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
