The battle of Tsu-shima

Chapter I

A FRESH breeze mournfully droned through the wire rigging and angrily dispersed the ragged, low-lying clouds. The troubled waters of the Yellow Sea splashed against the side of the battleship, while a thin, cold, blinding rain fell, and the raw air penetrated to one's very bones. But a group of officers still stood on the after-bridge, watching the silhouettes of the slowly disappearing in the rain haze.

On their masts and yard-arms signals were being flown, the last messages and final requests of those who had been our fellow-travellers on the long tedious voyage.

Why is it that at sea a friendly greeting of this kind, expressed merely by a combination of flags, touches one's heart so deeply, and speaks to it even more than salutes, cheers, or music? Why is it that until the signal has been actually hauled down every one looks at it, silently and intently, as if real words, instead of motley-coloured pieces of cloth, were fluttering in the breeze, and becoming wet with rain? Why is it that on the signal being hauled down every one turns away, quietly moving off to his duty, as if the last quiet handshake had been given, and "good-bye" had been said for ever?

“Well!—how about the weather?” said some one—to break the silence.

“Grand,” answered another with a smile. “If we get this all the way to Vladivostok, then thank the Lord! why, a general battle will be impossible.”

Once more a signal was made to the fleet, and, having cast off the majority of our transports at Shanghai, we take up our fresh and last “order of march.”

Ahead, in wedge formation, was the scout division consisting of three ships—the Svietlana, Almaz, and Ural; next came the fleet in two columns. The starboard column consisted of the 1st and 2nd armoured squadrons, i.e. eight ships—the Suvoroff, Alexander, Borodino, Orel, Sissoy, Navarin, Nakhimoff. On the port side were the 3rd armoured and cruiser squadrons, i.e. eight ships—the Nicolay, Senyavin, Apraxin, Ushakoff, and the cruisers, Oleg, Aurora, Donskoy, and Monomakh. On either beam, and parallel with the leading ships, were the Zemtchug and Izumrud, each accompanied by two torpedo-boats, acting as scouts for the port and star- board columns. In rear of, and between, the wakes of these columns steamed a line of transports which we were obliged to take to Vladivostok—the Anadir,

Irtish, Korea, Kamchatka — and with them the repair and steam-tugs, Svir and Russ, ready to render assistance in case of need. With the cruiser squadron were five torpedo-boats, whose duty it was to co-operate with the former in protecting the transports during the battle. Astern of all came the hospital ships, Orel and Kostroma.

This disposition of the fleet would make it possible, if the enemy appeared unexpectedly, for the various squadrons to take order of battle quickly and without any any complicated manoeuvres (i.e. without attracting attention). The scout division was to turn from side the enemy appeared and to join the cruisers, which were to convoy the transports out of action, and protect them from the enemy's cruisers. The 1st and 2nd armoured squadrons were to increase speed, and, having inclined to port together, were to take station in front of the 3rd armoured squadron and proceed on their former course. The result would be that the three squadrons would then be in single column line ahead, and the centre of our fleet would consist of twelve armoured ships. The Zemtchug and Izumrud were to manœuvre according to circumstances and, taking advantage of their speed, together with the torpedo-boats assigned to them, were to take station ahead, astern, or abeam of the armoured ships. They were to be on the further side of the fleet from the enemy, out of the range of his shells; their duty being to prevent the enemy's torpedo - boats from getting round the fleet.

Above was the plan of battle, worked out beforehand and known to every officer in the fleet. The various details as to formations dependent on the direction in which the enemy appeared, the instructions for fire control, the manner in which assistance was to be rendered to injured ships, the transfer of the Admiral's flag from one ship to another, the handing over of the command, etc., etc., were laid down in special orders issued by the Commander-in-Chief, but these details would scarcely be of interest to readers unacquainted with naval matters.

The day (25th May) passed quietly. Towards evening it was reported that an accident had happened to the Senyavin's engines, and all that night we steamed slowly. In the ward-room of the Suvoroff the officers grumbled and swore at the “old tubs,” as they nick-named Nebogatoff's ships, but, although natural, it was hardly fair, for we ourselves were little better. The prolonged voyage had been a a long mournful indictment of our boilers and machinery, while our martyrs of engineers had literally had to “get oil out of flints,” and to effect repairs although with no material at hand with which to make them.

That night, the first cold one after six months in the tropics, we slept splendidly, but, of course, by watches, i.e. half the night one half of the officers and crew were at the guns, and the other half the remainder.

On 26th May the clouds began to break and the sun shone fitfully, but although a fairly fresh south-westerly breeze had sprung up, a thick mist still lay upon the water.

Being anxious to avail himself of every moment of daylight while passing the Japanese coast, where we would most probably be attacked by torpedoes, the Admiral arranged for the fleet to be in the centre of its passage through the straits of Tsu-shima at noon on the 27th May. According to our calculations this would give us about four hours to spare, which we employed in practising manœuvres for the last time.

Once again, and for the last time, we were forcibly reminded of the old truism that a “fleet” is created by long years of practice at sea in time of peace (cruising, not remaining in port), and, that a collection of ships of various types hastily collected, which have only learned to sail together on the way to the scene of operations, is no fleet, but a chance concourse of vessels.

Taking up order of battle was performed, but it was spoilt by the 3rd squadron, and who can blame its admiral or captains? When near Madagascar, and during our wanderings off the coast of Annam, our ships to a certain extent had been able to learn their work, and to get to know one another. They had, in fact, been able to “rehearse.” But as the 3rd squadron, which joined the fleet barely a fortnight ago, had only arrived in time to finish the voyage with us and take part in the battle, there was no time for it to receive instruction.

Admiral Togo, on the other hand, had commanded his squadron continuously for eight years without hauling down his flag. Five of the vice-admirals and seven of the rear-admirals taking part in the Tsu-shima battle, in command of squadrons, ships, or as junior flag officers, were his old comrades and pupils, having been educated under his command. As for us, we could only regret our unpreparedness, and in the coming fight there was nothing for us to do but to make the most of what we had.

Rozhdestvensky thought (and facts later fully justified the opinion) that in the decisive battle Togo would be at the head of his twelve best armoured ships. Against them our Admiral was also to lead twelve similar ships (which he handled magnificently), and in the duel between them it was thought the centre of gravity of the fight would certainly lie. The difference between our main force and that of the Japanese was very material. The oldest of Togo's twelve ships—the Fuji, was two years younger than the Sissoy, which, among our twelve best, came sixth in seniority! Their speed was one-and-a-half times as great as ours, but their chief superiority lay in their new shells, of which We had no inkling.

What with manoeuvres, etc, the 26th May passed almost imperceptibly.

I do not know the feeling on board the other ships, but in the Suvoroff we were cheerful and eager for the fray. Anxious, of course, we were, but not so over-anxious as to worry. The officers went their rounds, and looked after their men more than usual; explained details, talked, and found fault with those immediately under them more than was their wont. Some, the thought suddenly occurring to them, put their keepsakes and the letters which they had just written into the treasure chest for safety.

“He evidently means to leave us!” said Lieutenant Vladimirsky, the senior gunnery officer, pointing to a sailor who was busy rummaging in a bag.

“What! made your preparations for going already?”

“I?” said he in amazement; and with a grin—“Yes — I am quite ready!”

“Look here!” said Lieutenant Bogdanoff, the senior torpedo officer, who was a veteran of the former war and had been wounded at the capture of the Taku forts — “To-morrow — or rather to-night—you'll please go to the office and get your accounts made up!”

This humour had no effect.

“And haven't you a presentiment? You've been under fire before,” asked a young sub-lieutenant, coming up, with his hand in his pocket, in which was evidently a letter destined for the treasure chest.

Bogdanoff got annoyed. “What do you mean by a presentiment? I'm not your fortune-teller! I tell you what! If Japanese guns begin talking to us to-morrow you will feel something soon enough, but you won't feel anything before then!”

Some more officers approached. Times without number we had hotly discussed the question,—would we meet the whole of the Japanese fleet at Tsu-shima, or only part of it?

Optimists asserted that Togo would be misled, and would patrol to the North to look out for us, as the Terek and Kuban had on the 22nd gone round the eastern shores of Japan endeavouring to attract as much attention there as possible.

Pessimists declared that Togo was as well able as we were to understand the conditions, and would know that a single coaling was not sufficient to enable us to steam all round Japan; we should have to coal again. And where? We were no longer in the tropics; the weather here was but reliable, which meant we could not count upon coaling at sea. Take shelter in some bay?—but there were telegraph stations, and, of course, intelligence posts, everywhere. Togo would learn of it in good time, so what would he gain by hastening northward? Even if we succeeded in coaling at sea and slipped unnoticed into one of the Straits, we couldn't conceal our movements there, thanks to their narrowness. And then — submarine and floating mines, sown along our course, and attacks by torpedo boats, which would be easy even in broad daylight!

It was impossible to pass unnoticed through these Straits even in a fog or in bad weather; how then could a fleet accompanied by transports hope to escape observation? Even if the Almighty did bring us through all this, what was beyond? — the meeting with the Japanese fleet which from Tsu-shima could always come out across our course while our fleet would have already been harassed in the Straits by torpedo-boats as well as every conceiv- able type of mine.

“Gentlemen — Gentlemen! let me speak!” exclaimed the first lieutenant and senior navigating officer, Zotoff, who was always fond of discussions and liked making his voice heard. “It is quite clear that the best course for us is up the eastern side of the gulf of Korea. My chief reason for saying so is because here it is wide and deep, while there is room for us to manoeuvre, and it can be navigated without danger in any weather. In fact, the worse the weather the better for us. All this has been talked over till nothing more remains to be said, and considered till nothing is left to consider; even disciples of Voltaire themselves would admit this. Presumably Togo is no greater fool than we, and knows this. I assume that he also knows how to use a pair of compasses and is acquainted with the four rules of arithmetic! This being so he can easily calculate that, if we steam round Japan, deciding in the face of our knowledge to brave the mines before meeting him, it would still be possible for him to intercept us on the road to Vladivostok, if, at the same time as we come out of the ocean into the Straits, he starts from. . . Attention, gentlemen! . . from the northernmost point of Tsu-shima. There is no doubt that arrangements have been made to organise a defence of the Straits by mines. The naval ports of Aomori and Mororan are on either side. If any one doesn't know it he ought to be ashamed of himself. Togo may tell off some of his smaller mining vessels to go there, but he, with his main force (I would even go so far as to say with the whole of his fleet) where will he be? No, I will put another question: Where ought he to be? Why nowhere else but off the northern point of Tsu-shima. He can gain nothing by loitering about at sea, so he will be lying in some bay.”

“In Mazampo, for instance?” asked Sub-Lieutenant Ball, the junior navigating officer.

“Mazampo—if you like—but let me finish. It is childish to hope that the Japanese main fleet will be out of the way. I think we have reached the culminating point of our adventures. To-morrow the decision must be made: either vertically” — and, putting his hand above his head, he energetically waved it downwards in front of him — “or” — quietly moving his arm out to the right, and dropping it slowly downwards in a circular direction — “a longer route, but to the west all the same.”

“How? Why? Why to the west?” broke in the bystanders. “Because though the end may not come at once,” shouted Zotoff, “the result will be the same! It's absurd to think of steaming victoriously into Vladivostok, or of getting command of the sea! The only possible chance is a dash through! and having dashed through, after two, three, or at the most four sallies, we shall have burnt all our supplies of coal, and have shed our blossoms before we have bloomed! We shall have to prepare for a siege, take our guns on shore, teach the crew to use bayonets———”

“A bas! A bas! Conspuez le prophète!” interrupted some. “Hear! Hear! strongly said!” shouted others. “What about Austria's Parliament!”

“Let him finish,” growled Bogdanoff in his bass voice.

“Having postponed a discussion of questions of the distant future—a discussion which makes those who take part in it so excited,” continued Zotoff, availing himself of a quiet moment, “I will venture to say a few words concerning what is immediately at hand. I foresee three possibilities. Firstly:—If we have already been discovered, or are discovered in the course of the day, we shall certainly be subjected at night to a series of torpedo attacks, and in the morning shall have to fight the Japanese fleet, which will be unpleasant. Secondly:—If we are not discovered till to-morrow we shall be able to commence the fight at full strength, without casualties, which will be better. Lastly, and thirdly:—If the mist thickens and dirty weather comes on, thanks to the width of the Straits, we may either slip through, or be discovered too late, when there will be only the open sea between us and Vladivostok.—This would be excellent. On these three chances those who wish may start the totalisator! For myself, preparing for the worst, and foreseeing a broken night, I suggest that we all take advantage of every spare hour to sleep.”

His words had the desired effect.

Chapter II

Fate had apparently been kind to us, as up to the present we had not been discovered. The sending of telegrams in the fleet was forbidden, so we were able to intercept Japanese messages, and our torpedo officers made every effort to fix the direction from which they emanated. On the morning of 26th May and later on the same day, a conversation between two installations had begun, or perhaps more correctly speaking it was the reports of one ahead of and nearer to us to which the other, more distant and on the port side, was replying. The messages were not in cypher, and although our telegraphists were unaccustomed to the strange alphabet, and notwithstanding the gaps in the sentences by the time we received them, it was still possible to pick out separate words, and even sentences. “Last night” . . . “nothing” . . . “eleven lights . . . but not in line” . . . “bright light . . . the same star . . .” etc.

In all probability this was a powerful coast station on the Goto Islands, reporting to some one a long way off what had been seen in the Straits.

Towards evening we took in a conversation between other installations, which at night had increased to seven. The messages were in cypher, but by their brevity and uniformity and by the fact that they commenced and ceased at fixed times, we were able to calculate with tolerable accuracy that these were not reports, but merely messages exchanged between the scouts. It was clear that we had not been discovered.

At sunset the fleet closed up, and in expectation of torpedo attacks half the officers and crew were detailed for duty at the guns, the remainder sleeping by their posts, without undressing, ready to jump up on the first sound of the alarm.

The night came on dark. The mist seemed to grow denser, and through it but few stars could be seen. On the dark deck there prevailed a strained stillness, broken at times only by the sighs of the sleepers, the steps of an officer, or by an order given in an undertone. Near the guns the figures of their crews seemed like dead, but all were wide awake, gazing keenly into the darkness. Was not that the dark shadow of a torpedo-boat? They listened attentively. Surely the throb of her engines and the noise of steam must betray an invisible foe?

Stepping carefully, so as not to disturb the sleepers, I went round the bridges and decks, and then proceeded to the engine-room. For a moment the bright light blinded me. Here, life and movement was visible on all sides. Men were nimbly running up and down the ladders; there was a tinkling of bells and buzzing of voices. Orders were being transmitted loudly, but, on looking more intently, the tension and anxiety — that same peculiar frame of mind so noticeable on deck — could also be observed. And then it suddenly occurred to me that all this — the tall, somewhat bent figure of the Admiral on the side of the bridge, the wrinkled face of the man at the wheel stooping over the compass, the guns' crews chilled to the bone at their posts, these men talking loudly and running about, the giant connecting-rods whose steel glittered dimly in the dark, and the mighty hissing of steam in the cylinders was one and the same thing.

I suddenly remembered the old sea legend of the ship's spirit dwelling in every rivet, nail, and screw, which at the fated moment takes possession of the whole ship with her crew, and turns both crew and surroundings into one indivisible supernatural being. Of a sudden it seemed that this spirit was looking right into my heart, which beat with unusual rapidity, and for a moment it seemed as if I had become this being to whom the name Suvoroff — so sacred to all of us — was no more than a mere rivet!

It was a flash of madness, which quickly passed, leaving behind it only a sensation akin to daring and grim determination.

Alongside of me, the chief engineer, Captain Bernander, my old shipmate and friend, was angrily explaining something to his assistant. I did not hear what he said, nor could I understand why he was so excited when everything had been finally settled. Whether for better or for worse it was impossible to alter things now.

“All in good time, my dear fellow,” said I, taking his arm. “Let us go and drink some tea — my throat is parched.”

Turning his kind grey eyes on me in astonishment, and without replying, he allowed me to lead him away.

We went up to the ward-room, which at this hour was usually crowded and noisy. It was empty. Two or three officers, after being relieved, as well as some from the nearest light gun batteries, were sound asleep on the sofas, awaiting the alarm, or for their turn to go on watch. The messman, however, who was always ready for any emergency, brought us tea. Again on all sides this dreadful, painful stillness.

“The chief thing is, not to be in too great a hurry. — One straight shot is better than two bad ones. — Remember that we have not a single spare shell, and, till we reach Vladivostok, none are to be got,” came in a somewhat inaudible voice from behind the closed door of the stern cabin. Evidently a sub-lieutenant, Fomin by name, was holding forth.

“Preaching!” angrily said Bernander, helping himself to some hot tea.

I saw that he was very annoyed about something and wished to unburden himself.

“Well! tell me all about it! What is the matter?”

“It is all this cursed German coal,” he said, and lowering his voice and looking round—“You know, of course, that we had a fire in the bunkers?”

“Yes! I know; but surely, thank goodness, they put it out? Do you mean there's another?”

“No! Not quite! Listen! There's a vast difference between rapid-burning and slow-burning coal. Much more is consumed. Compared to good coal, 20 to 30 per cent.——”

“Shut up!” I interrupted. “Why, what's up with you? Are you afraid you'll run out? Up till now, surely, you have been burning our surplus! You ought to have in hand the full normal quantity.”

“Full or not, we shall have less than 1000 tons by morning.”

“But it's 600 miles to Vladivostok ! Where do you want to go?”

“Have you forgotten the Cesarevitch? On 10th August, when her funnels were shot away, she burnt 480 tons in the twenty-four hours! Well — we are burning more!”

Pooh! your nerves are unstrung," I exclaimed. “All your bunkers haven't caught fire!”

“You don't understand!” angrily exclaimed Bernander, and, quickly finishing his tea, he seized his cap and went out.

I remained in the ward-room, settled myself down in an easy-chair, and, making myself comfortable, dozed. I heard indistinctly the watch being relieved at midnight. Some of the officers coming off duty came in to get some tea, and in low voices abused the infernal rawness of the night air. Others stretched themselves on sofas, sighing with relief at being so comfortable, and said: “We'll sleep till four! it's a holiday at home!”

I also went to sleep. About 3 a.m. I awoke, and again went round the ship and up on deck. The scene was just the same as in the evening, but it was lighter. In the last quarter the moon had risen well up, and against the mist, dimly whitened by its silver rays, the ship's funnels, masts, and rigging were sharply outlined. The breeze, freshening, blew cold, making me pull the cape of my coat more over my head.

Going on to the fore-bridge, I found the Admiral sleeping in a chair. The Commander, wearing soft slippers, was pacing rapidly but quietly up and down the bridge.

“What are you doing wandering about?” he asked me.

“O, just having a look round. Gone to sleep?” and I nodded towards the Admiral.

“Only just. I persuaded him to. Why shouldn't he? We can take it that the night has passed all right. Up to the present we haven't been discovered. They are still calling each other up, and now, even though they do find us, it's late. It will be daybreak in a couple of hours. Even if their torpedo-boats are near us, they won't be able to collect. Besides, how can they find us in weather like this? Look! you can't even see the rear of the fleet! It's 200,000 to 1 against any one running into us accidentally! But I don't like the breeze. It's freshening. Let's hope it won't break up the mist. If it does to-morrow will mean the end of the Suvoroff. But it's suddenly coming on thicker,” he said eagerly. “Why, we have been going for twenty-four hours without being seen. If it is the same to-morrow, we'll give them the slip! They are on the move, and keep calling each other up, and they haven't yet come on us! They'll have to wait for our second coming, out of Vladivostok! That'll be a different tale. My! what a stew they must be in! What fun!” and putting his handkerchief in his mouth so as not to disturb the Admiral, he laughed so heartily, and seemed so free from care, that I envied him.

It should be stated that V. V. Ignatzius, in the first place, was one of those who was firmly convinced that the success of our voyage — this desperate adventure — depended solely on the extent of co-operation of Saint Nicolas “The Casual” and other heavenly powers, and, in the second place, in mind the Japanese custom of concentrating their fire on the flag-ship, he believed that both he and his ship were doomed to destruction in the first decisive engagement. But, in spite of this, he never for a moment lost his invariably buoyant and cheery manner. He joked, chaffed, and eagerly threw himself into all the little details of daily life on board, while now (I really believe) he was, inwardly, much amused, picturing to himself the anger and disappointment of the Japanese in the event of our actually slipping past them.

But the Japanese “got the 200,000th chance,” and more.

At dawn on 27th May, about 5 a.m., the auxiliary cruiser Sinano Maru almost ran into our hospital ships, and it was due to this that the whole fleet was discovered. We were unable to see what had happened, but by the changed character of the messages it became at once apparent that our presence was known. The scouts no longer merely called each other up, and we now took in reports, which were being transmitted further and further to the north.

Messages came in from both sides, so the Admiral recalled the Almaz, Svietlana and Ural, in order to protect our helpless rear (transports) from sudden attack.

About 6 a.m. the Ural came up at full speed, reporting by semaphore that astern of the fleet four ships, which it was impossible to recognise in the mist, were crossing from starboard to port.

At 6.45 a.m. & vessel appeared on the starboard beam, which, as her course brought her nearer to us, was soon recognised as the Idzumi. About 8 a.m., despite the mist, we were able to take her distance as 10,000 yards. The alarm sounding, the after turret threateningly raised her 12-inch guns, but the Idzumi, guessing her danger, commenced rapidly to beat a retreat.

We might, of course, have detached a good cruiser to drive her off, but alas! there were in the fleet only two ships answering to this description — the Oleg and the Aurora, also possibly the scout Svietlana; of the remainder, the Donskoy and Monomakh were respectable veterans, slow, though passably armed. The Ural and Almaz were swift, but had only toy guns. Besides, each moment we were expecting to meet our formidable opponent, when every gun and shell would be of value. If the issue of the battle were to be decided by a duel between our three armoured squadrons and the twelve best Japanese ships, the whole of the rest of the enemy's fleet would fall to the lot of our cruiser squadron. A struggle for which we must indeed reserve our strength! Rozhdestvensky decided accordingly to ignore the Idzumi's daring sally, and sent no one in pursuit of her.

Shortly after 8 a.m., on the port bow, the Chin-Yen, Matsushima, Itsukushima, and Hashidate appeared out of the mist, steaming on an almost parallel course. Ahead of them was a small, light cruiser, apparently the Akitsushu, which hurriedly drew off to the north as soon as we were able to see her well (and equally she us), and the whole squadron began slowly to increase their distance and gradually to disappear from sight.

At about 10 a.m. the light cruisers Chitose, Kasagi, Niitaka, and Otara, also appeared on the port beam, and it became evident to all of us that the decisive moment could not now be long postponed.

At a signal from the flag-ship, the 1st and 2nd armoured squadrons steamed ahead, and, turning “together,” 2 points to port, began to take position ahead of the 3rd squadron. The transports were ordered to keep more to starboard and astern of the fleet, while the cruisers were to cover them on the port side. To starboard of the transports was the Monomakh, detailed to protect them from the Idzumi and suchlike vessels.

At 11.20 a.m., when the distance of the Japanese light cruisers was 10,000 yards, the Orel fired an accidental shot (which she immediately reported by semaphore). Unable with smokeless powder to tell by which of the leading ships it had been fired, the fleet took it as a signal from the Suvoroff, and opened fire. Of the whole fleet the fire of the 3rd squadron was the heaviest.