Sometimes I watched one of the war vessels engaged in target practice, the target being a miniature man-o'war which was towed by a steam launch, and, although the shooting was not good, it was not quite so bad as I had previously been led to believe. At mid-day a band played magnificently on board one of the battleships. "What a pity," thought I, "if a nation of musicians like that should ever be crushed by a people who have no music in their souls! "
Of course I again and again scrutinised closely, through the ship's telescope, the imposing array of battle-ships and cruisers by which I was surrounded. The little training-ship Gilyak afforded us some amusement by the clumsy attempts of the boys on board to furl the sails, attempts which were so unnautical as to make our skipper curse dreadfully, and further to sour his temper, already badly affected not so much by the quarantine as by the favouritism shown to a steamer belonging to a rival company. This steamer had come at the same time as we, but owing to the fact that she had cattle on board, no quarantine was imposed, and after discharging her cargo she left the same evening. Besides the cattle she had also on board two rival correspondents from Chefoo,
and as I watched them going into the inner harbour and afterwards leaving for the south and a free wire, no doubt with a big budget of news in their note-books, I was strongly tempted to follow Captain Andersons example and use profane language.
I noticed that the battle-ships had all partially cleared for action and, in some cases, sent ashore their boats. But as the day wore on and nothing more happened, we gradually ceased thinking of what these ominous signs portended, and confined ourselves to wondering if we would get out of quarantine next morning or get an additional dose of twenty-four hours.
In the afternoon the tide swung us so close to the Novik that we could read her name, in Old Slavonic letters, on the bow. Towards dusk the three torpedoboats that had been in the habit of patrolling outside the fleet every night swirled past us with a great splashing and pounding, leaving a stream of foamflecked, broken water in their wake.
On the whole there was a good deal of traffic all day between the fleet and the shore, steam-launches, either hooded naval launches or open launches belonging to trading companies, passing continually to and fro. Some of these launches carried coal, to make up for that burned by the warships during the day; one carried some ladies, who probably went to dine on board one of the vessels, and another carried a ship's band that had doubtless been performing at some function ashore.
Alongside the Novik we noticed a small boat with a red flag. We thought at first that this boat carried powder, but the extraordinary length of time it remained alongside the cruiser, the fact that no powder seemed to be passed into the vessel, and the movements of the men in the boat, led us to conclude afterwards that below the boat was a diver who was searching for some leak or other defect in the Novik.
At this moment Togo was anchored off the Elliott Islands, only sixty-five miles east of Port Arthur. The tragedy was deepening. The crouching lion was about to spring.
I watched the sun disappear that evening. It was a sea sunset — orange shot with red. And in its glory there was no hint of tragedy.
About eight o'clock, just after we had finished dinner on board the Columbia, a sound of singing reached our ears, and, on going outside, I heard the Russian sailors chanting their night prayers, which consist of the " Pater Noster" in old Russian, the " Ave Maria," or a prayer corresponding to that favourite invocation of the Latin Church, and finally a short prayer for the Tsar and two stanzas of the Russian National Anthem, saddest and most melodious of national hymns, brimful of the music and the melancholy of the Slav. The Russians are generally good singers, and the hymns of the Greek Church have a weird and unearthly beauty, which, on ordinary occasions, is very impressive, but which at this solemn moment affected me as I have never been affected by the most sublime oratorio.
Softened by distance, the chants from the adjoining vessels rolled solemnly over the bay, blending together harmoniously, and it was difficult indeed to believe that this music was produced by common sailors. Even the singing on the Novik, which vessel was nearest to us, sounded singularly soft and sweet, while the hymns from the more distant battle-ships were naught but a faint melodious whisper. Had it not been for the unfathomable sadness of the melody, we might have imagined that we had been privileged to hear the orbs of heaven " choiring to the young-ey'd cherubim."