It was plain to me that Togo, seeing something which he had not expected, had suddenly changed his mind. The manœuvre was undoubtedly risky, but, on the other hand, if he found it necessary to steer on the opposite course, there was no other way of doing it. He might have ordered the fleet to turn “together,” but this would have made the cruiser _Iwate_ the leading ship in action, which he evidently did not wish. Togo accordingly decided to turn “in succession,” in order that he should lead the fleet in person, and not leave success at the commencement of the action to depend upon the presence of mind and enterprise of the junior flag-officer. (The _Iwate_ flew Rear-Admiral Simamura’s flag.) My heart beat furiously, as it had never done before during the six months at Port Arthur. If we succeeded! God grant it! Even though we didn’t sink one of them, if we could only put one out of action! The first success--was it possible? Meanwhile Rozhdestvensky hastened to avail himself of this favourable opportunity. At _1.49 p.m._, when the manœuvre had been performed by the _Mikasa_ and _Shikishima_ (two only out of the twelve), the _Suvoroff_ fired the first shot at a range of 6,400 yards, and the guns of the whole fleet thundered forth. I watched closely through my glasses. The shots which went over and those which fell short were all close, but the most interesting, _i.e._ the hits, as in the fight of 10th August, could not be seen. Our shells on bursting emitted scarcely any smoke, and the fuses were adjusted to burst inside after penetrating the target. A hit could only be detected when something fell--and nothing fell! In a couple of minutes, when the _Fuji_ and _Asahi_ had turned also and were following the first ships, the enemy began to reply. The first shells flew over us. At this range some of the long ones turned a complete somersault, and could clearly be seen with the naked eye curving like so many sticks thrown in the air. They flew over us, making a sort of wail, different to the ordinary roar. “Are those the portmanteaus?”[13] I asked Reydkin, smiling. “Yes. Those are they.” But what struck me most was that these “portmanteaus,” curving awkwardly head over heels through the air and falling anyhow on the water, exploded the moment they touched its surface. This had never happened before. After them came others short of us--nearer and nearer. Splinters whistled through the air, jingled against the side and superstructure. Then, quite close and abreast the foremost funnel, rose a gigantic pillar of smoke, water and flame. I saw stretchers being carried along the fore-bridge, and I leaned over the rail. “Prince Tsereteli!”[14] shouted Reydkin from below, in reply to my silent question, as he went towards his turret.