“Sir, the torpedo-boat is alongside! we must go,” I said.
“Call Filipinoffsky,” he replied, without moving.
Rozhdestvensky evidently intended to lead the fleet after hoisting his flag on another ship, and therefore wanted to have with him the flag navigating officer, who was responsible for the dead-reckoning and safety of manœuvres.
“He will be here in a minute; they have gone for him.” The Admiral merely shook his head.
I have not laid stress on the fact that before transferring him to another ship it was necessary to try and arrange some means of getting him there.
Kursel, with the boatswain and two or three sailors, had got hold of some half-burned hammocks and rope from the upper battery, and with these had begun to lash together something in the shape of a raft on which to lower the Admiral into the water and put him on board the torpedo-boat. It was risky, but nothing else was to hand.
The raft was ready. Filipinoffsky appeared, and I hurried to the turret.
“Come out, sir! Filipinoffsky is here.”
Rozhdestvensky gazed at us, shaking his head, and not uttering a syllable.
“I don’t want to. No.”