Fate had apparently been kind to us, as up to the present we had
not been discovered. The sending of telegrams in the fleet was
forbidden, so we were able to intercept Japanese messages, and our
torpedo officers made every effort to fix the direction from which
they emanated. On the morning of 26th May and later on the same day,
a conversation between two installations had begun, or perhaps more
correctly speaking it was the reports of one ahead of and nearer to us
to which the other, more distant and on the port side, was replying.
The messages were not in cypher, and although our telegraphists were
unaccustomed to the strange alphabet, and notwithstanding the gaps in
the sentences by the time we received them, it was still possible to
pick out separate words, and even sentences. “Last night” ... “nothing”
... “eleven lights ... but not in line” ... “bright light ... the same
star ...” etc.
In all probability this was a powerful coast station on the Goto
Islands, reporting to some one a long way off what had been seen in the
Straits.
Towards evening we took in a conversation between other installations,
which at night had increased to seven. The messages were in cypher, but
by their brevity and uniformity and by the fact that they commenced
and ceased at fixed times, we were able to calculate with tolerable
accuracy that these were not reports, but merely messages exchanged
between the scouts. It was clear that we had not been discovered.
At sunset the fleet closed up, and in expectation of torpedo attacks
half the officers and crew were detailed for duty at the guns, the
remainder sleeping by their posts, without undressing, ready to jump up
on the first sound of the alarm.
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 must 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 was visible on all
sides. Men were nimbly running up and down the ladders; there was a
tinkling of bells and 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. And then it suddenly occurred to me that all this--the tall,
somewhat bent figure of the Admiral on the side of the bridge, the
wrinkled face of the man at the wheel stooping over the compass, the
guns’ crews chilled to the bone at their posts, these men talking
loudly and running about, the giant connecting-rods whose steel
glittered dimly in the dark, and the mighty hissing of steam in the
cylinders--was one and the same thing.
I suddenly remembered the old sea legend of the ship’s spirit dwelling
in every rivet, nail, and screw, which at the fated moment takes
possession of the whole ship with her crew, and turns both crew and
surroundings into one indivisible supernatural being. Of a sudden it
seemed that this spirit was looking right into my heart, which beat
with unusual rapidity, and for a moment it seemed as if I had become
this being to whom the name _Suvoroff_--so sacred to all of us--was no
more than a mere rivet!
It was a flash of madness, which quickly passed, leaving behind it only
a sensation akin to daring and grim determination.
Alongside of me, the chief engineer, Captain Bernander, my old shipmate
and friend, was angrily explaining something to his assistant. I did
not hear what he said, nor could I understand why he was so excited
when everything had been finally settled. Whether for better or for
worse it was impossible to alter things now.
“All in good time, my dear fellow,” said I, taking his arm. “Let us go
and drink some tea--my throat is parched.”
Turning his kind grey eyes on me in astonishment, and without replying,
he allowed me to lead him away.
We went up to the ward-room, which at this hour was usually crowded and
noisy. It was empty. Two or three officers, after being relieved, as
well as some from the nearest light gun batteries, were sound asleep on
the sofas, awaiting the alarm, or for their turn to go on watch. The
messman, however, who was always ready for any emergency, brought us
tea. Again on all sides this dreadful, painful stillness.
“The chief thing is, not to be in too great a hurry.--One straight shot
is better than two bad ones.--Remember that we have not a single spare
shell, and, till we reach Vladivostok, none are to be got,” came in
a somewhat inaudible voice from behind the closed door of the stern
cabin. Evidently a sub-lieutenant, Fomin by name, was holding forth.
“Preaching!” angrily said Bernander, helping himself to some hot tea.
I saw that he was very annoyed about something and wished to unburden
himself.
“Well! tell me all about it! What is the matter?”
“It is all this cursed German coal,” he said, and lowering his voice
and looking rounds--“You know, of course, that we had a fire in the
bunkers?”
“Yes! I know; but surely, thank goodness, they put it out? Do you mean
there’s another?”
“No! Not quite! Listen! There’s a vast difference between
rapid-burning and slow-burning coal. Much more is consumed. Compared to
good coal, 20 to 30 per cent.----”
“Shut up!” I interrupted. “Why, what’s up with you? Are you afraid
you’ll run out? Up till now, surely, you have been burning our surplus!
You ought to have in hand the full normal quantity.”
“Full or not, we shall have less than 1000 tons by morning.”
“But it’s 600 miles to Vladivostok! Where do you want to go?”
“Have you forgotten the _Cesarevitch_? On 10th August, when her funnels
were shot away, she burnt 480 tons in the twenty-four hours! Well--we
are burning more!”
“Pooh! your nerves are unstrung,” I exclaimed. “All your bunkers
haven’t caught fire!”
“You don’t understand!” angrily exclaimed Bernander, and, quickly
finishing his tea, he seized his cap and went out.
I remained in the ward-room, settled myself down in an easy-chair, and,
making myself comfortable, dozed. I heard indistinctly the watch being
relieved at midnight. Some of the officers coming off duty came in to
get some tea, and in low voices abused the infernal rawness of the
night air. Others stretched themselves on sofas, sighing with relief at
being so comfortable, and said: “We’ll sleep till four! it’s a holiday
at home!”
I also went to sleep.
About 3 A.M. I awoke, and again went round the ship and up on deck.
The scene was just the same as in the evening, but it was lighter. In
the last quarter the moon had risen well up, and against the mist,
dimly whitened by its silver rays, the ship’s funnels, masts, and
rigging were sharply outlined. The breeze, freshening, blew cold,
making me pull the cape of my coat more over my head.
Going on to the fore-bridge, I found the Admiral sleeping in a chair.
The Commander, wearing soft slippers, was pacing rapidly but quietly up
and down the bridge.
“What are you doing wandering about?” he asked me.
“O, just having a look round. Gone to sleep?” and I nodded towards the
Admiral.
“Only just. I persuaded him to. Why shouldn’t he? We can take it
that the night has passed all right. Up to the present we haven’t
been discovered. They are still calling each other up, and now, even
though they do find us, it’s late. It will be daybreak in a couple of
hours. Even if their torpedo-boats are near us, they won’t be able to
collect. Besides, how can they find us in weather like this? Look!
you can’t even see the rear of the fleet! It’s 200,000 to 1 against
any one running into us accidentally! But I don’t like the breeze.
It’s freshening. Let’s hope it won’t break up the mist. If it does
to-morrow will mean the end of the _Suvoroff_. But it’s suddenly coming
on thicker,” he said eagerly. “Why, we have been going for twenty-four
hours without being seen. If it is the same to-morrow, we’ll give
them the slip! They are on the move, and keep calling each other up,
and they haven’t yet come on us! They’ll have to wait for our second
coming, out of Vladivostok! That’ll be a different tale. My! what a
stew they must be in! What fun!” and putting his handkerchief in his
mouth so as not to disturb the Admiral, he laughed so heartily, and
seemed so free from care, that I envied him.
It should be stated that V. V. Ignatzius, in the first place, was one
of those who was firmly convinced that the success of our voyage--this
desperate adventure--depended solely on the extent of co-operation
of Saint Nicolas “The Casual” and other heavenly powers, and, in the
second place, bearing in mind the Japanese custom of concentrating
their fire on the flag-ship, he believed that both he and his ship
were doomed to destruction in the first decisive engagement. But, in
spite of this, he never for a moment lost his invariably buoyant and
cheery manner. He joked, chaffed, and eagerly threw himself into all
the little details of daily life on board, while now (I really believe)
he was, inwardly, much amused, picturing to himself the anger and
disappointment of the Japanese in the event of our actually slipping
past them.
But the Japanese “got the 200,000th chance,” and more.
At dawn on 27th May, about 5 A.M., the auxiliary cruiser _Sinano Maru_
almost ran into our hospital ships, and it was due to this that the
whole fleet was discovered. We were unable to see what had happened,
but by the changed character of the messages it became at once apparent
that our presence was known. The scouts no longer merely called each
other up, and we now took in reports, which were being transmitted
further and further to the north.[11]
Messages came in from both sides, so the Admiral recalled the _Almaz_,
_Svietlana_ and _Ural_, in order to protect our helpless rear
(transports) from sudden attack.
About 6 A.M. the _Ural_ came up at full speed, reporting by semaphore
that astern of the fleet four ships, which it was impossible to
recognise in the mist, were crossing from starboard to port.
At 6.45 A.M. a vessel appeared on the starboard beam, which, as her
course brought her nearer to us, was soon recognised as the _Idzumi_.
About 8 A.M., despite the mist, we were able to take her distance as
10,000 yards. The alarm sounding, the after turret threateningly raised
her 12-inch guns, but the _Idzumi_, guessing her danger, commenced
rapidly to beat a retreat.
We might, of course, have detached a good cruiser to drive her off,
but alas! there were in the fleet only two ships answering to this
description--the _Oleg_ and the _Aurora_, also possibly the scout
_Svietlana_; of the remainder, the _Donskoy_ and _Monomakh_ were
respectable veterans, slow, though passably armed. The _Ural_ and
_Almaz_ were swift, but had only toy guns. Besides, each moment we
were expecting to meet our formidable opponent, when every gun and
shell would be of value. If the issue of the battle were to be decided
by a duel between our three armoured squadrons and the twelve best
Japanese ships, the whole of the rest of the enemy’s fleet would fall
to the lot of our cruiser squadron. A struggle for which we must indeed
reserve our strength! Rozhdestvensky decided accordingly to ignore the
_Idzumi’s_ daring sally, and sent no one in pursuit of her.
Shortly after 8 A.M., on the port bow, 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.
At about 10 A.M. the light cruisers _Chitose_, _Kasagi_, _Niitaka_, and
_Otawa_, also appeared on the port beam, and it became evident to all
of us that the decisive moment could not now be long postponed.
At a signal from the flag-ship, the 1st and 2nd armoured squadrons
steamed ahead, and, turning “together,” 2 points[12] to port, began to
take position ahead of the 3rd squadron. The transports were ordered
to keep more to starboard and astern of the fleet, while the cruisers
were to cover them on the port side. To starboard of the transports was
the _Monomakh_, detailed to protect them from the _Idzumi_ and suchlike
vessels.
At 11.20 A.M., when the distance of the Japanese light cruisers
was 10,000 yards, 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 _Suvoroff_, and opened fire. Of the whole fleet
the fire of the 3rd squadron was the heaviest.
The Japanese cruisers turned to port and, firing also, rapidly drew
off. The flag-ship then signalled, “_Ammunition not to be wasted_,”
and when the firing ceased, “Ships’ companies to have dinner at once.”
At midday, finding ourselves on a line with the southernmost point of
Tsu-shima, we shaped course N.23°E. for Vladivostok.
The officers also had breakfast now, in turn, and as quickly as
possible. To-day there was to have been as usual a big breakfast in the
ward-room, with the Admiral and his Captain and staff as guests: but
on this occasion it naturally could not take place as the Admiral and
Captain were unable to leave the bridge, and the staff only dashed down
to the Admiral’s table to eat a few mouthfuls.
Having gone down to my cabin to fill my cigarette-case before the
fight, I happened to look in at the ward-room at the psychological
minute. Although the dishes were being handed anyhow and whatever came
nearest was taken, champagne sparkled in the glasses, and every one was
standing up, silently listening to the toast proposed by the senior
officer, A. P. Makedonsky.
“On this, the great anniversary of the sacred Coronation of their
Highnesses, may God help us to serve with honour our beloved Country!
To the health of the Emperor! the Empress!--To Russia!”
The ward-room resounded with cheers, and their last echoes had scarcely
died away ere the alarm sounded on deck. Every one rushed to their
stations, to find that some Japanese light cruisers had again appeared
on our port bow, but this time they were accompanied by torpedo-boats,
which evidently intended to cross our bows. Suspecting that their
plan was to lay floating mines (as they had done on 10th August),
the Admiral ordered the 1st squadron to turn to starboard, so as to
drive off the enemy by threatening him with the fire of our five best
battleships.
With this intention the ships of the 1st squadron turned “in
succession” 8 points (90°) to starboard, and should afterwards have
turned “together” 8 points to port. The first half of the manœuvre
was most successfully performed, but the signal for the second was
evidently misunderstood, as the _Alexander_ followed the _Suvoroff_,
while the _Borodino_ and _Orel_, which had already commenced to turn
correctly “together,” imagining then that they were mistaken, turned
back and followed the _Alexander_. Consequently the 1st squadron
found itself in single column line ahead, parallel to the 2nd and 3rd
squadrons, but somewhat ahead of them.
This unsuccessful manœuvre, however, had a most important result. The
enemy’s cruisers and torpedo-boats, afraid of being caught between the
fire of both columns, abandoned their intention of crossing our course,
and hurriedly drew off to port. These cruisers probably also reported
to Togo that we were steaming in two columns, and he (being then out of
sight and far ahead of us on the starboard bow) decided to cross over
to our port side, so as to throw himself with all his strength upon
our port and weakest column.
As soon as the Japanese drew off, the 1st squadron at once increased
speed, inclining to port so as again to take station ahead of the 2nd
squadron.
At 1.20 P.M., when the 1st had got ahead of the 2nd and 3rd squadrons
and was steering on its former course, the flag-ship signalled, “The
2nd squadron, maintaining its formation, will take station astern of
the 1st.”
And now, far ahead of us in the distance, could be dimly seen
approaching through the mist the Japanese main force. Their ships
were crossing our bows from starboard to port, following on an almost
south-west course. The _Mikasa_, as soon as she crossed our bows, at
once altered course to the southward, followed by the _Shikishima_,
_Fuji_, Asahi, _Kasuga_, and _Nisshin_.
Meanwhile, though the flag-ship was already being worked from the
conning tower, Rozhdestvensky was still standing with his staff on the
upper fore-bridge.
I frankly confess that I did not agree with his opinion as to Togo
leading all his twelve armoured ships in column; on 10th August
he ordered six of them to work independently, instead of joining
his squadron. I was inclined to think that Kamimura would operate
independently and, when my six old Port Arthur acquaintances hove in
sight, I said triumphantly:
“There they are, sir--_all six_--just as on 10th August.”
But Rozhdestvensky, without turning, shook his head.
“No, there are more--they are all there,” and he went down into the
conning tower.
“To your stations, gentlemen,” said the Flag Captain quickly, as he
followed the Admiral.
And there, sure enough, following after the first six ships, and slowly
appearing out of the mist, came the _Idzumo_, _Yakumo_, _Asama_,
_Adzuma_, _Tokiwa_, and _Iwate_.