Once clear of the land, we soon ran into an atmosphere of haze and a rising sea which set the long line of ships rolling ponderously; and as the vessels rolled and plunged, flinging heavy showers of spray over their weather bows, each captain stood in his chart-room, with a chart of the strait spread open on the table before him, anxiously awaiting the next news of the enemy. These charts had been, for convenience’ sake, carefully divided up into a series of numbered squares; and about nine o’clock the expected message arrived. It ran—“The enemy is in two hundred and three,” that being the number of the square on the chart occupied by the Russian fleet at that moment. No sooner was the message decoded and its purport made known than mutual congratulations were exchanged; for even as the fall of 203 Metre Hill into the hands of our soldiers had been the prelude to the surrender of Port Arthur, so now the fact of the Russian fleet being in square 203 on the chart was accepted as an omen of another victory.
The fine weather of the early morning had by this time completely deserted us; the sky had become overcast, Tsushima’s conical summit was hidden by a great bank of heavy, louring cloud, the grey, dreary-looking sea was running in confused, turbulent, foam-flecked surges through which the big ships wallowed heavily, flinging great combers of yeasty froth from either bow, while the little torpedo craft, smothered in spray, were tossed about like corks. Yet, despite the gloomy aspect of the weather, the Japanese fleet presented a magnificent and inspiriting sight as it ploughed steadily through the leaping, mist-flecked sea, each ship keeping station with the most perfect accuracy, with her two—and in some cases three—great battle-flags snapping defiantly in the freshening breeze.
It was shortly after six bells in the forenoon watch when we at length received a message which must have removed a load of anxiety from our little Admiral’s mind. It came from the Izumi—one of the ships which had been dispatched on the previous night for the purpose of luring the enemy into the eastern channel—and reported that at length her captain had succeeded in ascertaining the full force of the enemy’s fleet, and that it consisted of eleven battleships of the 1st, 2nd, and 3rd classes, nine cruisers, nine auxiliary cruisers, and nine destroyers. These were heavy odds to face with our four battleships, eight armoured cruisers, and eighteen protected cruisers; yet never for a moment did we shrink from the encounter, for we were, one and all, determined to conquer. Moreover, the weather, gloomy as it was, was in our favour, for our ships, having been painted the peculiar grey tint that had been found so effective in the atmosphere of the Sea of Japan, were scarcely visible at a distance of four miles, while the heavy sea would probably give our own gunners a great advantage over those of the enemy.
It was about a quarter to two o’clock in the afternoon, and we were steaming in line ahead, with the Mikasa leading, our course being about South-South-West, when, the fog thinning somewhat, we suddenly saw, away on our port bow, a great cloud of black smoke, underneath which we presently discerned several large ships approaching in two lines, their black hulls and yellow funnels showing up with remarkable distinctness against the light grey background of fog. Instantly every telescope and pair of binoculars in the Japanese fleet was levelled at them in an endeavour to identify the craft in sight—for we were intimately acquainted with the characteristics of every ship in the enemy’s fleet—and presently we recognised the big, three-funnelled craft at the head of the port line as the Oslabia, while the two-funnelled battleship leading the starboard line was undoubtedly the Suvaroff, Admiral Rojdestvensky’s flagship. Astern of her followed the Alexander Third, Borodino, and Orel; while in the wake of the Oslabia we were able to identify the Sissoi Veliki, Navarin, and Admiral Nakhimoff, with a long string of other craft at that moment too far distant for identification.
While we were still endeavouring to identify some of the more distant ships, the Mikasa made the general signaclass="underline" “The fate of our Empire depends upon our efforts. Let every man do his utmost!” It was greeted with a great roar of “Banzai Nippon!” which swept along the line of the fleet like the rumbling of distant thunder. The crews of the ships had, of course, been at quarters, and the officers at fire-control stations, for some time, and now we began to receive from the range-finders the range of the Oslabia, the leading Russian ship. “Fifteen thousand yards,” “Fourteen thousand,” “Twelve thousand,” came the reports in rapid succession as the two fleets rushed toward each other.
At a distance of twelve thousand yards the Mikasa’s helm was shifted and the course of the Japanese line altered four points to the eastward, as though our purpose was to pass along the Russian line to port, exchanging broadsides as we passed; and so the enemy evidently understood, for he came steadily on. But we knew differently. Already every forward gun in the fleet was bearing steadily upon the Oslabia, and when, in obedience to a signal from the flagship, the speed of the Japanese fleet quickened up to fifteen knots, we knew that the great battle was about to begin.
It began a few minutes earlier than we anticipated, for our range-finders had just given the distance of the head of the Russian column as nine thousand yards, when two bright flashes, followed by a great cloud of white smoke, broke from the Oslabia’s fore-turret, and presently we saw two great fountains of foam leap into the air some distance beyond the Mikasa. As though this had been a signal, the Suvaroff, Alexander Third, and Sissoi Veliki instantly followed suit, and a second or two later we heard the loud, angry muttering of 12-inch shells hurtling toward us. But some flew over, and others fell short; not one touched us; and as the heavy, rumbling boom of the reports reached our ears, the Mikasa signalled another shift of helm a further four points east, and before the Russians fully realised what we were about, the Japanese fleet was “crossing the T,”—that is to say, passing athwart the enemy’s course.
Every gun which the Russians could bring to bear upon us was now being loaded and fired as rapidly as possible, so that in a very short time the enemy’s ships were enveloped in whirling wreaths of powder smoke, yet not a single Japanese gun had thus far spoken.
“Six thousand yards” was presently signalled by the range-finders; and at the same moment three shots roared forth from the turrets of the Mikasa, Shikishima, and Fuji. We knew at what target they were aimed, and those of us who happened to have our glasses at our eyes saw a bright flash and a cloud of smoke suddenly burst into view on the Oslabia’s conning tower. One of our 12-inch shells had found its mark, and—as we subsequently learned—instantly killed Admiral Folkersam! This instant success told us that we might unhesitatingly rely upon the accuracy of our range-finders, and at once every ship in the Japanese battle-line opened fire, first upon the Oslabia and then upon the Suvaroff, our manoeuvre of “crossing the T” enabling us to bring every one of our broadside guns upon the enemy, while he, in turn, could only fire a few of his fore-turret guns, the rest being blanketed by the ships leading the line.
The careful, deliberate fire of twelve ships upon two could have but one result; the Oslabia and Suvaroff both received a most fearful punishing; the unprotected portions of their hulk were blown to ribbons, dense columns of dark smoke poured from the Oslabia, and presently it was seen that she and the Suvaroff were on fire and burning furiously. Both ships, as though instinctively, swerved away to the eastward, anxious not to shorten the distance any farther between themselves and the Japanese, and presently both the Oslabia and the Suvaroff fell out of their respective lines and dropped to the rear, with both their own lines between them and the enemy.