The Yakumo had scarcely begun to gather way when the flagship signalled “Course South-West by South; speed twelve knots.”
As our signalman ran up the answering pennant, I entered the chart-room and, approaching the table, upon which a chart of the Yellow Sea lay spread out, requested Mr Shiraishi, the navigating lieutenant, to lay down a South-West by South course upon the chart, that we might see where it would take us. He did so, and I saw with satisfaction that it would take us some twenty-five miles to the eastward of Encounter Rock, that unfortunate spot near which the Japanese fleet had too prematurely revealed its presence upon the occasion of its previous encounter with the Russians. Twenty-five miles! That was excellent. If we held on upon that course we should cross the bows of the Russians at such a distance as would enable us to pass unseen, and then come up from the southward in the enemy’s rear, so cutting him off from Port Arthur and rendering it impossible for him to avoid a fight.
Shortly after clearing the harbour, the Asama and her attendant cruisers parted company with us, striking off to the westward, with the object of working round in the rear of the Russians, and again I mentally complimented Togo upon his astuteness.
Nine o’clock came, and a few minutes later there arrived a wireless message from the Admiral for our squadron to change course thirty-four degrees to the westward. I wondered what this might portend, for we had been receiving almost continuous wireless messages from the squadron off Port Arthur, the latest of which told us that the Russians, although undoubtedly intending a sortie, had not yet started. I again visited the chart-room, and with Shiraishi’s assistance discovered that our new course would bring us within about seven miles south-east of Encounter Rock about noon.
“Four bells” had just gone tinkling along the line of the Japanese ships, informing those whom it might concern that the hour was ten o’clock in the morning, when a fresh wireless message came from our blockading squadron, informing us that at last the Russian fleet was actually steaming out of Port Arthur harbour, with battle-flags flying, bands playing, and the ship’s companies singing the Russian National Anthem, with the battleship Tsarevich, Vitgeft’s flagship, leading. As the message was decoded and the news spread throughout the Japanese fleet, an almost audible sigh of relief escaped the breasts of officers and men; the Russians were not only coming out, but actually meant to fight; and the fateful hour which had been so long and so eagerly awaited was now at last at hand. A great cheer arose, passing along the line from ship to ship, and officers who had already assured themselves that all preparations for meeting the enemy were complete once more went the rounds, to make assurance doubly sure.
The Japanese blockading fleet gradually closed in behind the Russian ships, compelling Vitgeft to send back his gunboats, mining craft, and reserve destroyers, as our boats were threatening to cut them off; and about eleven o’clock we got a message informing us that the fleet which we should have to meet consisted of six battleships, four cruisers, and seven destroyers, an eighth destroyer, believed to be the Reshitelny, having contrived, by her superior speed, to give our boats the slip, and steam away in the direction of Chifu. Meanwhile, the glass was falling, great masses of cloud came driving up from the eastward, and a little breeze from the same quarter sprang up, rapidly freshening and knocking up a sea which soon set even our battleships rolling and pitching ponderously. “Well, so much the better for us,” we told each other. Our gunners were by this time quite accustomed to shoot from a rolling and pitching platform, while the Russians had had no such profitable experience; and the heavier the sea, the greater would probably be the superiority of our shooting.
It was nearing noon when at length, broad on our starboard bow, a great cloud of black smoke began to show on the south-eastern horizon; and shortly afterward a forest of masts, from the truck of each of which flaunted a great white flag bearing a blue Saint Andrew’s cross, began to rise above the sea-line, followed by numerous funnels belching immense volumes of black smoke. The two fleets were nearing each other fast, it was therefore not long before the ponderous bulk of the Tsarevich topped the horizon, with the Retvisan, Pobieda, Peresviet (flying Rear-Admiral Prince Ukhtomsky’s flag), Sevastopol, and Poltava following. Then came our old friend of the five funnels, the Askold, followed by the Pallada and Diana, with a hospital ship, flying a Red Cross flag, bringing up the rear but well astern. On the port beam, but well to the rear of the line of battleships, was the cruiser Novik—easily distinguished by her three funnels with a single mast stepped between the second and third funnel—and seven destroyers.
Up fluttered a signal aboard the Mikasa, and scarcely had the flags broke out when away went our destroyers at top speed, like hounds released from the leash, to attack the enemy. And a stirring sight it was to witness their dash, for it was now blowing quite fresh and a nasty, choppy sea had arisen, through which the plucky little boats raced, like a school of dolphin chasing flying-fish, now throwing a third of their length clean out of the water, and anon plunging into an oncoming wave until the water foamed and hissed over turtle-back and bridge and poured in torrents down upon the main deck and overboard. But the Russian Admiral was not going to tamely submit to a torpedo attack in broad daylight; he allowed the boats to get well within range of his guns, and then opened a brisk fire upon them, driving them off for the moment. Nevertheless, although the boats never actually scored a hit that day, they were of the utmost assistance, hovering on the enemy’s flanks and rear, dashing in upon him from time to time, and distracting his attention at many a critical moment.
Encounter Rock now bore north-west from us, seven miles distant, and was broad upon the port beam of the Russians, at about the same distance; and had both fleets held on as they were then going the Russians must very soon have cut through our line—provided, of course, that we had permitted them to do so. But the attempt evidently did not appeal to Vitgeft, for the Tsarevich suddenly starboarded her helm and led away from us in a north-westerly direction, while Togo, perhaps afraid that this was the preliminary to a retreat on the part of the Russian fleet, feigned a nervousness that he certainly did not feel, and shifted his helm, heading South-South-West, at the same time forming his battleships in line abreast. The result was that, for a time, the two fleets were actually steaming away from each other, the Russians being upon our starboard quarter. After steaming a short distance in this direction, our formation was altered back to line ahead, and the course was changed to South-West, apparently with the object of getting the ships well in hand.
It was close upon one o’clock in the afternoon when our Admiral, having put us through one or two further manoeuvres and apparently satisfied himself that he had strung us up to the necessary pitch of alertness, finally formed line ahead and changed course to East-North-East, at the same time hoisting the signal, “Engage!” The signal was greeted with a terrific outburst of cheering from every ship, and faces that had begun to look gloomy as the distance between the two fleets increased, once more became wreathed in smiles. Speed was increased, and we began to rapidly overhaul the enemy, the spray flying high over our bows as we pushed our way irresistibly through the rising sea. And now the horizon all round from north, west, and south showed dark with smoke as the Japanese cruisers began to close in from those points upon the Russians.
It was the Tsarevich which at length opened the ball, by bringing the 12-inch guns in her fore-turret to bear upon the Mikasa. There was a brilliant double flash, a big outburst of white smoke that for a moment partially veiled the great ship ere it drove away to leeward, a huge double splash as the ponderous shells hit the water about a mile away, and then came a crashing boom as the sound of the explosion reached us against the wind. The shots had fallen short. These two shots appeared to be regarded by the rest of the Russian battleships as a signal to open fire, for they immediately did so, the flashes bursting out here and there all along the enemy’s battle-line, first from one ship and then from another, as though each ship were striving which could
first get off her shots, while projectiles seemed to be falling everywhere excepting aboard the Japanese ships; true, two or three shells flew, muttering loudly, high over our heads, but the rest fell either wide or very far short. Our anticipations, it seemed, were proving correct, the roll and pitching of their ships was playing the mischief with the aim of the Russian gunners. Then the big guns of the flagship and the Asahi spoke, just four shots each, coolly and deliberately fired, one shot at a time, to test the range. This was found to be too great for effective practice, and the fire thereupon ceased.
But although not one of those eight ranging shots had actually touched a Russian ship, they all fell much closer to their mark than had the Russian projectiles, and close enough, at all events, to make Vitgeft nervous, for their immediate effect was to cause him to haul up to the northward, so that it looked as though he were seriously contemplating the advisability of doubling round Encounter Rock and retreating back to Port Arthur. It was a moment when everything seemed to be hanging in the balance, when a single false move would ruin everything, and the chance that we had been so long waiting for would be lost. Port Arthur was still close enough under the lee of the Russians to permit of their reaching the shelter of its batteries without very serious loss, should they elect to make the attempt. It was a moment demanding both boldness and astuteness of action, and, gambler-like, Togo resolved to risk everything upon a single throw. Instead of making the signal to close with the enemy and immediately bring him to battle, the Admiral signalled, “Change course sixteen points east,” which meant that the whole fleet, now steaming in line ahead, parallel to the Russian’s course, and heading in the same direction, must swerve round upon a port helm and go back over the ground which it had just traversed, that in fact it must turn tail and run away from the Russians! The manoeuvre was executed in splendid style, and two minutes later the Japanese fleet was heading south-west, while the Russian fleet, now some nine miles distant, bore about two points abaft our starboard beam.
The object of the manoeuvre was of course to impress the Russian Admiral with the conviction that we were as little anxious to put our fortunes to the touch as he was; and apparently the ruse was successful, for almost immediately the Russians shifted helm, heading about south-east and standing across our wake, with all their funnels belching great volumes of smoke, showing that a tremendous effort was going to be made to give us the slip.
For what seemed to us all an interminable half-hour, the astute little Japanese “Nelson” permitted them to lay the flattering unction to their souls that they were going to succeed, for during that half-hour the Japanese fleet plugged steadily away to the south-west, every moment increasing the distance between themselves and the enemy. Then, at last, judging from the respective positions of the two fleets that our superior speed must certainly frustrate any further attempt at escape on the part of the enemy, up went the longed-for signal for us to swerve round and give chase.
This manoeuvre of ours was the signal for another shift of helm on the part of the Russians. They had been heading about south-east, but now, seeing us coming straight for them, they swerved away until they were heading almost due east, as though even now anxious to defer the evil moment as long as possible. But they must speedily have recognised the impossibility of escape, for now, with carefully-cleaned furnace fires and a full head of steam, our ships were racing along through the fast-rising sea at a speed which would enable us to rapidly overhaul the chase, notwithstanding that they were plunging until they were buried to the hawse-pipes, and their fore-decks were smothered with spray.
The two fleets were now running upon converging lines, the enemy, about a point before our port beam, steering east, while we were steering east-north-east, and visibly gaining as the minutes slipped by. At last it looked as though the fight could no longer be delayed, and a thrill of excitement passed through me as I now began to fully realise that I was about to take part in a great naval battle, fought under modern conditions in ships protected by ponderous plates of steel armour and furnished with all the most modern engines of destruction. What would such a battle look like, and how would it end? Meanwhile the day was passing, and although the two fleets had been within sight of each other for more than two hours, nothing had thus far been done.
Both fleets were now steaming in single line ahead, the battleships leading, and the cruisers following closely, the Russian fleet being slightly ahead and steaming surprisingly well, considering the condition of their ships, though we were rapidly overhauling them.
Five bells (half-past two o’clock) in the afternoon watch pealed out, and at the same moment the Asama and Yakumo received orders to haul out from the fleet and heave-to, holding ourselves ready to deal with any enemy ships which might attempt to break back toward Port Arthur. So we were not to be allowed to take part in the fight, after all! It was positively heart-breaking, and for a moment I felt inclined to imitate Nelson at Copenhagen and turn a blind eye to the signal, but the sight of the Asama promptly sheering out from the line brought me to my senses. I knew that poor Yamada would be just as bitterly disappointed as myself; yet there he was, obeying the order with the same promptitude that he would have displayed had he been ordered to attack the enemy single-handed. I nodded—rather savagely, I am afraid—at Arisaka, the Commander, who was regarding me with eyebrows raised questioningly.
“All right,” I growled. “Hard a-port, sir, and sheer out of the line.”
We swept right round in a wide semi-circle, finally stopping our engines when we arrived at a spot about midway between the rears of the two fleets. Our engines had just stopped, and I was on the point of opening a semaphore conversation with the Asama, hove-to about half a mile distant, with the purpose of making some sort of arrangement for coping with certain possible eventualities, when a vivid flash and a great cloud of smoke burst from the Mikasa, and was immediately followed by similar outbursts from the rest of our battleships, which were opening fire upon the Russian rear as the ships came within range. To give them their due, the Russians were by no means slow to reply, and it was presently evident from the number of shells falling round her, that they were concentrating their fire upon the Mikasa. The first hit was scored by one of our ships—the Shikishima, we afterwards learned—which landed a 12-inch shell under the Askold’s forward bridge. We saw the flash and smoke of the exploding shell, but could not, of course, tell what damage was done. The next second another shell hit the same craft about her waterline, and within a minute huge volumes of smoke were seen pouring from her, seeming to indicate that she was on fire. But with ourselves at a standstill and both fleets steaming away from us at high speed, they soon passed beyond our range of vision, and all that we knew about the fight was that there was a terrific cannonading going on, while the eastern horizon bore a dense veil of smoke which came driving rapidly down upon us before the rising gale. The cannonading continued with tremendous energy for about three-quarters of an hour, and then began to slacken, until by seven bells—half-past three in the afternoon—it had ceased altogether.
What had happened? Was the fight over? It might be so, although I could scarcely believe that the Russians had been utterly beaten in the short space of an hour; for although their ships were in anything but first-class condition, the men were brave, and were scarcely likely to yield so long as the merest ghost of a chance of success remained to them. We were not doomed to remain very long in suspense, however, for just as eight bells was striking a wireless message arrived from the Admiral, ordering the Asama and ourselves to rejoin forthwith, and giving us our course, east-south-east.
I believe our engines were the first to move, but the Asama was now nearly a mile to the eastward of us, we standing higher out of the water than she, and therefore drifting to leeward faster, consequently she really had the best of the start. But I wasn’t going to let her get into action before me, if I could help it, and I called down the voice-tube to Carmichael, our Engineer Commander, explaining the state of affairs
, and begging him to do his best. Unfortunately for us, however, the Asama’s “chief” was Scotch, too; it therefore at once became a race between the two ships, all the keener because of the friendly rivalry between the two Scotchmen. It was generally conceded that Asama had the advantage of Yakumo by about half a knot; but when at length, shortly before four bells in the first dog watch, we rejoined the line, the two craft were running neck and neck.
The battle recommenced about a quarter of an hour before we were able to resume our former position in the fighting line, the Poltava opening fire with her 12-inch guns upon the Mikasa, against which ship, it appeared, the Russians had concentrated their efforts during the earlier phase of the fight. The Poltava was the sternmost ship in the Russian battle-line; and as though her shots had been a signal, the fire instantly ran right along the Russian line from rear to van. The din was frightful, for our ships at once returned the Russian fire, and in a moment, as it seemed, the sea all round about the Mikasa on our side, and the Tsarevich, Peresviet, and Retvisan on the side of the Russians, was lashed into innumerable great fountains of leaping spray which shone magnificently, like great showers of vari-coloured jewels, in the orange light of the declining sun. And presently, as the gunners got the range, there were added to the deafening explosions of the guns the sounds of the projectiles smiting like Titan hammers upon the armoured sides and other protected parts of the ships, and the crash of bursting shells. Great clouds of powder smoke whirled about the ships, hiding them for a second or two and then driving away to leeward upon the wings of the increasing gale. Splinters of wood and iron, and fragments of burst shells swept over the ships like hail, and prostrate forms here and there about the decks, weltering in their blood, proclaimed the growing deadly accuracy of the fire on either side. The pandemonium of sound was such that the human voice could no longer make itself heard, and the officers on the bridges were obliged to give their orders in dumb show. Even the shrieks of the wounded went unheard in that hellish babel of sound. As the distance between the contending ships decreased one began to realise the terrific character of the forces employed by man for the destruction of his fellow-man, for now it could be seen that the Tsarevich, ponderous as was her bulk, literally and visibly heeled and swayed under the tremendous impact of the enemy’s projectiles. But we were by no means getting things all our own way, for when the fight had been raging for about half an hour, the Mikasa was struck upon her fore barbette by a 12-inch shell which shook the ship from stem to stern as it exploded, and put the barbette, with its two 12-inch guns, out of action for a time through the jamming of its turning machinery. The damage, however, was speedily repaired, and meanwhile the fight went on with ever-increasing fierceness and determination.
Under the Ensign of the Rising Sun Page 27