SENTENCE                         221
was issued by the Naval Ministry, according to which, all of us, from the Commander downwards, who being in good health and of sound mind, unwounded and unhurt, surrendered an undamaged destroyer to the enemy, having made no attempts at resistance, ought to be placed in the prisoner's dock together with Admiral Rojestvensky, who was at that moment lying unconscious in a struggle between life and death.
With regard to the sentence, I was perfectly indifferent; no Court could make a decision clearly contrary to the evidence. No skill or cunning of accusation could either supply facts that did not exist, overturn the evidence given under oath, or erase from my body the honourable scars from wounds received in the fight.
The fact itself of being court-martialled appeared to me to be extraordinary. I recalled the first days spent in hospital, the anticipation that the Japanese would drag me before a court (that would have been hard, but the Japanese would have been within their rights). I remembered my doubts as to whether it would be decent to plead for the mercy from our victors of changing the rope for the bullet. The following picture rose before me.   A Court—a Russian Court—formed