The ship’s ikon or, more properly speaking, ikons as there were several of them, all farewell gifts to the ship, were untouched. The glass of the big ikon case had not even been broken, and in front of it, on hanging candlesticks, candles were peacefully burning. There wasn’t a soul to be seen. Between the wrecked tables, stools, broken bottles, and different hospital appliances were some dead bodies, and a mass of something, which, with difficulty, I guessed to be the remains of what had once been men. I had not had time properly to take in this scene of destruction when Demchinsky came down the ladder, supporting Flag Lieutenant Sverbeyeff, who could scarcely stand. He was gasping for breath, and asked for water. Ladling some out of a bucket into a mess kettle, I gave him some, and, as he was unable to use his arms, we had to help him. He drank greedily, jerking out a few words--“It’s a trifle--tell the Flag Captain--I’ll come immediately--I am suffocated with these cursed gases--I’ll get my breath in a minute.” He inhaled the air with a great effort through his blue lips, and something seemed to rattle in his throat and chest, though not, of course, the poisonous gases. On the right side of his back his coat was torn in a great rent, and his wound was bleeding badly. Demchinsky told off a couple of men to take him down to the hospital, and we again went on deck. I crossed over to the port side, between the forward 12-inch and 6-inch turrets, to have a look at the enemy’s fleet. It was all there, just the same--no fires--no heeling over--no fallen bridges, as if it had been at drill instead of fighting, and as if our guns, which had been thundering incessantly for the last half-hour, had been firing--not shells, but the devil alone knows what![19] Feeling almost in despair, I put down my glasses and went aft. “The last of the halyards are burned,” said Demchinsky to me. “I think I shall take my men somewhere under cover.” Of course, I fully agreed. What was the use of the signalmen remaining under fire when nothing was left for them to signal with! _It was now 2.20 p.m._ Making my way aft through the _débris_, I met Reydkin hurrying to the forecastle. “We can’t fire from the port quarter,” he said excitedly; “everything is on fire there, and the men are suffocated with heat and smoke.” “Well! come on, let’s get some one to put the fire out.” “I’ll do that, but you report to the Admiral. Perhaps he will give us some orders.” “What orders can he give?” “He may alter the course. I don’t know!” “What! leave the line? Is it likely?” “Well! anyway, you tell him.” In order to quiet him, I promised to report at once, and we separated, going our ways. As I anticipated, the Admiral only shrugged his shoulders on hearing my report and said, “They _must_ put the fire out. No help can be sent from here.”