Meanwhile, having turned abruptly away from the Suvoroff, our fleet had steamed off, gradually inclining to starboard so as not to give the Japanese a chance of crossing its T, which they evidently were trying to do. The consequence was that both belligerents moved on the arcs of two concentric circles. Ours on the smaller—the Japanese on the larger.

About 4 p.m. it seemed as if fortune for the last time was endeavouring to smile upon us. In the midst of the thick smoke which was pouring from the damaged funnels, from the guns which were in action, and from the fires on board, and which mingled with the mist still lying on the water, the enemy’s main force seemed to separate from and lose sight of ours. Japanese reports, of which I have availed myself, comment very briefly and somewhat obscurely on this event. Nothing is clear save that Togo, believing our fleet was somehow breaking through to the north, went thither in search of it. Kamimura being of a different opinion proceeded with his cruisers in a south and south-westerly direction. At least, the above will alone explain the glowing panegyrics which I find in the reports entitled “The Prowess of Admiral Kamimura.” If it had not been for this “prowess,” possibly the fight would have ended on 27th May, and our fleet would have had time to close up and recover.

Steering on a south and afterwards south-westerly course, Kamimura heard a heavy cannonade proceeding to the west. He accordingly hastened there to find Admiral Kataoka attacking (till now with little success) our cruisers and transports. Kamimura, commencing to take an active part in the fight, then came upon our main body, which, having almost described a circle with a 5-mile diameter, was returning to the spot where the Alexander had made her abrupt turn, and round which the Suvoroff was so helplessly wandering.

It was about 5 p.m.

I was standing with Kursel in the lower battery smoking and talking of subjects, not in any way connected with the fight, when suddenly we seemed to be in the midst of the fleet, which, devoid of all formation, was moving northwards. Some ships passed to starboard—some to port—the Borodino—Captain Serebryanikoff—leading. The Alexander, badly battered and with a heavy list—lying so low that the water almost came into the portholes of the lower battery—was still fighting, firing with such of her guns as were serviceable. I did not see her, but was told that the whole of her bows, from the stem to the 12-inch turret, were torn open.

Having closed up to the main body, the cruisers and transports steamed astern and somewhat to port—attacked by detachments of Admiral Kataoko’s squadron. (In addition to Kataoko himself, Admirals Dewa, Uriu, and Togo junior were also there.) Kamimura remained further to starboard, i.e. to the east—also heading for the north.

“Portmanteaus” were still raining on us. Word had been received from the engine-room that the men were being suffocated and rapidly falling out, as the ventilators were bringing down smoke instead of air; soon there would be no men left to work the engines! Meanwhile, the electric light grew dim, and it was reported from the dynamo engines that steam was scarce.

“Torpedo-boats ahead!”

We rushed to our only gun (the other had been found to be past repair), but it turned out to be the Buiny, which happened to be passing us, and was on her own initiative coming alongside the crippled battleship to enquire if she could be of any assistance. Kruijanoffsky was ordered by the flag-captain, who was standing on the embrasure, to semaphore to her (with his arms) to “take off the Admiral.”

I was watching the Buiny’s movements from the battery, when suddenly the Admiral’s messenger, Peter Poochkoff, hastened towards me.

“Please come to the turret, sir! a torpedo-boat has come alongside, but the Admiral won’t leave.”

I ought to mention here that Rozhdestvensky had not been to the dressing station, and none of us knew how badly he was wounded because, to all enquiries when he was hit, he angrily replied that it was only a trifle. He still remained sitting on the box in the turret, where he had been placed.

At times he would look up to ask how the battle was progressing, and then would again sit silently, with his eyes on the ground. Considering, however, the state the ship was in, what else could he do? His conduct seemed most natural, and it never occurred to us that these questions were merely momentary flashes of energy—short snatches of consciousness.

On the arrival of the torpedo-boat being reported, he pulled himself together, and gave the order to “Collect the staff,”26 with perfect clearness, but afterwards, he only frowned, and would listen to nothing.

Assisted by Kursel I crept through the open half-port of the lower battery, out on to the starboard embrasure in front of the centre 6-inch turret. I was in need of help, as my right leg had become very painful, and I could only limp on the heel of my left.

The boatswain and some sailors were at work on the embrasure, sweeping overboard the burning dÉbris which had fallen from the spar-deck above. Lying off our starboard bow, and some three or four cables distant, was the Kamchatka. Kamimura’s cruisers were pouring as heavy a fire into her as into us, but she was an easier victim.

The Buiny kept close alongside, dancing up and down. Her Captain, Kolomeytseff, shouting through his speaking trumpet, asked: “Have you a boat in which to take off the Admiral? We haven’t!” To this the flag Captain and Kruijanoffsky made some reply. I looked at the turret. Its armoured door was damaged and refused to open properly, so that it was very doubtful if anything as big as a man could get through. The Admiral was sitting huddled up, with his eyes on the ground; his head was bandaged in a blood-stained towel.

“Sir, the torpedo-boat is alongside! we must go,” I said.

“Call Filipinoffsky,” he replied, without moving.

Rozhdestvensky evidently intended to lead the fleet after hoisting his flag on another ship, and therefore wanted to have with him the flag navigating officer, who was responsible for the dead-reckoning and safety of manoeuvres.

“He will be here in a minute; they have gone for him.” The Admiral merely shook his head.

I have not laid stress on the fact that before transferring him to another ship it was necessary to try and arrange some means of getting him there.

Kursel, with the boatswain and two or three sailors, had got hold of some half-burned hammocks and rope from the upper battery, and with these had begun to lash together something in the shape of a raft on which to lower the Admiral into the water and put him on board the torpedo-boat. It was risky, but nothing else was to hand.

The raft was ready. Filipinoffsky appeared, and I hurried to the turret.

“Come out, sir! Filipinoffsky is here.”

Rozhdestvensky gazed at us, shaking his head, and not uttering a syllable.

“I don’t want to. No.”

We were at a loss how to proceed.

“What are you staring at?” suddenly said Kursel. “Carry him; can’t you see he is badly wounded?” It seemed as if it was only for these words and the impulse they supplied for which we were waiting. There was a hum of voices and much bustling about. Some forcing their way into the turret, took hold of the Admiral by his arms and raised him up, but no sooner had he put his left leg to the ground than he groaned and completely lost consciousness. It was the best thing that could have happened.

“Bring him along! Bring him along! Splendid! Easy now! the devil! Take him along the side! Get to the side, can’t you? Stop—something’s cracking! What? his coat is being torn! Carry him along!” were the anxious shouts one heard on all sides. Having taken off the Admiral’s coat, they dragged him with the greatest difficulty through the narrow opening of the jammed door out on to the after embrasure, and were just proceeding to fasten him to the raft, when Kolomeytseff did, what a man does only once in his life, and then when inspired. My readers who are landsmen will not realise all the danger of what we were to attempt, but sailors will easily understand the risk. Kolomeytseff brought his vessel alongside and to windward of the mutilated battleship, out of whose battered gun ports stuck her crippled guns, and from whose side projected the broken booms of her torpedo-nets.27 Dancing up and down on the waves the torpedo-boat at one moment rose till her deck was almost on a level with the embrasure, then rapidly sank away below; next moment she was carried away, and then again was seen struggling towards us, being momentarily in danger of staving in her thin side against one of the many projections from this motionless mass.

The Admiral was carried hurriedly from the after to the bow embrasure, along the narrow gangway between the turrets and the battered side of the upper battery. From here, off the backs of the men who were standing by the open half-port, holding on to the side, he was lowered down, almost thrown, on board the torpedo-boat, at a moment when she rose on a wave and swung towards us.28 “Hurrah! the Admiral is on board!” shouted Kursel, waving his cap.

“Hurrah!” cheered every one.

How I, with my wounded legs, boarded her, I don’t remember. I can only recollect that, lying on the hot engine-room hatch between the funnels, I gazed at the Suvoroff, unable to take my eyes off her. It was one of those moments which are indelibly impressed upon the mind.

Our position alongside the Suvoroff was extremely dangerous, as, besides the risk of being crushed, we might, at any moment, have been sunk by a shell, for the Japanese still poured in a hot fire upon both the flag-ship and the Kamchatka. Several of the Buiny’s crew had already been killed and wounded with splinters, and a lucky shot might at any moment send us to the bottom.

“Push off quickly!” shouted Kursel from the embrasure.

“Push off—push off—don’t waste a moment—don’t drown the Admiral!” bawled Bogdanoff, leaning over the side and shaking his fist at our captain.

“Push off—push off!” repeated the crew, looking out of the battery ports and waving their caps.

Choosing a moment when she was clear of the side, Kolomeytseff gave the order “Full speed astern.”

Farewell shouts reached us from the Suvoroff. I say from the “Suvoroff,” but who would have recognised the, till recently, formidable battleship in this crippled mass, which was now enveloped in smoke and flames? Her mainmast was cut in half. Her foremast and both funnels had been completely carried away, while her high bridges and galleries had been rent in pieces, and instead of them shapeless piles of distorted iron were heaped upon the deck. She had a heavy list to port, and, in consequence of it, we could see the hull under the water-line on her starboard side reddening the surface of the water, while great tongues of fire were leaping out of numerous rents.

We rapidly steamed away, followed by a brisk fire from those of the enemy’s ships which had noticed our movements.

It was 5.30 p.m.

As I have previously remarked, up to the last moment in the Suvoroff we none of us were aware of the nature of the Admiral’s wounds, and, therefore, the immediate question on board the Buiny was, which ship was he to board in order to continue in command of the fleet? When, however, the surgeon, Peter Kudinoff, came to render first aid, we at once learned of how the matter lay, for Kudinoff declared that his life was in danger; that he was suffering from fracture of the skull—a portion of it having entered his brain—and that any jolt might have fatal results. Taking into consideration the condition of the weather—a fresh breeze and a fairly heavy swell—he said it would be impossible to transfer him to another ship. Moreover, he was unable to stand, and his general condition, loss of power and memory, wandering, and short flashes of consciousness, rendered him incapable of any action.

From the Buiny’s engine-room hatch, on which I had chanced to take up my position on going aboard, I proceeded to the bridge, but found that I was not able to stand here because of the rolling, and could only lie. However, while lying down, I was so in the way of those on duty that the Commander advised me in as nice a way as possible to go elsewhere—to the hospital.

We were now overtaking the fleet, and the flag Captain decided that before making any signal, we must in spite of above consult the Admiral, and this was entrusted to me. Picking my way astern with great difficulty, I went down the ladder and looked into the Captain’s cabin. The surgeon had finished dressing the Admiral’s wounds, and the latter was lying motionless in a hammock with half-closed eyes. But he was still conscious.

On my asking him if he felt strong enough to continue in command, and what ship he wished to board, he turned towards me with an effort, and for a while seemed trying to remember something.

“No—where am I? You can see—command—Nebogatoff,” he muttered indistinctly, and then, with a sudden burst of energy, added, “Keep on Vladivostok—course N.23°E.,” and again relapsed into a stupor.

Having sent his reply to the flag Captain (I don’t remember by whom, but I think it was by Leontieff) I intended to remain in the ward-room, but there was no room. All the cabins and even the upper deck were full of men, as, before coming to the Suvoroff, the Buiny had picked up over 200 men at the spot where the Oslyabya sank. Amongst them were wounded sailors who had been swimming about in the salt water, and others who, when taken up, had been half drowned. The latter, contracted with cramp, and racked with tormenting coughs and pains in their chests, seemed with their bluish faces to be in a worse plight than the most badly wounded.

Passing on to the upper deck I seated myself on a box by the ladder to the officers’ quarters.

Signals were fluttering from our mast and orders were being given by semaphore to the torpedo-boats, Bezuprechny and Biedovy, which were now close up to us.29 We had already caught up the fleet and were steaming, together with the transports, which were covered, ahead and to starboard, by our cruisers. Still further to starboard, and some 30 cables off, was our main force. The Borodino was leading, and after her came the Orel; but the Alexander was nowhere to be seen.30 In the distance, still further off, could dimly be made out in the dusk, which was now rapidly creeping on, the silhouettes of the Japanese ships—steaming parallel to us. The flashes of their guns twinkled incessantly along the line, but the stubborn fight was not yet at an end!

Alongside of me I recognised an officer of the Oslyabya, and asked him what had actually caused his ship to sink?

Waving his arm in a helpless sort of way, and in a voice full of disgust, he jerked out: “How? it’s not very pleasant to remember. Absolutely no luck, that’s what sunk her. Nothing but bad luck! They shot straight enough—but it wasn’t shooting. It wasn’t skill either. It was luck—infernal luck! Three shells, one after the other, almost in the same identical spot—Imagine it! All of them in the same place! All on the water-line under the forward turret! Not a hole—but a regular gateway! Three of them penetrated her together. She almost heeled over at once—then settled under the water. A tremendous rush of water and the partitions were naturally useless. The devil himself couldn’t have done anything!” he hysterically exclaimed, and, covering his face with his hands, went on deck.

About 7 p.m. the enemy’s torpedo-boats appeared across the course on which our main force was steering, but rapidly drew off as our cruisers opened fire on them.

“Perhaps they’ve laid mines!” I thought to myself, and turned on my box, trying to make myself more easy.

“The Borodino! Look! the Borodino!” was shouted on all sides.

I raised myself, as quickly as possible on my arm, but where the Borodino had been nothing was visible save a patch of white foam!

It was 7.10 p.m.

The enemy’s fleet having turned sharply to starboard, bore off to the east, and in its place was a group of torpedo-boats, which now surrounded us in a semicircle from the north, east, and west. Preparing to receive their attacks from astern, our cruisers, and we after them, gradually inclined to port,—and then bore almost direct to the west—straight towards the red sky. (There was no compass near me.)

At 7.40 p.m. I still was able to see our battleships, steaming astern of us devoid of formation, and defending themselves from the approaching torpedo-boats by firing. This was my last note. Feeling weak from loss of blood and from the inflammation of my wounds, which were dirty and had not been bandaged, I began to shiver. My head swam, and I went below to get help.

And what of the Suvoroff? This is how a Japanese report describes her last moments:

“In the dusk, when our cruisers were driving the enemy northwards, they came upon the Suvoroff alone, at some distance from the fight, heeling over badly and enveloped in flames and smoke. The division (Captain-Lieutenant Fudzimoto) of torpedo-boats, which was with our cruisers, was at once sent to attack her. Although much burned and still on fire—although she had been subjected to so many attacks, having been fired at by all the fleet (in the full sense of the word)—although she had only one serviceable gun—she still opened fire, showing her determination to defend herself to the last moment of her existence—so long, in fact, as she remained above water. At length, about 7 P.M., after our torpedo-boats had twice attacked her, she went to the bottom.”

TO THE EVERLASTING MEMORY OF
THE HEROES WHO PERISHED!