FROM LIBAU TO TSUSHIMA
| First Edition | August, 1906 |
| Reprinted | January, 1907 |
FROM LIBAU TO
TSUSHIMA
A NARRATIVE OF THE VOYAGE OF ADMIRAL
ROJDESTVENSKY'S FLEET TO EASTERN SEAS,
INCLUDING A DETAILED ACCOUNT OF THE
DOGGER BANK INCIDENT
BY THE LATE
EUGÈNE S. POLITOVSKY
Engineer-in-Chief to the Squadron, who was killed at the
Battle of Tsushima
TRANSLATED BY
MAJOR F. R. GODFREY, R.M.L.I.
NEW EDITION
NEW YORK
E. P. DUTTON AND COMPANY
1908
PRINTED BY
HAZELL, WATSON AND VINEY, LD.,
LONDON AND AYLESBURY,
ENGLAND.
TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE
No detailed account of the voyage of the Russian fleet to the Far East has to my knowledge been published. The newspapers occasionally mentioned it as being here or there, and of course its doings in the North Sea are a matter of history; but from the time it left Tangier until it met its doom at Tsushima it was practically in oblivion. By chance this book came into my hands, and I thought it would interest British readers.
Much has been said in derision of Admiral Rojdestvensky's fleet, but every one must agree that it was no mean undertaking to have brought this large fleet out to the Far East from Russia and laid it alongside the enemy. This was done, in spite of the difficulties of coaling without bases and of having to repair damages in the open sea. The fleet had to pass countries that were bound by the laws of neutrality, and some that were actually hostile to it. It was driven out of many ports by the ships of its allies. In spite of all these drawbacks, it accomplished a tremendous voyage with all "its units" intact.
That it failed to win the battle is in no way surprising. A great number of the ships were useless and obsolete. The crews were disheartened by the failures of their comrades at Port Arthur. The beginning of the movements which resulted in the open mutiny in the Black Sea and in the recent mutiny at Cronstadt were developing.
Finally, the spirit of the officers was not of the Nelsonian standard. We find the captain of the cruiser Ural flaunting his desire to surrender without striking a blow for his country.
It must be remembered that the dates are those of the Old Style, thirteen days behind those of the New Style, which has not been adopted by Russia.
PREFACE
Eugène Sigismondovitch Politovsky, engineer-constructor of the second deep sea fleet flagship, was born at Tashkend on November 12th, 1874. He received his education at the Emperor Nicholas I. Naval Engineering School, and left it in 1897. Up to the departure of the fleet for the East he served at the Admiralty at St. Petersburg. He went down in his ship, the battleship Kniaz (Prince) Suvaroff, in the fight of May 14th, 1905. This diary consists of extracts from his letters to his wife, which it must be understood were not intended for publication.
The diary is written entirely from the personal point of view of the author. He shares with the human being dearest to him everything that occupies or interests him. He writes in fragments, with detached sentences, sometimes snatching a few spare minutes from his duties for his letters. His diary is a full one. Scarce a day is omitted from the departure from Libau up to May 11th.
Involuntarily, one is impressed by the sincerity and justice of the author's tone. As he thought, so he wrote.
His style is very simple and graphic, despite its fragmentary nature.
The author was a constructor, not a sailor. This was his first cruise. His views of all that he saw are those of an independent person, bound by no traditions or clannishness. They appear to be absolutely impartial. In addition, through his position on the staff he knew much that remained unknown to others.
From the very beginning he did not believe in success for the Russian navy. The further the fleet went the more apparent did it become to him that it was going on a desperate and hopeless mission. "If you could but imagine what is going on," he writes—"if it were possible for me to tell you exactly all about it—you would be amazed. Should I live, I will tell you afterwards. No! there is no use our fighting. Things have come to such a pass that I can only wring my hands and feel assured that no one can escape his fate, for this is the only possible assurance."
He took his duty very seriously and responsibly. Damages to the ships, and especially to the torpedo-boats, were constantly occurring, and it was necessary to repair them with self-improvised means under the most trying circumstances. For instance, can you not imagine the following scene? A torpedo-boat in the open sea with a damaged rudder. Divers must be sent to repair it. The swell is tremendous, the boat is rolling fearfully, and around it are sharks. They lower the diver; he is knocked about by the sea all the time—take care that he is not permanently disabled. They watch the sharks and drive them away with shots from a rifle. In spite of all these difficulties the repairs are completed.
Not one ship did the fleet leave behind, and this was in a great measure due to Politovsky. Whatever the weather, he tirelessly went from one ship to another, thinking out means of repair and accommodating himself to the most improbable and difficult circumstances, and always emerging from them with honour. Every one remembers his great work in getting the battleship Apraxin off the rocks at Gothland, where she had struck, icebound, in the winter of 1899.
With ships of the Suvaroff class he was well acquainted. From 1899 he was assistant-constructor of the Borodino, and this was probably the reason of his appointment to the fleet, an appointment destined to be fatal to him. How passionately he dreamed of the arrival at Vladivostok and of the possibility of returning to Russia! Alas! fate decided otherwise. He perished in his prime, being but thirty years old. Through his death our engineer-constructors have suffered a severe loss.
He was talented, clever, and energetic, with a vast experience gained from his cruise. What a valuable man he would have been in the construction of the new Russian fleet!
TABLE OF CONTENTS
CHAPTER I
BEGINNING THE VOYAGEPAGE
The Summons—The Emperor visits the Fleet—Worries and Work—Fear of Japanese Mines—Repairs—The Order of St. Anne—Mishaps—Suspicions and Nerve-strain—On the Dogger Bank—The Kamchatka "attacked"—The North Sea Trawlers—The Aurora fired on—The Ship's Barber—"Foggy Albion"—Crossing the Bay—Complications—At Vigo—Protests from England
CHAPTER II
OFF NORTH-WEST AFRICAVigo and the Spanish—Chased—An English Escort—That Horrid Britannia!—A Memorial Service for Alexander III.—Cruisers—Tangier—Japanese Torpedo-boats at Hull—The Suvaroff—Morocco and the Moors—Rumours and Lies—Cutting the Cable—The Malay breaks down—Vessels in the Squadron—The Captain gets some Soap!—Great Heat—Dakar—Those English again!—Coal the Weakness—Sunstroke—Japanese Spies—The Natives—Visiting the Fleet—Heat and Thirst—Whales sighted—The Malay again—Strike of a Stoker
CHAPTER III
CROSSING THE LINEOff Gaboon—Rats—Wiring for News—Requested to leave by the French—Cannibals—Awaking a King—Photographed with Royalty—A Captain reprimanded—Libreville—Dancing a Tam-tam—Andrew Andrewitch—Crossing the Line—How they fast—Great Fish Bay—A Portuguese Gunboat—Albatrosses—Dysentery—Angra Pequena—News of Mukden—English Possessions everywhere—German Sympathy—Sad News from the Front—Visiting the Malay—Lights put out—Rat Hunting
CHAPTER IV
ON THE WAY TO MADAGASCARPassing Capetown—A Steamer following—A Furious Gale—The Malay again in Trouble—Fire on the Suvaroff—Bad Coal—General Alarm—Another Storm—Madagascar in Sight—Sickening News from Port Arthur—Hopeless Darkness—The Orel invaded by Jews—A Swiss Schooner—St. Mary—Scenery and People—The French Cordial—Tang-tang—Undecipherable Signals Japanese—Mysterious Signals—The Esperanza nervous—Port Arthur surrendered—Christmas—Warships sighted—Are they Japanese?—Mutiny on the Roland—Arrival at Nosi Be—The Admirals meet—Uncertainty and Dissatisfaction
CHAPTER V
AT MADAGASCARLife in a Torpedo-boat—Elephantiasis—Officers discharged—Sailors suffocated—A Funeral Service—Further Tragical Mishaps—Suvaroff Shore Leave stopped—A Snake in the Hay—Requiem Service on Board the Ural—A Sad Spectacle—Population of Nosi Be—Frightened Oxen—Telegrams from Home—News of the Oleg—The Kuban arrives—Prickly Heat—Rumours of Return—Luxurious but Useless Ships—Animals on Board—On Shore—Gambling—Blessing the Water—The Rainy Season—The Mad Ensign—Intense Heat—Malay returns with Sick and Incapables—Arrest of Mutineers—The Foreign Legion—Pianola Musicians—Bad Meat—Shipping Cattle—Sinking of the Bengal Coal Steamer—Passive Resistance
CHAPTER VI
WAITING FOR ORDERSUncertainty—Firing Practice—Martial Law in Russia—Narrow Escape from a Collision—The Suvaroff flooded—Capture by the Oleg—On Shore—A Supposed Spy—German Methods—Playing for High Stakes—Our Hopeless Situation—Wasting Money—Man Overboard—Big Ships sighted—Internal Affairs in Russia—Rumours of Reinforcements—German Colliers—Confession under Difficulties—Europeans at Nosi Be—Breakdown of Rezvy—Complaints of Local Governor—Loss of Torpedo-boats—Shore Leave stopped—Apathy and Oblivion—A Narrow Escape—A Spy at Large—Sorting the Letters—Visit from Another Spy—Admiral Birilieff criticised—Waiting and wasting Time—A Sad Anniversary—A Comedy of Ladies—Money-changing—The Barber in Difficulties—A Humbugging Frenchman—Cleaning the Ships—Mysterious Balloon—Court-martial—Undisciplined Sailors—Rumours of Peace
CHAPTER VII
EVENTS AT NOSI BEA Nigger Wedding—Effects of Drink—Anxiety about the Irtish—Quarrels among the Officers—A Suppressed Telegram—Bad News of Vladivostok—A Dummy Dirk—Indignation at Home News—Good Work by Divers—The Malagassy impertinent—The Germans jeering—The General Staff anathematised—News about Mukden—A Prophecy—Examining the Aurora—Waiting for the Regina—Signal for Departure
CHAPTER VIII
ACROSS THE INDIAN OCEANLeaving Nosi Be—Confusion on the Kamchatka—Preparations—The Regina and the Japanese—A Grand Armada—Fearful Heat—Various Breakdowns—Steaming without Lights—A Star mistaken for a Ship—Cattle on Board—Chagos Archipelago—Artificer Krimmer—More Mishaps—Coaling at Sea—Look-out Boxes—Night Alarms—General Mismanagement—Success Unlikely—More Deaths—The Admiral's Weak Nerves—Guarding Divers from Sharks—Lights Ahead—Reflections on the Outlook—A Favourable Current—Opportunities of Attack—Life on Torpedo-boats—An "Iconoclast"—An Unjust Reprimand—Across the Equator—Japan's Advantages—Towing Torpedo-boats—Preparations for Fighting—Officers Drunk—Opium Cigarettes—Rats
CHAPTER IX
THROUGH THE STRAITS OF MALACCAMutiny—More Mishaps—Dogs—Straits of Malacca—Imaginary Torpedo-boats—Will the Japanese attack?—Passing Malacca—No News of the War—Night Attack feared—Small Hope of Victory—Passing Anamba—Bound for Kamranh—Constant Fear of Japanese—A Time of Alarms—More Deaths
CHAPTER X
THE STAY AT KAMRANHArrival at Kamranh—Chances Neglected—Despair—Losing Time—More Accidents—Meeting of Admirals and Captains—Post Difficulties—A Goat—Cockroaches—Hard Work repairing—A French Cruiser—Food Scarce—Admiral Folkersham Ill—Meeting of Engineers—False News—A Regrettable Incident—Forest Fires—Foreign Contempt for Russia—Requested to leave Kamranh—Where is the Third Fleet?—Two Colliers arrested—Fatal Errors—Discretion of the English Press—Phantom Submarine
CHAPTER XI
DELAYS AT VAN FONGSympathy of French Admiral—Japanese Spies—Expensive Food—The Russian System—A Rat Bite—Squalor—Want of Engineers—An Alarm—"Apes" and "Anyhows"—The Oleg—Preparations for Easter—Officers usually Drunk—Easter—Prickly Heat—Expecting Nebogatoff—Row on the Orel—Neutrality a Farce—Night Alarms—Buying Children—Suspicious Lights—No News of Nebogatoff—French Admiral as Poet—No News from Manchuria—Getting Cigarettes—The Annamese People—Nebogatoff in Sight—Excitement—A Good Post—French Impertinence—Poisonous Gases—Leaving Van Fong
CHAPTER XII
PREPARING FOR BATTLEExpecting Torpedo and Submarine Attacks—Delay—Signals—Formosa—Coaling—A Steamer arrested—Love of Secrets—A Possible Japanese Scout—Contraband Ships—Preparations for Battle—An English Trick—A Balloon sighted—No Sign of the Japanese—The Irtish breaks down—Hopes of reaching Vladivostok
NOTE BY MADAME POLITOVSKY
APPENDIX.—OFFICIAL STATEMENT OF THE RUSSIAN
LOSSES IN THE BATTLE
FROM LIBAU TO TSUSHIMA
CHAPTER I
BEGINNING THE VOYAGE
August 28th.—Events follow each other so fast that they get confused in the memory.
The return from the club in the morning, a frightened wife with a telegram, the rush from Petersburg to Cronstadt, hurried calls, appointment to the Suvaroff, good-byes, send-offs, a new service, etc., etc.
I am not yet accustomed to my new surroundings.
To-day I bade good-bye to the captain and officers of the Borodino, and to the foremen and workmen. They wished me good luck, drank my health, cheered, and the band played. They evidently had a very friendly disposition towards me.
The parting with the foremen and workmen was cordial. It was very sad to see their doleful faces. They all cried before the end of their farewell speeches. I kissed all and thanked them. They blessed me with the ikon of St. Nicholas. I promised to give them my photograph as a memento. I had nothing else to repay them with. I could think of nothing better.
August 30th.—Yesterday we left Cronstadt. The Emperor overtook the fleet in the Alexandria, and steamed round it. All the time bands were playing, the men cheered, the fleet saluted. It was a superb sight. At times the smoke from the guns was so thick that the nearest ships were not visible. To-day we arrived at Revel at 7 a.m. It is said we are to remain here for nearly a month.
To-day is the Suvaroff's name-day. There was mass. No festivities.
8 p.m.—Such a worry. Nowhere can I find room for myself. When I was working on board the Borodino, as you may imagine, I constantly consoled myself with the thought of rest and of leave. The Borodino is completed. I might now have been free, might now have been living at home with my wife. But ah! fate! It seems to me that I shall not return. My predecessor in this cabin that I occupy went mad and was retired. This may be superstition, but it is nevertheless unpleasant. It is said that to-day the captain of the Asia momentarily lost his head and steered his ship to ram the Apraxin; the presence of mind of the officer of the watch saved the Asia and Apraxin from damage.
October 3rd.—At sea, on the way to the island of Bornholm. Time flies. Daily there are new impressions, worries, gossip, and work. On the eve of our departure from Libau there was prayer, with genuflexions for "Boyarin Zenovie."[1]
Yesterday we had vespers, and to-day mass. Everything so triumphant and showy! The weather was glorious. At lunch the band played. Suddenly it was reported that the torpedo-boat Buistry (Rapid) had rammed the Oslyabya—had knocked a hole in herself and damaged her torpedo-tubes. The Buistry approached the Suvaroff. With the help of a megaphone (i.e. a large speaking-trumpet) the admiral conversed with her. They managed to plug the holes. It will be my work to mend them. We shall anchor off Bornholm, where I hope to repair the torpedo-boat. To-night there will be danger. We shall all sleep in our clothes and all guns will be loaded. We shall pass through a narrow strait. We are afraid of striking on Japanese mines in these waters. Perhaps there will be no mines; but considering that long ago Japanese officers went to Sweden and, it is said, swore to destroy our fleet, we must be on our guard. This strait is eminently suitable for torpedo-boat attacks or for laying down mines. When you get this letter we shall have passed the dangerous place, and it is no use your worrying yourself about it.
Have things gone badly with Kuropatkin again? How serious it is! Will there ever be an end to our reverses?
4 p.m.—We have passed the island of Bornholm without stopping. The southern shores of Sweden were visible. On the way we met a good many steamers. We are steaming with the greatest precaution. The fleet is split into several divisions, steaming at a certain distance from one another. Each division is surrounded by torpedo-boats. Whenever a steamer or sailing-ship is observed on our course or coming toward us, a torpedo-boat goes ahead and clears the way—that is, drives them aside.
It is a pretty sight—a torpedo-boat going full speed gliding swiftly over the sea like a snake. Being low in the water, it can scarcely be seen from afar.
October 4th.—At anchor off the coast of Denmark, opposite the island of Langeland (Longland). On board the transport Kamchatka.
Ah me, what a day it has been! We had scarcely arrived at Langeland when I went on board the torpedo-boat Buistry, not having even drunk my coffee. I put on high boots and took my mackintosh. The Buistry approached the Kamchatka and the work began. I got as black as the devil in the bunker. I must have new overalls. I shall buy some cloth somewhere and give it to a sailor to make.
High boots are invaluable, but it is a pity they do not come above the knee, as I sometimes have to crawl and spoil my trousers, just as I did to-day. The work in the Buistry is tremendous. The wind freshened. The torpedo-boat rolled. We should have worked outboard, but there was too much sea on; she rolled her deck under. The artificers will work all night at the inside, and perhaps to-morrow they may be able to do outside repairs. Towards the evening it blew so hard that it was useless thinking of getting on board the Suvaroff. It is very cramped in the torpedo-boat, and she is still rolling very heavily. I went over to the Kamchatka. I do not yet know if I shall get a cabin to sleep in. I brought very few cigarettes with me. Here, off Langeland, are a Danish cruiser and a torpedo-boat guarding our anchorage from the Japanese, who might fire a torpedo at us. There are Danish pilots in each ship, as well as in the torpedo-boats. Once we are out of the Baltic, the danger from mines will be passed.
I am sitting in the wardroom of the Kamchatka, where I have found some paper on which I am scribbling. If the weather does not abate I shall have to stay in the Kamchatka until we reach the next anchorage. They have just come to report that there are no spare hammocks. I shall have to spend the night on a sofa in the wardroom, without undressing. Well, that is no hardship!
I shall sleep somehow, as I am very tired.
October 15th, 12 noon.—At 9 a.m. I went from the Buistry to the Suvaroff. Find the consul is just leaving. I fastened my letter No. 3 somehow, unsigned, and gave it to the consul without a stamp. I think it will reach you.
At eleven o'clock I went to lunch with the admiral, who conferred on me the Order of St. Anne. This came as a surprise to me. The order with the ribbon was sent to me. The admiral is promoted to vice-admiral and aide-de-camp to the Czar.
3 p.m.—I lay down hoping to rest, but it was not to be; I had to go to the Sissoi—her davits had broken. They could not lower a single cutter. Off I went. Here we are at our first anchorage, and already there are a heap of damages. The Buistry is damaged; there are breakages in the Sissoi: in the Jemchug the davits broke and a cutter sank.
Three Danish steamers which coaled us are damaged. The owners assess the damages at 6,000 roubles (£600). I shall have to go and look at them.
I do not take into account minor mishaps, such as the torpedo-boat Prozorlivy (Clearsighted), which struck her bows somewhere, and of course bent them. She was, however, able to cope with the leak herself.
October 6th.—On the way to Cape Skaw.
Another mishap to the Orel (Eagle).[2] At a most critical moment, when we were going through a narrow strait, her rudder was injured. She anchored. The damage is not yet ascertained. There is probably some scoundrel on board who has been trying all along to injure the ship. It is supposed to be one of the crew. We got up anchor at 7 a.m. The weather is fair, but it appears to be freshening. The wind is beginning to get much stronger, although the sun is still shining, and there is not much sea.
It is warm here, 12° to 13° R.
The Orel weighed anchor and followed the fleet.
October 7th.—We are not yet up to the Skaw. Shall be there soon. The weather is very fine again. I wonder what it will be like in the German Ocean. We have to put our watches back now.
It is 8.30 on board at this moment. In Petersburg it is probably not yet 8 o'clock.
I occasionally look at a book, The English Self-teacher, but I do not get on with it; sometimes I am lazy, and sometimes people interrupt me.
At anchor off the Skaw. There is no communication with the shore except through the pilot. I gave my letter No. 4 to him to post. Sending a telegram is out of the question. At present we have stopped at sea, and are not off a port. We were anxious about the Orel all night. As I have already told you, she left the fleet, no longer answered signals, and found herself in a dangerous place. Now she is anchored with the other ships.
I write to you so often now, that when it will be difficult to send letters, and they will take a long time reaching you, you are bound to be anxious. In any case, I warn you of this. Of course, I shall write to you as often as possible. I must finish this letter. The post goes very soon in the Ermak.
The next trip will be of some days' duration. We have no news of the war. It is very trying. The torpedo-boat Prozorlivy has damaged her condenser, and is being sent to Libau. The Jemchug lost a cutter and broke the davits. The davits were taken down to-day and sent to the Kamchatka, where, in hoisting them on board, they fell into the water and sank.
How strict discipline is now! A signal was made to the Ermak. She did not answer, so they began firing projectiles under her stern. After such a reminder she quickly responded.
At three o'clock a Swedish steamer approached the fleet, flying a signal that she had very important dispatches. Apparently the Russian agent reported that a very suspicious three-masted sailing ship had sailed from the fiords. An order has now been given to train all guns on every passing vessel. We met ships hitherto, but the torpedo-boats always drove them out of the way. We have already passed the most dangerous spots. Half an hour ago it was reported to the admiral that either the Navarin or the Nachimoff (I do not remember which) had signalled that they had seen two balloons. What can this be? Can it be the Japanese?
8 p.m.—Panic prevails on board. Every one examines the sea intently. The weather is glorious. It is warm. There is moonlight. The slightest suspicious-looking spot in the water is carefully watched. The guns are loaded. The crew are standing about on deck. One half will sleep at their guns without undressing; the other half and officers will keep watch to-night. It is curious that we are so far from the theatre of war and yet so much alarmed. The crew treat the matter seriously.
By the way, I will tell you the following incident. A sailor of the Revel half "equipage" asked to be allowed to go to the war in one of the ships. His request was refused. He thereupon climbed into the hold of one of the transports and remained there until now. Imagine how many days he passed in the fetid hold of the transport! Besides that, he would be suspected of being a deserter—that is, to have committed a severely punishable offence. No doubt they will inform Revel and keep him in the fleet. A curious incident, is it not? I wish the whole thing were over. Every one's nerves are strained just now. There are some officers in the fleet who have returned from Port Arthur, and they say that people out there are not nearly as nervous as they are in Russia.
The following details will show you how accustomed they have grown to the position. The crews of the ships at Port Arthur asked leave to go to the advanced positions, and returned under the influence of liquor. No one could understand how they became drunk. In the town liquors were not sold, and yet men went to the advanced positions and returned intoxicated. At last it was discovered, and how do you suppose? It appears that the sailors went to the front in order to kill one of the enemy and take away his brandy-flask. Just imagine such a thing. They risked their lives to get drunk! They did all this without thinking anything of it, and contrived to conceal it from the authorities.
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....
What it was words fail to describe! All the ships of our division were ablaze. The noise of the firing was incessant. The searchlights were turned on. I was on the after bridge, and was positively blinded and deafened by the firing. I put my hands to my ears and bolted below. The rest I watched from the spar-deck, out of the accommodation-ladder port.
A small steamer was rolling helplessly on the sea. One funnel, a bridge, and the red and black paint on her side were clearly visible. I saw no one on deck—they had probably hidden themselves below in terror. First one, then another projectile from our ship struck this unfortunate steamer. I saw there was an explosion. The order to cease firing was given, but the other ships continued to fire and no doubt sank the steamer. A second and third steamer not having any one on deck rolled helplessly in the same fashion. The Suvaroff did not fire on them.
Imagine the feelings of the people in these ships! They were, no doubt, fishermen. Now there will be a universal scandal. As a matter of fact they are to blame themselves. They must have known our fleet was coming, and they must have known the Japanese wished to destroy it. They saw the fleet. Why did they not cut adrift their nets, if they had them out, and get out of the way? The nets could be paid for afterwards.
We shall find out at Brest what we have done. If it was not the Kamchatka, but the Japanese, who asked the position of the fleet, they will now know where we are to be found. If that is the case, we must expect to be attacked to-night. The moon is shining now, but from 4 to 6 a.m. it will be dark—the time most suitable for attack. If only we could get to the open sea! We shall be perfectly safe there from these accidents. I do not know whether to go to bed or not. You know I always like sharing even the smallest events with you and telling you of them. Take care of my letters; they are better than any diary. Perhaps some day I will read them myself and refresh my memory about our present excitements.
2.30 a.m.—What a misfortune! A signal has come from the Aurora, "Four underwater shot-holes, funnels torn, the chaplain severely wounded, and a captain of a gun slightly."
Our division fired on the Aurora. She and the Dimitry Donskoi were detached (we are in six divisions). At the time of the firing on the steamers the men lost their heads. Probably some one took her to be Japanese and fired on her with the six-inch guns; she was very far off. A very, very sad occurrence. The only consolation is that our shooting is so good.
3.30 p.m.—The second and third steamers about which I wrote last night suffered a little as well. The Aurora's chaplain had his hand torn off. They asked permission to call at the nearest port in order to send him to hospital. The admiral refused. Six different projectiles struck the Aurora, whose side and funnels were pierced. Comparatively few were injured. The Aurora is to blame for having shown herself on the horizon, on the side away from us. She turned her searchlight on us, and by so doing made us take her to be one of the enemy's ships.
Yesterday, or more correctly this morning, I went to bed at six o'clock. Again I did not undress. I slept by snatches, on and off all day. Perhaps there will be no sleep again to-night.
The barber has just cut my hair. He uses huge tailor's scissors with cloth-covered handles. "I did not succeed in buying a proper pair," he explained, when he saw me looking at his ditty box.[3] He cut it very evenly for a self-taught barber.
Whom have we not among the sailors?—tailors, bootmakers, locksmiths, cooks, bakers, barbers, photographers, confectioners, cigarette makers, etc. All trades are represented, and there is work for all of them in a battleship. The captain wanted to be shaved, so he sent an orderly for a barber. The man arrived (not the one who cut my hair) and the shaving began. The barber's hand shook and the captain's face grew red with blood. He had nearly taken off half his cheek. A fearful row ensued. The captain, with soapy cheeks, smacked the heads of the orderly and barber. The latter tried to excuse himself by saying that he is still learning. A pretty picture, is it not? Now the captain shaves himself, not trusting local talent.
11 p.m.—An eventful day has gone by! At six o'clock some fishing-nets fouled the screws, but the engines are working. The fishermen in these parts tow very long nets, and you have to pass over them.
We had vespers to-day. How will this night pass? The weather remains fine. It is calm. The moon will shine until four o'clock. Perhaps another fog will come on like last night. All this morning the sirens were screeching in the fog. We shall be at the entrance of the English Channel in the morning. Again they have not served out hammocks to the crew. They will sleep at their guns fully dressed.
October 10th (7 p.m.).—In the English Channel, between England and France.
I have not written to you the whole day, and it is getting on my conscience.
We had mass in the morning, and then lunch. Not having slept all night, I lay down to rest. I slept until 3.30. I worked and then dined. I am only just free. The night passed quietly. It is raining now, and the ship is gently heaving on the ocean swell. If nothing further occurs, we shall be at Brest to-morrow. Passing by England this morning I saw her southern shores, which were faintly visible in the mist. Yes, there was "Foggy Albion." Involuntarily I pondered over this clod of earth—so powerful, so rich, so proud, and so ill-disposed towards us. We are only three hours' journey from London and six by rail from Paris.
Many varieties of birds settle on the ship, tired and exhausted by their long flight. The crew feed them and let them go.
I am depressed—fearfully depressed. Anxiety presses on my soul! What would I not give to be with you now! Again I have not slept all night. How tiring it all is!
October 11th.—They say it is very possible we shall not call at Brest. Profiting by the fine weather, we shall steer straight across the Bay of Biscay. The bay enjoys a bad reputation. It is seldom crossed in calm weather. It blows there very heavily. So far we have had a very fair voyage.
The Korea, which apparently called at Cherbourg, signals that she has heard nothing of the fleet having fired on steamers. The torpedo-boat Bravy has broken something.
Bay of Biscay.
Fate herself prevented our going to Brest, and steered us straight across the Bay of Biscay to Vigo (Spain).
Such a thick fog came up at 1 p.m. that the ship astern was not visible. We are steaming through milk! The sirens are shrieking in turn, one ship after another.
The following ships are in our division: first the Suvaroff, next the Alexander III., then the Borodino, Orel, and the transport Anadir.
Perhaps it is just as well we did not go to Brest. The entrance to the port is very difficult, dangerous, and impossible in a fog.
If we do not go to Crete, from Vigo onwards the way before us is wide—the whole ocean!
Lying on my bed last night I watched the rats making themselves at home in my cabin. I used to sleep with my feet towards the door, but have now put my pillow there, because of the rats. They can jump from the writing-table on to the settee, and could easily have jumped on my head.
Since we left the port of Alexander III. at Libau, a fortnight ago, no telegrams have been sent, except those allowed by the admiral. This was done so that spies should not warn the Japanese, waiting for us in the Baltic. The Japanese evidently thought (report said there were more than a hundred of them in the Baltic) that we should wait for the Oleg at Libau. The admiral, however, did not wait for the Oleg, and left. Their spies did not succeed in warning them. Though telegrams were received at the office, they were not sent on for two days. Perhaps this accounts for their inactivity.
Evening.—The fog dispersed and our division reassembled. The crew will sleep at their guns without undressing till we reach Vigo.
I sit in my cabin and try to distract my thoughts. Such gloom overwhelms me that I feel inclined to hang myself. I go into the wardroom, take a hand at dominoes, play with the dogs, or idle about, not knowing what to do with myself.
There are three dogs who are always to be found in the wardroom of the Suvaroff. One is a dachs called "Dinky"; the second a fox-terrier puppy, "Gipsy"; and the third, "Flagmansky," is something like a dachs, but white-haired and rough. Flagmansky and Gipsy are very amusing animals. They are often played with and teased; corks and papers are tied to them with string, and they jump and romp about. Now you know all our amusements. They are not many!
I go on deck and look at this much-vaunted sea.
Some one has prepared Flagmansky for the tropics by cutting off all the hair on his body, leaving his head like a lion's. The chaplain is accused of doing this, but he denies it.
We shall arrive at Vigo either to-night or to-morrow morning. It will be interesting to know if they will allow us to coal from our transport Anadir. Coal is getting scarce in the battleships.
October 12th.—We are approaching Spain. Lighthouses are already visible. We shall be at Vigo in the morning. We shall all be much relieved, as we have not called at a single port since we left Libau. We could go on to Tangier without stopping. The weather has greatly facilitated our passage.
Admiral Folkersham, commanding the 2nd division of battleships (in it are the Sissoi, Oslyabya, Navarin, Nachimoff, and another), distinguished himself when passing through the English Channel. He approached the English coast and coaled his ships from the transports. We are all laughing to think of the horror of our Minister for Foreign Affairs (by the way, all the ministers were opposed to the dispatch of the fleet, but the admiral insisted on it).
The Minister will be informed of the firing on the steamers. That will be the first European complication. They will then tell him about the coaling near England—a second complication. Finally he will learn that a whole division of our fleet has called at the neutral port of Vigo.
October 13th.—In Vigo Bay.
No communication with the shore allowed. I gave my letter No. 6, of thirty-two pages, to be forwarded by the Consulate. Of course, there were no stamps. I wonder if you will get it!
We shall not remain here more than twenty-four hours. The Spanish authorities do not allow a longer stay. This place is hot and sunny. There were 20° R. in the shade. The place is pretty. There are hills all around. The town is evidently not large.
12 o'clock.—The authorities do not allow us to stop for a moment. In order to gain time, the admiral asked the local captain of the port to telegraph to Madrid, to ask that we might stay here five days to make good defects. In spite of the prohibition we are about to take in coal, without which our fleet would be checkmated. Sentries will be posted over the hawsers (ropes which fasten the ships to the colliers), with orders to allow no one to cast them off. What will be the end of all this?
A collier lies near each battleship, but they are not allowed to coal. Telegrams are sent everywhere. They are now waiting for a reply from Madrid. Will they really not allow us to coal!
The admiral has received a telegram stating that England is in a ferment—not at our having fired on the steamers, but because the torpedo-boat which was left on the scene of the drama gave no help to the sufferers. None of our torpedo-boats were there. They were at Cherbourg. The admiral replied to this effect to our ambassador in London.
An answer has been received from Madrid. It announces that the Government requests us to refrain from coaling, but will inform us to-morrow how much we may take.
The admiral ordered a signal to be hoisted for the fleet, to be in readiness to weigh anchor at 7 a.m.
When the admiral went ashore to-day, he was met in state. The crowd made an ovation, a description of which was in the local evening papers.
October 14th.—I gave my letter to a soldier or police "alguazil," as they call them on board. I gave him money—one peseta!
Our battleships lie waiting. It is positively insulting! Coal, bought by Russia, is in steamers close alongside and is not allowed to be put on board. "Who prevents it?" you ask. Miserable, beggarly, broken Spain. Undoubtedly the hand of England is visible in this. The Spaniards make no secret of it.
At 1 p.m. permission came for each ship to take in 400 tons. Sailors and officers, dirty and black, hasten to begin coaling. White tunics and cap-covers are nowhere to be seen. Everything is black with coal-dust. Faces are black as soot, and only teeth gleam white.
October 18th.—They say we leave for Tangier to-morrow morning. I have been busy all day, and not able to write.
FOOTNOTES:
[1] Admiral Rojdestvensky's Christian name. "Boyarin" means "the lord."
[2] On September 17th, 1904, the battleship Orel went aground when being towed to sea.
[3] A small wooden box in which sailors keep small articles of private property, such as watches, letters, photographs, etc.
CHAPTER II
OFF NORTH-WEST AFRICA
October 19th.—On the way from Vigo to Tangier.
Permission came last evening for us to proceed. At 7 a.m. to-day the fleet weighed anchor and left Vigo Bay.
I did not succeed in getting ashore. Yesterday an engineer of the Anadir fell from the upper deck into the hold, but escaped uninjured.
There is a report in the newspapers that, during the firing on the steamers in the German Ocean, the chaplain of the Aurora was wounded, and now they have sent him into hospital at Tangier, where the remainder of the fleet are lying. There is no proper harbour at Tangier—merely the open sea. It is unlike Vigo. The latter is one of the best harbours in the world. It is deep and long and broad. The Spaniards do not know how to profit by such natural wealth. Vigo might carry on a universal trade. At present it is a small provincial town on the sea. The Spaniards are very poor, because they are uncommonly lazy. Vigo trades mostly in sardines. They have a sardine factory. The sardines are caught in the bay, which is divided into squares for each party of fishermen. Heaven help the fishermen who trespass in the square of the others. There is a fight at once. This occurs so often, that there are special ships who part the fighters and tow the guilty fishermen in their boats to the shore, for punishment.
The weather is fine at present; but what darkness! Literally nothing can be seen, and there are no stars. Only lights that are absolutely necessary are left on deck. It is dark everywhere. One has to look out and not bump one's head or fall.
Something has gone wrong again with the Orel's steering engine. She continues to keep up with the others.
About 10 p.m. some ships chased us. They are now around us, and on the same course as ourselves. There are five or six of them. At one time it was completely dark, and then the ships behaved very defiantly—now extinguishing all their lights, now passing us, now chasing us, and now coming close up to us. Our division is steaming surrounded by them. They appear to be warships, judging by their shape, which we saw when one of them lighted up another with her searchlight. We are ordered to log all their manœuvres, lamp signals, place of meeting with them, etc. Hammocks are not served out to the crew, and they sleep at the guns.
The night has just become a little lighter. Stars have appeared, though sometimes clouded over. The stars and the Milky Way recall Tashkend to me. There, there are the same dark nights and bright stars.
It is supposed that the ships now surrounding us are English, and that at dawn they will disperse.
Hope we shall soon get to the ocean. There you can shape a course one hundred miles off, and no one will find you.
October 20th.—The English ships escorted us all night. They are now steaming on each side of us.
At eight o'clock the Orel hoisted a signal that her steering engine was damaged. All the ships stopped. The Alexander lowered a boat and sent the flag engineer to her. At nine o'clock our battleships and the Anadir proceeded to Tangier.
Sometimes the coasts of Portugal are visible.
When our ships stopped the English probably took it for a hostile demonstration. They quickly assembled astern of our division and formed in battle order. Horrid folk! They are Russia's eternal enemy. They are cunning, powerful at sea, and insolent everywhere. All nations hate England, but it suits them to tolerate her. If you could only hear how furiously Spaniards abuse the English! They shake their fists and nearly foam at the mouth. If they only could, they would gladly play some low trick on them. How many impediments has this "Ruler of the Seas" put on our voyage? Every impediment has come from Britannia.
Do you know, we have passed by the shores of nine countries—Sweden, Norway, Denmark, Belgium, Holland, England, France, Germany, Spain. We are now passing by the tenth—Portugal.
Portugal is considered the ally of England, and upholds her everywhere.
Evening.—To-day there was a memorial service for the Emperor Alexander III. The English cruisers accompanied us all day, and at dusk again surrounded us in a semicircle. They are, however, steaming with lights, and are not playing any of the tricks they played last night.
If nothing happens we shall be at Tangier at 3 p.m. to-morrow. An hour ago we passed Cape St. Vincent (Portuguese), off which a great naval battle once took place.
It is beginning to be hot and stuffy in the cabins, although it is pouring with rain.
The number of English cruisers accompanying us has increased to ten. We are steaming completely surrounded by them. The ships are in this order:
All this respectable company are going in the direction of the arrow. How small our division appears compared with the English! Will they escort us for long in this manner? Perhaps to Gibraltar, or perhaps even further! The crews again do not undress, and sleep at the guns. It is very trying for them.
There has just been a short mass and prayer. Three engineers, not yet having taken the oath, were sworn. The officers and men were fallen in on deck as on Sundays. The admiral made a short speech on the subject of the ten years' reign of the Czar, drank a toast, the crew cheered, and the band played. After that there was a grand lunch in the wardroom.
Morocco, in Tangier harbour.
The town of Tangier is unlike any we see in Europe. It is inhabited by Moors and Arabs. There are Europeans, but they live principally outside the town, which, with its white houses, is widely scattered over the hilly coast. From afar the town is beautiful. No one is allowed on shore.
You may remember once all the papers wrote that a Moorish robber had captured an American and demanded a ransom. This much-respected person lives twenty-five versts (nearly seventeen miles) from Tangier, and has built himself a costly villa with the money. It appears that he still occupies himself in robbery, and has a tribe of eight hundred men. No one is allowed to go far from the town.
We arrived here at three o'clock, and found all our fleet except the torpedo-boats at anchor. There are two French ships and an English one lying here as well.
At five o'clock the hospital-ship Orel arrived. She is painted white with red crosses on her funnels. The Red Cross flag is flying at her masthead. The chaplain of the Aurora who was wounded on the 8th died from blood-poisoning.
There is a report that there are two Japanese torpedo-boats at Hull, in England. They are probably some of those who tried to attack our division.
It is rumoured that Russia has bought seven more cruisers, and that they will join us soon. This would be excellent. The battleships of our division are now coaling. There is frightful confusion on board. The sailors of the ship which coals quickest get a prize. The crew of the Alexander III. won 1,200 roubles (£120) at the last coaling.
As usual, we have no news about the war! Yesterday was an anxious day for Port Arthur. The Japanese wished to hoist their flag there on the Mikado's birthday.
Scarcely had the Suvaroff anchored, when from all sides came steam cutters and boats with captains of ships, paymasters, and other officers. From the shore came the local authorities, our consul, contractors, captains of foreign ships—in a word, every one is hastening to the Suvaroff like the public to the play at the theatre! Truly it is like it! From our ship salutes constantly thunder, various flags are hoisted, and the band plays. From the other ships and from the shore they salute the Suvaroff. The scene is full of animation.
The native inhabitants dress very picturesquely, as though they were masquerading. Some are in jackets with wide breeches and a fez, and others in turbans and hooded tunics, all of various colours. The faces of all are very dark. They consider themselves of importance. It would be interesting to see them in the town.
Our torpedo-boats have already left for the Mediterranean. They have done this enormous journey in nineteen days.
10 p.m.—In the Gibraltar Chronicle they announce that Alexieff is leaving, and that Stössel has telegraphed that Port Arthur will be his grave.
October 22nd (night).—If you could only see what an inferno this coaling is! The steamers and battleships are lighted by electricity. The holds below and the decks are swarming with people. Words of command are abruptly given, and the band plays the gayest tunes. The work goes better to music. Though Morocco is considered under the protection of France, there is an English post-office, a German one, and I believe a Spanish one as well.
I have just returned from the steamer Pallas, which brought coal for us and damaged her side while coaling.
A pedlar has just come on board, bringing picture postcards, mats, nets, white shoes and helmets (you know the kind the English wear in the tropics). I have already bought myself a helmet, and the postcards that are left are not much good, though I bought six of them and gave one to my servant. He is delighted. The boots do not fit, and white boots are an absolute necessity in the tropics.
Our consul's "cavass" has just come on board. He has a black face; wears a red fez, and a blue tunic with a hood; has bare legs and yellow heelless slippers. He is a curious object. He will stay with us till we leave, and will collect the mails. We shall have to pay a hundred francs for his boat. A modest sum!
Am just going on board the Orel. Something is damaged.... How wet I got! My legs were wet up to the knees. I went in the cutter to all the private coal-merchants, looking for the director of the company, and then on to the Orel. The rain is falling in bucketfuls, with such heaviness that it hides the other ships from view like a dense curtain. It is perfectly beastly. Luckily I have a mackintosh.
I have a trip to the steamer Esperanza before me. Hope I shall escape it.
7 p.m.—Went on board the Esperanza. Wore high boots, but there was no rain.
The local papers say that another of our ships has perished off Port Arthur. What is one to believe? For instance, there is a story in the papers that our admiral insulted the English admiral after the latter had tried to prevent our leaving Vigo. A quarrel ensued, guns were fired, and the English were beaten by us. They write so many lies in the local papers.
October 25th.—From Tangier to Dakar.
We left Tangier on the morning of the 23rd, and are now on our way to Dakar, which lies on the western shores of Africa, not far from St. Louis and Cape Verde, and belongs to France.
Have not written to you for a couple of days, for two reasons. I am very angry and very busy. I am angry because at Tangier I never received a wire from you in answer to mine. All day long yesterday, till the depths of the night, I was busy with sketches and calculations. I had not a spare moment.
When weighing anchor at Tangier the Anadir's anchor caught in the telegraph cable. By order of the admiral the cable was cut. I suppose there will again be diplomatic representations over this affair. No doubt the English will say that it was done purposely, so that no telegrams should be sent announcing our departure. It is lucky that the cable belongs to France. Had it been English the scandal would have been terrific.
At Tangier I saw a peculiar rainbow. It stretched from the foot to the summit of a hill.
7 p.m.—My work is accumulating tremendously. I began early in the morning, and probably will be busy again to-night with sketches and calculations. It will be a long time before you get this letter. As time goes on, letters will be less frequent. We have a tremendous journey before us—seventeen or eighteen days from port to port—so do not be anxious at not receiving news for a very long time. During our present cruise this is quite a normal state of affairs.
It is twenty-three days now since I set foot on shore. The shore is not attractive as a rule. I long to get quickly to Vladivostok. I am sick to death of it all. They say the sea is beautiful! I do not agree with that entirely. It is true the water is blue, but that is all you can say for it; it is only blue in calm weather, but in stormy weather it appears to me to be a stupid, insane, infuriated element. Perhaps the sea is beautiful, but only to those on dry land. I could never be fascinated by the sea.
October 26th.—The transport Malay broke some of her machinery at one o'clock last night. The whole fleet stopped and waited until she had made the defect good. We remained on the spot till 7 a.m. The Malay repaired engines and the fleet proceeded. We wasted six hours over it. I count every hour. The less time we spend in harbour and the quicker we go, the sooner we shall arrive at Vladivostok. In a word, Vladivostok is the goal of our desires.
October 27th.—We passed the Tropic of Cancer at 4 p.m., and are going towards the Equator. We are in the tropics, and yet I cannot say that it is specially hot and airless.
Our squadron going round Africa consists of the following ships: the battleships Suvaroff, Alexander, Borodino, Orel, Oslyabya; cruisers, Dimitry Donskoi, Aurora, Nachimoff; transports, Kamchatka, Anadir, Meteor, Korea, Malay, and the hospital-ship Orel. The Meteor, Korea, and Malay are under the merchant flag; and so is the Orel, but she is also flying the Red Cross.
We heard an unpleasant rumour to-day. It is said the squadron will make a long stay at Madagascar and carry out various exercises. Can it be so? This news annoys me. If we are there so long, when shall we get to Vladivostok? I console myself with the thought that this is a clever fiction.
The captain laid in a reserve of white soap, which dissolves in salt water (generally soap does not). The fresh water is preserved for steaming, so you can only have a salt-water bath on board. My servant brought me a piece of this soap yesterday. I do not know how he obtained it. There is nearly 100 roubles' worth of it on board the Suvaroff.
I have very few cigarettes left—only six boxes. It is a good thing you bought me 1,000 at Revel, and that I bought some at Libau, or I should be without them.
October 28th.—My servant is evidently attached to me. He is industrious and inquisitive. Just after we left Libau he saw a box of pastilles and said, "Did our barina [lady] really come to Libau, sir?" He came into my cabin to-day with a bucket and mop, and said, "Shall I interfere with your worship if I wash the deck?"
It is very probable that from Dakar we shall go to Gaboon. We shall call at ports which I have never heard of before, or if I have it was a very long time ago—perhaps at school.
I told the ship's photographer to prepare me a series of photographs which I will send you. They are not very characteristic, but better ones are not to be had.
October 29th.—It is very stuffy to-day. One perspires a good deal. Last night I slept with only a sheet over me, and had nothing on but a cross. Notwithstanding the stuffiness, one is obliged to sleep with closed ports and deadlights. In time of war all superfluous lights in a ship are either extinguished or covered over. If it is so hot here, it will positively be hell at the Equator. The air is offensive, being impregnated with steam. It is damp. The drawers of the tables are beginning to shut badly. They are sodden. Soon all metallic objects will begin to rust. I am sitting in my cabin with my shirt unbuttoned. Experienced people say that every one will get prickly heat. This eruption appears in the tropics because the pores of the skin are constantly irritated. The heat and stuffiness are unbearable. There is no wind—we are in a calm belt. The fans are kept going incessantly on board. Every one goes about sunburnt and sleepy.
Speed has purposely been lessened in order to get into Dakar to-morrow morning, and not this evening.
I think we shall stay in Dakar some days. Heavy coaling awaits us there—2,000 tons. All the decks will be loaded with coal.
Dakar, Senegambia.
October 30th.—Just arrived at Dakar. The fleet is anchoring.
The town is situated partly on shore and partly on a small island.
To-day is the admiral's names-day. They say there will be an official dinner.
The heat and stuffiness are fearful. Perspiration pours off one. The air is damp—towels will not dry.
2 p.m.—I have been on duty on board the cruiser Admiral Nachimoff. There I met an engineer whom I knew at school. I lunched in the Nachimoff, though there was an official lunch in the Suvaroff. I was not present. A sister of mercy from the Orel was there. She is a relation of the admiral's. The admiral has permitted communication with the shore after the coal has been taken on board. We remain here until the evening of November 3rd. All the ships except ours have begun to coal.
Negroes in small boats are rowing round the fleet. You throw money into the water for them and they dive for it. The whole of their costume consists of a loin-cloth and not a stitch more. They are repulsive—black with long, thin legs and arms. They gave me the impression of being sick, incapable people.
Apparently, when the Oslyabya was at Tangier, she asked for a barge and baskets for coaling from Gibraltar. The English purposely employed all the barges themselves, and bought up all the baskets. The Oslyabya received nothing.
5 p.m.—The French Governor has just arrived in great state, and explained that he cannot permit us to coal. The admiral told him that he should, nevertheless, continue to coal until he had a telegram from Europe. They have long ago begun coaling in the other ships, and will soon begin in us. Perhaps the Governor will announce that we are not to remain here. That would be a great surprise to every one. Probably things are going badly in Manchuria—the French are evidently also sailing with the wind. From there (Manchuria) we have no decisive news.
Evening.—I hurried off my twenty-second letter to you as the post was going. It appears that telegraphing is very expensive from here. The cable between Dakar and Europe is damaged somewhere, so telegrams have to be sent round by America.
There is a report that Stössel is wounded in the leg. At first the French allowed us to coal, and then came an order from Paris not allowing us in harbour. Nevertheless, our fleet remains, and we are coaling. All the doors and scuttles are tightly closed to keep out the coal-dust. The stuffiness is dreadful inside the ship. We are tormented by thirst. Drinks are hot and unpleasant. All the same, one drinks incessantly. I alone drank six bottles of lemonade to-day.
Can you guess what our one topic of conversation in the fleet is about? Coal! It is our weak spot. Our comings, our goings, our voyage, and even our success depend on coal. In order to stimulate the men, they have established prizes, which are given to the crew of the ship that coals quickest.
The everlasting conversation about coaling drives one frantic, still one talks of it and quarrels about it.
October 31st.—Since early this morning I have been round the harbour. Coal-dust has penetrated everywhere—into the cabins, the cupboards, and on to the tables. The decks are clouded with dust. Every one is so black that you do not recognise people at once.
There is a report that we shall not call at Gaboon. Perhaps it is for the best, as we shall proceed sooner; besides, Gaboon lies almost on the Equator. That means it would be somewhat warm.
3 p.m.—They gave us ices for lunch to-day; they were steaming though cold. The heat is awful. Precautions are being taken against sunstrokes. There are some indications that we shall stay here till Wednesday—i.e. November 3rd. If we do not go to Gaboon, but steer for the next port on the list, we shall have a tremendous trip.
Our admiral called on the local commandant and invited him to lunch.
Just been urgently summoned on board the Donskoi.
November 1st.—Just returned from the transport Malay. She is damaged below the water-line.
Evening.—At 3 p.m. Lieutenant Nelidoff (son of our ambassador at Paris) died from sunstroke. The deceased was a wonderful linguist, knowing seven or eight languages. He will be buried to-morrow.
Our officers have just returned from the shore. According to them there is nothing interesting to be seen. If I can manage it, I shall go ashore to-morrow. I am too tired to-day.
November 2nd (5 p.m.)—I am sitting in a restaurant, drinking lemonade. How you would have laughed just now! I asked the negro waiter for the menu, and he brought me cards, dice, and a board covered with cloth. There is nothing to do on shore. I shall go on board by the first boat. They are burying Nelidoff. I hear the volleys.
I returned from the shore by the seven o'clock boat. Our doctor distinguished himself. He tore some fruit from a tree and ate it. Scarcely had he returned on board when he was seized with colic and vomiting.
There are some Japanese here. Our officers saw two of them. Evidently they are spies.
We leave to-morrow, and I go on board the Donskoi in the morning. I shall scarcely have time when I return to add two or three words to this letter before the post goes. Our trip will be a long one—about ten days.
I wandered about Dakar and thought of you all the time—with what curiosity you would regard all these unfamiliar pictures, the niggers, negresses, children, and lastly even the Europeans! Everything here is so original. Little children run about the streets without any signs of clothing. All the natives are bedecked with amulets. They are very lazy and obtrusive. One of them came to the captain and begged for money. The latter said to him, "Look here, you do nothing, so you have no money." The nigger fired back, "You have lots of money—do you do anything?"
There are few Europeans here, and very few elderly ones among them. After they have passed their youth here they leave the colony. The climate is said to be bad. An epidemic of yellow fever is raging. You may imagine that it is impossible to buy fruit.
The niggers to whom we threw coins into the water are already selling them, offering them back to the officers, as Russian money is not accepted here.
Many of the natives are rather picturesquely dressed in white and coloured tunics. The niggers go about with sunshades, but all are barelegged. The negresses sometimes wear European hats and garments something like dressing gowns. They carry their babies on their backs. Arabs are also to be met with here.
The religions are Catholic, Mohammedan, and idolatrous.
What a trade the town is doing since the fleet anchored! Many articles are doubled in value, and others cannot be obtained. The post-office is original. The clerks (niggers) sit in the building, and the public stand in the street and transact business with them through the windows.
November 3rd.—I have been all over the fleet this morning. I went on board the Donskoi, Oslyabya, Alexander, and Borodino. About 3 p.m. we weighed anchor. I do not know if we are going to Gaboon. There is news here that the storming of Port Arthur on October 20th was repulsed with heavy losses to the Japanese.
November 4th.—I went to bed early last night, leaving my port open. Early this morning, when they were scrubbing decks, water came in on to the table and sprinkled me a little. I jumped up and closed the port.
Last night they changed from one means of steering to another, for practice, in the Suvaroff. Something in her was not adjusted, and she very nearly rammed the Orel. Thank God all passed off successfully.
9 p.m.—The wardroom officers bought some birds at Dakar, but did not buy food for them. They fed them with anything they could find, and now they are beginning to die.
Usually the band plays at lunch on holidays. To-day they suddenly began playing at dinner.
At meals we drink more than we eat. We suffer from dreadful thirst and drink pure water, mineral waters, red and white wine, beer, and different kinds of lemon juices. The admiral suffers most of all from the heat. During the coaling, when all doors and ports were closed, the temperature in his cabin reached 45° R. There are now 27° in my cabin, with the port open and the fans going which drive in the fresh air.
Some of the officers have bought themselves mats and sleep on them in the wardroom. The crew sleep on the upper deck.
Last night something happened to the engines of the transport Malay. All the fleet stopped and waited for her.
About 4 a.m. the Donskoi signalled that sand had got into her Kingston valves. That means the ship had passed a shallow spot, although the fleet was steaming 90 versts (sixty miles) from land. After the mishap to the Donskoi they went further out to sea.
It will doubtless be very hot to-day. Do you know, the floor of my cabin is so hot that I can feel it through the soles of my boots.
7 p.m.—What awful heat! Again I have to keep the port closed, as the sea is splashing in.
One of the Borodino's engines is damaged. We stopped and waited for her. She is now steaming with one engine.
Storms are visible passing away from us in three places. The clouds are black and lightning flashes. It is close.
November 7th.—Something is wrong with the Borodino. The other engine does not work now. She gets hot bearings from time to time. We all stopped and waited for her. We are losing time over all these mishaps, and are losing it needlessly. The cruise of our fleet round Africa has no precedent in history.
Only by 8 a.m. did the Borodino put right her engines. The fleet is now pursuing its customary way.
7 p.m.—I saw two whales for the first time yesterday. There is nothing to look at except sea and sky.
Sometimes the men on watch collapse from the heat and have to be carried below. There are 61° R. at the top of the engine-room compartment, and we have not yet passed the hottest place.
They are preparing to celebrate the crossing of the line. The ceremony usually takes the form of a play given by the crew, and the immersion of all those who are crossing the line for the first time.
Twenty minutes ago something happened to our dynamo engine, and all the electric lights went out. The ship was steeped in absolute darkness. Now all is repaired.
My servant has just brought a white tunic and trousers, which he washed himself. They have turned out very well. "I don't think a washerwoman could have done it better," he said. "There is one drawback—they are not starched. But no matter; that's a trifle."
November 8th (11 p.m.).—As soon as ever night falls the same old story begins. From 8 p.m. until now the fleet stopped. We are only going at five knots. The unfortunate Malay has again delayed us. Something broke in her engine and the pump refused to work. I am very anxious about her. At Dakar she sprang a leak. I saw it, and reported that she could proceed without danger, working her pump. Just imagine it! The only pump she has is broken. She has nothing with which she can get rid of the water, and there are no docks near. At the present moment the Roland is towing the Malay, as one of her engines is broken and a blade of the screw of the other engine is broken off. Briefly, the Malay is unable to steam by herself. We are still far from Gaboon. Again there is a great delay. Thank God the sea is calm! If it were rough, the Malay's situation would be very dangerous. As it was, the Roland took a long time passing the tow-rope to her.
November 9th.—The Roland is still towing the Malay. As soon as they are able to coal her, she will be sent back. She will not then hinder and delay us.
When we were at lunch to-day they signalled to the admiral, saying that the Kamchatka had gone out of her course and signalled, "Dangerously damaged. Cannot proceed." Luckily, it turned out that the damage was trifling, and she was able to continue.
What a number of changes in climate we shall have had if we reach Vladivostok! We left Russia in very cold weather. Gradually it became hotter and hotter, till the heat was intense; then it will become cold again; then hot; and finally it will be very cold, as we shall reach Vladivostok in winter.
November 10th (night).—Again a bother with the Borodino. Something went wrong with her machinery. It was soon put right, but, nevertheless, time was lost over it. The Malay is still being towed.
Have found out about Gaboon. The fleet will not go within thirty versts of it.
All communications with Gaboon will be viâ the Roland. Of course, no one will be allowed to land, and we shall all kick our heels on board. Our ships cannot go nearer, owing to shallows and banks.
The Meteor signalled to-day that one of her stokers has struck work and refuses to keep up the necessary amount of steam. The captain asked to be allowed to deal with him himself. The crew of the Meteor are volunteers.
I have been sitting all day long over plans and calculations. The scuttles were open, and now and then waves came splashing over my table. I went to the ship's ice-chamber, and it seemed cold to me after the heat which reigns everywhere.
The day passed strangely. I hardly went out of my cabin, and got through a lot of work. I must go and air myself, as my head has grown heavy.
CHAPTER III
CROSSING THE LINE
November 13th (10 p.m.).—Off Gaboon.
This is how it has all turned out! We stopped this morning and anchored. No one knows where we are or where Gaboon lies. We have sent the Roland north to the coast to find a lighthouse and Gaboon. We see land, but the place is unknown.
I caught a glimpse of a shark. When we were weighing anchor at Dakar, a cutter approached with some important documents (perhaps it was the post). In the hurry of departure the papers were not taken on board.
The navigators, including the flagship's navigator, were confused. It proved that we were thirty miles (fifty versts) below Gaboon. We are now going back to Gaboon, and we shall have already twice crossed the Equator. The celebrations only take place at the first crossing. When we strike the Cape of Good Hope we shall have crossed it a third time.
6 p.m.—We are anchored. A French boat has just arrived bringing some dispatches. In coming the boat was nearly stove in, as it caught in our wake. Luckily it escaped, and only the rudder was broken.
The rats are making themselves felt. Three nights ago a rat bit the first lieutenant in the foot, and last night gnawed off one of his corns. What do you think of that?
The French officer dined with the admiral. He does not know what is going on at the war. Even the telegraphic agencies' telegrams are not received at Gaboon. A fine town this! And there are many like it in the colony. I don't think we should find a town like it in Russia. Not even the governor of this place gets telegrams. There are only about seven hundred Europeans here; the rest are negroes, amongst whom are cannibals. During the last two months the cannibals have eaten two Europeans.
They say that an English steamer will arrive to-morrow, bringing us newspapers of October 27th (Old Style). On the 16th or 17th the steamer will go back to Europe, taking our mails.
As we have no news from the war, the wardroom officers of the Suvaroff have asked the admiral permission to send a prepaid telegram to the Novoe Vremya, asking for news. The admiral refused the request, but will wire to Admiral Wirenius, who will send us the latest intelligence from the Far East.
The admiral has received a telegram from Petersburg advising him not to stop at Gaboon, but go to some other place, as the French wish our fleet to leave this port. They point out a more convenient bay, and promise to give us pilots. Nevertheless, our fleet will stay here as long as necessary.
What was the end of the shooting affair in the German Ocean, near Hull?
They say the astonishment of the local Europeans is very great. First one steamer arrived "for provisions," then a second, then a third, and finally our fleet. No one ever expected that we should call at Gaboon. It is just as well, perhaps. The more our movements are known, the more unfavourable orders we might have from the French Government.
November 14th (11 a.m.).—Have already been on board the Orel and Alexander. At two o'clock shall go on board the Nachimoff, Borodino, and Meteor, which are badly damaged and leak.
The Governor has sent us a present of fruit and vegetables. At lunch we had pineapples, bananas, mangoes, and something else. Pineapples are the nicest.
On board the Alexander they accidentally carried off a negro from Dakar, whom they have landed. He says the negroes here eat their dead, as cattle are scarce and meat is dear. Before they eat them they cut off the hands and feet and put them in a bog to swell. The flesh is then more tender and tasty.
They do not risk sending divers down here, as there are too many sharks.
The Governor sent some other fruits besides. No one knows what they are—either grass or vegetables. They have received a telegram in the private transports saying that Kuropatkin has driven the Japanese back to the coast. That would be good news, but it is difficult to believe.
11 p.m.—The vegetation here is very rich, judging by the reports of those who have been ashore. A "regular botanical garden." A moth flew on board—such a size, I am afraid you will not believe me, but it was nearly a foot! We saw a turtle in the sea, 2½ feet long. The Frenchmen on shore showed us a dead boa-constrictor 18 feet long.