_At 3.40 p.m._ a cheer broke out in the battery, which was taken up all over the vessel, but we were unable to ascertain what had caused it or whence it had originated. Rumour had it that one of the enemy’s ships had been seen to sink; some even said two--not one. Whatever may have been the truth, this cheering had the effect of quickly changing the feeling on board, and the depression from which we had been suffering, both on account of the fire which we had seen poured into the _Alexander_, and because of the departure of the fleet, vanished. Men who had been skulking in corners, deaf to the commands and even requests of their officers, now came running to us asking: “Where could they be of use, and what at?” They even joked and laughed: “Hullo! that’s only a 6-inch! No more ‘portmanteaus’ now!” Sure enough, since the enemy’s main body had steamed off, we had only been subjected to the fire of Admiral Dewa’s light cruisers, which, in comparison to what we had been under before, was almost imperceptible. Commander V. V. Ignatzius had remained below after the second wound in his head had been dressed, and, unable to restrain himself at such a moment, paying no heed to the doctors, he ran up the ladder into the battery, shouting: “Follow me, lads! To the fire--to the fire! we have only got to get it under!” Various non-combatants in the mess deck (belonging to the hospital), and men who were slightly wounded and had gone down to get their wounds dressed, doubled after him. A chance shot struck the hatchway, and when the smoke cleared away neither ladder, nor Commander, nor men with him, were in existence! But even this bloody episode did not damp the men’s ardour. It was only one in a hundred others. In the lower battery where, owing to insufficiency of hands, fires momentarily became more numerous, men came, and work went merrily. Of the ship’s officers, besides Bogdanoff, there came Lieutenant Vuiruboff, junior torpedo officer, a robust-looking youth, who, in an unbuttoned coat, rushed about everywhere giving the lead, while his shout of “Tackle it! Stick to it!” resounding amongst smoke and flames, gave strength to the workers. Zotoff came for a short time; he was wounded in the left side and arm. Prince Tsereteli looked out from the mess deck, asking how things were going. Kozakevitch was carried past, wounded a second time, and now dangerously. My servant, Matrosoff, appeared and almost dragged me by force to the dressing station. I got rid of him with difficulty, telling him to go at once to my cabin and get me some cigarettes. “Very good, sir!” he said, going off as he was bid, and we did not meet again. “To the guns! Torpedo-boats astern! To the guns!” was shouted on deck.