Haphazard Fire
This terrible catastrophe threw the whole squadron into the utmost confusion. The other ships began a rapid haphazard fire in all directions to destroy the mines which they knew lurked in every direction, but their shots were purposeless; there was no mark at which to aim, and no effect was produced. And then, to carry further dismay to the already nerve-shaken fleet, a mine exploded on the starboard side of the Pobieda. She listed at once, but her fate was happier than that of the Petropavlovsk. No second explosion followed; the watertight bulkheads were shut to, and sorely wounded though she was she managed to keep afloat and to crawl into the harbor with the cruisers crowding behind her.
Rescue Work
The Poltava in the meanwhile had remained upon the scene of the disaster, and her boats put out to save any of the crew of the flagship who could be found. In this work they were aided by the torpedo gunboat Gaidamak, and their combined efforts succeeded in rescuing the Grand Duke Cyril, seven officers, and seventy-three seamen. These were the only survivors.
The Character of the Explosion
The difference in the effect of the mine explosions upon the Petropavlovsk and the Pobieda was due to causes which could not have been foreseen. The terrible character of the disaster which befell the flagship was due to the fact that the mine exploded underneath her boilers, and that when these burst the explosion of the ammunition magazine, which was in the same part of the ship, immediately followed. The whole affair was over in less than a minute and a half. On the other hand, the explosion at the side of the Pobieda did not touch the boilers, and seriously—indeed for the purposes of immediate warfare, irremediable—damaged as she was, the same appalling results did not follow in her case as in the other.
Accounts by Survivors
The accounts of the survivors of the Petropavlovsk all confirm this view. But so swift indeed was the tragedy that there was not much time or opportunity for the formation of correct conclusions upon this or upon any point. The narratives of the men who were picked up were of the kind usually met with on the occasion of a sudden catastrophe. They were mainly confined to their own personal experiences and miraculous escape. Upon the memories of some, however, certain outstanding incidents were sharply and indelibly photographed. One of the last things which a signalman saw upon the bridge before he was hurled off was the figure of an officer lying weltering in his blood. It was Admiral Makaroff himself. Captain Yakovleff, the commander of the vessel, was hurled against a stanchion with such force that he was thought to be killed, but he was afterwards picked up alive. The Grand Duke Cyril had an escape just as marvelous. He, too, was knocked on the head, but he was not rendered unconscious, and when he was thrown into the sea he fell clear of the sinking vessel. He was an excellent swimmer, and in spite of the shock and injury he had sustained, he managed to keep afloat until he was picked up. Rear-Admiral Molas, Makaroff's chief of staff, was in his cabin when the explosion occurred, and was drowned. His body was one of the few that were afterwards washed ashore. Another picture which some of the survivors retained in their mind was that of "an old man with a beautiful white beard," who was standing on the deck just before the disaster with a book in his hand sketching. This was the famous war artist, Verestchagin. Only that morning his friend Makaroff had invited him to share the hospitality of the flagship and so gain further material for his realistic pictures of the horrors of war!
Tribute from the Japanese
The full magnitude of the success which his plans had gained was not revealed to the Japanese Admiral till the Russian dispatches made it public to the world. He saw a vessel, as he phrased it, "of the Petropavlovsk type" strike a mine and sink, and he thought also that another ship—he was referring to the Pobieda—lost freedom of movement; but he did not know that with the Petropavlovsk perished the brain of the Russian defence, a brain which, if it had been employed from the first by its master, the Czar, might have given a totally different character to the war. The death of Makaroff in itself brought no rejoicing to the Japanese in their hour of victory, but only that feeling of almost personal sorrow which brave and chivalrous men feel for the death of a gallant foe. No finer or more generous tributes indeed could have been paid even in the western world than were paid to the memory of the brave but unfortunate Makaroff by the members of this so-called yellow race.