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