When, one hour before midnight on February 8, 1904, our warships began to belch fire from their many steel mouths, and the seaward batteries suddenly thundered forth their angry death-dealing tidings, no one dreamed that the noise was War, for no one had taken the constant rumours of the rupture of diplomatic relations and of approaching hostilities at all seriously. Those who heard the increasing cannonade buoyed themselves up with the vague hope that some surprise combined man?uvres were taking place between the fleet and the coast defences. When three rockets, however, snaked up into the inky night from Golden Hill and burst on high, they told their message, and finally when the gun-fire from Electric Cliff and the adjacent batteries changed to salvos, those who understood the message of the rockets doubted no longer. Thus was all hope of a peaceful issue to the negotiations with Japan shattered. Our incapable, idle, and utterly short-sighted diplomacy, which had so long and so stupidly exhausted the patience of the Mikado's Government, was now at an end. It was to enjoy a dishonourable repose, whilst others reaped the harvest of its handiwork. The hour had struck for the cold, impartial judgment of history.
Although the sky in the East had for weeks been blood-red with the menace of immediate war, yet when it came[Pg 4] the surprise was absolute, its horror intensified by our complete unreadiness.
Regiments hearing the alarm fell in. Officers, surprised in bed, at a ball, at the theatre, or in restaurants, hurried off to march their units to the alarm posts: hurried, but went without speed—for, alas! no one had hitherto taken the trouble to become acquainted with the geography of the Fortress, and the consequence was that most of the troops wandered about unknown roads and hill-tracks, in vain searching for the posts assigned to them. The confusion which ensued was incredible—a fitting prelude to the fall of Port Arthur. Finally, when the troops did arrive at their posts, to their amazement they found in them either no small-arm ammunition at all or else only the ordinary quantity for the guards. To the men it was at first a huge joke; they naturally thought they were only doing a 'sham fight.' But the jest wore off as they sat on through the night, and through the next day, hungry, and chilled to the bone by the pitiless icy wind which was howling down the hill-sides. It was possibly good training for the hardships to follow? It was not until the morning that it struck some bright staff-officer to send up ammunition. This reached the frozen detachments on the following evening, together with the means of cooking. Yes, certainly Luck did favour us sometimes in Port Arthur; she did that night, in that the Japanese did not press a land attack.
While this cheerful state of chaos reigned in the Fortress, on the sea the prologue to the war was already over. One Russian ship alone—the Novik—could be heard, hull down on the horizon, firing at Japanese destroyers. In the town itself a doleful rumour spread apace, that some of our ships had been blown up. It was not believed. We were afraid to believe what we did hear, but did not want to hear the truth, which we dreaded still more.
[Pg 5]
Next morning Port Arthur woke earlier than usual. Every one wanted to know what had actually happened during the night. Alas! the reports as to Japanese torpedo attacks were only too well founded, and the Cesarevitch, Pallada, and Retvisan were hors de combat. Despite the completeness of the night attack, and the calculating thoroughness with which the enemy had done their work—clearest proof that man could want of the outbreak of war—in the absence of any official communication from the Commandant, the population still hoped against hope. The more impressionable prepared to leave, but otherwise things went on much as usual. At the wharf a crowd collected to look at the Retvisan lying in the entrance to the harbour; from her appearance it was difficult to believe that she had sustained any damage, and the reports were pronounced untrue. The printing office of the Novy Kry was another centre of attraction, every one hustling round to buy a paper with some account of the night's work. But in the paper was no word of war.
Although outwardly the current of life in Port Arthur seemed to flow unruffled, this calm did not extend to those in authority. The staffs, which up to the preceding evening had been peacefully slumbering for six years, were now extraordinarily busy; their activity was proved by the utter confusion which reigned. The disorganization of the Fortress Staff particularly was almost ludicrous: officers hurried hither and thither, contradictory and impossible orders were being issued and countermanded, and above and through all this confusion resounded the ceaseless chattering of the telephone-bells. It was not a sight to inspire confidence. It seemed as if the staff momentarily anticipated some fatal and sudden blow, but did not know what to do in order to ward it off. Colonel Khvostoff, the Chief of the Fortress Staff, and his immediate assistants alone kept their heads. He knew that the time[Pg 6] was approaching when every one would see the real state of things, and to what extent the 'stronghold'—Port Arthur—was impregnable. [Several alarmists had already been punished by the Commandant for spreading rumours that many of the batteries were gunless, and many of the guns without ammunition.] He and his predecessor, General Flug, had done all that was in their power, but they might as well have knocked their heads against a wall.
Meanwhile the Viceroy's staff wrote orders, which ended up in the Viceroy's own words: 'You must all keep calm, in order to be able to perform your duty in the most efficient manner possible, trusting to the help of God that every man will do his work, remembering that neither prayers to God nor service for the Tsar are in vain.'
In the outer harbour the Pacific Ocean squadron was lying, steam up and cleared for action, waiting the order to go out and engage the enemy. When, at 10 a.m., the Boyarin, having returned to harbour, signalled that the Japanese fleet was approaching in force, the Viceroy and General St?ssel, escorted by a troop of Cossacks, and followed by a numerous suite, went up on to Golden Hill. It certainly was to be hoped that General St?ssel, to whom the Emperor had entrusted the Fortress, and who had recently reported to him that it was ready, would 'keep calm' and do his duty 'in the most efficient manner'; but those who were privileged to see him on that historic morning saw no traces of calmness in his demeanour.
After about an hour the presence of the whole Japanese fleet on the horizon was signalled, but the majority of the people knew nothing, and all was quiet in the town. A little later and Port Arthur was paralysed with fear, for the very ground quivered with the shock as the guns of both fleets and of the coast batteries suddenly opened fire. The battle had begun, and the fleet of young Japan, a nation which had only begun to take lessons in[Pg 7] Western culture thirty-two years ago, was pitted against that of Russia—founded two hundred years ago by Peter the Great.
In twenty minutes' time 12-inch shells were detonating in the streets of the town, and the population began to flee in panic to the hills. The battle waxed, but there was curious silence on Liao-tieh-shan and Quail Hills—two peaks which commanded the ground all round Port Arthur. The first was armed with a lighthouse and the second with a fire observation-tower! In spite of the fire, but little damage was done on either side—the enemy could not hurt Electric Cliff and Golden Hill, and the bark of our shore batteries was worse than their bite, owing to the short range of their guns. Indeed, owing to lack of guns and ammunition, some of our batteries were actually firing blank, whilst others maintained a haughty silence. Though Russia did not then know of this, the Japanese did, but, with their natural cunning, held their tongues. The British knew of it, and chuckled whilst they kept silence for their allies.
Just before noon the bombardment ceased, and the Japanese fleet steamed off. The first wild panic subsided and the little railway-station was soon crowded with fugitives, all anxious to depart.
What the Viceroy, Alexeieff, said to St?ssel that day is hidden by a veil of obscurity, but that he decided to remove him from the post of General admits of not the slightest doubt, for Lieutenant-General Konstantine Nikolaevitch Smirnoff was chosen by the War Minister to supersede St?ssel as Commandant, and left Warsaw for Port Arthur on February 25.