From Libau to Tsushima / A narrative of the voyage of Admiral Rojdestvensky's fleet to eastern seas, including a detailed account of the Dogger Bank incident

by Evgenii Sigizmundovich Politovskii

FOOTNOTES:

[1] Admiral Rojdestvensky's Christian name. "Boyarin" means "the lord."

[2] On September 17th, 1904, the battleship Orel went aground when being towed to sea.

[3] A small wooden box in which sailors keep small articles of private property, such as watches, letters, photographs, etc.

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CHAPTER II
OFF NORTH-WEST AFRICA

October 19th.—On the way from Vigo to Tangier.

Permission came last evening for us to proceed. At 7 a.m. to-day the fleet weighed anchor and left Vigo Bay.

I did not succeed in getting ashore. Yesterday an engineer of the Anadir fell from the upper deck into the hold, but escaped uninjured.

There is a report in the newspapers that, during the firing on the steamers in the German Ocean, the chaplain of the Aurora was wounded, and now they have sent him into hospital at Tangier, where the remainder of the fleet are lying. There is no proper harbour at Tangier—merely the open sea. It is unlike Vigo. The latter is one of the best harbours in the world. It is deep and long and broad. The Spaniards do not know how to profit by such natural wealth. Vigo might carry on a universal trade. At present it is a small provincial town on the sea. The Spaniards are very poor, because they are uncommonly lazy. Vigo trades mostly in sardines. They have a sardine factory. The sardines are caught in the bay, which is divided into squares for each party of fishermen. Heaven help the fishermen who trespass in the square of the others. There is a fight at once. This occurs so often, that there are special ships who part the fighters and tow the guilty fishermen in their boats to the shore, for punishment.

The weather is fine at present; but what darkness! Literally nothing can be seen, and there are no stars. Only lights that are absolutely necessary are left on deck. It is dark everywhere. One has to look out and not bump one's head or fall.

Something has gone wrong again with the Orel's steering engine. She continues to keep up with the others.

About 10 p.m. some ships chased us. They are now around us, and on the same course as ourselves. There are five or six of them. At one time it was completely dark, and then the ships behaved very defiantly—now extinguishing all their lights, now passing us, now chasing us, and now coming close up to us. Our division is steaming surrounded by them. They appear to be warships, judging by their shape, which we saw when one of them lighted up another with her searchlight. We are ordered to log all their manœuvres, lamp signals, place of meeting with them, etc. Hammocks are not served out to the crew, and they sleep at the guns.

The night has just become a little lighter. Stars have appeared, though sometimes clouded over. The stars and the Milky Way recall Tashkend to me. There, there are the same dark nights and bright stars.

It is supposed that the ships now surrounding us are English, and that at dawn they will disperse.

Hope we shall soon get to the ocean. There you can shape a course one hundred miles off, and no one will find you.

October 20th.—The English ships escorted us all night. They are now steaming on each side of us.

At eight o'clock the Orel hoisted a signal that her steering engine was damaged. All the ships stopped. The Alexander lowered a boat and sent the flag engineer to her. At nine o'clock our battleships and the Anadir proceeded to Tangier.

Sometimes the coasts of Portugal are visible.

When our ships stopped the English probably took it for a hostile demonstration. They quickly assembled astern of our division and formed in battle order. Horrid folk! They are Russia's eternal enemy. They are cunning, powerful at sea, and insolent everywhere. All nations hate England, but it suits them to tolerate her. If you could only hear how furiously Spaniards abuse the English! They shake their fists and nearly foam at the mouth. If they only could, they would gladly play some low trick on them. How many impediments has this "Ruler of the Seas" put on our voyage? Every impediment has come from Britannia.

Do you know, we have passed by the shores of nine countries—Sweden, Norway, Denmark, Belgium, Holland, England, France, Germany, Spain. We are now passing by the tenth—Portugal.

Portugal is considered the ally of England, and upholds her everywhere.

Evening.—To-day there was a memorial service for the Emperor Alexander III. The English cruisers accompanied us all day, and at dusk again surrounded us in a semicircle. They are, however, steaming with lights, and are not playing any of the tricks they played last night.

If nothing happens we shall be at Tangier at 3 p.m. to-morrow. An hour ago we passed Cape St. Vincent (Portuguese), off which a great naval battle once took place.

It is beginning to be hot and stuffy in the cabins, although it is pouring with rain.

The number of English cruisers accompanying us has increased to ten. We are steaming completely surrounded by them. The ships are in this order:

All this respectable company are going in the direction of the arrow. How small our division appears compared with the English! Will they escort us for long in this manner? Perhaps to Gibraltar, or perhaps even further! The crews again do not undress, and sleep at the guns. It is very trying for them.

There has just been a short mass and prayer. Three engineers, not yet having taken the oath, were sworn. The officers and men were fallen in on deck as on Sundays. The admiral made a short speech on the subject of the ten years' reign of the Czar, drank a toast, the crew cheered, and the band played. After that there was a grand lunch in the wardroom.

Morocco, in Tangier harbour.

The town of Tangier is unlike any we see in Europe. It is inhabited by Moors and Arabs. There are Europeans, but they live principally outside the town, which, with its white houses, is widely scattered over the hilly coast. From afar the town is beautiful. No one is allowed on shore.

You may remember once all the papers wrote that a Moorish robber had captured an American and demanded a ransom. This much-respected person lives twenty-five versts (nearly seventeen miles) from Tangier, and has built himself a costly villa with the money. It appears that he still occupies himself in robbery, and has a tribe of eight hundred men. No one is allowed to go far from the town.

We arrived here at three o'clock, and found all our fleet except the torpedo-boats at anchor. There are two French ships and an English one lying here as well.

At five o'clock the hospital-ship Orel arrived. She is painted white with red crosses on her funnels. The Red Cross flag is flying at her masthead. The chaplain of the Aurora who was wounded on the 8th died from blood-poisoning.

There is a report that there are two Japanese torpedo-boats at Hull, in England. They are probably some of those who tried to attack our division.

It is rumoured that Russia has bought seven more cruisers, and that they will join us soon. This would be excellent. The battleships of our division are now coaling. There is frightful confusion on board. The sailors of the ship which coals quickest get a prize. The crew of the Alexander III. won 1,200 roubles (£120) at the last coaling.

As usual, we have no news about the war! Yesterday was an anxious day for Port Arthur. The Japanese wished to hoist their flag there on the Mikado's birthday.

Scarcely had the Suvaroff anchored, when from all sides came steam cutters and boats with captains of ships, paymasters, and other officers. From the shore came the local authorities, our consul, contractors, captains of foreign ships—in a word, every one is hastening to the Suvaroff like the public to the play at the theatre! Truly it is like it! From our ship salutes constantly thunder, various flags are hoisted, and the band plays. From the other ships and from the shore they salute the Suvaroff. The scene is full of animation.

The native inhabitants dress very picturesquely, as though they were masquerading. Some are in jackets with wide breeches and a fez, and others in turbans and hooded tunics, all of various colours. The faces of all are very dark. They consider themselves of importance. It would be interesting to see them in the town.

Our torpedo-boats have already left for the Mediterranean. They have done this enormous journey in nineteen days.

10 p.m.—In the Gibraltar Chronicle they announce that Alexieff is leaving, and that Stössel has telegraphed that Port Arthur will be his grave.

October 22nd (night).—If you could only see what an inferno this coaling is! The steamers and battleships are lighted by electricity. The holds below and the decks are swarming with people. Words of command are abruptly given, and the band plays the gayest tunes. The work goes better to music. Though Morocco is considered under the protection of France, there is an English post-office, a German one, and I believe a Spanish one as well.

I have just returned from the steamer Pallas, which brought coal for us and damaged her side while coaling.

A pedlar has just come on board, bringing picture postcards, mats, nets, white shoes and helmets (you know the kind the English wear in the tropics). I have already bought myself a helmet, and the postcards that are left are not much good, though I bought six of them and gave one to my servant. He is delighted. The boots do not fit, and white boots are an absolute necessity in the tropics.

Our consul's "cavass" has just come on board. He has a black face; wears a red fez, and a blue tunic with a hood; has bare legs and yellow heelless slippers. He is a curious object. He will stay with us till we leave, and will collect the mails. We shall have to pay a hundred francs for his boat. A modest sum!

Am just going on board the Orel. Something is damaged.... How wet I got! My legs were wet up to the knees. I went in the cutter to all the private coal-merchants, looking for the director of the company, and then on to the Orel. The rain is falling in bucketfuls, with such heaviness that it hides the other ships from view like a dense curtain. It is perfectly beastly. Luckily I have a mackintosh.

I have a trip to the steamer Esperanza before me. Hope I shall escape it.

7 p.m.—Went on board the Esperanza. Wore high boots, but there was no rain.

The local papers say that another of our ships has perished off Port Arthur. What is one to believe? For instance, there is a story in the papers that our admiral insulted the English admiral after the latter had tried to prevent our leaving Vigo. A quarrel ensued, guns were fired, and the English were beaten by us. They write so many lies in the local papers.

October 25th.—From Tangier to Dakar.

We left Tangier on the morning of the 23rd, and are now on our way to Dakar, which lies on the western shores of Africa, not far from St. Louis and Cape Verde, and belongs to France.

Have not written to you for a couple of days, for two reasons. I am very angry and very busy. I am angry because at Tangier I never received a wire from you in answer to mine. All day long yesterday, till the depths of the night, I was busy with sketches and calculations. I had not a spare moment.

When weighing anchor at Tangier the Anadir's anchor caught in the telegraph cable. By order of the admiral the cable was cut. I suppose there will again be diplomatic representations over this affair. No doubt the English will say that it was done purposely, so that no telegrams should be sent announcing our departure. It is lucky that the cable belongs to France. Had it been English the scandal would have been terrific.

At Tangier I saw a peculiar rainbow. It stretched from the foot to the summit of a hill.

7 p.m.—My work is accumulating tremendously. I began early in the morning, and probably will be busy again to-night with sketches and calculations. It will be a long time before you get this letter. As time goes on, letters will be less frequent. We have a tremendous journey before us—seventeen or eighteen days from port to port—so do not be anxious at not receiving news for a very long time. During our present cruise this is quite a normal state of affairs.

It is twenty-three days now since I set foot on shore. The shore is not attractive as a rule. I long to get quickly to Vladivostok. I am sick to death of it all. They say the sea is beautiful! I do not agree with that entirely. It is true the water is blue, but that is all you can say for it; it is only blue in calm weather, but in stormy weather it appears to me to be a stupid, insane, infuriated element. Perhaps the sea is beautiful, but only to those on dry land. I could never be fascinated by the sea.

October 26th.—The transport Malay broke some of her machinery at one o'clock last night. The whole fleet stopped and waited until she had made the defect good. We remained on the spot till 7 a.m. The Malay repaired engines and the fleet proceeded. We wasted six hours over it. I count every hour. The less time we spend in harbour and the quicker we go, the sooner we shall arrive at Vladivostok. In a word, Vladivostok is the goal of our desires.

October 27th.—We passed the Tropic of Cancer at 4 p.m., and are going towards the Equator. We are in the tropics, and yet I cannot say that it is specially hot and airless.

Our squadron going round Africa consists of the following ships: the battleships Suvaroff, Alexander, Borodino, Orel, Oslyabya; cruisers, Dimitry Donskoi, Aurora, Nachimoff; transports, Kamchatka, Anadir, Meteor, Korea, Malay, and the hospital-ship Orel. The Meteor, Korea, and Malay are under the merchant flag; and so is the Orel, but she is also flying the Red Cross.

We heard an unpleasant rumour to-day. It is said the squadron will make a long stay at Madagascar and carry out various exercises. Can it be so? This news annoys me. If we are there so long, when shall we get to Vladivostok? I console myself with the thought that this is a clever fiction.

The captain laid in a reserve of white soap, which dissolves in salt water (generally soap does not). The fresh water is preserved for steaming, so you can only have a salt-water bath on board. My servant brought me a piece of this soap yesterday. I do not know how he obtained it. There is nearly 100 roubles' worth of it on board the Suvaroff.

I have very few cigarettes left—only six boxes. It is a good thing you bought me 1,000 at Revel, and that I bought some at Libau, or I should be without them.

October 28th.—My servant is evidently attached to me. He is industrious and inquisitive. Just after we left Libau he saw a box of pastilles and said, "Did our barina [lady] really come to Libau, sir?" He came into my cabin to-day with a bucket and mop, and said, "Shall I interfere with your worship if I wash the deck?"

It is very probable that from Dakar we shall go to Gaboon. We shall call at ports which I have never heard of before, or if I have it was a very long time ago—perhaps at school.

I told the ship's photographer to prepare me a series of photographs which I will send you. They are not very characteristic, but better ones are not to be had.

October 29th.—It is very stuffy to-day. One perspires a good deal. Last night I slept with only a sheet over me, and had nothing on but a cross. Notwithstanding the stuffiness, one is obliged to sleep with closed ports and deadlights. In time of war all superfluous lights in a ship are either extinguished or covered over. If it is so hot here, it will positively be hell at the Equator. The air is offensive, being impregnated with steam. It is damp. The drawers of the tables are beginning to shut badly. They are sodden. Soon all metallic objects will begin to rust. I am sitting in my cabin with my shirt unbuttoned. Experienced people say that every one will get prickly heat. This eruption appears in the tropics because the pores of the skin are constantly irritated. The heat and stuffiness are unbearable. There is no wind—we are in a calm belt. The fans are kept going incessantly on board. Every one goes about sunburnt and sleepy.

Speed has purposely been lessened in order to get into Dakar to-morrow morning, and not this evening.

I think we shall stay in Dakar some days. Heavy coaling awaits us there—2,000 tons. All the decks will be loaded with coal.

Dakar, Senegambia.

October 30th.—Just arrived at Dakar. The fleet is anchoring.

The town is situated partly on shore and partly on a small island.

To-day is the admiral's names-day. They say there will be an official dinner.

The heat and stuffiness are fearful. Perspiration pours off one. The air is damp—towels will not dry.

2 p.m.—I have been on duty on board the cruiser Admiral Nachimoff. There I met an engineer whom I knew at school. I lunched in the Nachimoff, though there was an official lunch in the Suvaroff. I was not present. A sister of mercy from the Orel was there. She is a relation of the admiral's. The admiral has permitted communication with the shore after the coal has been taken on board. We remain here until the evening of November 3rd. All the ships except ours have begun to coal.

Negroes in small boats are rowing round the fleet. You throw money into the water for them and they dive for it. The whole of their costume consists of a loin-cloth and not a stitch more. They are repulsive—black with long, thin legs and arms. They gave me the impression of being sick, incapable people.

Apparently, when the Oslyabya was at Tangier, she asked for a barge and baskets for coaling from Gibraltar. The English purposely employed all the barges themselves, and bought up all the baskets. The Oslyabya received nothing.

5 p.m.—The French Governor has just arrived in great state, and explained that he cannot permit us to coal. The admiral told him that he should, nevertheless, continue to coal until he had a telegram from Europe. They have long ago begun coaling in the other ships, and will soon begin in us. Perhaps the Governor will announce that we are not to remain here. That would be a great surprise to every one. Probably things are going badly in Manchuria—the French are evidently also sailing with the wind. From there (Manchuria) we have no decisive news.

Evening.—I hurried off my twenty-second letter to you as the post was going. It appears that telegraphing is very expensive from here. The cable between Dakar and Europe is damaged somewhere, so telegrams have to be sent round by America.

There is a report that Stössel is wounded in the leg. At first the French allowed us to coal, and then came an order from Paris not allowing us in harbour. Nevertheless, our fleet remains, and we are coaling. All the doors and scuttles are tightly closed to keep out the coal-dust. The stuffiness is dreadful inside the ship. We are tormented by thirst. Drinks are hot and unpleasant. All the same, one drinks incessantly. I alone drank six bottles of lemonade to-day.

Can you guess what our one topic of conversation in the fleet is about? Coal! It is our weak spot. Our comings, our goings, our voyage, and even our success depend on coal. In order to stimulate the men, they have established prizes, which are given to the crew of the ship that coals quickest.

The everlasting conversation about coaling drives one frantic, still one talks of it and quarrels about it.

October 31st.—Since early this morning I have been round the harbour. Coal-dust has penetrated everywhere—into the cabins, the cupboards, and on to the tables. The decks are clouded with dust. Every one is so black that you do not recognise people at once.

There is a report that we shall not call at Gaboon. Perhaps it is for the best, as we shall proceed sooner; besides, Gaboon lies almost on the Equator. That means it would be somewhat warm.

3 p.m.—They gave us ices for lunch to-day; they were steaming though cold. The heat is awful. Precautions are being taken against sunstrokes. There are some indications that we shall stay here till Wednesday—i.e. November 3rd. If we do not go to Gaboon, but steer for the next port on the list, we shall have a tremendous trip.

Our admiral called on the local commandant and invited him to lunch.

Just been urgently summoned on board the Donskoi.

November 1st.—Just returned from the transport Malay. She is damaged below the water-line.

Evening.—At 3 p.m. Lieutenant Nelidoff (son of our ambassador at Paris) died from sunstroke. The deceased was a wonderful linguist, knowing seven or eight languages. He will be buried to-morrow.

Our officers have just returned from the shore. According to them there is nothing interesting to be seen. If I can manage it, I shall go ashore to-morrow. I am too tired to-day.

November 2nd (5 p.m.)—I am sitting in a restaurant, drinking lemonade. How you would have laughed just now! I asked the negro waiter for the menu, and he brought me cards, dice, and a board covered with cloth. There is nothing to do on shore. I shall go on board by the first boat. They are burying Nelidoff. I hear the volleys.

I returned from the shore by the seven o'clock boat. Our doctor distinguished himself. He tore some fruit from a tree and ate it. Scarcely had he returned on board when he was seized with colic and vomiting.

There are some Japanese here. Our officers saw two of them. Evidently they are spies.

We leave to-morrow, and I go on board the Donskoi in the morning. I shall scarcely have time when I return to add two or three words to this letter before the post goes. Our trip will be a long one—about ten days.

I wandered about Dakar and thought of you all the time—with what curiosity you would regard all these unfamiliar pictures, the niggers, negresses, children, and lastly even the Europeans! Everything here is so original. Little children run about the streets without any signs of clothing. All the natives are bedecked with amulets. They are very lazy and obtrusive. One of them came to the captain and begged for money. The latter said to him, "Look here, you do nothing, so you have no money." The nigger fired back, "You have lots of money—do you do anything?"

There are few Europeans here, and very few elderly ones among them. After they have passed their youth here they leave the colony. The climate is said to be bad. An epidemic of yellow fever is raging. You may imagine that it is impossible to buy fruit.

The niggers to whom we threw coins into the water are already selling them, offering them back to the officers, as Russian money is not accepted here.

Many of the natives are rather picturesquely dressed in white and coloured tunics. The niggers go about with sunshades, but all are barelegged. The negresses sometimes wear European hats and garments something like dressing gowns. They carry their babies on their backs. Arabs are also to be met with here.

The religions are Catholic, Mohammedan, and idolatrous.

What a trade the town is doing since the fleet anchored! Many articles are doubled in value, and others cannot be obtained. The post-office is original. The clerks (niggers) sit in the building, and the public stand in the street and transact business with them through the windows.

November 3rd.—I have been all over the fleet this morning. I went on board the Donskoi, Oslyabya, Alexander, and Borodino. About 3 p.m. we weighed anchor. I do not know if we are going to Gaboon. There is news here that the storming of Port Arthur on October 20th was repulsed with heavy losses to the Japanese.

November 4th.—I went to bed early last night, leaving my port open. Early this morning, when they were scrubbing decks, water came in on to the table and sprinkled me a little. I jumped up and closed the port.

Last night they changed from one means of steering to another, for practice, in the Suvaroff. Something in her was not adjusted, and she very nearly rammed the Orel. Thank God all passed off successfully.

9 p.m.—The wardroom officers bought some birds at Dakar, but did not buy food for them. They fed them with anything they could find, and now they are beginning to die.

Usually the band plays at lunch on holidays. To-day they suddenly began playing at dinner.

At meals we drink more than we eat. We suffer from dreadful thirst and drink pure water, mineral waters, red and white wine, beer, and different kinds of lemon juices. The admiral suffers most of all from the heat. During the coaling, when all doors and ports were closed, the temperature in his cabin reached 45° R. There are now 27° in my cabin, with the port open and the fans going which drive in the fresh air.

Some of the officers have bought themselves mats and sleep on them in the wardroom. The crew sleep on the upper deck.

Last night something happened to the engines of the transport Malay. All the fleet stopped and waited for her.

About 4 a.m. the Donskoi signalled that sand had got into her Kingston valves. That means the ship had passed a shallow spot, although the fleet was steaming 90 versts (sixty miles) from land. After the mishap to the Donskoi they went further out to sea.

It will doubtless be very hot to-day. Do you know, the floor of my cabin is so hot that I can feel it through the soles of my boots.

7 p.m.—What awful heat! Again I have to keep the port closed, as the sea is splashing in.

One of the Borodino's engines is damaged. We stopped and waited for her. She is now steaming with one engine.

Storms are visible passing away from us in three places. The clouds are black and lightning flashes. It is close.

November 7th.—Something is wrong with the Borodino. The other engine does not work now. She gets hot bearings from time to time. We all stopped and waited for her. We are losing time over all these mishaps, and are losing it needlessly. The cruise of our fleet round Africa has no precedent in history.

Only by 8 a.m. did the Borodino put right her engines. The fleet is now pursuing its customary way.

7 p.m.—I saw two whales for the first time yesterday. There is nothing to look at except sea and sky.

Sometimes the men on watch collapse from the heat and have to be carried below. There are 61° R. at the top of the engine-room compartment, and we have not yet passed the hottest place.

They are preparing to celebrate the crossing of the line. The ceremony usually takes the form of a play given by the crew, and the immersion of all those who are crossing the line for the first time.

Twenty minutes ago something happened to our dynamo engine, and all the electric lights went out. The ship was steeped in absolute darkness. Now all is repaired.

My servant has just brought a white tunic and trousers, which he washed himself. They have turned out very well. "I don't think a washerwoman could have done it better," he said. "There is one drawback—they are not starched. But no matter; that's a trifle."

November 8th (11 p.m.).—As soon as ever night falls the same old story begins. From 8 p.m. until now the fleet stopped. We are only going at five knots. The unfortunate Malay has again delayed us. Something broke in her engine and the pump refused to work. I am very anxious about her. At Dakar she sprang a leak. I saw it, and reported that she could proceed without danger, working her pump. Just imagine it! The only pump she has is broken. She has nothing with which she can get rid of the water, and there are no docks near. At the present moment the Roland is towing the Malay, as one of her engines is broken and a blade of the screw of the other engine is broken off. Briefly, the Malay is unable to steam by herself. We are still far from Gaboon. Again there is a great delay. Thank God the sea is calm! If it were rough, the Malay's situation would be very dangerous. As it was, the Roland took a long time passing the tow-rope to her.

November 9th.—The Roland is still towing the Malay. As soon as they are able to coal her, she will be sent back. She will not then hinder and delay us.

When we were at lunch to-day they signalled to the admiral, saying that the Kamchatka had gone out of her course and signalled, "Dangerously damaged. Cannot proceed." Luckily, it turned out that the damage was trifling, and she was able to continue.

What a number of changes in climate we shall have had if we reach Vladivostok! We left Russia in very cold weather. Gradually it became hotter and hotter, till the heat was intense; then it will become cold again; then hot; and finally it will be very cold, as we shall reach Vladivostok in winter.

November 10th (night).—Again a bother with the Borodino. Something went wrong with her machinery. It was soon put right, but, nevertheless, time was lost over it. The Malay is still being towed.

Have found out about Gaboon. The fleet will not go within thirty versts of it.

All communications with Gaboon will be viâ the Roland. Of course, no one will be allowed to land, and we shall all kick our heels on board. Our ships cannot go nearer, owing to shallows and banks.

The Meteor signalled to-day that one of her stokers has struck work and refuses to keep up the necessary amount of steam. The captain asked to be allowed to deal with him himself. The crew of the Meteor are volunteers.

I have been sitting all day long over plans and calculations. The scuttles were open, and now and then waves came splashing over my table. I went to the ship's ice-chamber, and it seemed cold to me after the heat which reigns everywhere.

The day passed strangely. I hardly went out of my cabin, and got through a lot of work. I must go and air myself, as my head has grown heavy.

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CHAPTER III
CROSSING THE LINE

November 13th (10 p.m.).—Off Gaboon.

This is how it has all turned out! We stopped this morning and anchored. No one knows where we are or where Gaboon lies. We have sent the Roland north to the coast to find a lighthouse and Gaboon. We see land, but the place is unknown.

I caught a glimpse of a shark. When we were weighing anchor at Dakar, a cutter approached with some important documents (perhaps it was the post). In the hurry of departure the papers were not taken on board.

The navigators, including the flagship's navigator, were confused. It proved that we were thirty miles (fifty versts) below Gaboon. We are now going back to Gaboon, and we shall have already twice crossed the Equator. The celebrations only take place at the first crossing. When we strike the Cape of Good Hope we shall have crossed it a third time.

6 p.m.—We are anchored. A French boat has just arrived bringing some dispatches. In coming the boat was nearly stove in, as it caught in our wake. Luckily it escaped, and only the rudder was broken.

The rats are making themselves felt. Three nights ago a rat bit the first lieutenant in the foot, and last night gnawed off one of his corns. What do you think of that?

The French officer dined with the admiral. He does not know what is going on at the war. Even the telegraphic agencies' telegrams are not received at Gaboon. A fine town this! And there are many like it in the colony. I don't think we should find a town like it in Russia. Not even the governor of this place gets telegrams. There are only about seven hundred Europeans here; the rest are negroes, amongst whom are cannibals. During the last two months the cannibals have eaten two Europeans.

They say that an English steamer will arrive to-morrow, bringing us newspapers of October 27th (Old Style). On the 16th or 17th the steamer will go back to Europe, taking our mails.

As we have no news from the war, the wardroom officers of the Suvaroff have asked the admiral permission to send a prepaid telegram to the Novoe Vremya, asking for news. The admiral refused the request, but will wire to Admiral Wirenius, who will send us the latest intelligence from the Far East.

The admiral has received a telegram from Petersburg advising him not to stop at Gaboon, but go to some other place, as the French wish our fleet to leave this port. They point out a more convenient bay, and promise to give us pilots. Nevertheless, our fleet will stay here as long as necessary.

What was the end of the shooting affair in the German Ocean, near Hull?

They say the astonishment of the local Europeans is very great. First one steamer arrived "for provisions," then a second, then a third, and finally our fleet. No one ever expected that we should call at Gaboon. It is just as well, perhaps. The more our movements are known, the more unfavourable orders we might have from the French Government.

November 14th (11 a.m.).—Have already been on board the Orel and Alexander. At two o'clock shall go on board the Nachimoff, Borodino, and Meteor, which are badly damaged and leak.

The Governor has sent us a present of fruit and vegetables. At lunch we had pineapples, bananas, mangoes, and something else. Pineapples are the nicest.

On board the Alexander they accidentally carried off a negro from Dakar, whom they have landed. He says the negroes here eat their dead, as cattle are scarce and meat is dear. Before they eat them they cut off the hands and feet and put them in a bog to swell. The flesh is then more tender and tasty.

They do not risk sending divers down here, as there are too many sharks.

The Governor sent some other fruits besides. No one knows what they are—either grass or vegetables. They have received a telegram in the private transports saying that Kuropatkin has driven the Japanese back to the coast. That would be good news, but it is difficult to believe.

11 p.m.—The vegetation here is very rich, judging by the reports of those who have been ashore. A "regular botanical garden." A moth flew on board—such a size, I am afraid you will not believe me, but it was nearly a foot! We saw a turtle in the sea, 2½ feet long. The Frenchmen on shore showed us a dead boa-constrictor 18 feet long.

The officers who went ashore called on the king of the place. He was asleep. They woke him without ceremony, looked at him and his wife, and went away. He is just a wild nigger, like his subjects.

I told you about the vegetables the Governor sent us. We tipped the man who brought them a pound sterling. He seemed much confused, accepted the money, and then did not know what to do with it. I think he will spend it on our wounded.

November 15th.—They say there was a very violent storm last night. I heard nothing, and slept through it all.

The officers have returned from Libreville, where they went at nine this morning. They relate many interesting things, and are in rapture over the vegetation. They have brought some fruit and a couple of parrots. They bought one of the parrots for ten francs, and the other was sent to the admiral by a Jesuit father with the fruit, as a gift.

The same man who was given the pound, out of kindness acted as guide to the officers. When taking leave he feared a repetition of the tip, and kept on repeating that "he wanted nothing."

The officers paid another visit to the king. He received them in an English naval uniform and cocked hat. They were photographed with him and his wives. One of them was taken arm-in-arm with the queen-dowager, who begged for money. Some of the court ladies were drunk. It is two days since the king, who is seventy-two, succeeded his brother on the throne. Margarita, the eldest lady-in-waiting and a most energetic old negress, runs about naked. For that matter, the inhabitants in general do not trouble about completeness of costume. The natives respectfully greet all Europeans. It is a curious monarchy, under the protection of France; more truly it is her colony.

To-morrow there will be something in the nature of a coronation on shore. The dead king is at present lying in a box under lock and key. One of the officers sat on this box, to the consternation of the present king and his court minister. The latter was dressed in a cocked hat, a necktie round his bare neck, cuffs, sword, and frock-coat, but without linen or trousers—a beautiful figure, thus attired, at the reception of the guests.

November 15th.—You can imagine what sort of a town is Libreville. The Governor sent the admiral the latest news from the papers. They are dated October 2nd—the day of our departure from Libau.

November 16th.—I did not succeed in finishing my last letter, as the boat left for the shore. In it went the last post which can go by the steamer leaving for Europe to-morrow morning.

From sunset to dawn the admiral has forbidden communication between the ships and the shore. Yesterday at 10 p.m. a cutter from the Donskoi, in the harbour without special leave from the admiral, was detained. The officer of the watch was put under arrest for this for three days. This evening a boat from the same ship with three officers, also in the harbour without special leave from the admiral, was likewise detained. In to-day's orders the captain of the Donskoi is reprimanded, and the three officers who were in the boat are to be tried. They are to be dismissed to the steamer leaving here for Europe to-morrow and will go to Russia. As you see, disobedience is severely punished on board.

9 p.m.—To-day a sub-lieutenant of the Alexander told me about the negro whom they took from Dakar. When his boat shoved off from the Alexander he began to storm, shout threats and curses at the boatmen, stamp on the deck with his bare feet, etc. When he saw that he could not get away from the Alexander he sat on the turret and wept burning tears. The crew surrounded him and looked on, laughing at this healthy, bellowing lad. Seeing that there was nothing to be done, he grew resigned. It appeared he was very jealous and uneasy about his wife. Very soon the crew made friends with him, and taught him several Russian words. His memory was phenomenal; in a few days he learnt the names of nearly half the crew. The soles of his feet seemed very funny to the sailors. They are half white, as they are in all negroes. On the trip the officers collected 60 roubles for him. He left exceedingly satisfied. He serves in a shop, and, being rather civilised, speaks French fluently.

November 17th (7 p.m.).—Half an hour ago I returned from the shore, where I had gone in the Roland.

We reached Libreville at 8 a.m. About ten we reached the town, if this settlement can be so called. We could not approach close to it in the Roland, so got into boats. I went with the officers of the Borodino, and was with them all the time. First we went to a restaurant for refreshment. There were six of us. They gave us three bottles of lemonade, a little bread, fish, meat, peas, cheese, and fruit, and charged fifty-five francs. We left the restaurant and went along an avenue of palm-trees. We went to a German factory, to the Catholic Church, to two or three little villages, and to the plantations. There was not much time, and we turned back. We called on the king, then went to a shop, then to the quay and back to the Roland. Although I was only five hours ashore, I was fairly tired, probably from not being accustomed to exercise. Several photographs of our party were taken. We were taken with the negroes serving in the French army, with negresses in the villages, in the plantation, and in the King's ground under a tree with a small negress who ran after us.

The king came out and placed a chair for each of us, and sat down in an armchair on the terrace. He and all his courtiers were dressed. A nigger all covered with grass and with a semblance of a mask over his face (not the slightest bit of his body could be seen) danced a Tam-tam, accompanied by savage music. Our time was short. We rose, and the king shook hands with us all. By this time many officers had gathered at his palace. They wandered into all the corners of his house. The dowager-queen sat in a hammock drunk, and tearfully begged for money. While rambling through the plantations I bought a lot of pineapples, bananas, and cocoa-nuts.

The plantation where we sat eating fruit belongs to a Frenchwoman, a native of this place. We thought her house was a restaurant, and unceremoniously demanded lemonade, water, etc. It then appeared that it was a private dwelling. The Frenchwoman was very friendly—told us about herself and her children, who were being educated in France. She sent two negroes to carry our purchases to the pier.

How rich the vegetation is in this place! You seem to be walking in a botanical garden. All around are palms, bananas, lemons, mimosa, lianas, mangoes, baobabs, and wonderful flowers. The trees are immense and lofty.

On our return we called at a shop for drink. They gave us cider. If you had been here, what would you not have bought! We purchased all sorts of rubbish—negro instruments, teeth of wild animals, poisoned spears, weapons, etc. In the town we met the negro who was brought by the Alexander. He now answers to the name of "Andrew Andrewitch," which was given him by the crew.

November 18th.—I woke early this morning. I had a trip to make to the private transports.

5 p.m.—Leaving Gaboon.

About an hour ago we weighed anchor. Our destination is unknown.

To-day on board the Alexander, which is astern of the Suvaroff, they celebrated the crossing of the line. We could see how they capered and splashed water about. In the Orel something has happened to the electrical steering gear, but she is steaming and does not detain the fleet.

November 19th.—At 9 a.m. we began to celebrate crossing the line on board. Neptune, Venus, a navigator, sub-lieutenants, Russian peasant-women, devils, barbers, and tritons arrived on field gun-carriages drawn by black naked people. All this fine company came from the stern of the ship, accompanied by buglers and to the sound of a march, played by the band, which was stationed forward. They approached the fore-turret and climbed on to it. The audience took up their places in the bows, on the bridges, turrets, masts, yards, and crosstrees. The admiral, captain, and officers stood on the bridge. The actors were all half naked, and were painted in the most varied colours—black, green, red, yellow, blue, etc. Neptune had his trident and a great beard of tow. The navigator had a chronometer, binoculars, and a sextant. The peasant-woman had a baby, which was represented by the fox-terrier. When the baby was supposed to cry, they twisted the dog's tail to make him howl.

The actors played well. Near the turret was a huge bath, made of canvas and filled with water. When the play was over, they turned the hose on to every one, from the admiral down to the sailors. The actors were first thrown into the bath, and then the rest of the ship's company. After being ducked, their faces were lathered with a huge brush dipped in whiting, and they were shaved with a very large razor (two and a half feet long), made very cleverly from a piece of wood. The water in the bath was clean at the beginning, but after the actors who were painted had been ducked, it turned into God knows what colour. Nearly all the officers, the captain, and the flag-captain were ducked and shaved. I and several others escaped the bath; nevertheless, I had not a dry spot on me. Any one who hid was hunted out and ducked. The messman shut himself up in his cabin. They could not get at him, so they removed the deck-plate above it and poured water in. The messman at last, to save his things, came out and was thrown into the bath. Even the chaplain did not escape the same fate. It was a good thing for those who fell in feet foremost. When it happened the other way, their heads were pushed under and their legs held up. One of the dogs who was thrown into the water climbed out on to the nearest bitts, and looking at the people struggling near him, raised a deafening howl.

The crew evidently enjoyed their holiday. It was a great diversion for them, as they had not been ashore since we left Revel.

About four o'clock something went wrong in the Malay. An officer was sent to replace the captain. All the fleet stopped for the transfer of the officer from the Suvaroff to the Malay.

The fleet is now going to Great Fish Bay, which belongs to Portugal. If for any reason we cannot call there, we shall steer for Angra Pequena (under the protection of Germany).

November 20th (7 p.m.).—We had vespers on board. The service pleases me, especially in the ship. Though around one are only the faces of officers and men all dressed in white, and though the acolytes and choir are barefooted, the chants and intoning remind me of dear, far-distant Russia.

November 21st.—It is beginning to be less hot. The greatest heat, or more correctly closeness, was at Dakar. Now it is fairly tolerable. When we reach the Cape of Good Hope we shall have to put on ordinary uniform, and perhaps greatcoats. They say it will be very hot and damp in the Indian Ocean.

All the crews in the fleet have begun to fast, by order of the admiral. Do you know how they fast? They eat their food as usual, only they go to church.

If the reckonings are correct, and all goes smoothly, then by the end of January or the beginning of February our fleet will be near the shores of Japan. This will mean that there will be only about two months more of the wearisome, monotonous life which we are all leading. It will not be long before we join the ships that went by the other way. Much depends on the position of the Port Arthur and Vladivostok fleets, as well as of Port Arthur and Vladivostok themselves. It also depends on how matters stand with Kuropatkin at the time of our arrival in the East.

Judging by descriptions, Great Fish Bay is not an important place. The settlement consists of seven houses, two of which are uninhabited. It is surrounded by the desert. There is no water, so it has to be brought from a distance. Fish are plentiful. It is a very good anchorage. We shall probably be there to-morrow morning.

It is cooler now. In my cabin there are 24° R. The drawers of the table can be pulled out once more.

November 23rd.—The temperature continues to fall. In the open at present there are only 14° R. They count on arriving at the anchorage at twelve o'clock. We are now going further from Port Arthur, but after doubling the Cape shall approach it. The voyage from Tangier to Port Arthur is about the same as the voyage from the Cape to Port Arthur. What a much longer distance we have come by going round Africa!

1.50 p.m.—We have arrived at Great Fish Bay. It is not particularly pretty. On one side the shore is high and jagged, and on the other it is flat. There are small houses in several places on the low-lying shore. From the ship they can hardly be seen, even with a telescope. The shore is sandy. No doubt there is neither post nor telegraph station here. Wherever one looks there is sand—nothing but sand.

A Portuguese gunboat has just passed the Suvaroff. (Her name is Limpopo.) She is a very small and insignificant ship. She was anchored far out in the bay, and has now gone no doubt to acquaint the authorities that our fleet has arrived and anchored at Great Fish Bay.

This will be a surprise for the Portuguese. We do not, however, stay here for long. To-morrow evening we get up anchor.

4 p.m.—It appears that the Portuguese gunboat, Limpopo, went round the fleet and stopped near the Suvaroff. Her captain came to the admiral with explanations. I do not yet know what he said, but it can be nothing pleasant for us. Yesterday, before the fleet arrived, the gunboat compelled one of our colliers to put to sea under a threat of firing on her. The moment the fleet arrived the colliers re-occupied the places assigned them by the admiral. They say the admiral assured the commander of the Portuguese gunboat—or, more correctly, led him to suppose—that the fleet was four miles from the shore; that is, that it was in neutral waters.

Amongst other things, the Portuguese stated that it was known that our ships would call at Great Fish Bay. Curious how this could have been known at Lisbon, where the arrangement to send a man-of-war here was made. Probably they were informed by the English, who jealously watch every movement of our fleet. The hospital-ship Orel has left, and will call at Capetown.

We shall go to Angra Pequena from here. The Germans (to whom it belongs) call it Lubevitz Bay. It is situated one thousand versts from here. We leave this to-morrow at two o'clock.

November 23rd.—At anchor in Great Fish Bay. An hour ago I gave my letter to you to be sent to Europe by one of the steamers that is returning. The captains of the steamers had been on shore. They say that the beach is strewn with lovely shells and crowded with red flamingoes. The captain of the Portuguese gunboat told the captains of the colliers that he would forbid any attempt on their part to coal the fleet. What naïveté—or rather, what impudence!

I have ordered them to call me at 6 a.m. to-morrow, in order to go to several ships.

November 24th.—From Great Fish Bay to Angra Pequena. I could not sit down and write to you all day. Somehow, everything went wrong. Just as I seated myself I was called away. I was on board the Borodino to-day. I saw some Libreville photographs. They are very small; you cannot make out the faces.

At four o'clock all our fleet began to weigh anchor. Two hours later the Malay hoisted a signal that something had happened to her rudder. The Roland was ordered to take her in tow. The hospital-ship Orel is also going with us. Whales and albatrosses are seen more and more frequently. The albatrosses fly a tremendous distance from the land, and are very large; sometimes they measure sixteen to seventeen feet across the wings.

Life on board is monotonous. One day is like another. You live in the past (at all events, I do), and dream of the future.

November 27th.—We passed the Tropic of Capricorn to-day. We are approaching Angra Pequena. We have lessened speed, in order to get there in the morning. The flagship's navigator considers that half our voyage will have been completed when we reach the southern end of Madagascar.

At Angra Pequena I think we shall get news from the East. The Germans are probably more interested in the war than the French.

A sailor in the transport Korea has been seized with dysentery or malaria. God grant that the disease does not spread. Hygienic conditions are disregarded in the fleet. Many go on the sick-list. The wind has risen, the waves have increased. Before entering Angra Pequena boats will be lowered and will take soundings. The place is little known. Some ships might go aground. The post has already been collected. I hope to be able to send this letter to-morrow morning.

November 28th.—Approaching Angra Pequena.

We have not yet reached the anchorage. We are steaming very slowly, for fear of going aground. The wind is still increasing, and the waves are dashing over the poop (the after-part of the upper deck). Even if the weather gets no worse our cruise round the Cape will not be a very happy one.

At anchor at Angra Pequena.

About one o'clock we reached Angra Pequena. The battleships anchored, but the cruisers remained at sea. There is not much room in the bay. It is impossible to stand on deck in unsheltered places. It blows fearfully. The waves are washing over everywhere. No boats have been lowered yet. There is no communication with the shore, or even between ships. The post has not been sent. You may imagine what the strength of the wind is when it is estimated at a force of ten.

Report says that the mail-boats call here five times a year. Possibly one of the colliers will be discharged, and return to Europe from here. In that case the mail will be sent in her.

November 29th.—The wind abated a little during the night. A steamer came alongside, but the sea was so high that her side was crushed. One of our 75-millimetre guns was damaged, and a port was broken, which will have to be repaired or changed. Spare guns are carried in the transport.

This is the third day that the mail-boat has been detained owing to the weather. We hear, from English sources, that there has been a fight at Mukden; the losses on both sides amount to 50,000 men. It is also said that the Japanese have taken by storm one of the forts at Port Arthur. The Russians blew up this fort, and 30,000 Japanese perished. All this is hearsay.

On shore they say that a certain steamer puts to sea every night and watches passing vessels. Evidently this steamer is freighted by the Japanese, to follow and perhaps strike a blow at our fleet.

Men are going out of their minds in the fleet. An ensign of the reserve serving in the battleship Orel went mad, and also a sailor in the transport Korea.

An English steamer arrived here and left at once. A German transport arrived with troops to put down the native rising in the interior. The mail apparently was not sent, and the mail-boat has already left. Perhaps they will be able to send it by the troopship, which is probably returning to Europe. Everything, as you see, is uncertain. We stop on and on here for no reason. It is still blowing hard. There is no communication between ships, and I ought to go on board the Malay.

November 30th.—We remain at anchor.

Every precaution is taken. Searchlights illumine the horizon.

Close to the fleet are two small islands belonging to England. It is perfectly astounding—wherever you look on the map there are English possessions, although they are small. Angra Pequena formerly belonged to England. She ceded it to Germany, but the two islands remained in her possession.

Wherever we have called, the local authorities (some, perhaps, only outwardly) placed impediments in the way of our fleet. Angra Pequena is the first German port at which we have called, and the authorities are very friendly.

The local commandant says that "he is not a diplomat, and he does not know officially of the arrival of the Russian ships. They are anchored behind a bend, and are not visible from his windows."

I forget that Denmark also put no obstacles in our way; but, judging by the tales of those who have been in Denmark, the Danish people sympathise with Japan, and not with us. The Government involuntarily helps Russia. It is quite different with Germany. The sympathy of both people and Government is on our side. I do not know how it will be later, but at present we have nothing to reproach the Germans with.

We do not know when our stay here will end. An English (Capetown) newspaper has been brought on board. Sad news! Kuropatkin has not moved, and according to the paper he received a reinforcement of 34,000 men after the battle of Liao-Yang. Can it really have been so few? The commander of the second army has only just arrived at Harbin—which means that the army is not yet in being. We learn that Kaulbars is appointed commander of the third army; he is said to be a very incapable general. At Port Arthur the Japanese have taken a hill that commands all the harbour. The ships are at a disadvantage, and they are hurriedly preparing to go to sea. This is the news imparted by an English paper. How sad it all is!

Officers who have been to the post-office on shore found out that only ten Europeans—Germans—live in the settlement. They saw the troops sent out from Europe by Germany to subdue the natives. There are 1,200 men. Two of the German officers speak Russian, one of them excellently. There is general hatred of England here as well. She supplies with arms the natives whom the Germans are now going to subdue. She is evidently a country that tries to damage every one and to work mischief everywhere.

The wind is still howling. We are waiting for it to go down. At our anchorage there is mishap after mishap. The Malay and the Meteor have just signalled that their engines are so badly damaged that they cannot repair them without help. The co-operation of the Kamchatka is necessary, but I could not go on board.

December 1st.—Yesterday from 10 p.m. to 1 a.m. I was going from one ship to another in a steam-cutter. What a time I had! The cutter pitched and rolled violently. She dipped her bows under and shipped large quantities of water. It was difficult to see because the salt spray blinded one. Sometimes the cutter pitched so much that her screw was out of the water and raced. To complete our discomfort, it was quite dark.

After I had been to several ships I had to go to the Kamchatka. We could not discover where she was in the darkness. We searched for her. She was lying further from the shore than the other ships. It is difficult to describe what it was like near her. It seemed impossible not only to go on board her, but also to receive a bag which was lowered over her side. I had on a mackintosh, but there was not a dry spot on me. How was I to get on board? It was pure torture. It was impossible to go alongside the ship without the risk of breaking up the cutter, which was absolutely prancing on the water. There was no accommodation-ladder, so we had to get up by a rope-ladder, choosing a favourable moment. God help you if hand or foot slipped. You would either fall between the ship and the cutter and be crushed, or be struck by the screw if it were moving, or run the risk of falling into the jaws of a shark. Yesterday an officer fell like this, but luckily escaped with only a ducking. I again ran the risk of falling into the sea when going on board the Malay. I had only just seized hold of a rope when the cutter was torn from under my feet. I hung over the water, but got on board somehow. I shall not forget yesterday in a hurry.

To-day it is nearly calm.

Calm! I had to go to the steamer Ratzentaler; she was damaged. I reached her safely and examined her. This took me about an hour. I came up from below to get into the boat, and this "thing" called the sea was as boisterous as ever. With difficulty I let myself down into the cutter. She rolled and capered.

Unfortunately, when shoving off, the screw fouled a rope, passed from the steamer. The position was critical, but fortunately the rope broke, and with great care, by going very slowly, we reached the Suvaroff. Some one remarked, as I was dangling on the rope-ladder, choosing the moment to jump into the boat, "If only your wife could see you in that position!" I was not in any actual danger.

The Governor lunched with the admiral to-day. He came on board in the Alert, a small steamer. He says that such winds are usual here.

If you only knew how sick I am of my surroundings! They say our cruise is a specially trying one; it has prejudiced me against the "beautiful" sea for ever. God grant that it end successfully! They will not entice me on board a sea-going ship again for a very long time. I have had enough of the sea—being torn away from home, living under unnatural conditions, everlasting surprises in the shape of breakages, damages, and repairs, dirt everywhere. You must not be surprised if I sometimes write ill-naturedly. My nerves are shaken a little, which is not surprising under the circumstances.

December 2nd.—To-day, for the first time, I saw cormorants swimming at sea; I also saw a jellyfish.

The officer commanding the German expedition and the commander of the native troops came to call on the admiral. The latter did not return the call himself, but sent the flag-captain. The Orel has lost an anchor and forty fathoms of cable. They are now grappling for them, as it was decided not to send down divers for fear of sharks.

December 3rd.—In the Kamchatka they obtained an English paper from a collier, in which it is related that the Japanese attacked the part of our fleet that is going viâ the Suez Canal, in or near the Red Sea. Our ships apparently received some damages. Perhaps this is a newspaper yarn. The Roland went to sea yesterday, to bury the body of a sailor who died in the Korea.

An order has been issued that we are to steam without any lights, in absolute darkness. Hitherto all lights were put out except distinctive lights—i.e. those absolutely necessary to show we are steaming. Now these are forbidden.

It is settled that we leave here to-morrow morning early.

What surprises are in store for us on the way to Madagascar? That there will be some is beyond doubt. I have been running round to-day like a squirrel in a cage. I went to the Orel and Alexander, and was, as usual, a long time in the Borodino.

The first lieutenant fell into a coal-shoot, hurt his leg, and is now laid up. It is very strange, whenever I go on board the Borodino my spirits go up. I have noticed this more than once, and it is always with pleasure that I go on board her.

Boats from every ship helped the Orel to search for her anchor and cable. They only found them to-day at three o'clock. They had, after all, to send divers down several times.

December 4th.—I have not slept well the last few days. I am inclined to sleep, but it is impossible to lie down. The rats have greatly increased on board. However, they afford a certain amount of fun. The dog Flagmansky (this name was given him because he came on board the same day as the staff) found a rat in one of the cabins, and chased it into a cupboard. Several men took an active part in the chase. All this time Flagmansky barked, whined, rushed into the corners, scratched at the cupboard, and bit it.

The hunt was not crowned with success, and he is still in the cabin guarding the rat. The cur has an extraordinary passion for rats. I put him into my cabin once (he begged to go there), and repented. He made such a disgraceful noise. For an hour and a half I could not drag him away. I had to call the orderly, who with great difficulty pulled him away from the cupboard.

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CHAPTER IV
ON THE WAY TO MADAGASCAR

December 4th.—From Angra Pequena to Madagascar.

I only went to bed at 4 a.m., and rose at 8 a.m. We prepared to leave here at dawn, but at 1.30 a thick fog came on and continued till 9.30. As soon as it dispersed, the fleet weighed anchor. In the night a schooner came and lay near the fleet. The officer of the guard went on board. She is flying the English flag, and says she has come here for guano. Our next anchorage is at Madagascar, near the small island of St. Mary. This island lies near the north-eastern shores of Madagascar.

December 5th.—There was a short mass to-day.

A steamer was perceived far off going in our direction. Her funnel and two masts could only be seen from our masts. Perhaps she has come from St. Helena, and we may expect a surprise. At first she was noticed by the smoke from her funnel. She is now, no doubt, following us.

Something has happened to the Aurora's engines, but she has repaired it by now. To-day the Suvaroff steamed with one engine for a quarter of an hour.

Even the Malay, which has to be constantly nursed, is steaming successfully now. I expect several repairs were made when she was at Angra Pequena.

8 p.m.—The steamer which is on our course, though far away, overtook the fleet and went in the direction of Capetown.

December 6th.—To-day is December 6th. Where have I not spent this day? In Cronstadt, in Petersburg, in Tzarskoe Selo, in Tashkend, and in Gothland aboard the Poltava. Now I am spending it near the Cape of Good Hope. Who would believe that they would spend St. Nicholas Day near the southern coast of Africa? There was mass, prayers, and a salute. If foreigners heard it, no doubt it will appear in the papers that there was a fight, as firing had been heard.

We have not yet reached the Cape of Good Hope. We are just steaming past Capetown. Table Mountain is visible. The swell is tremendous. The ships are rolling. It is fearful to look at the Nachimoff and Donskoi, which are rolling especially heavily. The height of the waves sometimes reaches seventy feet. I was told this by the flag navigating officer. If we double the Cape in safety, then thanks be to God.

They have arranged a game for the crew. They hang up a bucket of water with a board attached to it, in which there is a hole. Those playing have, in passing under the bucket, to thrust a stick through the hole. This they seldom succeed in doing. Usually the stick hits the board, and the bucket is turned over, spilling the water on the player. The players are driven under the bucket on a field gun-carriage.

We are steaming near the shore. It is hilly, dark, and treeless. Table Mountain is distinguished by its height and its summit, which is flat, as if the top of the mountain were cut off; this is apparently why it got its name. The Cape of Good Hope is a shapeless pile of cliffs. There is a lighthouse. We have now passed this cape and Capetown. To-night we shall be off Cape Agulhas. When we have passed it we shall have left the Atlantic and entered the Indian Ocean. We shall be able to say, one ocean passed; two more remain, the Indian and the Pacific. As the crow flies we are now at the greatest distance from Petersburg. Up to the present we have been going away from Japan, now we begin to approach. Near Capetown we met an enormous four-masted ship, flying the American flag. She was coming towards us. We are expecting to meet three suspicious schooners.

The weather is getting worse. In two hours we shall be on the same meridian as Petersburg; our time will be the same as it is there—that is, midnight. After this Petersburg time will be behind ours; hitherto it has been before. Evidently you cannot double the Cape without very bad weather. Perhaps it is all for the best, as it will be more difficult for the suspicious schooners to commit any hostile action.

Astern of the fleet and on the same course there is a steamer. At first she showed lights, now they are not visible. The moon is shining, but will soon set, and it will be quite dark. This will be the time to expect any unpleasant occurrences.

I hear the admiral does not want to take the small torpedo-boats with him, among them being the Rezvy (Sportive). Perhaps some of the officers of these boats will be transferred to other ships. It has been decided that the transports Malay and Kniaz Gortchakoff are to return to Russia from Madagascar. Their engines are bad, and have to be nursed continually.

All the fleet and auxiliary cruisers will assemble at Madagascar.

The same steamer is astern of us; she has her lights out. It is not merely out of curiosity she does this.

At first I used to be disturbed by reports of this kind, but am no longer. No doubt it is rather alarming, but nothing like it was before. How can this be explained? Nerves a little blunted, perhaps. It is summer here now. Nevertheless, at this time of the year ice sometimes drifts from the antarctic regions. They say a mountain of ice 100 feet above the water floated to the shore in summer-time.

December 7th.—Just as I sat down at table I was called away. It causes an unpleasant sensation when the engines race—that is, when the screws suddenly begin to turn very much quicker. This happens when there is no water over them, and is caused by the vessel pitching heavily; consequently, there is no resistance to their turning.

The steamer which has been following us all along is not to be seen. Perhaps towards night she will show herself somewhere. The wind has got up and raised a big sea. The sea is a following one. Great mountains of water pour on the upper deck. The ship is beginning to roll more heavily; we may expect a gale towards night if the wind strengthens. It is a good thing it is not a head sea—the ship steams more easily and does not roll so heavily. There is a lot of water on the deck in my cabin, as well as in other people's. I am now sitting with my legs huddled up. The water comes into the cabins through badly closed ports and badly riveted sides. The waves sometimes hit the side and make a noise like a shot from a gun. The weather is so bad that we need have no fear of being followed by the Japanese. They could no doubt attempt to fire a torpedo from the steamer, but it could hardly hit, and the steamer would certainly be fired on and sunk.

The battleships Suvaroff, Alexander, Borodino, and Orel have many defects which could be remedied in the construction of the Slava (Glory).

December 8th.—The weather was such yesterday that God grant we do not experience it a second time. Early in the morning it was tolerable, but later on the wind began to freshen. Standing on deck was difficult. The waves grew larger and larger—like immensely steep hills round the ship. They attained a height of forty feet.

From three to four o'clock the fury of the gale reached its height. I am not sufficiently eloquent to describe it all. The ship tossed and groaned complainingly. Everything was tightly shut, but water came in everywhere. It poured in cascades on the upper deck, went into the turrets, stokeholds, engine room, conning tower, and even on to the bridge. You could not walk on the poop, or you would be washed overboard. You could not breathe in the cabins; the atmosphere was like a bath (steam), if not worse. The wind roared, the ship rolled. The waves came up quite vertically—you looked and saw a wall of water. A boat which hung at the davits was smashed to bits, torn away, and carried off to sea.

Astern of the Suvaroff came the Alexander; at times, when the sea lifted the latter, her ram was visible. Sometimes her bows were at the bottom of a wave, and her stern at the top; and then all her deck, from bow to stern, could be seen from the Suvaroff. When I saw this I could not at first believe it. The best-behaved ship was the Borodino; she is a ship to be proud of.

At last the weather got to such a pitch that, had the engines or rudder of any ship given way, she would have been in a hopeless position. To think of help from other vessels would be useless. At this time each ship only thought of herself. The steamer Roland was flooded with waves minute after minute; she had to increase speed to escape them, and disappeared out of sight of the fleet.

She rejoined to-day. Thank God it was a following sea and a fair wind. What would it have been had it been a head or beam wind?

At 5 p.m. something went wrong with the engines of the Malay. She stopped and turned broadside to the wind. If you could but see what a sad sight she presented! It was impossible to help her, even if she had gone to the bottom before the eyes of the whole fleet. Nearly all the underwater part of her was visible. Wave after wave rolled over her. To help herself a little she set small and wretched sails. They were no good. The whole fleet, without lessening speed, went past the Malay, leaving her to cope by herself with the broken engine and the bad weather. Since then she has not been seen. How does she fare? It is not known whether she is afloat or sunk. We shall know nothing before we get to Madagascar. Perhaps all will yet be well.

The Indian Ocean has not given us a very affable reception. They were afraid that the wind would get up to-day, but although it is fresh it is tolerable. Storms such as we experienced yesterday last for a fortnight without a break. Last night, when the gale abated, rain squalls began to pass over us. This pleasure was not continuous; besides, we were wet enough without them. I went to bed late. I had wandered all over the ship. Went to sleep undressed. My feet had been wet through since the morning. While at lunch yesterday in the admiral's cabin a large wave rolled on to the upper deck; the door leading to the poop from the cabin had not been closed, and a cascade of water poured in. Every one raised their legs and kept them so until sailors had dried up the water. This wave was one of the first to fall on the ship.

What weather! You seldom see the like! I wrote to you that we had passed the meridian of Petersburg. I was mistaken. We only passed it to-day at 8 a.m.

December 9th.—The weather is gradually mending. The ship rolls lightly.

In the Suvaroff the cook and the messman were French. The messman left the ship at Vigo, and the former cook became messman. Every one grumbled at him. At last it was decided to get rid of him. One of the officers undertook to superintend the cooking. The messman will be put on shore at Madagascar.

Thanks to the favouring gale and fair wind we shall, it appears, reach Madagascar considerably earlier than was anticipated.

December 10th.—The weather is nearly quite calm, although the ship is still rolling slightly. At 8.30 the Borodino left the line. Something went wrong with her steering gear. She has not left the fleet, but is steaming alongside it. Now she has repaired the damage.

There are about 1,400 miles more to St. Mary, our next anchorage. Under favourable conditions we should arrive there in six or seven days. We shall get the mails and newspapers there. No news has been received about the Malay, though they call her up by signal in the evenings. If she has not suffered shipwreck, she must be far from the fleet. Her speed is inconsiderable. We shall learn her fate at Madagascar.

December 11th.—During the night on board the Suvaroff the coal in the bunker caught fire. The fire was speedily extinguished with steam, which was injected into the bunker.

There is only a slight wind to-day, but the deadly swell continues. It is impossible to open the ports. Yesterday they brought my cap-covers from the wash. They are so torn now I can hardly wear them. You cannot imagine what a barbarous wash-house we have. They bring back the linen torn and stained. No matter how strong a material your tunic is made of, they tear it.

The Orel left the line, having damaged her steering engine; but she quickly set it right and resumed her place.

Just before the colours were lowered to-day a cloud appeared on the horizon, like smoke. They thought it was the Malay overtaking us. Our excitement appeared to have been needless. The Kamchatka complained of bad coal; she could not keep up sufficient steam, and began to drop astern. Her captain, by signal, asked permission to throw overboard some 150 tons of bad coal. The admiral, seeing in the fall of steam the work of some evil-disposed persons, refused, but gave permission to throw overboard the wrongdoer.

No sooner is the tale of the Kamchatka ended than the Suvaroff lies motionless, having damaged her steering engine. It was repaired somehow, and we proceeded.

December 12th.—A curious thing happened last night. They were communicating with the Kamchatka by signal. She hoisted a signal about her speed. The ship's signalmen interpreted the signal thus, "Do you see the torpedo-boats?" The officer of the watch sent down to wake all officers, and tell them that a torpedo-boat attack was imminent. Buglers and drummers were stationed to sound off quarters for action. There was general alarm.

A strong wind is beginning to blow. I hope it will not turn into a gale again, as it does not bring much joy. When you are ashore you pay no attention to the weather, whereas now you attentively follow its strength and direction. If nothing happens, there are four days' journey left to our anchorage in Madagascar. Up to the present we have come quicker than was intended. The storm on the eighth of the month helped us. At Madagascar the cruiser Kuban will probably join the fleet. She left Russia after we did. She outstripped us, and we have not yet seen her.

Probably at that island we shall be joined by the ships going by the Suez Canal. The weather is apparently about to get worse. The waves are again increasing. In the Atlantic it is calm; in the Indian Ocean it is always boisterous. They say that from Madagascar on it will be quieter. God grant it! It is impossible even for a minute to open one's port to let fresh air into the cabin. The artificial ventilation is very feeble.

December 13th.—Rain has fallen all to-day. The transport Meteor for some reason began to drop astern. (She is carrying fresh water. Although they distil water in the battleships and cruisers, she is nevertheless sometimes of assistance. She usually provides the transports with water.) Like all the other ships, she complains of the bad coal, with which it is difficult to keep up a sufficient quantity of steam for the boilers.

A storm has begun; the wind has suddenly freshened. Some say that this is a local squall, others that it is a cyclone. It is especially awkward for ships to get into a cyclone if they happen to be in its centre. Formerly sailing-ships that were caught in the centre of a cyclone seldom escaped. No doubt it is not so dangerous for steamships; yet, all the same, it may cause discomfort enough.

To-night is very dark. Black clouds stretch over the sky. The storm sometimes moves away, sometimes approaches us.

December 14th.—It was a cyclone yesterday; it only caught us with its circumference. Until one o'clock I was on deck. We are now passing along the eastern shore of Madagascar, and about thirty miles from it. The shore is clearly seen with the naked eye. It is high and mountainous. Just before twelve o'clock a steam-pipe burst in the stokehold of the Suvaroff. The steam whistled and began to pour into the stokehold. The men were nearly scalded. Some of them fled into the bunker, and shut the door behind them with the aid of a stoker, who remained in the stokehold and found a means of saving himself another way.

December 16th.—Off the island of St. Mary.

They have brought news from the shore. Ay! such news that the remembrance of it is nauseating. All the ships at Port Arthur are destroyed. The Gromoboy (Thunderer) has struck on the rocks. Kuropatkin sits tight at Mukden and organises parades. A third deep-sea fleet is leaving, or preparing to leave, Libau. Can this be true? What is all this? Are they joking, or have they quite lost their heads? You cannot imagine how mortifying it is. Everywhere are failures, corruption, stupidity, and mistakes. No doubt you, living in Petersburg, have heard all gradually. It all falls on us as a sudden blow. Involuntarily you are overwhelmed with horror. There is not one bright spot; all around is hopeless darkness.

Yes, our affairs are bad, very bad!

The steamer Roland is going to the town of Tamatave, which is about a hundred versts from our anchorage. The hospital-ship Orel arrived from Capetown and brought newspapers. The officers of the Orel say that in the streets of Capetown you constantly hear Russian spoken; that is, by Jews from Russia. There are some thirteen and a half thousands of them. Many of them have fled from Russia in order to escape their military obligations. The Jews so besieged the Orel, wishing to look over her, that at last the police had to drive them away from the ship.

December 17th.—The Roland, when coming out of Tamatave, signalled that the Malay was coming in. A schooner flying the Swiss flag has arrived here—schooner of a country where there is no sea!

The Malay has arrived. It does not do to believe all the news from the fleet. For instance, to-day a telegram was sent viâ Tamatave, saying we had coaled near Durban. Nothing of the kind occurred. It was telegraphed to alarm the English and compel them to institute an inquiry. In one word, to make them show that they had not broken their neutrality.

The Orel brought the captain of the Suvaroff the Novoe Vremya (New Times) and Birgevya Viedomosti (Bourse News) from Capetown. How eagerly we read them!

Our fleet lies in the strait between the islands of Madagascar and St. Mary. To-day we were informed from St. Mary that two ships were lying on the other side. Was it from these ships we received signals? They suppose them to be Japanese cruisers, and fear for the Roland. She has not returned. If there are Japanese cruisers here they might easily catch her and send her to the bottom.

It is very probable that the ships coming viâ Suez are lying in the Mozambique Channel, off Madagascar (near the western shore). As yet we have no news of them.

December 18th.—To-day the admiral and several officers of his staff went to the island of St. Mary. I did not want to go, so did not take advantage of the opportunity. The steamer Esperanza, which is bringing provisions for the fleet, has not yet arrived. She had to call at Capetown, and then follow us here. Perhaps we shall remain off the island here for a prolonged time. Evidently the term of our stay depends on the answer to the telegram sent to Petersburg.

To-morrow a steamer arrives (French), and leaves on the 21st, taking the mails.

The Roland has not yet returned. Where the rest of the ships are is not known.

The question of the return to Russia of the Malay is definitely settled. She is to go to the Black Sea. Her stores will be taken in the other transports. She goes from here viâ the Suez Canal, taking the sick and feeble from the fleet. That will be one burden the less.

December 19th.—I have been to St. Mary to-day. The trip began by our scarcely reaching the shore. It was rough, and a head sea began to pour over the cutter. I was wet through, and cursed myself for coming.

The scenery here is very little different from Gaboon and Dakar. There is the same rich tropical growth. The types of inhabitants are different. The people here dress more than those at Gaboon, and appear well built. The population does not enjoy the confidence of the French, and the soldiers are taken from another place. Not long ago the natives killed two European officers in Madagascar. When our fleet arrived, they thought we had come to punish them for the murders, and several settlements ran away. St. Mary is a Sagalien for Madagascar. There are two prisons—one for political offenders, the other for capital offenders. What strikes one generally about the negroes is their gait. They walk holding themselves upright.

I wandered about on shore, was in the village, and looked into the church (Roman Catholic). It is the new year to-day, according to the New Style. The population are dressed in their holiday clothes. I bought six very pretty shells in the village for a franc. Strolling along the beach I collected fifty shells—one large one of six to eight inches diameter. My walk along the beach was poisoned by anticipation of having to row back to the ship, which, with the others, lies very far from the shore.

I went on board the ship, and there was a surprise for me—to go to the Esperanza, which had only just arrived. The weather had already grown much rougher. Two Frenchmen have come aboard the Suvaroff, and they cannot get ashore; they will have to spend the night here. The sailors from their boat are negroes, and have been sent to sleep with the crew, whose chance guests afford them amusement.

In the morning the Roland arrived, and brought the news that they had seen a suspicious schooner and a destroyer (Japanese). They saw Admiral Folkersham's fleet (which came by Suez) had gone to Nosi Be. No answer had been received at Tamatave from Petersburg. A French steamer will bring us the answer to-morrow. At Tamatave the French gave our officers a friendly reception. On the occasion of the arrival of the Russian fleet they even printed the menus with the double-headed eagle and our flags.

December 20th.—I was called early this morning. I have to go to the Esperanza again. I am wet through, and have to change my clothes and boots. It is a good thing that those I wore yesterday have dried. The Frenchmen have gone and taken with them the letters and telegrams to give to the steamer. I missed the dispatch of letters owing to the trip to the Esperanza.

Our fleet will soon shift its anchorage. We shall hardly go to Nosi Be. It is awkward to lie there, and the bay is shallow for battleships and also for transports. The refrigerator in the Esperanza, which cools the air in the holds where the meat is stowed, is damaged. This is unfortunate; the meat will go bad, and we shall have to feed on salt meat.

At four o'clock the steamer Pernosbucco arrived here; she brought no news from Petersburg. At seven she left for Diego Suarez. To-morrow we get up anchor and go north to some bay.

A stoker died on board the Oslyabya; he was buried at five o'clock to-day. The Oslyabya left the line, half-masted her colours, fired her guns (a salute), and committed the body to the sea. During this ceremony the officers and crews of all the ships stood at "attention," and where there were bands they played "Kol Slaven."[4]

To-day the wireless station received some signals, evidently sent from a great distance. None of the ships could decipher them—it was not known, even, in what language they were written. To-morrow I shall learn whether it was not one of our newly arrived ships that signalled.

December 21st.—In the bay of Tang-tang.

This morning we weighed and shifted from St. Mary nearer to Madagascar, in the bay of Tang-tang. It is better protected than where we were lying.

The guns are ready at any minute to commence firing. In all corners of the ship are men talking in undertones. They anxiously scan the horizon. The outlines of the nearest ships stand out in black silhouettes. At the sides the torpedo-nets are rocked by the waves. The searchlights are ready to instantly illuminate all around. The tension is felt, though there is absolute stillness. Every one is chilled by fearful anticipation.

December 22nd.—To-day the cruiser Kuban is expected to arrive, and to-morrow the squadron that came viâ Suez.

In the English newspapers there is an announcement that Russia has ordered thirty ships of various kinds in Germany and Italy.

Those undeciphered signals which our wireless stations received have been made out by some one in the Nachimoff. The signal was Japanese. It stated that "the Russian fleet is lying without lights off the island of St. Mary." To-day a French officer commanding some local troops arrived, and spent the night on board the Suvaroff. The torpedo-nets were again got out; the crews were at their guns; steam and mining cutters lay near their ships, one-third of the officers were on deck by order, and a large number out of curiosity.

The night was rather dark—half the sky was covered with clouds. Occasionally sparks of light glimmer here and there. Some one is signalling. A light flashes on shore; it is answered from the sea. The Aurora reports that she saw six lights astern of her. I myself saw four out at sea and one on shore. What will to-night bring us? An attack must be expected. Everything is so unusual. All lights are hidden. At dawn a cruiser is leaving with secret orders, apparently for the colliers.

December 23rd.—The Malay, which remained at our former anchorage, has not yet reached the fleet. The cruisers have gone. The Roland has not yet returned. The Kuban is not here, nor the squadron from Suez. To-night there was a long story from the Esperanza, which is cruising under the French flag and has a French crew. The crew, not liking to lie at anchor without lights during the night, threatened the captain. These brave Frenchmen feared an attack. The Esperanza has now been sent away somewhere. A collier arrived bringing some information, thanks to which we shall leave here to-morrow—whither I do not yet know.

Evening.—The Kuban, it appears, is lying at Diego Suarez, and the ships from Suez at Nosi Be, where we are also going to-morrow.

December 24th.—Port Arthur has surrendered. What more can be said?

On the way to Nosi Be from Tang-tang.

The sad news of the surrender of Port Arthur was brought by the Roland. She arrived to-day.

On the 24th the cruiser Svietlana and the torpedo-boats Biedovy and Bodry joined the fleet. The latter damaged her engines, and was at once taken in tow by the Roland. The same day we met two colliers. They were ordered to go to Nosi Be. On the 25th the Bodry reported that she had very little coal. The fleet stopped, and the Bodry took coal from the Anadir, going alongside her.

It is a good thing it was calm, and this could be done without risk of damage. Yesterday there was mass and prayers. It is really Christmas. After mass the admiral made a short but impressive speech to the crew. All the ships saluted according to regulation. They fired thirty-one guns.

In the evening the Borodino reported by semaphore that shortly before sunset four large warships were visible from her masts, steaming in line ahead. Afterwards three of the ships turned and disappeared. Lights were burning on the remaining ship. After a short time, they made out that this ship, having put out her lights, altered course and also disappeared. There is evidence that there are Japanese warships off Madagascar. The night passed in alarms. Some lights were visible away from our course. Attacks were feared. Instructions were given to the battleships and transports what to do during an attack.

The cruiser Svietlana was sent to the squadron lying in Nosi Be.

I could not sleep from the closeness in my cabin. Until 6 a.m. I slept in my clothes on a sofa in the wardroom. At 6 I went back to my cabin and opened the port. The sea wetted the table and fell on to the bed, but that afforded nothing but pleasure. It does not even wake you.

This morning we got into communication by wireless with the Svietlana, which is ahead of the fleet, while she was in communication with the squadron at Nosi Be. It appears that our cruisers Aurora, Donskoi, and Nachimoff are lying there. Yesterday it was supposed that the ships seen in line ahead were these cruisers and the Kuban, which joined them from Diego Suarez. Now this supposition falls to the ground.

We are going by a spot seldom explored and not sounded. Occasionally shallow places are shown on the chart, and the fairway along which we are steaming is very narrow; the depth is unknown—it has not been measured. We may go aground.

To-day I finished writing those reports about the battleships Borodino, Orel, Imperator Alexander III., and Kniaz Suvaroff, which I began long ago. I must touch them up a little and send them to Petersburg. Many will be dissatisfied with them, and probably I shall make enemies for myself. No matter. Having once decided on it, I must carry it out—the more so as it appears to me the remarks will be very useful.

At seven o'clock the torpedo-boat Buiny (Boisterous) approached, coming from Nosi Be. All is well there. The torpedo-boat offered to escort the hospital-ship Orel to the anchorage. At present our fleet is thirty miles from the anchorage. Owing to the dangerous entrance, we shall remain at sea all night, and go in to-morrow morning. Tossing on the sea all night with the transports is not without danger.

December 27th.—The fleet is steaming slowly, turning constantly in order not to be too far off Nosi Be. At 2 p.m. the Roland hoisted a signal, "The crew have mutinied." The torpedo-boat Biedovy was ordered to reduce the mutineers to submission, and if necessary to shoot them. The torpedo-boat, with such full powers, soon re-established order. It appeared that the stokers did not wish to take the place of two sick comrades, and hence the whole story.

I hardly slept all night. Went to bed at four and got up at seven. We are approaching our anchorage. What news awaits us? After the destruction of the fleet and the fall of Port Arthur, affairs are radically changed. There is now no need for haste.

There are three courses open to our fleet—either to continue the voyage to the East, to remain for an indefinite time in some place in the expectation that its presence will be necessary on the coast of Japan, or to return to Russia. If we are obliged to remain somewhere and wait, will the admiral remain in the fleet? And if he goes, what fate may his staff expect?

I had just sat down and busied myself when I heard the sound of my beloved Little Russian march. I looked out of my port and saw we had arrived at Nosi Be. I ran on deck and saw a wonderful picture. The bay, the calm sea, hills all round—two of the latter especially, covered with a thick wood, stand at the entrance opposite each other. The sun is scorching. In the bay are the remains of the naval might of our unfortunate fatherland. The sounds of the march re-echo. We have rejoined all the ships that we parted from at Tangier more than two months ago. Here are all that are left to Russia. Can it be that they will be ingloriously and ignominiously destroyed? The fleet is still strong enough, but is it efficient? There were more ships, and they are battered to pieces or lie at the bottom of the sea. Can it be that our fleet will complete the great tragedy of the ruin of an immense navy?

The meeting of our admiral and Admiral Folkersham was very hearty. They embraced. You cannot recognise the men in the boats of Admiral Folkersham's division. They are all in sun helmets, whereas our men have put neck-covers on their caps. Admirals Folkersham and Enquist were invited to lunch. They learnt the news. All are sad.

There is neither telegraph nor post here. Torpedo-boats go to Mayung (Mojanga) in order to send the mails and telegrams. It is about 200 versts from here. There are few Europeans. We hear occasional newspaper reports which we do not know how to believe. One is perfectly terrible. Port Arthur surrendered with a garrison of more than 40,000 men, among whom were 1,000 officers. It is simply incredible! The triumph of the Japanese is complete; they will raise our ships that were sunk in Port Arthur harbour, and leaving them their former names, will fight in them against us.

Admiral Folkersham says there are no mails or letters from Russia. He telegraphed twice to our staff requesting them to send on letters. They did not even reply. What is it to them, sitting snugly in Petersburg, that more than 850 officers alone have no news from home for two months? It is all the same to them! They are all right, and as regards others it is not their business.

They do not count on taking the transports Gortchakoff and Malay any further, but will send them to Russia from here. It is said that, according to the first order, the fleet is to leave Madagascar on January 1st. The captain of the torpedo-boat Buiny has come. There are several breakages and defects in this boat. I shall have to go to-morrow morning and make arrangements for their repair.

We have a tremendous voyage before us—across the Indian Ocean, calling nowhere. Under favourable conditions we shall get to the East Indian Archipelago in twenty days, and then Japan is quite close. What will it be? Can the fate of the Port Arthur fleet await us? It is said that Nosi Be is extraordinarily like the harbour of Nagasaki. It is not possible to remain in one's cabin. The deck is so hot that you can feel the heat through the soles of your boots.

The cyclone that overtook us on the way to Madagascar apparently caused much damage in this island. Thank God that we came happily out of it. The cruise in the ships that came viâ Suez was much easier than ours. They called at well-constructed ports. The voyage was shorter. Officers and men were frequently allowed ashore. Our fleet accomplished a tremendous voyage, calling at a few deserted bays. The crew were not allowed on shore, and the officers seldom had permission to land. It is said permission to land will be given to-morrow. It does not attract me; the shore is wild and deserted.

To-night I can sleep with my port open. I shall be able to breathe. I must go to bed early. It is already late, and to-morrow I must get up early, and dash round the ships. At present there are few damages. Perhaps they have not been able to report them. I shall see to-morrow.