funnels, masts, and rigging were sharply outlined. The breeze, freshening, blew cold, making me pull the cape of my coat more over my head.

Going on to the fore-bridge, I found the Admiral sleeping in a chair. The Commander, wearing soft slippers, was pacing rapidly but quietly up and down the bridge.

“What are you doing wandering about?” he asked me.

“O, just having a look round. Gone to sleep?” and I nodded towards the Admiral. “Only just. I persuaded him to. Why shouldn’t he? We can take it that the night has passed all right. Up to the present we haven’t been discovered. They are still calling each other up, and now, even though they do find us, it’s late. It will be daybreak in a couple of hours. Even if their torpedo-boats are near us, they won’t be able to collect. Besides, how can they find us in weather like this? Look! you can’t even see the rear of the fleet! It’s 200,000 to 1 against any one running into us accidentally! But I don’t like the breeze. It’s freshening. Let’s hope it won’t break up the mist. If it does to-morrow will mean the end of the Suvoroff. But it’s suddenly coming on thicker,” he said eagerly. “Why, we have been going for twenty-four hours without being seen. If it is the same to-morrow, we’ll give them the slip! They are on the move, and keep calling each other up, and they haven’t yet come on us! They’ll have to wait for our second coming, out of Vladivostok! That’ll be a different tale. My! what a stew they must be in! What fun!” and putting his handkerchief in his mouth so as not to disturb the Admiral, he laughed so heartily, and seemed so free from care, that I envied him.

It should be stated that V.V. Ignatzius, in the first place, was one of those who was firmly convinced that the success of our voyage—this desperate adventure—depended solely on the extent of co-operation of Saint Nicolas “The Casual” and other heavenly powers, and, in the second place, bearing in mind the Japanese custom of concentrating their fire on the flag-ship, he believed that both he and his ship were doomed to destruction in the first decisive engagement. But, in spite of this, he never for a moment lost his invariably buoyant and cheery manner. He joked, chaffed, and eagerly threw himself into all the little details of daily life on board, while now (I really believe) he was, inwardly, much amused, picturing to himself the anger and disappointment of the Japanese in the event of our actually slipping past them.

But the Japanese “got the 200,000th chance,” and more.

At dawn on 27th May, about 5 A.M., the auxiliary cruiser Sinano Maru almost ran into our hospital ships, and it was due to this that the whole fleet was discovered. We were unable to see what had happened, but by the changed character of the messages it became at once apparent that our presence was known. The scouts no longer merely called each other up, and we now took in reports, which were being transmitted further and further to the north.11

Messages came in from both sides, so the Admiral recalled the Almaz, Svietlana and Ural, in order to protect our helpless rear (transports) from sudden attack.

About 6 A.M. the Ural came up at full speed, reporting by semaphore that astern of the fleet four ships, which it was impossible to recognise in the mist, were crossing from starboard to port.

At 6.45 A.M. a vessel appeared on the starboard beam, which, as her course brought her nearer to us, was soon recognised as the Idzumi. About 8 A.M., despite the mist, we were able to take her distance as 10,000 yards. The alarm sounding, the after turret threateningly raised her 12-inch guns, but the Idzumi, guessing her danger, commenced rapidly to beat a retreat.

We might, of course, have detached a good cruiser to drive her off, but alas! there were in the fleet only two ships answering to this description—the Oleg and the Aurora, also possibly the scout Svietlana; of the remainder, the Donskoy and Monomakh were respectable veterans, slow, though passably armed. The Ural and Almaz were swift, but had only toy guns. Besides, each moment we were expecting to meet our formidable opponent, when every gun and shell would be of value. If the issue of the battle were to be decided by a duel between our three armoured squadrons and the twelve best Japanese ships, the whole of the rest of the enemy’s fleet would fall to the lot of our cruiser squadron. A struggle for which we must indeed reserve our strength! Rozhdestvensky decided accordingly to ignore the Idzumi’s daring sally, and sent no one in pursuit of her.

Shortly after 8 A.M., on the port bow, the Chin-Yen, Matsushima, Itsukushima, and Hashidate appeared out of the mist, steaming on an almost parallel course. Ahead of them was a small, light cruiser, apparently the Akitsushu, which hurriedly drew off to the north as soon as we were able to see her well (and equally she us), and the whole squadron began slowly to increase their distance and gradually to disappear from sight.

At about 10 A.M. the light cruisers Chitose, Kasagi, Niitaka, and Otawa, also appeared on the port beam, and it became evident to all of us that the decisive moment could not now be long postponed.

At a signal from the flag-ship, the 1st and 2nd armoured squadrons steamed ahead, and, turning “together,” 2 points12 to port, began to take position ahead of the 3rd squadron. The transports were ordered to keep more to starboard and astern of the fleet, while the cruisers were to cover them on the port side. To starboard of the transports was the Monomakh, detailed to protect them from the Idzumi and suchlike vessels.

At 11.20 A.M., when the distance of the Japanese light cruisers was 10,000 yards, the Orel fired an accidental shot (which she immediately reported by semaphore). Unable with smokeless powder to tell by which of the leading ships it had been fired, the fleet took it as a signal from the Suvoroff, and opened fire. Of the whole fleet the fire of the 3rd squadron was the heaviest.

The Japanese cruisers turned to port and, firing also, rapidly drew off. The flag-ship then signalled, “Ammunition not to be wasted,” and when the firing ceased, “Ships’ companies to have dinner at once.”

At midday, finding ourselves on a line with the southernmost point of Tsu-shima, we shaped course N.23°E. for Vladivostok.

The officers also had breakfast now, in turn, and as quickly as possible. To-day there was to have been as usual a big breakfast in the ward-room, with the Admiral and his Captain and staff as guests: but on this occasion it naturally could not take place as the Admiral and Captain were unable to leave the bridge, and the staff only dashed down to the Admiral’s table to eat a few mouthfuls.

Having gone down to my cabin to fill my cigarette-case before the fight, I happened to look in at the ward-room at the psychological minute. Although the dishes were being handed anyhow and whatever came nearest was taken, champagne sparkled in the glasses, and every one was standing up, silently listening to the toast proposed by the senior officer, A.P. Makedonsky.

“On this, the great anniversary of the sacred Coronation of their Highnesses, may God help us to serve with honour our beloved Country! To the health of the Emperor! the Empress!—To Russia!”

The ward-room resounded with cheers, and their last echoes had scarcely died away ere the alarm sounded on deck. Every one rushed to their stations, to find that some Japanese light cruisers had again appeared on our port bow, but this time they were accompanied by torpedo-boats, which evidently intended to cross our bows. Suspecting that their plan was to lay floating mines (as they had done on 10th August), the Admiral ordered the 1st squadron to turn to starboard, so as to drive off the enemy by threatening him with the fire of our five best battleships.

With this intention the ships of the 1st squadron turned “in succession” 8 points (90°) to starboard, and should afterwards have turned “together” 8 points to port. The first half of the manoeuvre was most successfully performed, but the signal for the second was evidently misunderstood, as the Alexander followed the Suvoroff, while the Borodino and Orel, which had already commenced to turn correctly “together,” imagining then that they were mistaken, turned back and followed the Alexander. Consequently the 1st squadron found itself in single column line ahead, parallel to the 2nd and 3rd squadrons, but somewhat ahead of them.

This unsuccessful manoeuvre, however, had a most important result. The enemy’s cruisers and torpedo-boats, afraid of being caught between the fire of both columns, abandoned their intention of crossing our course, and hurriedly drew off to port. These cruisers probably also reported to Togo that we were steaming in two columns, and he (being then out of sight and far ahead of us on the starboard bow) decided to cross over to our port side, so as to throw himself with all his strength upon our port and weakest column.

As soon as the Japanese drew off, the 1st squadron at once increased speed, inclining to port so as again to take station ahead of the 2nd squadron.

At 1.20 P.M., when the 1st had got ahead of the 2nd and 3rd squadrons and was steering on its former course, the flag-ship signalled, “The 2nd squadron, maintaining its formation, will take station astern of the 1st.”

And now, far ahead of us in the distance, could be dimly seen approaching through the mist the Japanese main force. Their ships were crossing our bows from starboard to port, following on an almost south-west course. The Mikasa, as soon as she crossed our bows, at once altered course to the southward, followed by the Shikishima, Fuji, Asahi, Kasuga, and Nisshin.

Meanwhile, though the flag-ship was already being worked from the conning tower, Rozhdestvensky was still standing with his staff on the upper fore-bridge.

I frankly confess that I did not agree with his opinion as to Togo leading all his twelve armoured ships in column; on 10th August he ordered six of them to work independently, instead of joining his squadron. I was inclined to think that Kamimura would operate independently and, when my six old Port Arthur acquaintances hove in sight, I said triumphantly:

“There they are, sir—all six—just as on 10th August.”

But Rozhdestvensky, without turning, shook his head. “No, there are more—they are all there,” and he went down into the conning tower.

“To your stations, gentlemen,” said the Flag Captain quickly, as he followed the Admiral.

And there, sure enough, following after the first six ships, and slowly appearing out of the mist, came the Idzumo, Yakumo, Asama, Adzuma, Tokiwa, and Iwate.