October 8th.—The German Ocean (North Sea).
What a night it has been—nerve-racking and restless. Early in the evening all were in a state of nervous tension and panic. News was received at midnight from the foremost ships that they had observed four suspicious torpedo-boats without lights. Vigilance was redoubled, but thank God the night passed happily. At present there is a fog. Nothing is visible all around. The sirens which you dislike so much are shrieking. I went to bed, dressed, last night, and did not cover myself with the counterpane, but just threw my overalls over me. In the night I froze, so covered my feet with a rug. The rug was very useful—many thanks to you for it.
We are now in the German Ocean. They say it will be rough. At present it is calm, but foggy. We go from the Skaw to Brest, in France. There, there will be no communication with the shore, it is said. It will be strange if we arrive in the East without having once set foot on dry land—and that seems likely to happen; circumnavigating the world and not seeing a single town—how that would please you!
9 p.m.—A signal has just been received (by wireless telegraphy) that the Kamchatka, which had dropped far astern, was attacked by torpedo-boats. Just off to find out details.
10 p.m.—The Kamchatka reports that she is attacked on all sides by eight torpedo-boats.
October 9th.—Night of October 9th.
The Kamchatka is asking the position of the fleet. She says she has altered course and that the torpedo-boats have gone. On board us they think that the Japanese are asking the position of the fleet. The wind has freshened. The Suvaroff is rolling. If it continues to freshen, the torpedo-boats will be obliged to give up following and make for the nearest shore.
My God! what will the fleet do then?
About 1 a.m. they sounded off quarters, having seen ships ahead. They let the ships get nearer, and then there began....