A fresh breeze mournfully droned through the wire rigging and angrily dispersed the ragged, low-lying clouds. The troubled waters of the Yellow Sea splashed against the side of the battleship, while a thin, cold, blinding rain fell, and the raw air penetrated to one’s very bones. But a group of officers still stood on the after-bridge, watching the silhouettes of the transports2 slowly disappearing in the rain haze.
On their masts and yard-arms signals were being flown, the last messages and final requests of those who had been our fellow-travellers on the long tedious voyage.
Why is it that at sea a friendly greeting of this kind, expressed merely by a combination of flags, touches one’s heart so deeply, and speaks to it even more than salutes, cheers, or music? Why is it that until the signal has been actually hauled down every one looks at it, silently and intently, as if real words, instead of motley-coloured pieces of cloth, were fluttering in the breeze, and becoming wet with rain? Why is it that on the signal being hauled down every one turns away,3 quietly moving off to his duty, as if the last quiet handshake had been given, and “good-bye” had been said for ever?
“Well!—how about the weather?” said some one—to break the silence.
“Grand,” answered another with a smile. “If we get this all the way to Vladivostok, then thank the Lord! why, a general battle will be impossible.”
Once more a signal was made to the fleet, and, having cast off the majority2 of our transports at Shanghai, we take up our fresh and last “order of march.”
Ahead, in wedge formation, was the scout division consisting of three ships—the Svietlana, Almaz, and Ural; next came the fleet in two columns. The4 starboard column consisted of the 1st and 2nd armoured squadrons, i.e. eight ships—the Suvoroff, Alexander, Borodino, Orel,3 Sissoy, Navarin, Nakhimoff. On the port side were the 3rd armoured and cruiser squadrons, i.e. eight ships—the Nicolay, Senyavin, Apraxin, Ushakoff, and the cruisers, Oleg, Aurora, Donskoy, and Monomakh. On either beam, and parallel with the leading ships, were the Zemtchug and Izumrud, each accompanied by two torpedo-boats, acting as scouts for the port and starboard columns. In rear of, and between, the wakes of these columns steamed a line of transports which we were obliged to take to Vladivostok4—the Anadir,5 Irtish, Korea, Kamchatka—and with them the repair and steam-tugs, Svir and Russ, ready to render assistance in case of need. With the cruiser squadron were five torpedo-boats, whose duty it was to co-operate with the former in protecting the transports during the battle. Astern of all came the hospital ships, Orel and Kostroma.
This disposition of the fleet would make it possible, if the enemy appeared unexpectedly, for the various squadrons to take order of battle quickly and without any complicated man?uvres (i.e. without attracting attention). The scout division was to turn from whichever6 side the enemy appeared and to join the cruisers, which were to convoy the transports out of action, and protect them from the enemy’s cruisers. The 1st and 2nd armoured squadrons were to increase speed, and, having inclined to port together,5 were to take station in front of the 3rd armoured squadron and proceed on their former course. The result would be that the three squadrons would then be in single column line7 ahead, and the centre of our fleet would consist of twelve armoured ships. The Zemtchug and Izumrud were to man?uvre according to circumstances and, taking advantage of their speed, together with the torpedo-boats assigned to them, were to take station ahead, astern, or abeam of the armoured ships. They were to be on the further side of the fleet from the enemy, out of the range of his shells; their duty being to prevent the enemy’s torpedo-boats from getting round the fleet.
Above was the plan of battle, worked out beforehand and known to every officer in the fleet. The various details as to formations dependent on the direction in which the enemy appeared, the instructions for fire control, the manner in which assistance was to be8 rendered to injured ships, the transfer of the Admiral’s flag from one ship to another, the handing over of the command, etc., etc., were laid down in special orders issued by the Commander-in-Chief, but these details would scarcely be of interest to readers unacquainted with naval matters.
The day (25th May) passed quietly. Towards evening it was reported that an accident had happened to the Senyavin’s engines, and all that night we steamed slowly. In the ward-room of the Suvoroff the officers grumbled and swore at the “old tubs,”6 as they nicknamed Nebogatoff’s ships, but, although natural, it was hardly fair, for we ourselves were little better. The prolonged voyage had been a long mournful9 indictment of our boilers and machinery, while our martyrs of engineers had literally had to “get oil out of flints,” and to effect repairs although with no material at hand with which to make them.
That night, the first cold one after six months in the tropics, we slept splendidly, but, of course, by watches, i.e. half the night one half of the officers and crew were at the guns, and the other half the remainder.
On 26th May the clouds began to break and the sun shone fitfully, but although a fairly fresh south-westerly breeze had sprung up, a thick mist still lay upon the water.
Being anxious to avail himself of every moment of daylight while passing the Japanese coast, where we would most10 probably be attacked by torpedoes, the Admiral arranged for the fleet to be in the centre of its passage through the straits of Tsu-shima at noon on the 27th May. According to our calculations this would give us about four hours to spare, which we employed in practising man?uvres for the last time.
Once again, and for the last time, we were forcibly reminded of the old truism that a “fleet” is created by long years of 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 scene of operations, is no fleet, but a chance concourse of vessels.
Taking up order of battle was moderately11 performed, but it was spoilt by the 3rd squadron, and who can blame its admiral or captains? When near Madagascar, and during our wanderings off the coast of Annam, our ships to a certain extent had been able to learn their work, and to get to know one another. They had, in fact, been able to “rehearse.” But as the 3rd squadron, which joined the fleet barely a fortnight ago,7 had only arrived in time to finish the voyage with us and take part in the battle, there was no time for it to receive instruction.
Admiral Togo, on the other hand, had commanded his squadron continuously for eight years without hauling down his flag. Five of the vice-admirals and12 seven of the rear-admirals taking part in the Tsu-shima battle, in command of squadrons, ships, or as junior flag officers, were his old comrades and pupils, having been educated under his command. As for us, we could only regret our unpreparedness, and in the coming fight there was nothing for us to do but to make the most of what we had.
Rozhdestvensky thought (and facts later fully justified the opinion) that in the decisive battle Togo would be at the head of his twelve best armoured ships. Against them our Admiral was also to lead twelve similar ships (which he handled magnificently), and in the duel between them it was thought the centre of gravity of the fight would certainly lie. The difference between our main force and that of the13 Japanese was very material. The oldest of Togo’s twelve ships—the Fuji, was two years younger than the Sissoy, which, among our twelve best, came sixth in seniority! Their speed was one-and-a-half times as great as ours, but their chief superiority lay in their new shells, of which............