“Push off—push off—don’t waste a moment—don’t drown the Admiral!” bawled Bogdanoff, leaning over the side and shaking his fist at our captain.
“Push off—push off!” repeated the crew, looking out of the battery ports and waving their caps.
Choosing a moment when she was clear of the side, Kolomeytseff gave the order “Full speed astern.”
Farewell shouts reached us from the Suvoroff. I say from the “Suvoroff,” but who would have recognised the, till recently, formidable battleship in this crippled mass, which was now enveloped in smoke and flames?
Her mainmast was cut in half. Her foremast and both funnels had been completely carried away, while her high bridges and galleries had been rent in pieces, and instead of them shapeless piles of distorted iron were heaped upon the deck. She had a heavy list to port, and, in consequence of it, we could see the hull under the water-line on her starboard side reddening the surface of the water, while great tongues of fire were leaping out of numerous rents.
We rapidly steamed away, followed by a brisk fire from those of the enemy’s ships which had noticed our movements.
It was 5.30 p.m.
As I have previously remarked, up to the last moment in the Suvoroff we none of us were aware of the nature of the Admiral’s wounds, and, therefore, the immediate question on board the Buiny was, which ship was he to board in order to continue in command of the fleet? When, however, the surgeon, Peter Kudinoff, came to render first aid, we at once learned of how the matter lay, for Kudinoff declared that his life was in danger; that he was suffering from fracture of the skull—a portion of it having entered his brain—and that any jolt might have fatal results. Taking into consideration the condition of the weather—a fresh breeze and a fairly heavy swell—he said it would be impossible to transfer him to another ship. Moreover, he was unable to stand, and his general condition, loss of power and memory, wandering, and short flashes of consciousness, rendered him incapable of any action.
From the Buiny’s engine-room hatch, on which I had chanced to take up my position on going aboard, I proceeded to the bridge, but found that I was not able to stand here because of the rolling, and could only lie. However, while lying down, I was so in the way of those on duty that the Commander advised me in as nice a way as possible to go elsewhere—to the hospital.
We were now overtaking the fleet, and the flag Captain decided that before making any signal, we must in spite of above consult the Admiral, and this was entrusted to me. Picking my way astern with great difficulty, I went down the ladder and looked into the Captain’s cabin. The surgeon had finished dressing the Admiral’s wounds, and the latter was lying motionless in a hammock with half-closed eyes. But he was still conscious.