"A second later I realised her intention, and shouted frantically. A line of bubbles had appeared on the surface advancing swiftly towards us. She had ejected a torpedo straight at us, and I stood petrified, not daring to breathe.
"A moment later there came a terrific explosion right underneath us, followed by a harsh tearing sound as iron plates were torn asunder like tinfoil, and the ship's side was ripped completely up. The Edgar heaved high and plunged heavily, a great column of water rose high above her masts, and the air seemed filled with flying fragments of iron and wood. The vessel rocked and swayed so that we could not keep our feet, and then gradually heeling over, causing her guns to shift, she went down before a soul on board could launch a boat.
"At the moment of the explosion I felt a sharp twinge in the back, and found that I had been struck by a flying splinter of steel. The strain of those hours had been terrible, and of the events that followed I can only recollect two things. I remember finding myself struggling alone in the water with a shower of bullets from the Dvenadsat Apostoloff's tops sending up little splashes about me. Then I felt my strength failing, my limbs seemed paralysed, and I could no longer strike out to save myself. Abandoning all hope, I was sinking, when suddenly a rope was flung to me. I remember how frantically I clutched it, and that a few moments later I was hauled aboard a torpedo boat; but for days afterwards I lay hovering 'twixt life and death, oblivious to all. I was one of the thirteen only who were saved out of a crew of 327 brave officers and men."
Such a ghastly disaster could only produce profound dismay among those who manned the remaining British vessels. Straining every nerve to uphold the honour of Britain, the guns' crews of the Jupiter, Sans Pareil, Repulse, and Undaunted, with smoke-begrimed hands and faces, worked on with that indomitable energy begotten of despair. Regardless of the awful rain of shot and shell, they reloaded and fired with calm, dogged self-possession, the officers on all four vessels inspiring their men by various deeds of valour, and preserving such discipline under fire as none but British sailors could. The British naval officer is full of undaunted defiance and contempt for his foes; but, above all, he is a strict disciplinarian, and to this our country in a great measure owes the supremacy our Navy has hitherto enjoyed upon the seas. During the fight the vessels had been moving in a north-easterly direction, and although the Russians were unaware of the fact, Her Majesty's ships had therefore continued in their course. Hence, just as a cool breeze sprang up at sundown, soon after the Edgar had sunk, a line of low dark cliffs was sighted ahead.
The officers of the Diana, watching anxiously through their glasses, distinguished the distant crest of Mount Genargentu gradually appearing against the clear evening sky, and then they knew that they were off Sardinia, outside the Gulf of Oristano.
Altering their course, they headed due north, still keeping up a running fire, but the Russians prevented them making headway.
All our vessels were suffering frightfully, when there was a sudden explosion, and, to the Englishmen's dismay, it was seen that a torpedo had struck the Undaunted nearly amidships. Still the doomed vessel managed to evade a second attack, and by a desperate manœuvre the captain succeeded in turning and heading for land.
The remaining ships, in their terribly crippled condition, would, the Russians anticipated, soon fall an easy prey. Nevertheless, with their crews decimated, their guns disabled, and their machinery damaged, the British vessels still continued firing, the men resolved to go down at their quarters. They knew that escape was hopeless, and every moment they saw their comrades being swept away by the great exploding projectiles of the Tsar's heavy guns. But they were not dismayed. To do their utmost for the defence of Britain, to keep afloat as long as possible, and to die like Britons with faces towards the foe, was their duty. Pale and desperate, they were fighting for their country and their Queen, knowing that only a grave in the deep and the honour of those at home would be the reward of their bravery — that at any moment they might be launched into the unknown.
Suddenly there was a loud shouting on board the Jupiter, and signals were, a moment later, run up to her half-wrecked top. The captain of the Dido, noticing this, looked to ascertain the cause, and saw away on the horizon to the north, whence the dark night clouds were rising, a number of strange craft. Snatching up his glass, he directed it on the strangers, and discovered that they were Italian warships, and were exchanging rapid signals with the captain. They were promising assistance!
Cheers rang loudly through the British vessels, when, a few minutes later, the truth became known, and the guns' crews worked with redoubled energy, while the Russians, noticing the approaching ships, were apparently undecided how to act. They were given but little time for reflection, however, for within half an hour the first of the great Italian ironclads, the Lepanto, opened fire upon the Petropavlovsk, and was quickly followed by others, until the action became general all round.
Aid had arrived just in time, and the British vessels, with engines broken, stood away at some distance, leaving matters for the nonce to the powerful Italian Squadron. It was indeed a very formidable one, and its appearance caused the Russian Admiral such misgivings that he gave orders to retreat, a manœuvre attempted unsuccessfully. The Italian Fleet, as it loomed up in the falling gloom, included no fewer than twenty-six warships and forty-three torpedo boats. The vessels consisted of the barbette-ship Lepanto of 15,000 tons; the Sardegna, Sicilia, and Re Umberto of 13,000 tons; the Andrea Doria, Francesca Morosini, and Ruggiero di Lauria of 11,000 tons; the turret-ships Dandolo and Duilio of the same size; the Ammeraglio di St. Bon of 9800 tons; the armoured cruisers Ancona, Castelfidardo, and Maria Pia, and the San Martino, each of about 4500 tons; the gun-vessels Andrea Provana, Cariddi, Castore, Curtatone; the torpedo gunboats Aretusa, Atlante, Euridice, Iride, Montebello, and Monzambano; the despatch vessels Galileo and Vedetta; and the first-class torpedo vessels Aquila, Avvoltoio, Falco, Nibbio, and Sparviero, and thirty-eight others.
With such a force descending upon the Russian ships, which had already been very severely punished by the vigorous fire of the British, there was little wonder that the Tsar's vessels should endeavour to escape. The Italian Fleet had already bombarded and destroyed Ajaccio two days ago, and, steaming south from the Corsican capital, had anchored for twenty-four hours off Cape della Caccia, near Alghero, in the north of Sardinia. Then again taking a southerly course in the expectation of joining hands with the British Mediterranean Squadron, which was on its way from Marseilles to Cagliari, they had fallen in with the three crippled ships.
Without hesitation the powerful Italian ironclads, several of which were among the finest in the world, opened a terrific fire upon the Russian ships, and as darkness fell the sight was one of appalling grandeur. From all sides flame rushed from turrets and barbettes in vivid flashes, while the Maxims in the tops poured out their deadly showers of bullets. The ponderous 105-ton guns of the Andrea Doria, Francesca Morosini, and Ruggiero di Lauria crashed and roared time after time, their great shots causing frightful havoc among the Russian ships, the four 100-tonners of the Lepanto and the 67-tonners of the Re Umberto, Sardegna, and Sicilia simply knocking to pieces the Petropavlovsk. The Russian ships were receiving terrible blows on every hand. With their search-lights beaming forth in all directions, the ships were fighting fiercely, pounding away at each other with deafening din. It was not long, however, before this vigorous attack of the Italians began to tell, for within an hour of the first shot from the Lepanto the fine Russian battleship Gheorghy Pobyednosets and the great new cruiser Minsk of 17,000 tons had been rammed and sunk, the former by the Duilio, and the latter by the Re Umberto, while the Tchesmé and the gunboat Otvazny had been torpedoed, and scarcely a soul saved out of 1500 men who were on board.
Explosions were occurring in quick succession, and red glares flashed momentarily over the sea. Hither and thither as the Italian torpedo boats darted they ejected their missiles, and the rapid and terrible fire from the leviathans of Italy, pouring into every one of the remaining ships of the Tsar, killed hundreds who were