Under the Ensign of the Rising Sun

The sun disappeared beneath the horizon in a heavy squall of rain, the wind breezed up fiercely, and it was piercingly cold. The night shut down upon us dark as a wolf’s mouth, the only relief to the intense blackness being the phosphorescence of the bow wave as it swept, roaring and scintillating away to port and starboard, and the faint gleam of a shrouded lamp which each vessel bore at her taffrail as a guide to the craft next astern of her. Well, so much the better; the darker the night, the better for our purpose; only I fervently wished that the water had not been so brilliantly phosphorescent, for in the intense darkness the gleam of it was visible for quite a considerable distance, and I feared that, if the Russians were keeping a sharp lookout, it would prematurely reveal our approach. We had cleared for action before getting under way, and each boat carried two torpedoes in her tubes, her guns loaded, and ammunition ready to pass up on deck at a moment’s notice.

Hour after hour we steamed on, describing the arc of a big semi-circle as we altered our course from time to time, until at length we were heading west-nor’-west for Port Arthur; and during the whole time we had not sighted a craft of any description.

At length, about half-past ten, the darkness ahead seemed to grow blacker than ever, and turning to Ito, who stood beside me on the bridge, I said:

“Do you see that darkness ahead, Ito? Surely that is the loom of land.”

“Yes,” answered Ito, who spoke English excellently. “Without a doubt that is the high land on either side of Port Arthur; and—ha! there is the Pinnacle Rock light, straight ahead. By Jingo! as the honourable English say, Captain Matsunaga has ‘hit it off splendidly.’ And see there,”—as a light began to wink at us from the bridge of the Asashio ahead—“there is the signal for the 4th and 5th Divisions to part company. Yes; there they go; and now, as again the honourable English say, ‘we shan’t be long.’”

I shivered involuntarily. A quarter of an hour more and that blackness ahead would be pierced by the blinding rays of the inexorable searchlights and stabbed by the fierce flashing of artillery, the glare of bursting shells, and the radiance of star rockets. And we should be in the midst of it. It would be my first experience of actual warfare, and I wondered how I should pass through the ordeal. I had already learned that the Japanese soldier or sailor is absolutely the most fearless creature in existence. He fears death as little as he fears sleep, provided that it comes to him in the service of his Emperor and his country. To die for his Emperor, indeed, who is to him as a god, is the very highest honour, the greatest glory, that the male Japanese can look forward to. He faces such a death with the same pure joy, the same exaltation, that the early Christian martyrs displayed when they were led forth to die for their faith. It was this spirit, this eagerness, this enthusiasm to die in battle, that caused the enormous losses suffered by the Japanese during the war; but it made them invincible! How was my conduct going to compare with that of men like these, I who was animated by no more lofty sentiment than the desire to do my duty to the best of my ability, to play my part as a man should, and, above all, to uphold the honour and dignity of my race? I was happy in the conviction that I should not disgrace myself by any exhibition of craven fear, but what I dreaded was that in the excitement of the moment I should get “nervy,” lose my head (if only figuratively), and perhaps forget to do something that I ought to do, to miss some opportunity that I ought to see and seize. “Brace up, Paul!” I said to myself, “pull yourself together for the honour of the dear homeland; forget all about yourself, and think only of the work that lies before you.” And I did. My thoughts went back to my talk with the Admiral in the Mikasa’s cabin that afternoon; I suddenly remembered that the work in hand was to be carried out as I had planned it; and in a moment all my anxiety vanished, I was my own man again, mentally planning what I would do; and from that moment I felt as cool and collected and keen as was Ito who stood beside me.

As the tail lights of the 4th and 5th Divisions of the flotilla vanished in the darkness on our port quarter, the Asashio’s signal lantern began winking again, and Ito read off and translated the message to me:

“Reduce speed to twelve knots. Be ready to show signal lanterns if required. When I starboard helm, Division one will follow me, while Divisions two and three will port helm and sheer off to the eastward.”

A single flash from our own carefully shrouded signal lanterns informed the Commodore that the message had been read and understood, and all was opaque darkness once more. The rain had by this time cleared off and the atmosphere was much clearer, so clear indeed that the outlines of the hills ahead showed with tolerable distinctness, and the water was getting smoother.

The lighthouse light was showing very bright and clear by this time, and two or three other and much dimmer lights, like those of houses, showed here and there in the shadow of the hills. The gap between the hills which marked the harbour entrance was also visible, while a faint glare in the sky to the right of it showed that Port Arthur was still awake. But everything seemed absolutely peaceful, and there were no signs of that alertness which we had expected to find.

Suddenly the lighthouse light, upon which my gaze happened to be fixed, seemed to blink several times in a very curious manner; then it disappeared altogether for a moment, and I saw a great black shadow that seemed to rapidly increase in size as I stared at it. Then I glimpsed at the base of the shadow the ghostly gleam of phosphorescent foam, such as is piled up by the bows of a ship travelling at speed, and high above it a rolling, swirling cloud of blackness spangled with evanescent sparks which, a moment later, I saw was issuing from three of a group of five tall funnels.

“By Jove! Ito,” I exclaimed, “here comes the patrol cruiser—the Askold—and she is heading straight for us! Gun and tube crews, stand by! Quartermaster, light those two signal lanterns, white above red, bend them on to the signal halliards, and stand by to hoist away when I give the word.”

“Yes,” agreed Ito, his voice tense with excitement; “she has seen and intends to speak us. See, she has stopped her engines, and is hailing the Asashio! What a jolly, bloomin’ chance,” (Ito was very proud of his command of English slang, and availed himself of every possible opportunity to air it) “to honourably torpedo her! Will the honourable Swinburne augustly grant the humblest of his servants permission to do so?”

“Heavens! no, man,” I exclaimed, “not for worlds. And I pray that Matsunaga may also have the sense to refrain from doing so.”

“But why, my honourable friend; why?” demanded Ito, literally dancing with eagerness and impatience.

“Because, don’t you see, my honourable duffer, that if we did so the explosion would put all Port Arthur, and the fleet too, on the qui vive long before we could get at them, and thus spoil our chances of bagging the battleships?” I replied. “No, certainly not. Let the cruiser go; it is the battleships we want. There go the Asashio’s lanterns. Hoist away, quartermaster!”

“Yes, yes; I see,” replied Ito in crestfallen tones; “you are honourably right, of course. Aha! there goes the cruiser. The honourable Captain Matsunaga has evidently honourably satisfied her. He honourably speaks Russian like a native.”

It was an exciting moment; but, tense as it was, I could not help being amused at the pertinacity with which Ito, like all the Japanese, dragged in the word “honourable” upon every possible and impossible occasion. It arises, of course, out of the desire, drilled into them, generation after generation, to be extremely polite; and doubtless when speaking in their own tongue, the word is never unsuitably used; but when they undertake to talk English, it is frequently pitchforked into the conversation in the most incongruous and even ludicrous fashion, and I decided that it would only be kind to give Ito a lesson upon the absurdity of employing it inappropriately. The opportunity came a few minutes later.

The Askold, apparently satisfied with Captain Matsunaga’s explanation, put her helm hard a-starboard and swept on, presently vanishing in the darkness; and a minute or two later the Asashio made the signal for the Divisions to separate as arranged, starboarding her helm as she did so and leading Number 1 Division to the westward, while Divisions 2 and 3 ported and swerved sharply away to the eastward.

“The critical moment is at hand,” said I. “Be so good, Mr Ito, as to go down on the main deck and assure yourself that everything is ready, and that the men are standing by the tubes and guns.”

Then Ito turned upon me and poured out an impassioned entreaty that he might be “honourably” permitted to take charge of and fire the torpedoes himself. I considered for a moment. The man who might chance to score a hit in the coming attempt would gain immense kudos, I knew, and, in all probability, promotion also. By rights, of course, Ito’s station should be by me, to take my place should I chance to be hit; but he was just as liable to be hit on the bridge as anywhere else; also it would be doing him a kindness to grant his request. So:

“Now, look here, Ito,” I said, “it is of paramount importance that the men in charge of the tubes to-night