TSU-SHIMA

1905

When the war of 1894-5 between China and Japan was brought to a close by the Treaty of Shimonoseki (17 April, 1895), the Japanese were in possession of Korea and Southern Manchuria, Port Arthur and the Liao-tung Peninsula, Wei-hai-wei and the Pescadores Islands, and a joint naval and military expedition was ready to seize Formosa.

By the second article China ceded to Japan the fortress and dockyard of Port Arthur and the Liao-tung Peninsula. As soon as the terms of the treaty were published, Russia, which was the northern neighbour of China along the borders of Manchuria and Mongolia, and the neighbour of Japan by the possession of Vladivostock and Saghalien, protested against the cession of Port Arthur and its territory to the victors, arguing that the permanent occupation of Port Arthur by a foreign Power would be a standing menace to the Government at Pekin, and would put an end to the independence of China. Germany and France joined in the Russian protest, and the three Powers began to move their ships eastward. Their combined squadrons would have been more than a match for Admiral Ito’s cruisers. England had a powerful squadron in the Eastern seas, but observed a strict neutrality in the diplomatic strife.

If England had joined her, Japan would undoubtedly have fought rather than yield up the fruit of her hard-won victories. But the Mikado’s Ministers realized that single-handed they could not face a Triple Alliance of aggressive European Powers. The treaty was revised, the cession of Port Arthur and its territory being struck out of it. They were to be restored to China.

But the statesmen of Japan, while they yielded the point, recognized in Russia their future rival for the empire of the East, and resolved to begin at once preparing for a struggle in years to come which would give them back more than they were now forced to abandon. They set to work to create a powerful navy, and at the same time added steadily to the fighting strength of their army, which for a while found useful war training in the subjugation of the hill tribes of Formosa. The millions of the war indemnity and loans negotiated abroad were expended on a great scheme of armaments. A fleet of battleships, cruisers, and torpedo craft was built in foreign shipyards, and the personnel of the navy was increased to provide officers and crews. The Japanese Government went on for years patiently preparing, regardless of conduct on the part of Russia that might have tempted a less self-possessed Power to premature action.

The Russian Government had hardly forced Japan to abandon so large a part of her conquests when it took advantage of the weakness of China to obtain from the Pekin Government the right to make a railway through Manchuria to the treaty port of Niu-chwang, and to place garrisons along the new line for its protection, and further the right to garrison Port Arthur, use it as a naval station, and occupy the adjacent territory. When the first rumours of the Russo-Chinese Treaty reached Europe they were treated with incredulity. It was said that it was impossible that Russia could cynically claim a position which she had just declared was incompatible with the independence of China, and which she had argued the nations of Europe could not permit to Japan or any other Power. But presently the treaty was published, and acted upon, Russia making Port Arthur her chief naval station in the East, announcing a project for a great commercial port at Talienwan Bay, and, further, occupying the treaty port of Niu-chwang. There was a brief period of tension, during which there was a talk of various Powers resisting this barefaced aggression, but European statesmen thought that an easier course was open to them. Instead of resisting the aggressor, they embarked in a policy of aggression themselves, on the plea of securing compensations and guarantees. The weakness of China made her the ready victim of this policy.

Foreign aggression from so many quarters called forth a patriotic movement in China, which in 1900 culminated in the “Boxer” revolt. For a while Japan and the European Powers, including Russia, became allies, to save their embassies and repress the rising about Pekin. In the campaign the Japanese forces proved themselves the most efficient of all, and their chiefs returned home with an absolute confidence that they could successfully meet European soldiers in the field.

Japan had made the most unsparing use of its rights in Korea, acquired by the Treaty of Shimonoseki, all but absolutely annexing the country. After the Boxer revolt Admiral Alexieff, who was governor of the Russian possessions in the Far East, embarked on a dangerous policy of provocation towards Japan. He had an ill-informed contempt for the hardy islanders. He underrated their power of resistance, and felt sure that the mere fact that the Russian fleet outnumbered theirs would secure the command of the sea for Russia, and have a decisive effect in the event of a conflict. He believed that the sooner it came the better.

The Russian fleet in the East was steadily reinforced, unit by unit. The Japanese people began to see in these proceedings, and in the work done at Port Arthur, a threat of early hostilities, and there was a general call on the Government to anticipate the blow, when relations became strained between the two countries in 1903. The Tokio Government was anxious not to precipitate the war, for the organization of the army required some months for completion, but the feeling in the navy, army, and civil population forced its hand. After a brief delay of negotiations, during which both parties worked with feverish energy to secure additional armaments, diplomatic relations were broken off at the beginning of February, 1904, and then, without waiting for any formal declaration of war, the Japanese torpedo flotilla swooped down on the Russian fleet lying in the roads outside the narrow entrance of Port Arthur, found them utterly unprepared to meet this sudden attack, and crippled several of the ships. A second blow was the destruction of the first-class armoured cruiser “Variag,” the Russian guardship at Chemulpo, by a Japanese squadron.

Most of the best ships in the Russian navy were in the East at the outbreak of the war. Alexieff had, however, made the initial mistake of dividing the force at his disposal. Away north at Vladivostock was a squadron of three large armoured cruisers, the “Gromoboi,” “Rossia,” and “Rurik,” and the protected cruiser “Bogatyr.” The “Variag” was isolated at Chemulpo, the port of Seoul, doing duty that might have been left to a gunboat. At Port Arthur, under Admiral Stark, there was a strong fleet, including seven battleships, the “Petropavlosk,” “Poltava,” “Peresviet,” “Pobieda,” “Retsivan,” “Sebastopol,” and “Tsarevitch,” the cruisers “Askold,” “Boyarin,” “Bayan,” “Pallada,” “Diana,” and “Novik,” and a flotilla of torpedo craft and the mine-laying steamer “Yenessei.” In the torpedo attack on the evening of 8 February the “Retsivan,” “Tsarevitch,” and “Pallada” were badly damaged. The “Variag” was destroyed next day, and a few days later the “Yenessei” accidentally blew herself up while laying mines. This series of disasters seemed for a while to have almost destroyed the morale of the fleet. Stark set to work to repair his damaged ships, made no attempt to meet the Japanese at sea, or interfere with the transport of their armies to the mainland of Asia, and, subordinating his fleet to the defence of Port Arthur, even landed guns and men to strengthen the landward works. The Japanese blockaded the port, insulted it with long-range bombardments, and tried to block the narrow entrance by sinking old steamers across it.

In March the arrival of the best officer in the Russian Navy, Admiral Makharoff, for a while inspired new energy into the Port Arthur fleet. The repairs of the injured ships were completed, and on 13 April the admiral steamed out to challenge Togo and the main Japanese fleet to battle. Notwithstanding precautions taken against the known danger of floating mines, the fleet entered a tract of water where several were afloat, and the flagship “Petropavlosk” was destroyed with fearful suddenness by the explosion of one of them. There was great loss of life, but the most serious blow to Russia was the death of the admiral.

After the fleet returned to the harbour there came another period of irresolute inactivity. It was not till August, when several ships had been injured at their anchors by the bombardment from the land batteries of the Japanese attack, and it was evident that the port would soon be a dangerous place for the ships, that Admiral Witjeft proceeded to sea, announcing that he was going to Vladivostock, the cruiser squadron from that port having been warned to come out and reinforce him on his way.

The sea-fight, known as the battle of the Tenth of August, took place a few miles to seaward of the port. Witjeft led the fleet in his flagship the “Tsarevitch,” followed by the battleships “Retsivan,” “Sebastopol,” “Pobieda,” “Poltava,” and “Peresviet” (carrying the flag of the second in command, Rear-Admiral Prince Ukhtomsky), and the cruiser division made up of the “Askold” (carrying the flag of Rear-Admiral Reitzenstein), “Pallada,” “Diana,” and “Novik,” besides eight destroyers. The cruiser “Bayan” had been so damaged that she was left in port. Witjeft had a marked superiority in battleships. Togo had had six new first-rate ships of the class under his command at the outset of the war, but on 15 May he had lost two of them, one-third of his battleship fleet, by a disaster like that of the “Petropavlosk.” On that May morning, while cruising off Port Arthur, he ran into a field of drift mines, and in a few minutes the battleships “Hatsuse” and “Yashima,” and the cruiser “Yoshino,” were destroyed. The Japanese managed till the end of the war to conceal the fact that the “Yashima” had been lost, and the Russians up to the battle of Tsu-shima believed Togo had five of his big battleships intact. In the battle of 10 August he put in his main fighting-line the two powerful armoured cruisers “Nisshin” and “Kasuga,” purchased from the Argentine Government on the eve of the war.

The battle began with long-range firing at 1 p.m., and continued till after seven in the evening. It was decided by the superior gunnery of the Japanese, and the damage done by their high explosive shells. The “Tsarevitch,” badly cut up and set on fire, was driven out of the line. Witjeft was killed by a shell. His last word was to reiterate his order to push for Vladivostock. As darkness came on Ukhtomsky lost heart, and led the fleet back to Port Arthur. If he had held on he might have got through the Japanese fleet, for their ammunition was almost exhausted when the firing ceased. Reitzenstein, with the cruisers, tried to execute Witjeft’s last order. The “Pallada,” however, left him and followed the battleships. The rest of the cruiser squadron and the destroyers that accompanied it were forced to part company, and only the “Novik” got through to the northwards. The “Diana” fled southwards to the French port of Saigon; the “Askold,” with a destroyer, reached Shanghai. The battered “Tsarevitch,” with three destroyers, took refuge at Kiao-chau. All these ships were disarmed by the French, German, and Chinese authorities, and detained till the end of the war, when they were restored to the Russian Government.

The “Novik” failed to get into Vladivostock, but reached a Russian port in Saghalien, where a few days later she was tracked down and destroyed by Japanese cruisers. The Vladivostock squadron had come out to meet the unfortunate Witjeft. The “Boyarin” was left behind, damaged by accidentally grounding, so the squadron was made up of the three big armoured cruisers “Gromoboi,” “Rossia,” and “Rurik.” They were approaching the straits of Tsu-shima, and were as far south as Fusan, when they were discovered and attacked by Admiral Kamimura’s cruiser squadron, on 14 August. Once more good gunnery against poor shooting decided the fight. The “Rurik” was sunk, and the “Gromoboi” and “Rossia” returned to Vladivostock, bearing marks of very hard hitting riddled funnels, and sides hastily patched with plates of iron, told of the straight shooting of the Japanese cruisers. In both the action with the Port Arthur battleship fleet and the Vladivostock cruiser squadron the losses of the Japanese had been very slight.

On paper the Russians had had a distinct superiority over the Japanese in sea-power at the outset, so far as it can be measured by balancing off battleships, cruisers, and minor craft in parallel columns. In the months before the war there was ample material for the enterprising journalist to work up a navy scare at Tokio. But once more it was shown that not the number of ships but the temper and training of the men are the true measure of power on the sea. From the first Togo had asserted his superiority, and by asserting secured it. After the naval engagements of 10 and 14 August the Russian Navy in the Far East accepted a position of helpless inaction. Ukhtomsky kept what was left of the fine fleet, that had been originally assembled at Port Arthur, anchored in the land-locked harbour till the ships were sunk by fire of the besieging batteries.

While the Far Eastern fleet was still in being, and Port Arthur was holding out, the Russian Government had announced its intention of sending a second fleet from Europe to the seat of war. It had two fleets in European waters, those of the Black Sea and the Baltic. The Black Sea fleet was not available. International treaties barred its exit from the Dardanelles. Only the Baltic dockyards could supply the new armada.

As soon as the news of the first torpedo attack on Port Arthur arrived, in February, 1904, there was talk of the new fleet for the East, and unofficially the end of June was spoken of as the time when it would be ready to sail. From the first it was obvious that this was an over-sanguine estimate, unless the fleet was to be made up entirely of old and weak ships. The best units that could be made available, and without some at least of which the fleet could hardly be sent out, were five powerful battleships that were being completed in the Neva yards and at Cronstadt. Two had been launched in 1901, two in 1902, and the fifth in 1903, but even on the 1901 ships there was a large amount of work to be done. Naval experts declared that the fleet would not be ready for a year, and that even then the difficulty of coaling would make its voyage to the other side of the world in war time a hopeless task for the admiral in command.

By hard work the fleet was made ready for sea by the middle of September. The coaling difficulty was overcome by taking colliers with the fleet, contracting with a German firm to send large coal-laden steamers to various points on the route selected, and straining to the utmost the benevolent neutrality of France, and using her colonial ports as halting places on the way. There was some difficulty in recruiting a sufficient number of engineer officers, and of stokers who could manage the novel tubular boilers of the new battleships, and the fleet was undoubtedly handicapped by the inexperience of its engine-room and stokehold staff.

Admiral Rojdestvensky, the officer chosen for the supreme command, had an excellent record. He was fifty-six years of age, and had served in the navy since 1865. In the Russo-Turkish War he had distinguished himself by brilliant attacks on Turkish ships of war with a small torpedo gunboat, the “Vesta.” He had been naval attache in London, and had filled important technical and official positions at St. Petersburg, being for a while chief of the general Naval Staff. Finally he had personal knowledge of the Eastern seas and of the Japanese navy, for he had commanded the Russian squadron in the Far East during the war between China and Japan.

On 14 August just after the news of the disastrous sortie of the Port Arthur fleet had reached Europe, and on the very day that Kamimura defeated the Vladivostock squadron and sank the “Rurik” Admiral Rojdestvensky hoisted his flag on board his flagship, the “Knias Suvaroff,” at Cronstadt. But there was still much work to be done, and recent mishaps to some of the ships’ machinery to be made good, so the fleet did not sail till 25 August. Even then it was only for a few days’ training cruise in the Baltic.

On the 30th the fleet was back again at Cronstadt. Engineers and mechanics worked night and day, setting right defects in the ships, and on 11 September there was another start, this time for the port of Libau.

The fleet consisted of seven battleships, two armoured cruisers, and some protected cruisers and torpedo-boat destroyers. It was to be joined at Libau by a miscellaneous collection of craft some small cruisers and a number of merchantmen to be used as auxiliary cruisers, store, hospital, and repair ships.

Of the five new battleships in the Neva yards four had been got ready for sea. These were the “Borodino,” “Orel,” “Imperator Alexander III,” and “Knias Suvaroff.” They were powerful ships of 13,000 to 13,500 tons displacement, with engines of nominal 16,000 horse-power, and their official speed, which they never realized, was eighteen knots. Their heaviest armour was nine inches, and they carried two pair of 12-inch guns fore and aft in armoured turrets, with an auxiliary armament of twelve 6-inch quick-firers besides lighter guns. The three other battleships, the “Ossliabya,” “Navarin,” and “Sissoi Veliki” were older ships. The newest of them, the “Ossliabya,” launched in 1898, was on her way to the East when the war broke out, and had turned back. She was of 12,600 tons displacement, and claimed a speed of eighteen knots. She carried four 10-inch and eleven 6-inch guns. The other two ships were rated as having sixteen knots speed, but probably could not much exceed twelve. Their displacement and principal armament were:

Navarin, 10,000 tons, four 12-inch guns, eight 6-inch Q.F.
Sissoi Veliki, 8880 tons, four 12-inch guns, six 6-inch Q.F.

The two armoured cruisers were old ships:

Admiral Nakhimoff, 8500 tons, eight 8-inch, ten 6-inch guns.
Dimitri Donskoi, 7796 tons, six 6-inch, ten 4.7 inch guns.

Two of the protected cruisers, the “Aurora” and “Oleg,” were ships of about 7000 tons, carrying for their main armament the former eight and the latter twelve 6-inch guns. The other cruisers were four smaller ships, but some of them were comparatively new vessels with good speed useful as scouts.

Well manned with competent engineers and trained gunners the fleet would have been formidable enough, notwithstanding its weaker units. But here again it was the men that counted.

In the first week of October the fleet was taken to Revel. The Tsar arrived there on the 9th and inspected it next day. On the 11th it sailed. But it stopped again at Libau, until October 15, when at last it started for the East.

There had been wild rumours that the Japanese had sent emissaries to Europe, obtained some light craft, and fitted them as improvised torpedo-boats for the purpose of attacking the fleet on its voyage through the narrow waters that form the exit from the Baltic or during the crossing of the North Sea. The Russian police attached such importance to these canards that Rojdestvensky was warned to take precaution against attack until he was out on the open ocean. He passed the Danish straits with his ships partly cleared for action, fired on a Swedish merchantman and a German fishing-boat, and, avoiding the usual course from the Skaw to the Channel, ran by the Dogger Bank, and in a panic of false alarm opened fire on the steam trawling fleet, sinking a boat and killing and wounding several men. The result was an outburst of indignation in England, a partial mobilization of the British fleet, and some days of extreme tension, when it seemed likely that England would be drawn into the war, with the probability that France would then, under the terms of her alliance with Russia, have also to enter into the conflict. An agreement was arranged under which there was to be an international inquiry into the Dogger Bank incident, and Russia promised to make full reparation.

Meanwhile the Baltic fleet had run down Channel and across the Bay of Biscay, and southwards to Tangier, where it was concentrated on 3 November, watched by Lord Charles Beresford and the Channel Fleet, for the period of sharp tension was not over. At Tangier Rojdestvensky divided his force. He went southward along the African coast with the first division, and sent the second division under Admiral Foelkersham into the Mediterranean to go eastwards by the Suez Canal route. A third division had been formed at Libau to reinforce the fleet. It was composed of the armoured cruisers “Izumrud” and “Oleg,” three auxiliary cruisers (armed liners of the volunteer fleet), the “Terek,” “Rion,” and “Dnieper,” a flotilla of destroyers, and a number of storeships. It sailed from Libau on 7 November.

Rojdestvensky put into various African ports, mostly in the French colonies, and coaled his ships from his colliers. He was at Dakar, in West Africa, on 13 November; at Gaboon on the 26th; in Great Fish Bay on 6 December; and at Angra Pequena on the 11th. He passed Cape Town on 19 December. Rounding the Cape, he steered for Madagascar, and on 1 January, 1905, he anchored in the Bay of Ste. Marie, near Tamatave.

On that same New Year’s Day General Stoessel sent a flag of truce out to General Nogi, to inform him that he was anxious to arrange the immediate surrender of Port Arthur. The capitulation was signed next day. Thus at the very moment that Rojdestvensky and the main fighting force of the Baltic fleet established itself in the Indian Ocean, its nearest possible base in the Eastern seas passed into Japanese hands, and the problem the Russian admiral had to solve became more difficult.

Foelkersham, with the second division, rejoined Rojdestvensky’s division in the waters of Madagascar.

From Ste. Marie the fleet moved to the roadstead of Nossi-Be, at the north end of Madagascar, where it was joined in February by the reinforcements for Libau. Rojdestvensky had now under his command an armada of some forty ships of all kinds, including storeships and colliers. Now that Port Arthur had fallen he seemed in no hurry to proceed eastwards.

There had been an agitation in Russia for a further reinforcement of the fleet, and though the addition of a few more old and weak ships could add no real strength to Rojdestvensky’s armada, the Government yielded to the clamour, and on February 15 dispatched from Libau a fourth division, under the command of Admiral Nebogatoff. The flagship was an armoured turret-ship, the “Imperator Nikolai I,” of 9700 tons, dating from 1889, and classed in the Navy List as a battleship; with her went three small armoured “coast-defence battleships,” the “General Admiral Apraxin,” the “Admiral Ushakoff,” and the “Admiral Senyavin,” all of about 4000 tons, and the cruiser “Vladimir Monomach,” of a little over 5500 tons. Rojdestvensky seemed inclined to wait at Nossi-Be for Nebogatoff’s arrival, but the Japanese addressed strong protests to Paris against Madagascar being made a base of operations for a huge expedition against them; the French Government sent pressing remonstrances to their friends at St. Petersburg, and the admiral was ordered by cable to move on.

Sailing from Nossi-Be on 25 March, Rojdestvensky steered first for the Chagos Archipelago, and then for the Straits of Malacca. In the afternoon of 8 April the fleet passed Singapore, keeping well out to sea. The ships were burning soft coal, and an enormous cloud of black smoke trailed from the forest of funnels. Steamers ran out from the port to see the splendid sight of the great crowd of ships moving four abreast into the China Sea. Before the fleet sailed many critics of naval matters had prophesied that as Russia had no coaling stations the coaling difficulty would make it impossible for Rojdestvensky ever to carry his fleet so far. The successful entry into the Eastern seas was therefore regarded as something of an exploit. It was a revelation of the far-reaching power that would belong to better-equipped fleets in future wars.

While the Baltic fleet was on its way the Japanese Government, patriotically supported by the Press and the people, kept a strict silence on all naval matters. There were wild conjectures that under this veil of secrecy Togo had moved southwards, that he would fall on his enemy during the voyage across the Indian Ocean, or wait for him in the China Sea. But the Japanese admiral had no reason for embarking in such adventures. He knew that if he kept his fleet near the shores of Japan his enemy must come sooner or later within effective striking distance.

Rojdestvensky might attempt a raid on the coasts of Japan, or make a dash for Niu-chwang to seize that port, now the nearest base of supply of the Japanese field army. Far-seeing precautions were taken against this eventuality by accumulating enormous stores of supplies in the immediate rear of the army. But it was far more likely that the Russian admiral would try to reach Vladivostock, either with or without a battle. To do so he would have ultimately to pass through one of three channels into the Sea of Japan. He must choose between the Korean or Tsu-shima straits between Japan and Korea, or the Tsugaru channel between Nippon and Yozo, or the La Perouse Straits (known to the Japanese as the Soya channel) still further north. Whatever course he chose, the best position for the Japanese fleet was near the Tsu-shima straits, with the arsenal and dockyard of Shimonoseki close by on the Japanese shore. This the Russians themselves foresaw would be the most likely position for Togo to select.

He made Masampho Bay on the Korean side of the straits, and inside them (the “Douglas Bay” of our Admiralty Charts), the station for his fleet. Freed from all harassing blockading and cruising work, he devoted the period between the retirement and destruction of the Port Arthur fleet in the late summer of 1904, and the approach of the Russians in May, 1905, to repairing his ships very thoroughly, substituting new guns for those they had mounted at the beginning of the war, which had had their rifling worn down. Continual target practice and manoeuvre exercises kept every ship and every man up to the mark. Charts of the sea around Japan were ruled off into small numbered squares, so as to facilitate the reporting of the enemy’s position and movements from the moment he would be first sighted. An elaborate system of scouting by light cruisers was organized; signal stations were established on islands and headlands, and wireless installations erected at central and outlying points. If Rojdestvensky made for the Tsu-shima channels, Togo was there to meet him. If he went for either of the more northern straits, the Japanese admiral counted on having news of his movements in sufficient time to enable him to steam at full speed by a shorter route, and still interpose between the Baltic armada and Vladivostock.

After passing Singapore, on 25 March, there was another delay before the final advance of the Russian fleet. Rojdestvensky was anxious to give time to Nebogatoff to join him. This last reinforcement was coming by the Mediterranean route. The Russian commander-in-chief again strained French neutrality to the utmost. In April and May he passed week after week in the ports of French Cochin China, first at Kamranh and then at Van Fong or Honkohe. Here, early in May, he was at last joined by Nebogatoff’s squadron.

Again Japan protested against the use of French harbours by her enemy. The diplomatic tension became acute, and at one moment it seemed as if the Russian admiral were anxious to produce complications that would force France into the war. But at last, to the general relief, on 14 May he sailed from Honkohe Bay. He passed through the Bashi Strait between Formosa and the Philippines, and then steered for Shanghai. Here, on 25 May, the fighting portion of the fleet lay out at sea, while a crowd of auxiliary steamers, colliers, store-ships, and armed merchantmen were sent into the Wusung River, the mouth of the Yang-tse, and anchored there.

Their appearance without the fleet to which they belonged led to many conjectures. The Japanese at once grasped its real meaning. To quote the message cabled by the Tokio correspondent of “The Times":

“They read it as a plain intimation that Rojdestvensky intended to put his fate to the test at Tsu-shima, since, had it been his purpose to make for Tsugaru or Soya, he must have retained the services of these auxiliary ships during several days longer. It is apparent, indeed, that the Russian admiral here made his first cardinal mistake; he should have kept his non-combatant vessels out of sight as long as possible. Their absence from the arena would have been a mysterious element, whereas their apparition, especially as a segregated squadron in the Yang-tse River, furnished an unerring clue to expert observers.”

With the fleet the admiral retained only the hospital and repairing ships and those laden with naval stores for the Vladivostock dockyard. On the evening of the 25th the fleet stood out to sea heading for Tsu-shima. The weather was bad, with a probability that it would be worse. There was a rising wind and sea with cold rain that made a blinding haze, but the Russian staff officers were rather pleased than depressed at such unpleasant conditions. Thick weather would baffle the Japanese scouts and lookout stations, and rough seas would keep their torpedo flotillas at anchor.

Out ahead were the fast cruisers of the scouting division, the “Svietlana,” “Almaz,” and “Ural.” After these came the main body of the fleet in line ahead in two columns, the heavy armour-clads on the starboard (right side), the rest of the armoured ships and four cruisers in the port line. Abreast of the leading ships each flank was guarded by a cruiser and two torpedo destroyers. After the fighting lines and between their foaming wakes steamed four store-ships and two repairing ships. Last of all were the two steamers fitted as hospital ships.

With regard to the armour it must be kept in mind for purposes of comparison that the armoured belts of the newer ships, nine inches at the thickest part, were of Harveyized or Krupp steel, and could resist penetration better than the thicker belts of the older ships. It will be noticed that the Japanese carried fewer of the heavier types of guns, but had more 6-inch quick-firers than the Russians. This is a point to bear in mind in following the story of the battle. It was the steady rain of 100-pounder shells from the quick-firers that paralysed the fighting power of the Russian ships.

Far more important than the mere number of guns was the fact that the Japanese shot straighter and had a more effective projectile. There was such a marked difference between the effect of the Japanese shells at Tsu-shima and in the naval battle of 10 August, 1904, that Captain Semenoff, who was present at both battles, thought that in the interval the Japanese must have adopted a more powerful kind of high explosive for their bursting charges. This was not the case. Throughout the war the Japanese used for their bursting charges the famous Chimose powder. But perhaps between 10 August, 1904, and the following May they had improved their fuses, so as to detonate the charge more certainly and thoroughly.

The first five battleships on the Russian list were up-to-date modern vessels. The “Navarin” was fairly fit to lie in line with them. The rest were, to use a familiar expression, “a scratch lot,” coast-defence ships of small speed and old craft quite out of date. The decks of the larger ships were encumbered with an extra supply of coal, and this must have seriously diminished their margin of stability, with, as we shall see, disastrous results.

Admiral Togo could oppose to them only four modern battleships. But his two heavy cruisers, the “Nisshin” and “Kasuga” (the ships bought from Argentina on the eve of the war), might almost have been classed as smaller battleships, and certainly would have been given that rank a few years earlier. His fine fleet of armoured cruisers were at least a match for the Russian coast-defence ships and the older battleships.

Besides his armoured ships, Admiral Rojdestvensky had a squadron of six protected cruisers under Rear-Admiral Enquist, whose flag flew in the “Oleg,” a vessel of 6750 tons launched in 1903, and completed next year. She had for her principal armament twelve six-inch quick-firers. The other cruisers were the “Aurora,” of a little over 6000 tons, the “Svietlana,” of nearly 4000, the “Jemschug,” and “Izumrud,” of 3000 tons (these two armed with 47 quick-firing guns), and the “Almaz,” of 3285, a “scout” of good speed, carrying nothing heavier than 12-pounders. There was one auxiliary cruiser, the “Ural," a flotilla of nine destroyers, four transports, two repairing ships, and two hospital steamers.

Awaiting the battle in sight of his own shores, Togo had concentrated as auxiliary squadrons to his armoured fleet a considerable number of protected cruisers and a whole swarm of torpedo craft. At this stage of her naval development, and on the eve of a life-and-death struggle, Japan had no idea of “scrapping” even the older ships. Anything that could carry a few good guns, and brave men to fight them, might be useful, so even the old Chinese ironclad which had carried Ting’s flag at the Yalu battle, a ship dating from 1882, was under steam in one of the auxiliary squadrons, with four new 12-inch guns in her barbettes.

There were three of these auxiliary squadrons, commanded by Rear-Admiral Dewa, Rear-Admiral Uriu, and Rear-Admiral Kataoka, the last having as a subordinate commander Rear-Admiral Togo, a relative of the commander-in-chief. Dewa’s flag flew in the “Kasagi,” a fine cruiser of nearly 5000 tons, built in America, and he had with him her sister ships, the “Chitose” and “Taka-sago.” Uriu’s flag flew in the “Naniwa,” Togo’s ship when he was a captain in the Chinese war. Several of the fine cruisers which Ito had then led to victory were present, many of them remodelled, and all provided with new guns. Then there were a number of small protected cruisers, built in Japanese dockyards since the Chinese war, the heralds of the later time when the Japanese navy would all be home-built. Battleships, armoured cruisers, and protected cruisers were all swifter than the Russian ships. The fleet as a whole could manoeuvre at fully fifty per cent greater speed than the enemy, and this meant that it could choose its own position in battle.

The five torpedo squadrons included two or three torpedo-gunboats, twenty-one fine destroyers, and some eighty torpedo-boats. Togo’s plans had the simplicity which is a necessity in the rough game of war, where elaborate schemes are likely to go wrong. Some of the swift protected cruisers were scouting south of the straits. The fleet was anchored in a body in Masampho Bay, and in wireless communication with its scouts. The armoured fleet was to make the main attack on the head of the Russian advance. The protected cruiser squadrons were to sweep round the enemy’s flanks, fall upon his rear, and destroy his transports and auxiliaries. The torpedo flotilla was to be ready to dash in and complete the defeat of the enemy when his fleet was crippled by the fight with the heavy ships.

Most of the officers and men of the Russian fleet had the dogged courage that could carry them through even a hopeless fight, but they looked forward to the immediate future with forebodings of disaster. Even among the officers on board the great “Suvaroff” there was a feeling that the most that could be hoped for was that a few ships would struggle through to Vladivostock, if there was a battle, and that the best thing that could happen would be for the thick weather and rough seas to enable them to avoid anything like a close fight with the Japanese.

During the last day before the fight Rojdestvensky, who did not want to hurry forward, but was timing his advance so as to pass the straits in the middle of the next day, spent some time in manoeuvres. Captain Semenoff’s notes on the proceedings convey a useful lesson.

“Once again” (he says), “and for the last time, we were forcibly reminded of the old truism that a ‘fleet’ is created by long practice at sea in time of peace (cruising, not remaining in port), and that a collection of ships of various types hastily collected, which have only learned to sail together on the way to the theatre of operations, is no fleet, but a chance concourse of vessels."

Wireless telegraphy had come into use since the last naval war, and a fleet could now try to overhear the aerial messages of an enemy. In the Russian fleet the order had been given that no wireless messages were to be sent. In other words, the operators were to keep silence, and listen by watching their apparatus. In the morning of the 26th they thought they detected messages passing. In the evening these were more frequent “short messages of a word or two” was the interpretation that the experts in the signal cabins put upon the unintelligible flickerings of the indicator, and they suggested that they were mere negative code-signals from the Japanese scouts to their main fleet, repeating an indication that they were on the alert, and had seen nothing. This was mere guesswork, however, and Politovsky’s diary of the voyage shows that near the Cape, at Madagascar, and out in the midst of the Indian Ocean, Rojdestvensky’s wireless operators had thought that they detected Japanese aerial signalling, simply because the receivers gave indications they could not understand. Possibly these were merely the effect of electric storms on the apparatus.

Once or twice, on 26 May, they thought they could read fragments of sentences, such as “Last night nothing eleven lights not in line.” The short messages in the evening came at fixed times. This showed that prearranged signalling was really going on. It gave the impression that perhaps the fleet was being watched by unseen enemies.

As the sun went down the ships closed up, and half the officers were detailed for duty at the guns during the hours of darkness. The rest lay down fully dressed, ready to turn out at a moment’s notice. Many slept on the decks. No lights were shown. Semenoff’s description of that night of anxious expectation is worth quoting. He was on board the flagship, the “Suvaroff":

“The night came on dark. The mist seemed to grow denser, and through it but few stars could be seen. On the dark deck there prevailed a strained stillness, broken at times only by the sighs of the sleepers, the steps of an officer, or by an order given in an undertone. Near the guns the motionless figures of their crews seemed like dead, but all were wide awake, gazing keenly into the darkness. Was not that the dark shadow of a torpedo-boat? They listened attentively. Surely the throb of her engines and the noise of steam would betray an invisible foe. Stepping carefully, so as not to disturb the sleepers, I went round the bridges and decks, and then proceeded to the engine-room. For a moment the bright light blinded me. Here life and movement were visible on all sides. Men were nimbly running up and down the ladders; there was a tinkling of bells and a buzzing of voices. Orders were being transmitted loudly, but on looking more intently, the tension and anxiety that same peculiar frame of mind so noticeable on deck could also be observed."

At daybreak the Japanese scouts were in touch. As the day came in grey light over the misty broken sea, one of their scouts, the auxiliary cruiser “Siano Maru” (an armed passenger liner), sweeping round through the haze, almost collided with the hospital ships, and then dashed off and disappeared in the twilight. In former wars she would have had to run back to the fleet with her news. Now from her wireless apparatus the information was sent through the air to the receivers of the “Mikasa” in Masampho Bay, and in a few minutes Togo knew that “the enemy’s fleet was in square N of the chart, apparently steering for the eastern passage,” i.e. the strait between Tsu-shima Island and Japan.

In the straits and outside Masampho Bay a heavy sea was running, and though the wind blew strongly from the south-west, the weather was still hazy at sunrise, with patches of fog here and there. The main body of the Japanese fleet began to get up anchors and slip from its moorings.

At dawn Rojdestvensky had called in the “Almaz,” leaving the “Jemschug” and “Izumrud” steaming in advance of his two divisions. The six auxiliary ships had closed up, so that the leading ship, the transport “Añadir,” was abreast of the centre of the two lines. The “Almaz,” “Svietlana,” and “Ural,” steamed at the rear of this central line of transports, to protect them in that direction. The two hospital ships, flying the Red Cross flag and trusting to it for safety, were well astern. About 6 a.m. the huge “Ural” came running up between the lines, and semaphored to the flagship that four ships in line ahead were passing across the rear of the fleet, but could not be clearly made out in the mist.

They could only be some of Togo’s cruisers “shepherding” the fleet. Just before seven a fine cruiser was seen some five miles away on the starboard beam of the “Suvaroff.” She closed up to three miles, and was soon identified as the “Idzumo.” The big turret-guns were swung round to bear on her, but the Japanese cruiser, having seen what she wanted, increased her distance, but could be seen still keeping the fleet in sight. Togo’s report notes that at 7 a.m. the “Idzumo” sent by wireless the second definite report of the enemy, stating that he was twenty-five miles north-west of Ukushima, steering north-east. This would make the Russian position about thirty miles south of the Tsu-shima Islands, heading for the channel to the east of them. An hour later, about 8 a.m., some Japanese ships showed themselves the other side of the fleet. Semenoff notes how:

“The ‘Chin-yen,’ ‘Matsushima,’ ‘Itsukushima,’ and ‘Hashidate,’ appeared out of the mist, steaming on an almost parallel course. Ahead of them was a small, light cruiser, apparently the ‘Akitsushu,’ which hurriedly drew off to the north as soon as we were able to see her well (and equally she us), and the whole squadron began slowly to increase their distance and gradually to disappear from sight.”

This was Vice-Admiral Takeomi’s division, composed of three of the cruisers that had fought at the Yalu battle, eleven years before, and the “Chin-yen,” which had fought against them as the “Ting-yuen.” The ship that ran out ahead was the only quick or modern ship in the squadron, the small Clyde-built armoured cruiser “Chiyoda.” If Rojdestvensky had had any speedy cruisers available, he might have severely punished this slow squadron of old ships. Takeomi showed he knew his enemy by thus boldly approaching in the mist.

The Russians now realized that they had watchful enemies all round them, and rightly conjectured that they would find the enemy’s heavy ships in the straits ready for battle.

At 10 a.m. another cruiser squadron appeared on the port beam. This was Dewa’s division, made up of the American-built sister ships “Kasagi” and “Chitose,” of nearly 5000 tons, and two smaller protected cruisers, the “Niitaka” and “Otowa,” lately turned out by Japanese yards. They seemed to invite attack. At a signal from the admiral, the eight armour-clads of the starboard line steamed ahead of the port line, turned together to port, and then, turning again, formed line ahead, leading the whole fleet. At the same time the transports moved out to Starboard, guarded by the “Vladimir Monomach” (detached from the port division), the “Svietlana,” “Almaz,” and “Ural.”

Dewa’s cruisers held a parallel course with the Russian battleships for more than an hour, still apparently unsupported. The range was about five miles. At 11.20 the Russians opened fire on them. Semenoff says that it was the result of a mistake. “The ‘Orel’ fired an accidental shot (which she immediately reported by semaphore). Unable, with smokeless powder, to tell by which of the leading ships it had been fired, the fleet took it as a signal from the ‘Suvaroff’ and opened fire. Of the whole fleet the fire of the 3rd Squadron was the heaviest.”

This squadron was made up of Nebogatoff’s “old tubs.” Their heavy fire was probably the result of undisciplined excitement. The Japanese fired a few shots in reply, but no harm was done on either side. Rojdestvensky, who had kept the guns of his flagship silent, signalled “Ammunition not to be wasted,” and the firing ceased in five minutes, just as the Japanese turned slowly and increased their distance.

Orders were now signalled for the men of the Russian fleet to have their dinners, and the officers lunched in turn. The harmless skirmish encouraged some of the Russian crews with the idea that they had been in action and were none the worse, and had driven the Japanese away. At noon the fleet was due south of Tsu-shima, which towered like a mountain out of the sea a few miles ahead. The signal was hoisted, “Change course deg.E. for Vladivostock.” It was the anniversary of the Tsar’s coronation. Round the wardroom tables in his doomed fleet the officers stood up and drank with enthusiasm to the Emperor, the Empress, and “victory for Russia!”

The cheering had hardly died down when the bugles sounded the alarm. Every one hurried to his post. The enemy’s cruisers had again shown themselves, this time accompanied by a flotilla of destroyers, that came rolling through the rough sea with the waves foaming over their bows. On a signal from the admiral the four leading battleships turned to starboard and stood towards the enemy, then re-formed line ahead on a course parallel to the rest of the fleet, and slightly in advance of it. The Japanese on the threat of attack had turned also and went off at high speed to the northwards.

At 1.20 p.m. the admiral signalled to the four next ships of the fleet to join the line of battleships, forming astern of them. The Russian armada was now well into the wide eastern strait of Tsu-shima, and far ahead through the mist a crowd of ships could be dimly seen. The crisis was near at hand.

On receiving the first wireless message from the “Shinano Maru” at daybreak, Togo had weighed anchor and come out of Masampho Bay, with his main fleet steering east, so as to pass just to the north of Tsu-shima. He had with him his twelve armoured ships, and Rear-Admiral Uriu’s division of protected cruisers ("Naniwa,” “Takachico,” “Tsushima,” and “Akashi"), and a strong flotilla of destroyers. The smaller torpedo-boats, more than sixty in number, had been already sent to shelter in Miura Bay in the island of Tsu-shima, on account of the heavy seas.

During the morning Togo received a succession of wireless messages from his cruisers, and every mile of the enemy’s progress, every change in his formation was quickly signalled to him. Shortly after noon he was able to note that the Russians were entering the straits, steaming at about 12 knots on a north-easterly course; that they were formed in two columns in line ahead, the starboard column being the stronger, and that they had their transports astern between the columns. He decided to attack them on the weaker side at 2 p.m., when he calculated that they would be near Okinoshima, a small island in the middle of the eastern strait, about half-way between Tsu-shima and the south-western headlands of Nippon.

At half-past one he was joined by Dewa’s division of cruisers, and a few minutes later the divisions of Kataoka and the younger Togo rejoined. They had till now hung on the flanks of the Russian advance. At a quarter to two the enemy’s fleet came in sight away to the south-westward of Okinoshima. Flags fluttered up to the signal yards of the “Mikasa,” and the fleet read with enthusiasm Togo’s inspiring message:

“The rise or fall of the Empire depends upon to-day’s battle.
Let every man do his utmost.”

He had been about ten miles north of Okinoshima at noon (by which time he had steamed some 90 miles from Douglas Bay since 5 a.m.), thence he turned back slowly, going west and a little south, till he sighted the Russians. He crossed their line of advance diagonally at about 9500 yards distance. His light cruiser divisions had received orders to steam southwards and attack the Russian rear, and were already well on their way.

The heavy Japanese ships, circling on the left front of the enemy’s advance, put on speed, and were evidently intending to recross the bows of the battleship division, bringing a converging fire to bear on the leading ships the manoeuvre known as “crossing the T.” As the “Mikasa” led the Japanese line on its turning movement Rojdestvensky swung round to starboard and opened fire at 8500 yards. Togo waited till the distance had shortened to 6500, and then the guns of the “Mikasa” flashed out. At that moment only three other of his ships had made the turn. They also opened fire, and ship after ship as she came round into line joined in the cannonade. The Russians turned more slowly, and it was some time before the whole of their line was in action. Meanwhile a storm of fire had burst upon the leading ships of Rojdestvensky’s lines, the “Suvaroff” and the “Ossliabya” at the head of the starboard and port divisions being each made a target by several of the enemy.

The Japanese gunners were firing with a rapidity that surprised even those who had been in the action of 10 August, and with much more terrible effect. In Captain Semenoff’s narrative of the fate of the “Suvaroff” we have a remarkably detailed description of the execution done by the Japanese shells in this first stage of the battle. The opening shots went high. They flew over the “Suvaroff,” some of the big 12-inch projectiles turning over and over longitudinally in their flight. But at once Semenoff remarked that the enemy were using a more sensitive fuse than on 10 August. Every shell as it touched the water exploded in a geyser of smoke and spray. As the Japanese corrected the range shells began to explode on board or immediately over the deck, and again there was proof of the improved fusing. The slightest obstacle the guy of a funnel, the lift of a boat derrick was enough to burst the shell.

The first fair hit was on the side, abreast of the forward funnel. It sent up a “gigantic column of smoke, water, and flame.” Then several men were killed and wounded near the fore-bridge, and then there was a crash beside one of the quick-firers, and, the shell bursting as it penetrated the deck, set the ship on fire. In the battle of 10 August the flagship “Tsarevitch,” which had borne the brunt of the Japanese fire, had been hit just nineteen times, but now that the “Mikasa” and her consorts had got the range hit followed hit on the leading Russian ships. “It seemed impossible,” says Semenoff, “even to count the number of projectiles striking us. I had not only never witnessed such a fire before, but I had never imagined anything like it. Shells seemed to be pouring upon us incessantly one after another.... The steel plates and superstructure on the upper deck were torn to pieces, and the splinters caused many casualties. Iron ladders were crumpled up into rings, and guns were literally hurled from their mountings. Such havoc would never be caused by the simple impact of a shell, still less by that of its splinters. It could only be caused by the force of the explosion.... In addition to this there was the unusually high temperature and liquid flame of the explosion, which seemed to spread over everything. I actually watched a steel plate catch fire from a burst. Of course, the steel did not burn, but the paint on it did. Such almost incombustible materials as hammocks and rows of boxes, drenched with water, flared up in a moment. At times it was almost impossible to see anything with glasses, owing to everything being so distorted with the quivering, heated air. No! It was different to the 10th of August!”

In this storm of fire there was heavy loss of life. A shell-burst killed and wounded most of the signallers as they stood together at their station. An explosion against the opening of the conning-tower killed two officers beside Rojdestvensky, and slightly wounded the admiral. The fight had not lasted more than twenty minutes, and the “Suvaroff,” the “Alexander,” and “Borodino,” the three leading Russian ships, were all wrapped in black smoke from the fires lighted on board of them by the Chimose shells.

How was the Japanese line faring? I talked over his battle experiences with a Japanese officer not long after the day of Tsu-shima. He told me his impression was that at first the Russians shot fairly well, causing some loss of life at the more exposed stations on board the leading Japanese ships. “But,” he added, “after the first twenty minutes they seemed suddenly to go all to pieces, and their shooting became wild and almost harmless.” No wonder that under such a tornado of explosions, death and destruction, and with their ships ablaze, and range-finding and fire-controlling stations wrecked, the gunnery of the Russians broke down. One of the pithy sayings of the American Admiral Farragut was: “The best protection against the enemy’s fire is the steady fire of your own guns.” Tsu-shima gave startling proof of it.

Semenoff hoped that the Japanese were also suffering from the stress of battle. From the fore-bridge of the “Suvaroff” he scanned their line with his glasses. In the sea-fights of other wars both fleets were wrapped in a dense fog of powder smoke, but now with the new powder there was no smoke except that of bursting shells and burning material. So he could distinguish everything plainly.

“The enemy had finished turning. His twelve ships were in perfect order at close intervals, steaming parallel to us, but gradually forging ahead. No disorder was noticeable. It seemed to me that with my Zeiss glasses (the distance was a little more than two miles) I could distinguish the mantlets of hammocks on the bridges and the groups of men. But with us? I looked round. What havoc! Burning bridges, smouldering debris on the decks, piles of dead bodies. Signalling and judging distance stations, gun-directing positions, all were destroyed. And astern of us the ‘Alexander’ and the ‘Borodino’ were also wrapped in smoke.”

Men were killed in the turrets by shell splinters flying through the narrow gun openings. The fire hose was repeatedly cut to ribbons, and the men fighting the fire killed. The injuries caused by near explosions were terrible. Men were literally blown to atoms, or limbs were torn off. Eleven wooden boats piled up on the spar-deck were a mass of roaring flame. Gun after gun was disabled. And all the while a glance at the Japanese fleet showed them steaming and firing as if at peace manoeuvres, without even one of their numerous flagstaffs and signal yards shot away. The battle had not lasted an hour, and it was already evident that it could have only one ending.

In the smoke and confusion Semenoff could only see what was happening in the front of the line, but the other ships were exposed to a heavy fire, and had less resisting power. The “Ossliabya,” the fifth of the battleships, and Foelkersham’s flagship during the voyage, was the first to succumb. The firing had hardly begun when a 12-inch projectile penetrated her forward above the water-line. In fine weather the effect would not have been very serious, but the heavy sea flooded her two bow compartments. Then another shell started an armour plate on the water-line amidships, flooded the bunkers on the port side, and gave her a heavy list in that direction. Unsuccessful attempts were made to right her by opening valves and admitting water on the other side. Then a shell burst in the fore-turret and put all the crews of the two guns out of action. She was now settling down by the head and heeling over more and more to port. Suddenly the sea reached her lower gun-ports and poured into her. Then, like the unfortunate “Victoria,” she “turned turtle,” and sank. It was at 2.25 that she disappeared thus suddenly, the first battleship ever sunk by gun-fire. Three of the destroyers picked up some of the crew who had jumped overboard.

As she sank, the three other ships of her division ("Sissoi,” “Navarin,” and “Nakhimoff"), under the stress of the Japanese fire, sheered for a while out of the line with their upper works ablaze in several places. The four stately battleships at the head of the line had then to face the concentrated attack of the enemy. The “Orel” was suffering like her consorts. Though her armour was nowhere penetrated, the shells burst their way into her unarmoured superstructure, and reduced everything on her upper decks to tangled wreckage. Five minutes after the “Ossliabya” sank a shell wrecked the after-turret of the “Suvaroff,” tearing the after-bridge to pieces with the flying fragments. Her steering gear was temporarily disabled, and she drifted from her station at the head of the line. One by one in quick succession the heavy steel masts and two huge funnels crashed down. The upper deck was impassable from end to end. In the midst of the confused wreckage handfuls of brave men fought the fires with buckets as they broke out now here now there. Most of the guns were silent. “She no longer looked like a ship,” says a Japanese account.

When the “Suvaroff” swerved out of the line at a few minutes before three o’clock her steering gear had been disabled, and probably for a few minutes before the crisis she had not been answering her helm. The course of the fleet, while she led it during the fight with the Japanese armoured fleet, had been due east, but, as she lost her direction, it turned slightly to the south. When she drifted away from the line the “Imperator Alexander III” became the leading ship. Captain Buchvostoff, who commanded her, led the fleet in a circle round the disabled “Suvaroff,” first running southwards, increasing the distance from the enemy, and then sweeping round as if trying to break through to the northward. Togo followed on a parallel course until the Russian fleet seemed to be going due south, then he signalled an order, and, as accurately as if they were performing a practice evolution at manoeuvres, his twelve ships turned simultaneously through half a circle, thus reversing the direction and changing the order of the fleet so that the last ship in the line became the leader. As the Russians swept round to the north Togo was thus ready to cross their bows, and the “Alexander” received the concentrated fire of several ships.

She turned eastwards, followed by her consorts in a straggling line, and then drifted out of her place at the head of it, leaking badly, and with her upper works ablaze. On a smoother sea the “Tsarevitch” had been hit once below the armour belt on 10 August.

The “Borodino” now had the dangerous post at the head of the line. It steamed eastwards for nearly an hour, followed by Togo on a parallel course, the Japanese fire only slackening when fog and smoke obscured its targets, and the fire of the Russians dwindling minute by minute, as gun position after position became untenable or guns were disabled and dismounted.

Long before this the divisions of protected cruisers under Admiral Dewa and his colleagues had worked round to the southward of the Russians. Dewa and Uriu, with their swift ships, were in action by a quarter to three. The slower ships of Takeomi and the younger Togo’s squadrons, united under the command of Rear-Admiral Kataoka, came into the fight a little later. In the heavy sea that was running the light cruisers afforded a less steady platform for the guns than the big armoured ships, and their fire was not so terribly destructive. But it was effective enough, and that of the Russian rear ships was hopelessly bad. The Japanese cruisers drove the transports and their escort, in a huddled crowd, north-eastwards towards the main Russian fleet. The great wall sides of the German liner, now the auxiliary cruiser “Ural,” were riddled, and the giant began to settle down in the water. The cruiser “Svietlana,” hit badly in the forepart, was dangerously down by the head. The transports “Kamschatka” and “Irtish” were both set on fire, and the latter was also pierced along the water-line. She sank at four o’clock. The “Oleg” and “Aurora” were both badly damaged. But the Japanese unarmoured cruisers did not escape scathless. Dewa’s fine cruiser, the “Kasagi,” was badly hit below the waterline, and was in such danger of sinking that he handed the command of his squadron over to Uriu and, escorted by the “Chitose,” steamed out of the fight, steering for the Japanese coast. Togo’s old ship, the famous “Naniwa Kan,” was also hit below the water-line, and had to cease firing and devote all the energy of the crew to saving the ship.

At five o’clock the Russian fleet, battleships, cruisers, and transports, were huddled together in a confused crowd, attacked from the eastward by Togo and Kamimura with the heavy squadrons, while from the south the line of light cruisers under Uriu and Kataoka poured a cross-fire into them. Away to the westward lay the disabled and burning “Suvaroff” with the Russian naval flag, the blue cross of St. Andrew on a white ground, still flying from a flagstaff in the smoke. The admiral had been twice wounded, the second blow slightly fracturing his skull, and making it difficult for him to speak. Her captain, Ignazius, had been simply blown to pieces by a Japanese shell while, after being already twice wounded, he was directing a desperate effort to master the conflagration on board. The decks were strewn with dead, the mess-deck full of helpless wounded men. Most of the guns were out of action, but a 6-inch quick-firer and a few lighter guns were kept in action, and drove off the first attempt of the Japanese destroyers to dash in and sink her. Still there was no thought of surrender. The few survivors of her crew fought with dogged Russian courage to the last. A torpedo destroyer, the “Buiny,” taking terrible risks, came up to her, hung on for a few moments to her shattered side, and succeeded in getting off the wounded admiral and a few officers and men. Rojdestvensky sent a last message to Nebogatoff, telling him to take over the command and try to get through with some part of the fleet to Vladivostock.

About half-past five some of the Russian ships struggled out of the press, led by the burning “Borodino,” with the “Orel” next to her. In the straggling line battleships and cruisers, armoured and unarmoured, were mingled together. The “Alexander” had succeeded in stopping some of her leaks and had rejoined the line. She was near the end of it. The “Ural,” deserted by her crew, was drifting, till one of Togo’s battleships sank her with a few shots.

The Russians were now steering northwards, and for the moment there was no large ship in front of them. The Japanese could have easily headed them off, but Togo now regarded them as a huntsman regards a herd of deer that he is driving before him. The Japanese squadron steamed after them at reduced speed, just keeping at convenient range, the heavy ships on their right, the light squadrons behind them. At first the armoured ships concentrated their fire on the “Alexander.” Shells were bursting all over her, and throwing up geysers of water about her bows. Then the merciless fire was turned on the “Borodino.” A few minutes after seven the “Alexander” was seen to capsize and disappear. A quarter of an hour later there was an explosion on board of the “Borodino.” Next moment a patch of foam on the waves showed where she had been. About the same time a division of torpedo-boats came upon the unfortunate “Suvaroff,” torpedoed her, and saved some of the crew, who were found floating on the water after she sank.

As the sun went down, and the twilight darkened into night, the firing died away. What was left of the Russian fleet was steaming slowly into the Sea of Japan, some of the ships isolated, others holding together in improvised divisions, all bearing terrible marks of the fight, some of them still on fire, others leaking badly.

Togo had been hit during the fight, but it was only a slight bruise. The losses of his fleet had been trifling. Of the armoured ships the only one that had been badly hit was the “Asama.” She was struck by three shells aft near the water-line, her rudder was disabled, and she was leaking badly. She left the fighting-line for a while, but was able temporarily to repair damages, and rejoined later in the day.

At sunset Togo ordered his squadrons to steam north-eastward during the night, and unite at sunrise at a point south of Matsu-shima or Ullondo Island. They were to keep away from the Russian ships in the darkness. The victorious admiral was about to let loose his torpedo flotillas, to complete the destruction of the flying enemy, and meant that his torpedo officers should have no anxiety about hitting friends in the dark.

He had with the main fleet twenty-one destroyers organized in five squadrons. In the bays of Tsu-shima nearly eighty torpedo-boats had been sheltering all day. The destroyers had been directed to pursue and attack the beaten enemy during the night. No orders had been given to the torpedo-boats. The sea was going down, but it was still rough, and Togo had doubts about risking the smaller craft. But without orders, sixteen groups of four boats each, sixty-four in all, got up steam and sallied out into the darkness.

It was an awful night for the Russians. After dark they had extinguished the fires lighted by the enemy’s shells, and in some cases got collision mats over the leaks. The dead were committed to the sea, the wounded collected and cared for. For more than an hour they were allowed to hold their course uninterrupted, and the lights of the Japanese fleet were disappearing far astern. After all, Vladivostock might be reached. But just after eight o’clock the throb of engines, the hurtling beat of propellers, came sounding through the night from all sides. On the sea black, low objects were rushing along with foaming phosphorescent wakes trailing behind them. Bugles ran out the alarm; crews rushed to quarters; searchlights blazed out, and the small quick-firers that were still serviceable mingled their sharp ringing reports with the crackle of machine-gun fire. The sea seemed to be swarming with torpedo craft. They appeared and disappeared in the beams of the searchlights, and the surface of the water was marked with the long white ripples raised by the rush of discharged torpedoes. Loud explosions, now here now there, told that some of them had found their target, though in the confusion and the rough sea there were more misses than hits. The “Sissoi Veliki,” which had been on fire in the action, and pierced below the waterline, had a new and more serious leak torn open in her stern, the rudder was damaged and two propeller blades torn off. But she floated till next day. Several ships received minor injuries, but kept afloat with one or more compartments flooded. But the effect of the attack was to disperse the fugitive Russians in all directions.

When it began Nebogatoff was at the head of a line of ships in the old battleship “Imperator Nikolai I.” In the confusion only three of the line kept up with him, the much-battered “Orel” and the “Admiral Apraxin” and “Admiral Senyavin.” The “Orel” had no searchlight left intact. The “Nikolai” and the two others did not switch on their searchlights, and kept all other lights shaded. The remarkable result was that as they moved northwards through the darkness they were never attacked, though more than once between 8 p.m. and midnight they saw the enemy’s torpedo craft rushing past them. The ships with searchlights drew all the attacks.

Admiral Enquist, with his flag in the “Oleg,” and followed by the “Aurora” and “Jemschug,” had run in amongst the remains of the transport flotilla at the first alarm, narrowly escaping collision with them. Then he turned south, in the hope of shaking the enemy off, but came upon another flotilla arriving from that direction. He had some narrow escapes. The look-outs of the “Oleg” counted seventeen torpedoes that just missed the ship. Having got away, he tried more than once to turn back to the northward, but each time he ran in among hostile torpedo-boats, and saw that beyond them were ships with searchlights working and guns in action, so he steered again south. At last he gave up the attempt and headed for the Tsu-shima Straits. He got safely through them, because the main Japanese fleet was miles away, steaming steadily north, with tired men sleeping by the guns. Next day he was in the open sea with no enemy in sight, and set his course for Shanghai.

At midnight the defeated Russians thought they had at last shaken off the pursuit of the sea-wolves. But at 2 a.m. the attacks began again. The “Navarin” and the “Admiral Nakhimoff,” among the rearmost ships, were attacked by Commander Suzuki’s squadron of destroyers. The “Navarin” was sunk after being hit by two torpedoes. The “Nakhimoff” was severely damaged. About the same time the “Vladimir Monomach” and the “Dimitri Donskoi” were torpedoed, but managed to keep afloat. The attacking force had a good many casualties. Torpedo-boats Nos. 35 and 65 were sunk by the Russian fire. Their crews were rescued by their consorts. Four destroyers (the “Harusami,” “Akatsuki,” “Izazuchi,” and “Yugiri”) and two torpedo-boats (Nos. 31 and 68) were so seriously damaged by hostile fire, or by collision in the darkness, that they were put out of action. As the dawn began to whiten the eastern sky the torpedo flotillas drew off.

At sunrise the Russian fleet was scattered far over the Sea of Japan. Some of the ships for a while steamed alone with neither consort nor enemy in sight within the circle of the horizon. But new dangers came with the day. Togo’s fleet was at hand, flinging out a wide net of which the meshes were squadrons and detached cruisers to sweep the sea northwards, and gather up the remnants of the defeated enemy. The weather was clearing up, and it was a fine, bright day just the day for the work the Japanese had to do.

Steaming steadily through the night, Togo, with the main body of the Japanese fleet, had passed to eastward of the scattered Russians, and was about twenty miles south of Ullondo. The distances covered in this battle of Tsu-shima were beyond any that had ever been known in naval war. The running fight during the night had passed over more than 150 miles of sea. At 5.20 a.m. the admiral on board the “Mikasa” received a wireless message from Kataoka’s cruisers, reporting that they were sixty miles away to the southward of him, and that they could see several columns of black smoke on the horizon to the eastward. Shortly after Kataoka sent another wireless message “Four of the enemy’s battleships and two cruisers are in sight, steering north-west.” Togo at once signalled to his own ships to head off this detachment of the enemy, and sent wireless orders to Kataoka and Uriu to close in on their rear. It was probably the main fighting division left to the Russians, and would soon be surrounded by an overwhelming Japanese force.

The ships sighted by the cruisers were those that Admiral Nebogatoff had led through the night, and was trying to take to Vladivostock. He had with him the battleships “Nikolai I” and “Orel,” the coast-defence armour-clads “Admiral Apraxin” and “Admiral Senyavin,” and the cruisers “Izumrud” and “Svietlana.” This last ship was leaking badly and down by the bows. She could not keep up with the others, and at daylight fell far astern and lost sight of them. At 7 a.m. Uriu’s division in chase of Nebogatoff came up with her, and the cruisers “Niitaka” and “Otowa” were detached to capture her. The Russian captain, Schein, had held a council with his officers. He had only a hundred shells left in the magazines, and the “Svietlana” was being kept afloat by her steam pumps. Under the regulations he could have honourably surrendered to a superior force, but it was unanimously resolved to fight to the last shot, and then sink with colours flying. The fight lasted an hour. There were heavy losses. The Japanese fire riddled the ship, and first the starboard, then the port engine was disabled. As the hundredth shot rang out from the “Svietlana’s” guns, Captain Schein stopped the pumps and opened the sea-cocks, and the ship settled down rapidly in the water. The Japanese cruisers went off to join the fleet as the “Svietlana” disappeared, but an armed Japanese liner, the “America Maru,” stood by and picked up about a hundred men.

At 10.30 a.m. Nebogatoff was completely surrounded eighteen miles south of the island of Takeshima. The “Izumrud” had used her superior speed to get away to the south-west. The four battered ships that remained with him saw more than twenty enemies appear from all points of the compass, including Togo’s battleships and heavy armoured cruisers, all as fit for work as when the first fighting began. They opened fire at long range with their heavy guns.

The situation was desperate. Nebogatoff consulted his officers, and all those on board the “Nikolai” agreed that he must surrender. In a memorandum he subsequently wrote he pointed out that, though some ammunition was left, the Japanese were using their superior speed to keep a distance at which he could not reply effectively to their overwhelming fire; neither the shore nor other ships were within reach; most of the boats had been shattered, the rest could not be lowered; even the life-belts had been burned or used to improvise defences in the ships; continued resistance or the act of sinking the ships would only mean the useless sacrifice of some 2000 men. After the ships had been only a short time in action, during which time they received further severe damage, he hauled down his colours. Togo allowed the Russian officers to retain their swords, as a proof of his opinion that they had acted as befitted brave and honourable men.

While the brief action with Nebogatoff’s squadron was in progress, the third of the Russian coast-defence battleships, the “Admiral Ushakoff,” hove in sight. She turned off to the westward pursued by the armoured cruisers “Iwate” and “Yakumo.” They soon overhauled her, and signalled a summons to surrender, adding that Nebogatoff had already done so. The “Ushakoff” replied with her 9-inch guns. The cruisers sank her in an hour, and then rescued some three-fourths of her crew of 400 men.

The “Sissoi Veliki,” badly injured in the action of the day before, and torpedoed during the night, was in a sinking condition when the sun rose on 28 May. No ships were in sight, all the boats had been destroyed, and while the pumps were still kept going the crew was set to work to construct rafts. While this was being done with very scanty materials, the “Vladimir Monomach” hove in sight, accompanied by the destroyer “Iromki.” In reply to a signal for help, the “Monomach” answered that she could do nothing, as she was herself expecting to sink soon. The “Iromki” offered to take a few men, but the captain of the “Sissoi” generously refused to deprive the “Monomach” of her help. The two ships then steamed away. An hour later the “Sissoi” was just settling down in the water, when three Japanese armed merchant steamers appeared and took off her crew. At half-past ten the “Sissoi” heeled over to starboard and sank.

Soon after she lost sight of the “Sissoi,” the “Monomach” came upon the armoured cruiser “Admiral Nakhimoff,” which also signalled that she was in a sinking condition. Presently there was smoke on the horizon, and then the armed steamer “Sadu Maru” and the Japanese destroyer “Shiranui” appeared. In such conditions the enemy proved a friend. The crews of the two unfortunate ships were transferred to the “Sadu,” which stood by till, about ten o’clock, both the “Nakhimoff” and the “Monomach” went to the bottom.

The “Navarin” was comparatively little injured in the battle, but was torpedoed during the night. Leaking badly, she struggled northward at a slow rate till two in the afternoon of the 28th, when she was found and attacked by a Japanese destroyer flotilla. She still made a fight with her lighter guns, and was hit by two torpedoes. The crew were all at their battle stations when she began suddenly to sink. The order, “All hands on deck,” came too late, and very few lives were saved.

The armoured cruiser “Dimitri Donskoi,” last survivor of Rojdestvensky’s fourteen battleships and armoured cruisers, escaped the torpedo attacks in the night, and eluded pursuit all through the morning of the 28th. At 4 p.m., when she was near the island of Ullondo, she sighted some Japanese ships in the distance, Uriu’s cruiser division and some destroyers. They closed slowly on her, and it was not till six o’clock that she was attacked by the cruisers “Niitaka” and “Otowa,” and three destroyers. The “Donskoi” made a gallant fight for two hours, beating off the torpedo-boats, losing sixty killed and twice as many wounded, and finally disengaging herself in the darkness about eight o’clock. The water-line armour was intact, but one boiler was penetrated and ammunition was nearly exhausted. In the night, the captain, who was himself slightly wounded, decided to land his men on Ullondo Island and sink the ship. All the boats had been shattered and the cutter that was left had to be hastily repaired before it could be lowered. With the one boat the disembarkation went on slowly during the night. At dawn the enemy’s torpedo-boats were sighted. The rest of the crew jumped overboard and swam ashore, leaving a few men with the second-in-command on the ship. They ran the “Donskoi” out into a hundred fathoms of water, opened the sea-cocks, embarked in their one boat, and saw their ship go down as they pulled ashore. The Japanese sent a couple of steamers to take the crew off the island.

The torpedo destroyer that conveyed the wounded Admiral Rojdestvensky, Captain Semenoff, and a few other officers and men away from the fight was found and captured by a Japanese flotilla during the afternoon of the 28th.

The cruiser “Izumrud,” one of the few fast ships the Russians had with them, escaped the torpedo attacks in the night. In the morning she was chased by several of the enemy’s cruisers. She kept up a good speed, and one by one they abandoned the chase, the “Chitose” being the last to give it up. By 2 p.m. all pursuit was left behind, and she reduced speed. In the battle and the chase she had burned so much coal that she had not enough left to make for Vladivostock, so she steered for Vladimir Bay, in the Russian Coast Province of Siberia, north of Korea. She was off the entrance of the Bay at midnight with only ten tons of coal left in her bunkers. Unfortunately, in trying to go in in the dark on the flood-tide she drove hard on a reef. Next day unsuccessful efforts were made to get his ship off and in the afternoon, as her captain expected the enemy’s ships might arrive to secure the “Izumrud” and refloat her, he landed his crew on Russian ground, destroyed his guns one by one with blasting charges, and then blew up the ship.

The destroyer “Groki” was chased and captured by the Japanese destroyer “Shiranui” and a torpedo-boat, and after a sharp fight close to Tsu-shima Island surrendered at 11.30 a.m. She was so injured that she sank within an hour of her capture. Admiral Enquist, with the three protected cruisers “Oleg,” “Aurora,” and “Jemschug,” had, after turning south for the last time during the night of torpedo attacks, got through the Tsu-shima Straits in the darkness. Next day no enemy was in sight, and he steered for Shanghai under easy steam, repairing damages on the way. He intended to lie off the port, bring a couple of colliers out of the Woosung River, fill his bunkers at sea, and try to reach Vladivostock by the Pacific and the La Perouse Straits. On the morning of the 29th he was overtaken by the repairing ship and tug “Svir,” and from her learned the full extent of the disaster. Fearing that if he approached Shanghai he would be driven into the port and blockaded by the enemy, he changed his course for Manila, where he arrived on 3 June. The “Svir,” after communicating with him, had gone on to the Woosung River. She was joined on her way there by the transport “Añadir,” which had got successfully south through the Tsu-shima Straits. The transport “Korea,” which had escaped in the same way, and had a cargo of coal, did not go to Woosung, but crossed the Indian Ocean and appeared unexpectedly in the French port of Diego Suarez in Madagascar. Of the nine torpedo destroyers with the Russian fleet seven were hunted down and sunk or taken by the Japanese.

The only ships of all the Russian armada that finally reached Vladivostock were the two destroyers “Brawy” and “Gresny,” and the small swift cruiser “Almaz.” She had been with Enquist’s cruiser division in the first hours of the night after the battle. During the torpedo attacks she had become separated from her consorts. Escaping from the destroyers, she headed at full speed first towards the coast of Japan, then northward. At sunrise on the 28th she was well on her way and many miles north-east of Togo’s fleet. Next day she reached Vladivostock with 160 tons of coal still on board.

A hundred years after Trafalgar Togo had won a victory as complete and as decisive. The Russian power had been swept from the Eastern Seas, and the grey-haired admiral who had secured this triumph for his native land “Father Togo,” as the Japanese affectionately call him had lived through the whole evolution of the Imperial Navy, had shared in its first successes, and for years had been training it for the great struggle that was to decide who was to be master in the seas of the Far East.

The war was followed by an immediate expansion of the Japanese Navy. Numbers of captured Russian ships were repaired, re-armed, and placed in the Navy List under Japanese names. No longer dependent on foreign builders, the Japanese yards were kept busy turning out yet a new navy of every class, from the battleship to the torpedo-boat. The laying down of the gigantic “Aki” and “Satsuma,” battleships of over 20,000 tons, opened a new period in naval construction, and nations began to count their sea-power by the number of “Dreadnoughts” afloat or on the slips.

The great maritime powers are now engaged in a race of construction, and the next naval war will see forces in action far surpassing even the armadas that met at Tsu-shima. And maritime war, hitherto confined to the surface of the sea, will have strange auxiliaries in the submarine stealing beneath it, and the airship and aeroplane scouting in the upper air. But still, whatever new appliances, whatever means of mutual destruction science supplies, the lesson taught by the story of all naval war will remain true. Victory will depend not on elaborate mechanical structures and appliances, but on the men, and will be the reward of long training, iron discipline, calm, enduring courage, and the leadership that can inspire confidence, command self-sacrificing obedience, divine an enemy’s plans, and decide swiftly and resolutely on the way in which they are to be frustrated.