I went up quickly, fatigue and depression at once vanishing. My mind was as clear as possible, and I saw at once that, as the smoke was pouring through the great rents on the port side, the starboard must be the windward side. I proceeded thither. Creeping with difficulty on to the upper deck through the torn hatchway, I scarcely recognised the place where a short time since we had stood with Demchinsky. Movement was literally impossible. Astern, the spar-deck had fallen down and was burning in a bright flame on the deck; in front of me was a heap of _débris_. The ladders to the bridge had gone and the starboard end of the bridge had been destroyed; even the gangway under the bridge on the other side was blocked. I was obliged to go below again and come up on the port side. Here, matters were rather better, as, although fallen and burning, the pieces of the spar-deck were not scattered about in such confusion as on the other side. The 6-inch turret appeared to be still uninjured, and was keeping up a hot fire; the ladder to the bridge was whole, but blocked with burning hammocks, which I at once set five or six men, who were following me, to throw into the water standing on the deck. Suddenly a shell whistled past us, quite close. Everything seemed to start up, and splinters rained upon us. “That must be in the 6-inch turret,” thought I to myself, half closing my eyes, and holding my breath so as not to swallow the gas. Sure enough, as the smoke cleared away, only one helpless-looking gun stuck defiantly out of the turret, while out of the armoured door of the latter came its commander, Lieutenant Danchich. “Mine’s done for too; the muzzle of one has been carried away, and the elevating gear of the other is smashed.” Going to the door I looked in. Of the gun’s crew two lay huddled up in a curious manner, while one sat motionless, staring with wide-open eyes, holding his wounded side with both hands. A gun captain, with a worried, business-like look, was extinguishing some burning cloths. “What are you doing here?” “I want to go to the conning tower.” “Why? There’s no one there.” “No one! What do you mean?” “It’s a fact. Bogdanoff has just passed through; he said it was all smashed to pieces--had caught fire, and they’d abandoned it. He went out just as the bridge fell in--right on to me--I wasn’t touched--lucky!” “Where’s the Admiral?” At this moment there was another explosion quite close to me, and something from behind hit me in the right leg. It was not hard, and I felt no pain. I turned round to look, but none of my men were to be seen. Were they killed, or had they gone below? “Haven’t we any stretchers?” I heard Danchich ask anxiously. “For whom?” I said. “Why! for you. You’re bleeding.” Looking down I saw that my right leg was standing in a pool of blood, but the leg itself felt sound enough. _It was 3 p.m._