Sure enough, since the enemy’s main body had steamed off, we had only been subjected to the fire of Admiral Dewa’s light cruisers, which, in comparison to what we had been under before, was almost imperceptible.
Commander V. V. Ignatzius had remained below after the second wound in his head had been dressed, and, unable to restrain himself at such a moment, paying no heed to the doctors, he ran up the ladder into the battery, shouting: “Follow me, lads! To the fire—to the fire! we have only got to get it under!”
Various non-combatants in the mess deck (belonging to the hospital), and men who were slightly wounded and had gone down to get their wounds dressed, doubled after him. A chance shot struck the hatchway, and when the smoke cleared away neither ladder, nor Commander, nor men with him, were in existence!
But even this bloody episode did not damp the men’s ardour. It was only one in a hundred others.
In the lower battery where, owing to insufficiency of hands, fires momentarily became more numerous, men came, and work went merrily. Of the ship’s officers, besides Bogdanoff, there came Lieutenant Vuiruboff, junior torpedo officer, a robust-looking youth, who, in an unbuttoned coat, rushed about everywhere giving the lead, while his shout of “Tackle it! Stick to it!” resounding amongst smoke and flames, gave strength to the workers. Zotoff came for a short time; he was wounded in the left side and arm. Prince Tsereteli looked out from the mess deck, asking how things were going. Kozakevitch was carried past, wounded a second time, and now dangerously. My servant, Matrosoff, appeared and almost dragged me by force to the dressing station. I got rid of him with difficulty, telling him to go at once to my cabin and get me some cigarettes.
“Very good, sir!” he said, going off as he was bid, and we did not meet again.
“To the guns! Torpedo-boats astern! To the guns!” was shouted on deck.
It was easy to say, “To the guns!” but of the twelve 12-pounder guns in the lower battery only one, on the starboard side, was now serviceable, and there was no chance of using it. The torpedo-boats carefully came up from astern (according to the Japanese, this was about 4.20 P.M.), but in the light gun battery aft (behind the ward-room) there was still one uninjured 12-pounder. Maximoff, a volunteer, on whom the command of the battery had devolved after the officers had fallen, opened a hot fire, and the torpedo-boats, seeing that this strange-looking, battered vessel could still show her teeth, steamed off to wait for a more favourable opportunity.
This event suggested to me the idea of noting the means we had with which to protect ourselves against torpedo attack, or, more properly, to what degree of helplessness we had arrived. There were in the lower battery about fifty men of the crew—all of various ratings. Among them, however, were two gun captains. Of the guns, only one was really serviceable, though the gun captains proposed to “repair” another by substituting for its injured parts pieces from the other ten which were quite unserviceable. There was also Maximoff’s gun in the stern light gun battery.
Having finished my inspection of the lower battery I went through the upper to the forward light gun battery (not one of the turrets was fit for action), and I was struck with the picture it presented, illustrating, more clearly than I had yet seen, the action of the enemy’s projectiles.