“Now the fun will begin,” thought I to myself, going up to the
after-bridge, which seemed to be the most convenient place for carrying
out my duty of seeing and noting down everything, as from there I could
see both the enemy and our own fleet. Lieutenant Reydkin, commanding
the after starboard 6-inch turret, was also there, having dashed up to
see what was going on, as the fight was apparently to commence to port,
and his turret would not be in action.
We stood side by side, exchanging now and again abrupt remarks, not
understanding why the Japanese intended crossing to our port side, when
our weak spot--the transports and cruisers covering them--was astern,
and to starboard of us. Perhaps, having commenced the fight while
steering on the opposite course, and having taken advantage of their
superior speed, they calculated on rounding us from the stern, in order
to fall at the same time on our transports and weak rear! If so, a
raking fire would present no difficulties.
“Hullo! Look! What _are_ they up to?” said Reydkin, and his voice
betrayed both delight and amazement.
I looked and looked, and, not believing my eyes, could not put down
my glasses. The Japanese ships had suddenly commenced to turn “in
succession” to port, reversing their course!
If the reader recollects what has been said previously on the subject
of turns, he will easily understand that this manœuvre made it
necessary for all the enemy’s ships to pass in succession over the
point on which the leading ship had turned; this point was, so to
speak, stationary on the water, making it easy for us to range and aim.
Besides--even with a speed of 15 knots, the manœuvre must take about
fifteen minutes to complete, and all this time the vessels, which had
already turned, would mask the fire of those which were still coming up.
“_How_ rash!” said Reydkin, who could not keep quiet. “Why, in a
minute we’ll be able to roll up the leading ships!”
“Please God, we may!” thought I.
It was plain to me that Togo, seeing something which he had not
expected, had suddenly changed his mind. The manœuvre was undoubtedly
risky, but, on the other hand, if he found it necessary to steer on
the opposite course, there was no other way of doing it. He might have
ordered the fleet to turn “together,” but this would have made the
cruiser _Iwate_ the leading ship in action, which he evidently did
not wish. Togo accordingly decided to turn “in succession,” in order
that he should lead the fleet in person, and not leave success at the
commencement of the action to depend upon the presence of mind and
enterprise of the junior flag-officer. (The _Iwate_ flew Rear-Admiral
Simamura’s flag.)
My heart beat furiously, as it had never done before during the six
months at Port Arthur. If we succeeded! God grant it! Even though we
didn’t sink one of them, if we could only put one out of action! The
first success--was it possible?
Meanwhile Rozhdestvensky hastened to avail himself of this favourable
opportunity.
At _1.49 p.m._, when the manœuvre had been performed by the _Mikasa_
and _Shikishima_ (two only out of the twelve), the _Suvoroff_ fired the
first shot at a range of 6,400 yards, and the guns of the whole fleet
thundered forth. I watched closely through my glasses. The shots which
went over and those which fell short were all close, but the most
interesting, _i.e._ the hits, as in the fight of 10th August, could not
be seen. Our shells on bursting emitted scarcely any smoke, and the
fuses were adjusted to burst inside after penetrating the target. A
hit could only be detected when something fell--and nothing fell! In a
couple of minutes, when the _Fuji_ and _Asahi_ had turned also and were
following the first ships, the enemy began to reply.
The first shells flew over us. At this range some of the long ones
turned a complete somersault, and could clearly be seen with the naked
eye curving like so many sticks thrown in the air. They flew over us,
making a sort of wail, different to the ordinary roar.
“Are those the portmanteaus?”[13] I asked Reydkin, smiling.
“Yes. Those are they.”
But what struck me most was that these “portmanteaus,” curving
awkwardly head over heels through the air and falling anyhow on the
water, exploded the moment they touched its surface. This had never
happened before.
After them came others short of us--nearer and nearer. Splinters
whistled through the air, jingled against the side and superstructure.
Then, quite close and abreast the foremost funnel, rose a gigantic
pillar of smoke, water and flame. I saw stretchers being carried along
the fore-bridge, and I leaned over the rail.
“Prince Tsereteli!”[14] shouted Reydkin from below, in reply to my
silent question, as he went towards his turret.
The next shell struck the side by the centre 6-inch turret, and there
was a tremendous noise behind and below me on the port quarter. Smoke
and tongues of fire leapt out of the officers’ gangway; a shell having
fallen into the captain’s cabin, and having penetrated the deck, had
burst in the officers’ quarters, setting them on fire.
And here I was able to observe, and not for the first time, the stupor
which seems to come over men, who have never been in action before,
when the first shells begin to fall. A stupor which turns easily and
instantaneously, at the most insignificant external shock, into either
uncontrollable panic which cannot be allayed, or into unusually high
spirits, depending on the man’s character.
The men at the fire mains and hoses stood as if mesmerised, gazing
at the smoke and flames, not understanding, apparently, what was
happening. I went down to them from the bridge, and with the most
commonplace words, such as “Wake up! Turn the water on!”--got them to
pull themselves together and bravely to fight the fire.
I was taking out my watch and pocket-book to make a note of the first
fire, when something suddenly struck me in the waist, and something
large and soft, though heavy, hit me in the back, lifting me up and
hurling me on to the deck. When I again got up, my note-book and watch
were in my hands as before. My watch was going; but the second hand was
slightly bent, and the glass had disappeared. Stupefied by the blow,
and not myself, I began carefully to hunt for it on the deck, and found
it unbroken. Picking it up, I fitted it in to my watch--and, only then
realising that I had been occupied with something of no importance, I
looked round.
I had probably been unconscious for some time, as the fire had been
extinguished, and, save for two or three dead bodies on which water was
pouring from the torn hoses, no one was to be seen. Whatever had struck
me had come from the direction of the deck house aft, which was hidden
from me by a mantlet of hammocks. I looked in the direction where the
flag-officers, with a party of poop signalmen, should have been. The
shell had passed through the deck house, bursting inside. Of the ten or
twelve signalmen, some seemed to be standing by the starboard 6-inch
turret, others seemed to be lying in a huddled group. Inside was a pile
of something, and on the top lay an officer’s telescope.
“Is this all that is left?” I wondered, but I was wrong, as by some
miracle Novosiltseff and Kozakevitch were only wounded and, helped by
Maximoff, had gone to the dressing station, while I was lying on the
deck occupied with mending my watch.
“Hullo! a scene that you are accustomed to? Like the 10th August?”
said the irrepressible Reydkin, peeping out of his turret.
“Just the same!” I replied in a confident tone. But it was hardly so:
indeed, it would have been more correct to say--“Not in the least like.”
On 10th August, in a fight lasting some hours, the _Cesarevitch_ was
struck by only nineteen large shells, and I, in all seriousness, had
intended in the present engagement to note the times and the places
where we were hit, as well as the damage done. But how could I make
detailed notes when it seemed impossible even to count the number of
projectiles striking us? I had not only never witnessed such a fire
before, but I had never imagined anything like it. Shells seemed to be
pouring upon us incessantly, one after another.[15]
After six months with the Port Arthur squadron I had grown indifferent
to most things. Shimose and melinite were to a certain extent old
acquaintances, but this was something new. It seemed as if these were
mines, not shells, which were striking the ship’s side and falling
on the deck. They burst as soon as they touched anything--the moment
they encountered the least impediment in their flight. Handrails,
funnel guys, topping lifts of the boats’ derricks, were quite
sufficient to cause a thoroughly efficient burst. The steel plates and
superstructure on the upper deck were torn to pieces, and the splinters
caused many casualties. Iron ladders were crumpled up into rings, and
guns were literally hurled from their mountings.
Such havoc would never be caused by the simple impact of a shell, still
less by that of its splinters. It could only be caused by the force of
the explosion. The Japanese had apparently succeeded in realising what
the Americans had endeavoured to attain in inventing their “Vesuvium.”
In addition to this, there was the unusual high temperature and liquid
flame of the explosion, which seemed to spread over everything. I
actually watched a steel plate catch fire from a burst. Of course,
the steel did not burn, but the paint on it did. Such almost
non-combustible materials as hammocks, and rows of boxes, drenched
with water, flared up in a moment. At times it was impossible to see
anything with glasses, owing to everything being so distorted with the
quivering, heated air. No! It was different to the 10th August![16]
I hurriedly went to the Admiral in the conning tower. Why? At the time
I did not attempt to think, but now feel sure that I merely wished
to see him, and by seeing him to confirm my impressions. Was it all
imagination? Was it all a nightmare? Had I become jumpy?
Running along the fore-bridge I almost fell, slipping in a pool of
blood (the chief signalman--Kandaooroff--had just been killed there).
I went into the conning tower, and found the Admiral and Captain both
bending down, looking out through the chink between the armour and the
roof.
“Sir,” said the Captain, energetically gesticulating as was his wont,
“we must shorten the distance. They’re all being killed--they are on
fire!”
“Wait a bit. Aren’t we all being killed also?” replied the Admiral.
Close to the wheel, and on either side of it, lay two bodies in
officers’ tunics--face downwards.
“The officer at the wheel, and Berseneff!”[17] was shouted in my ear by
a sub-lieutenant--Shishkin--whose arm I had touched, pointing to the
bodies. “Berseneff first--in the head--quite dead.”
The range-finder was worked. Vladimirsky shouted his orders in a
clear voice, and the electricians quickly turned the handles of
the indicator, transmitting the range to the turrets and light gun
batteries.
“We’re all right,” thought I to myself, going out of the conning
tower, but the next moment the thought flashed across me: “They
can’t see what is going on on board.” Leaving the tower, I looked
out intently on all sides from the fore-bridge. Were not my recent
thoughts, which I had not dared to put into words, realised?
No!
The enemy had finished turning. His twelve ships were in perfect order
at close intervals, steaming parallel to us, but gradually forging
ahead. No disorder was noticeable. It seemed to me that with my Zeiss
glasses (the distance was a little more than 4,000 yards), I could even
distinguish the mantlets of hammocks on the bridges, and groups of men.
But with us? I looked round. What havoc!--Burning bridges, smouldering
_débris_ on the decks,--piles of dead bodies. Signalling and judging
distance stations, gun-directing positions, all were destroyed. And
astern of us the _Alexander_ and _Borodino_ were also enveloped in
smoke. No! it was very different to the 10th August.
The enemy, steaming ahead, commenced quickly to incline to starboard,
endeavouring to cross our T. We also bore to starboard, and again we
had him almost on our beam.
_It was now 2.5 p.m._
A man came up to report what had taken place in the after 12-inch
turret. I went to look. Part of the shield over the port gun had been
torn off and bent upwards, but the turret was still turning and keeping
up a hot fire.
The officer commanding the fire parties had had both his legs blown
off and was carried below. Men fell faster and faster. Reinforcements
were required everywhere to replace casualties, even at the turrets
into which splinters could only penetrate through the narrow gun ports.
The dead were, of course, left to lie where they had fallen, but yet
there were not enough men to look after the wounded.
There are no spare men on board a warship, and a reserve does not
exist. Each man is detailed for some particular duty, and told off to
his post in action. The only source which we could tap was the crews
of the 47 millimetre, and machine, guns, who from the commencement of
the fight had been ordered to remain below the armoured deck so as not
to be unnecessarily exposed. Having nothing to do now, as all their
guns, which were in exposed positions on the bridges, had been utterly
destroyed, we made use of them, but they were a mere drop in the ocean.
As for the fires, even if we had had the men, we were without the means
with which to fight them. Over and over again the hoses in use were
changed for new ones, but these also were soon torn to ribbons, and
the supply became exhausted. Without hoses how could we pump water on
to the bridges and spar-deck where the flames raged? On the spar-deck,
in particular, where eleven wooden boats were piled up, the fire was
taking a firm hold. Up till now, this “store of wood” had only caught
fire in places, as the water which had been poured into the boats prior
to the commencement of the action was still in them, though it was
fast trickling out of the numerous cracks momentarily being made by the
splinters.
We, of course, did everything possible: tried to plug the holes, and
brought up water in buckets.[18] I am not certain if the scuppers had
been closed on purpose, or had merely become blocked, but practically
none of the water we used for the fire ran overboard, and it lay,
instead, on the upper deck. This was fortunate, as, in the first place,
the deck itself did not catch fire, and, in the second, we threw into
it the smouldering _débris_ falling from above--merely separating the
burning pieces and turning them over.
Seeing Flag Sub-Lieutenant Demchinsky standing by the ladder of
the fore-bridge, with a party of forecastle signalmen near the
starboard forward 6-inch turret, I went up to him. Golovnin, another
sub-lieutenant, who was in charge of the turret, gave us some cold tea
to drink, which he had stored in bottles. It seems a trifle, but it
cheered us up.
Demchinsky told me that the first shell striking the ship had fallen
right into the temporary dressing station, rigged up by the doctor in
what seemed the most sheltered spot on the upper battery (between the
centre 6-inch turrets by the ship’s ikon). He said that it had caused a
number of casualties; that the doctor somehow escaped, but the ship’s
chaplain had been dangerously wounded. I went there to have a look at
the place.
The ship’s ikon or, more properly speaking, ikons as there were
several of them, all farewell gifts to the ship, were untouched. The
glass of the big ikon case had not even been broken, and in front of
it, on hanging candlesticks, candles were peacefully burning. There
wasn’t a soul to be seen. Between the wrecked tables, stools, broken
bottles, and different hospital appliances were some dead bodies, and a
mass of something, which, with difficulty, I guessed to be the remains
of what had once been men.
I had not had time properly to take in this scene of destruction when
Demchinsky came down the ladder, supporting Flag Lieutenant Sverbeyeff,
who could scarcely stand.
He was gasping for breath, and asked for water. Ladling some out of a
bucket into a mess kettle, I gave him some, and, as he was unable to
use his arms, we had to help him. He drank greedily, jerking out a few
words--“It’s a trifle--tell the Flag Captain--I’ll come immediately--I
am suffocated with these cursed gases--I’ll get my breath in a minute.”
He inhaled the air with a great effort through his blue lips, and
something seemed to rattle in his throat and chest, though not, of
course, the poisonous gases. On the right side of his back his coat was
torn in a great rent, and his wound was bleeding badly. Demchinsky told
off a couple of men to take him down to the hospital, and we again went
on deck.
I crossed over to the port side, between the forward 12-inch and 6-inch
turrets, to have a look at the enemy’s fleet. It was all there, just
the same--no fires--no heeling over--no fallen bridges, as if it had
been at drill instead of fighting, and as if our guns, which had been
thundering incessantly for the last half-hour, had been firing--not
shells, but the devil alone knows what![19]
Feeling almost in despair, I put down my glasses and went aft.
“The last of the halyards are burned,” said Demchinsky to me. “I think
I shall take my men somewhere under cover.” Of course, I fully agreed.
What was the use of the signalmen remaining under fire when nothing was
left for them to signal with!
_It was now 2.20 p.m._
Making my way aft through the _débris_, I met Reydkin hurrying to the
forecastle. “We can’t fire from the port quarter,” he said excitedly;
“everything is on fire there, and the men are suffocated with heat and
smoke.”
“Well! come on, let’s get some one to put the fire out.”
“I’ll do that, but you report to the Admiral. Perhaps he will give us
some orders.”
“What orders can he give?”
“He may alter the course. I don’t know!”
“What! leave the line? Is it likely?”
“Well! anyway, you tell him.”
In order to quiet him, I promised to report at once, and we separated,
going our ways. As I anticipated, the Admiral only shrugged his
shoulders on hearing my report and said, “They _must_ put the fire out.
No help can be sent from here.”
Instead of two dead bodies, five or six were now lying in the conning
tower. The man at the wheel having been incapacitated, Vladimirsky had
taken his place. His face was covered with blood, but his moustache was
smartly twisted upwards, and he wore the same self-confident look as
he had in the ward-room when discussing “the future of gunnery.”
Leaving the tower, I intended going to Reydkin to tell him the
Admiral’s reply and to assist in extinguishing the fire, but instead I
remained on the bridge looking at the Japanese fleet.