By this time our protected cruiser division had crept up on the starboard quarter of the Russian line, and was vigorously attacking in that direction, while our battle-line, to port of the Russians, was as vigorously pounding the enemy’s front, thus bringing the Russian line between two fires. It was about this time that one of those brief interludes of comparative inaction which occur in most battles afforded me an opportunity to look round a bit and obtain my first comprehensive view of the battle since its commencement.
The wind, which had been blowing fresh during the earlier part of the day, had been gradually dropping, and was now little more than a mere breathing, but the sky still continued overcast and gloomy, its shadow, falling upon the sullenly heaving but no longer breaking seas, causing the tumbling waters to look almost black where they were not veiled by the drifting smoke wreaths or slowly moving patches of fog. It was the obscuration caused by this combination of smoke and fog that had produced the interval of comparative inaction of which I have spoken, for it rendered accurate firing difficult, and our ships, in accordance with Togo’s determination not to waste ammunition, were only firing occasional single shots, when the hull of an opponent became distinctly visible, although the Russians were blazing away at us as recklessly as ever, thus enveloping themselves in an almost continuous veil of smoke, which was renewed as quickly as it drifted away.
It was now that the Asama, having effected temporary repairs, came up and resumed her place in our line of battle, which was thus once more intact, our ships keeping station with the most perfect regularity with the Russian line, such as it was, some four thousand yards distant about a point abaft our starboard beam. The roar of the enemy’s artillery was incessant, the continuous crashing boom of the guns reminding one, as much as anything, of a tremendous thunderstorm, while the flash of their guns, seen through the gloom of the louring afternoon, not altogether inadequately represented the accompanying lightning.
I looked round to see if I could discover either of the silenced Russian battleships. Yes, there they were, all three of them: the Oslabia about three miles away, broad on our starboard quarter; the Suvaroff about half a mile astern of her; and the Alexander Third about a mile astern of the Suvaroff, all astern of their own line, and all being vigorously attacked by our protected cruisers. The Oslabia was low in the water and had a heavy list to port; the Suvaroff, still apparently on fire, had lost both her funnels and her foremast; and the Alexander Third, from which clouds of smoke, were still rising, also had a heavy list and was steaming ahead very slowly, although she, like her sisters in misfortune, still replied with the utmost gallantry to our fire.
But, so far as the Oslabia was concerned, her race was evidently run, for even as I watched her it became apparent that she was fast settling in the water, while with every roll her list to port became stronger, until at last I found myself holding my breath in momentary expectation to see her roll right over. The catastrophe was not long delayed. There came a moment when, having rolled heavily to port, she failed to lift again, but heeled steadily more and more until, watching her through my powerful glasses, I saw a number of objects go sliding away off her decks into the water with a heavy splash; over she went until her masts and funnels lay along on the water, her two after-turret guns spoke out defiantly for the last time; and down she went in a great swirl of foam, while the Russian destroyers closed in upon the spot to save such of her crew as might contrive to remain afloat.
I now turned my attention to the Suvaroff, and was just in time to witness a very plucky attack upon her by a squadron of our destroyers, which, notwithstanding her disabled condition, she beat off in most gallant fashion.
Next, I turned to have a look at the Alexander Third. Her crew appeared to have extinguished the fire aboard her and got her back into something like her former trim. She was now heading to rejoin the Russian line—which was re-forming after a fashion, and presently I saw her drop into third place in the line, between the Orel and the Sissoi Veliki, which latter also seemed to have extinguished her fire. Meanwhile the mist had thickened into fog, which rapidly became so dense that we presently lost sight of the enemy altogether.
Shrewdly suspecting that the Russians would seize this opportunity to effect their escape, Togo now led his battle-line round in a sweep from North-East to South-West, and then to south for a distance of some eight miles, during which we sighted and shelled the enemy’s cruiser squadron and some of his auxiliary ships heading to the south-west. At this point Togo decided to turn northward again, but before doing so he detached the six armoured cruisers—of which the Yakumo was one—under Admiral Kamimura, with orders to pursue and destroy the ships of which we had just lost sight.
This was about four o’clock in the afternoon. By this time the wind had dwindled away to a mere nothing, and the sea had so far gone down that our torpedo craft could keep pace with the larger craft without being swept by seas from stem to stern; still, the weather continued to be very dismal and dreary, the sky still lowering and overcast, not a solitary gleam of sunshine, and the fog gathering so thickly that it was difficult to see anything beyond a two-mile radius. The heavy gun-firing had by this time died down to nothing; but a pretty lively cannonade of lighter weapons down in the south-western quarter told us that the engagement between our cruisers and those of the enemy was still proceeding briskly although nothing could be seen. Accordingly, the Idzumo led her five armoured sisters in that direction, at a speed of fifteen knots.
Suddenly, as we pushed along, guided on our course by the sounds of the firing, the thunder of heavy guns, easily distinguishable from the sharper report of the lighter weapons, burst forth ahead, to our amazement, for we fully believed that the whole of the enemy’s battleships had fled northward. Clearly, however, we were mistaken in so believing, and Kamimura at once recognised that capricious fortune was unexpectedly holding out to him the opportunity to wipe off some of the utterly undeserved opprobrium that had attached to him earlier in the war, because of his failure to bring the Vladivostock squadron to book, and which his later success had by no means effaced; accordingly, he signalled the squadron to increase speed to eighteen knots, which was supposed to be the maximum attainable by the Asama and ourselves, although the others were capable of an extra knot. This inferiority of speed on our part had always been rather a sore point with me, and I had had many a talk with Carmichael, the Yakumo’s Engineer Commander, about it, who had felt the reproach as keenly as I did, and had assured me that if ever the worse came to the worst, he would undertake to get the extra knot out of the ship, although it would be at the peril of what he elegantly termed “a general bust-up in the engine-room.” So now I called to him down the voice-tube, begging him to speed her up as far as he dared; and a few minutes later I noticed that we were gaining upon the Iwate, our next ahead, while the Asama, our second astern, was also stoking up. Thereupon I signalled the flagship that we had speed in hand, if required, and the order was at once given to increase speed by half a knot.
It was not very long afterward that we had ocular demonstration of the value that extra spurt of speed might prove to be; for while we were still plugging along in the direction of the firing, we suddenly sighted two craft coming slowly in our direction. They proved to be the Kasagi escorted by the Chitose, making for the Japanese coast, the former being holed below the waterline and making so much water that it was doubtful whether it would be possible to save her. She signalled that matters were going badly with the protected cruisers, eleven of them being then hotly engaged by twelve of the enemy, one of which was a second-class battleship, while three others were battleships of the third class! Admiral Dewa, who was on board, concluded his communication by urging us to hasten to the rescue.
The steadily increasing distinctness with which the sound of the firing reached us, proved that we were rapidly overhauling the contending squadrons, and some twenty minutes later we sighted the rearmost ships on both sides, blazing away at each other “hammer and tong
s.” Our own cruisers were to the southward of the Russian line, therefore Kamimura led his force to the northward of the enemy, thus placing the latter between two fires, at the same time signalling us to concentrate our fire upon the four Russian battleships, which we did with a vengeance, and within five minutes we were all enveloped in a roaring tempest of flame, smoke, and bursting shells.
But the precision of our fire was infinitely superior to that of the Russians. They fired at least three times as rapidly as we did, but whereas every one of our shells reached its mark, the bulk of theirs flew wide. They were rapidly growing demoralised, and when the fight had been in progress some twenty minutes, their line suddenly broke up into little groups of twos and threes and made off to the northward at top speed, those of us whose speed permitted, following them and keeping up a brisk fire with our forward guns.
Suddenly, as we pursued, two ships were sighted ahead, evidently in difficulties, and a few minutes later we identified them as the Russian battleship Suvaroff and the repair ship Kamschatka. Immediately, Kamimura signalled, ordering their destruction. Then, while we were in the very act of training our guns upon them, another battleship was sighted in the distance. She, too, was evidently in a parlous state, so much so, indeed, that we scarcely had time to identify her as the Alexander Third when she capsized and sank!
Then we opened fire vigorously upon the other two ships, while our destroyers closed in upon the Suvaroff, now listing so heavily that she was almost on her beam-ends. But although she was in such a sorry plight her crew displayed the utmost gallantry, defending themselves from the torpedo craft with the only gun which they could bring to bear. It was a hopeless fight, however; our boats dashed in, time after time, discharging torpedoes at her, and at length two of the missiles got home, one under her stern, and the other in the wake of her engine-room, blowing a great hole in her side. This last finished her; the water poured into her in torrents, and a few minutes later she rolled right over and disappeared. The Kamschatka followed a few minutes later.
Meanwhile, the ships which we had been pursuing had disappeared in the fog, heading northward, in which direction we knew our battleships had preceded them. Therefore, since the hour had now arrived when, according to arrangements, our torpedo flotillas were to take up the game, Kamimura signalled us to reduce speed to ten knots and to shape a course for our appointed rendezvous near Matsushima Island.
The night which followed was an anxious one for all hands, for we were steaming through a dark and foggy night, with all lights out. Nothing untoward happened, however, and with the appearance of dawn on the following morning a little air of wind sprang up and swept the fog away.
It was shortly before three bells in the morning watch (half-past five o’clock a.m.) of 28th May, and the six ships of the Japanese armoured cruiser division were steaming northward in line abreast, when the Tokiwa, which was the easternmost ship, reported smoke low down on the eastern horizon. At once the course was altered eight points to the eastward, and the ships proceeded in line ahead, closing in upon the Tokiwa—the leading ship—as they did so, while Kamimura reported the circumstance by wireless to Togo, who, with his battle squadron, was some sixty miles away to the northward of us. Some twenty minutes later, after a lively bout of signalling by the wireless operators aboard the Japanese ships, it became certain that the smoke seen must proceed from enemy ships, and all our dispositions were made for dealing with them, the instructions of the armoured division being to close slowly in upon the enemy from the westward, while the battleships rushed down at full speed from the north, and the protected cruisers did the same from the south.
The result was that, a few hours later, four Russian battleships, namely, the Orel, Apraxin, Nicolai First, and Seniavin found themselves completely hemmed in by our ships, while the light cruiser Izumrud, availing herself of her superior speed, just managed to escape by the skin of her teeth.
I will say this for them: outnumbered though they were, and hopeless as was their situation, with their ammunition running short, and their crews almost in a state of collapse from nerve strain, those four ships made a gallant defence, and it was not until they were reduced to the very last extremity that Admiral Nebogatoff ordered the white flag to be hoisted over his squadron in token of surrender. Prize crews were at once put aboard the prizes, and they were ordered south to Sasebo under an escort of cruisers, of which the Yakumo was one. The Orel was such a wreck that she was incapable of steaming more than eight knots, consequently we did not arrive in harbour until the afternoon of the following day, when, our wireless messages having prepared the inhabitants for our arrival, we received such an ovation as it thrills me yet to remember.
Chapter Twenty One.
REINSTATED.
It was not until nearly a fortnight later that the full results of the battle of Tsushima became known; then, tabulating the intelligence that came to hand from various points, we were at last in a position to realise the surprising character of the Japanese Navy’s achievement.
Briefly and baldly summarised, it amounted to this: Of the eleven Russian battleships which went into action on that memorable 27th May, four were captured, while the remaining seven were sunk. Of nine cruisers, five were sunk. Of nine auxiliary cruisers, four were sunk and one was captured; while, of nine destroyers, one, the Biedovy, was captured with Admiral Rojdestvensky, seriously wounded, on board, and four were sunk. Twenty-six of the thirty-eight craft which composed the much-vaunted Baltic Fleet were thus accounted for. Of the remaining twelve, three—the small cruiser Almaz and the Grosny and Bravy, destroyers, succeeded in making their way to Vladivostock, while the remainder escaped to Manilla, Shanghai, and Madagascar, where—with the exception of the auxiliary cruiser Anadyr, at Madagascar—they were duly disarmed and interned.
I had fully made up my mind that with the destruction of the Russian Baltic Fleet the war must of necessity come to an end. But I was mistaken; no overtures of peace were made by Russia, and it was not to be expected that, after her signal triumphs on land and sea, Japan would jeopardise her prospects of securing a satisfactory settlement by being the first to open negotiations; therefore, in pursuance of their land campaign, it was decided to attack the Russians from the north by way of the great river Amur, which the Japanese had ascertained was navigable by light-draught vessels for at least a thousand miles during the late spring, when the thaw and the spring rains caused the river to run full. But in order to utilise the Amur it was imperatively necessary that Japan should have control of the island of Sakhalin; accordingly, on 24th June a fleet of warships, under Admirals Kataoka and Dewa, assembled at Yokohama, from whence a few days later they sailed, convoying a fleet of transports, aboard which were one of the newly raised army divisions, under the command of General Haraguchi.
My ship, the Yakumo, was one of the warships detailed for this expedition, and naturally I went with her. Space does not permit of my giving the details of this expedition, which was not at all of an eventful character; suffice it to say that it attained its object, Sakhalin becoming ours on 31st July 1905.
Meanwhile, however, after the result of the battle of Tsushima became known, President Roosevelt decided that the time had arrived when the friendly intervention of a perfectly disinterested Power, such as the United States of America, might be welcome to both belligerents; accordingly, on 8th June, he opened negotiations by dispatching an identical Note to the Emperor of Japan and the Tsar of Russia, offering his services as mediator. His offer was accepted by both; and on 9th August the plenipotentiaries of the two nations met at Portsmouth, in New Hampshire, U.S.A. The negotiations were of a protracted nature, and were several times in danger of falling through in consequence of the uncompromising attitude of Russia’s representatives. Ultimately, however, thanks to President Roosevelt’s masterly diplomacy and the conciliatory spirit of the Japanese, an agreement was arrived at, and the Treaty of Peace between Japan and Russia was signed on 5th September 1905.
Of the t
erms of the treaty it is not necessary for me to speak here, since they in nowise affect the fortunes of the present historian. The conclusion of the treaty, however, of course put a stop to all hostilities on both sides; and the end of September found me and my ship back in Sasebo, where the latter, among other ships, was paid off. Previous to the paying-off, however, Togo had sent for me, and at the interview which followed, inquired most solicitously what were my plans for the future, at the same time assuring me that if I cared to remain in the service of Japan I might absolutely rely upon continuous employment and further promotion. I had, however, long before this quite made up my mind as to the course of action I would pursue upon the conclusion of the war; namely, to return to England and endeavour to secure my rehabilitation in the British naval service, and I explained this to him at length. When he had heard all that I had to say, he admitted that what I had decided upon was undoubtedly the right thing to do. Then, learning that I proposed to return home by way of San Francisco and New York, he dismissed me for the time being, only to inform me, two days later, that, learning I was about to resign my commission as Captain in the Japanese Navy, the Emperor had expressed a desire to see me prior to my departure from his dominions, in order that he might personally thank me for the services I had rendered to Japan.
The interview took place four days later, in the Imperial Palace at Tokio, with most satisfactory results, so far as I was concerned; for His Majesty, after making the most flattering references to my services—full particulars of which he seemed to have at his fingers’ ends—was graciously pleased to decorate me with the Star of the Grand Order of the Rising Sun, and to present me with a magnificent naval sword, the hilt of which and the mountings of the sheath being of solid gold, exquisitely worked.
Under the Ensign of the Rising Sun Page 31
