Under the Ensign of the Rising Sun

by Harry Collingwood

  Meanwhile, Togo was busily engaged in the preparation of his plans for the great battle toward which we had all been looking forward for so long. In this work he was of course hampered by his lack of knowledge as to the intentions of the Russians. There were two routes by which they could reach Vladivostock: one—much the shorter of the two—by way of Korea Strait and up through the Sea of Japan; and the other, via the east coast of Japan and La Perouse Strait. Also, should Rojdestvensky choose the shorter route, he could pass either to the east or to the west of Tsushima Island. Togo solved the problem by preparing a plan of battle for each of the three alternative routes.

  On 26th May the Russian fleet was reported as being south-west of Quelpart Island, off the entrance of Korea Strait, and its position rendered it practically certain that it was Rojdestvensky’s intention to take the shorter route up through the Sea of Japan.

  It was shortly before sunset, on 26th May, that the fateful wireless message—“Enemy in sight, fifty miles west of Torishima,”—came in from one of our scouting cruisers; and two minutes later a signal was flying from the Mikasa, summoning the Japanese admirals to a council of war.

  The council was a brief one, lasting barely a quarter of an hour; then the admirals returned to their respective flagships, and the latter at once signalled the captains of the several squadrons to meet in the cabin of the admiral of that squadron. The Yakumo formed part of the armoured cruiser division, under the command of Admiral Kamimura, and accordingly it was in the cabin of the Idzumo that the six captains of that division presently assembled to receive our instructions.

  These were concise enough, and of such a character as to indicate that Togo had given this long-expected battle a tremendous amount of consideration, and had finally settled all the details with almost mathematical precision. In the first place, for good and sufficient reasons, the battle was to be fought in the eastern strait, and, as nearly as possible, off the northern extremity of the island of Tsushima. To ensure this, the old Chin-yen, the Itsukushima, Matsushima, and Hashidate, of the protected cruiser squadron, accompanied by one division of destroyers, were to act the part of lures, approaching the Russian fleet on the following morning, as it neared the Straits, alternately attacking and retiring in the direction of the eastern strait, thus inveigling Rojdestvensky into a pursuit in that direction. The ships told off for this duty were to proceed to sea at once, as the Chin-yen—the slowest craft of the quartette—was only good for thirteen knots at best, and it was not desired that any ship should be pushed to the limit of her powers until the engagement should become general. The remainder of the protected cruiser division—fourteen in number—were to proceed to sea with the main fleet on the following morning, parting company when all were fairly at sea, and then find the enemy’s rear, closing in upon it and harassing it as much as possible, acting according to circumstances, quite independently of the main fleet, and each captain using his own initiative. As for us of the armoured cruiser division, we were to have the honour of forming part of the battle-line. This was sufficiently gratifying intelligence, but that which followed was even more so: the former tactics of engaging the enemy at extreme range, in order to preserve our precious battleships from injury, were to be abandoned; this was the battle for which they had been so carefully hoarded, and in it they must be made the fullest use of, their utmost value must be exacted; in a word, they were to be fought for all that they were worth, closing with the enemy to within effective range, and firing slowly and deliberately, so that every shot should tell.

  There was also a general order issued, in the highest degree illustrative of Japanese thoroughness. It was that every man throughout the fleet was to wash himself from head to foot most carefully and thoroughly, and to put on clean clothing, in order to reduce to a minimum the risk of septic poisoning of wounds, also to don woollen outer garments, so that their clothing might not be set on fire by bursting shells.

  Nor had the ships themselves been forgotten. In turn each had been dry-docked, repaired, defects made good, down to the tightening of a loose screw, machinery overhauled and parts replaced where thought necessary, bottoms cleared of weed and coated afresh with anti-fouling composition, and hulls repainted, until each ship looked as though she had just been taken out of a glass case. And now there they all lay, in Chin-hai harbour, with boilers chipped clean of deposit and filled with fresh water, flues, tubes, and furnaces carefully-cleaned, new fire-bars inserted where needed, fires carefully laid and ready to be lighted at a moment’s notice, and every bunker packed with specially selected Welsh coal, purchased for this very purpose, long ago.

  Furnace fires were at once lighted and steam raised; and before midnight the old Chin-yen—looking very spruce and fit, despite her age—and her three companion cruisers quietly got their anchors and proceeded to sea, while aboard the ships still in harbour the crews were busily engaged in making the preparations referred to in the general order, before retiring to what was for some of them to be their last night’s sleep on earth. As for me, I sat in my cabin, far into the night, writing long letters to my friends at home, so that, in the event of anything untoward happening to me, they might know that loving thoughts of them were in my heart up to the last.

  In Chin-hai harbour the morning of 27th May 1905 dawned bright and clear, and at five o’clock the crews of the Japanese ships partook of a substantial meal before proceeding to the task of clearing for action. They were still partaking of this meal when a marconi-gram arrived from the Shinano Maru, one of our scouts, informing us that the Russian fleet was in sight, entering the eastern strait; that it was impossible as yet to say how many ships were present, as the atmosphere was misty; also that there was a high sea running in which the Russian ships were rolling heavily.

  This was the news that Togo had been anxiously awaiting; and now that he had it, and knew that the enemy was making for the precise spot where it had been planned to meet him, the little Admiral gave vent to a great sigh of relief, and ordered the signal to be made for the protected cruiser squadron to weigh and lead the rest of the fleet out to sea.

  This order was at once carried out, quietly and deliberately—for there was plenty of time on hand, the Chitose, Admiral Kotaoka’s flagship, and her four consorts leading, followed by the Kasagi and her four consorts, under Admiral Dewa; these being followed in turn by the Akitsushima and her three consorts, under Admiral Uriu. These three squadrons, with that which had proceeded to sea some hours previously, under the leadership of the younger Togo, to draw the Russians into the eastern strait, constituted the protected cruiser division, to which had been assigned the duty of attacking and harassing the enemy’s rear.

  Following these went the main battle squadron, with the Mikasa, flying Togo’s flag, proudly leading, followed by the battleships Shikishima, Fuji, and Asahi, with the new and powerful cruisers Kasuga and Nisshin bringing up the rear. Then, at a short interval, followed the Idzumo, flying Admiral Kamimura’s flag, and the Iwate, Yakumo, Adzuma, Asama, and Tokiwa, in the order named, every ship flaunting two big battle-flags in the morning breeze. Once clear of the harbour, we parted company from the protected cruiser division, which headed away South-South-East, to get in the rear of the enemy, while we of the battle-line steered a trifle to the south of east for the battleground which Togo had selected. On the port side of the line steamed a flotilla of Japan’s fastest destroyers, told off by Togo to act as dispatch boats, in the event of the flagship’s wireless apparatus being put out of action, or her masts shot away.

  Once clear of the land, we soon ran into an atmosphere of haze and a rising sea which set the long line of ships rolling ponderously; and as the vessels rolled and plunged, flinging heavy showers of spray over their weather bows, each captain stood in his chart-room, with a chart of the strait spread open on the table before him, anxiously awaiting the next news of the enemy. These charts had been, for convenience’ sake, carefully divided up into a series of numbered squares; and about nine o’clock the
expected message arrived. It ran—“The enemy is in two hundred and three,” that being the number of the square on the chart occupied by the Russian fleet at that moment. No sooner was the message decoded and its purport made known than mutual congratulations were exchanged; for even as the fall of 203 Metre Hill into the hands of our soldiers had been the prelude to the surrender of Port Arthur, so now the fact of the Russian fleet being in square 203 on the chart was accepted as an omen of another victory.

  The fine weather of the early morning had by this time completely deserted us; the sky had become overcast, Tsushima’s conical summit was hidden by a great bank of heavy, louring cloud, the grey, dreary-looking sea was running in confused, turbulent, foam-flecked surges through which the big ships wallowed heavily, flinging great combers of yeasty froth from either bow, while the little torpedo craft, smothered in spray, were tossed about like corks. Yet, despite the gloomy aspect of the weather, the Japanese fleet presented a magnificent and inspiriting sight as it ploughed steadily through the leaping, mist-flecked sea, each ship keeping station with the most perfect accuracy, with her two—and in some cases three—great battle-flags snapping defiantly in the freshening breeze.

  It was shortly after six bells in the forenoon watch when we at length received a message which must have removed a load of anxiety from our little Admiral’s mind. It came from the Izumi—one of the ships which had been dispatched on the previous night for the purpose of luring the enemy into the eastern channel—and reported that at length her captain had succeeded in ascertaining the full force of the enemy’s fleet, and that it consisted of eleven battleships of the 1st, 2nd, and 3rd classes, nine cruisers, nine auxiliary cruisers, and nine destroyers. These were heavy odds to face with our four battleships, eight armoured cruisers, and eighteen protected cruisers; yet never for a moment did we shrink from the encounter, for we were, one and all, determined to conquer. Moreover, the weather, gloomy as it was, was in our favour, for our ships, having been painted the peculiar grey tint that had been found so effective in the atmosphere of the Sea of Japan, were scarcely visible at a distance of four miles, while the heavy sea would probably give our own gunners a great advantage over those of the enemy.

  It was about a quarter to two o’clock in the afternoon, and we were steaming in line ahead, with the Mikasa leading, our course being about South-South-West, when, the fog thinning somewhat, we suddenly saw, away on our port bow, a great cloud of black smoke, underneath which we presently discerned several large ships approaching in two lines, their black hulls and yellow funnels showing up with remarkable distinctness against the light grey background of fog. Instantly every telescope and pair of binoculars in the Japanese fleet was levelled at them in an endeavour to identify the craft in sight—for we were intimately acquainted with the characteristics of every ship in the enemy’s fleet—and presently we recognised the big, three-funnelled craft at the head of the port line as the Oslabia, while the two-funnelled battleship leading the starboard line was undoubtedly the Suvaroff, Admiral Rojdestvensky’s flagship. Astern of her followed the Alexander Third, Borodino, and Orel; while in the wake of the Oslabia we were able to identify the Sissoi Veliki, Navarin, and Admiral Nakhimoff, with a long string of other craft at that moment too far distant for identification.

  While we were still endeavouring to identify some of the more distant ships, the Mikasa made the general signal: “The fate of our Empire depends upon our efforts. Let every man do his utmost!” It was greeted with a great roar of “Banzai Nippon!” which swept along the line of the fleet like the rumbling of distant thunder. The crews of the ships had, of course, been at quarters, and the officers at fire-control stations, for some time, and now we began to receive from the range-finders the range of the Oslabia, the leading Russian ship. “Fifteen thousand yards,” “Fourteen thousand,” “Twelve thousand,” came the reports in rapid succession as the two fleets rushed toward each other.

  At a distance of twelve thousand yards the Mikasa’s helm was shifted and the course of the Japanese line altered four points to the eastward, as though our purpose was to pass along the Russian line to port, exchanging broadsides as we passed; and so the enemy evidently understood, for he came steadily on. But we knew differently. Already every forward gun in the fleet was bearing steadily upon the Oslabia, and when, in obedience to a signal from the flagship, the speed of the Japanese fleet quickened up to fifteen knots, we knew that the great battle was about to begin.

  It began a few minutes earlier than we anticipated, for our range-finders had just given the distance of the head of the Russian column as nine thousand yards, when two bright flashes, followed by a great cloud of white smoke, broke from the Oslabia’s fore-turret, and presently we saw two great fountains of foam leap into the air some distance beyond the Mikasa. As though this had been a signal, the Suvaroff, Alexander Third, and Sissoi Veliki instantly followed suit, and a second or two later we heard the loud, angry muttering of 12-inch shells hurtling toward us. But some flew over, and others fell short; not one touched us; and as the heavy, rumbling boom of the reports reached our ears, the Mikasa signalled another shift of helm a further four points east, and before the Russians fully realised what we were about, the Japanese fleet was “crossing the T,”—that is to say, passing athwart the enemy’s course.

  Every gun which the Russians could bring to bear upon us was now being loaded and fired as rapidly as possible, so that in a very short time the enemy’s ships were enveloped in whirling wreaths of powder smoke, yet not a single Japanese gun had thus far spoken.

  “Six thousand yards” was presently signalled by the range-finders; and at the same moment three shots roared forth from the turrets of the Mikasa, Shikishima, and Fuji. We knew at what target they were aimed, and those of us who happened to have our glasses at our eyes saw a bright flash and a cloud of smoke suddenly burst into view on the Oslabia’s conning tower. One of our 12-inch shells had found its mark, and—as we subsequently learned—instantly killed Admiral Folkersam! This instant success told us that we might unhesitatingly rely upon the accuracy of our range-finders, and at once every ship in the Japanese battle-line opened fire, first upon the Oslabia and then upon the Suvaroff, our manoeuvre of “crossing the T” enabling us to bring every one of our broadside guns upon the enemy, while he, in turn, could only fire a few of his fore-turret guns, the rest being blanketed by the ships leading the line.

  The careful, deliberate fire of twelve ships upon two could have but one result; the Oslabia and Suvaroff both received a most fearful punishing; the unprotected portions of their hulk were blown to ribbons, dense columns of dark smoke poured from the Oslabia, and presently it was seen that she and the Suvaroff were on fire and burning furiously. Both ships, as though instinctively, swerved away to the eastward, anxious not to shorten the distance any farther between themselves and the Japanese, and presently both the Oslabia and the Suvaroff fell out of their respective lines and dropped to the rear, with both their own lines between them and the enemy.

  Then came the turn of the Alexander Third, which was now leading the Russian starboard line; and she got even more severely peppered than her battered sisters in misfortune, for the range had now dwindled to four thousand yards, and every shot of ours was telling with terrible effect. It must not be supposed, however, that while the enemy was being punished so severely, we were going scatheless. We were not; very far from it, although we were giving a good deal better than we received. Shells were by this time falling pretty thickly all around us, while hits were becoming steadily less infrequent. The first to come aboard the Yakumo was a 12-inch shell which struck our fore barbette on the starboard side, glanced upward, striking the conning tower and exploding, the fragments wrecking a couple of ventilators, a boat, and freely puncturing our fore funnel, while one piece swept my cap off my head and overboard. The Asama, however, next but one astern of the Yakumo, suffered very much more severely than we did, three heavy shells hitting her abaft in quick succession, thro
wing her steering gear out of action, and causing her to leak so badly that she had to drop out of the line and be left astern, executing temporary repairs.

  By this time—that is to say, shortly before six bells in the afternoon watch—the two fleets were heading about East-South-East, running in parallel lines, our own line leading that of the enemy by about a mile, while the Alexander Third was, like the Oslabia and Suvaroff, in flames and blazing furiously. A few minutes later it was seen that the Sissoi Veliki was also on fire, she being now the leading ship of the Russian port line of battle, and, in accordance with Togo’s tactics, the object, with the Navarin and Admiral Nakhimoff, of the concentrated fire of our battle-line. Meanwhile, our protected cruiser squadrons had come upon the scene and were harassing the Russian rear so effectively that, aided by the vigorous attack of our battle-line upon the Russian van, the enemy’s line was breaking up in confusion.

  Togo now gave the order for us to close in upon the enemy’s van, himself leading the way in the Mikasa, with the result that the leading Russian ships, in order to avoid being crossed and raked, were compelled to continually bear ever more and more away to the southward, until finally they swept right round and were all heading north once more, with the Alexander Third, Suvaroff, and Oslabia all out of the line and practically out of action.

  It is difficult, nay more it is impossible, for the captain of a ship taking part in a general action to note and remember every phase and detail of such action; he is so intensely preoccupied in the task of fighting and manoeuvring his own ship that only certain detached incidents of the engagements impress themselves upon his memory strongly enough to be permanently remembered; thus I am able to recall that about this period of the battle I came to the definite conclusion that we had won, notwithstanding the fact that several of our ships, including the Yakumo, had suffered severely. The Asama, for example, was at least temporarily out of action, while the Kasuga—one of the two new cruisers purchased from the Argentine just before the outbreak of the war—had all three of her heavy guns rendered useless.