Twenty Thousand Leagues Over The Seas

I

A cold, sullen, cloudy day broke over the old Baltic town of Libau on October 14, 1904, a day which no amount of fluttering bunting, pealing bells or martial music could brighten. In the harbor lay a fleet slowly preparing to get under way, its progress impeded by countless small craft laden to the gunwales with relatives and friends of the seafarers. Suddenly the nervous, hysterical mass of humanity which crowded every vantage point broke into cheers as two men appeared on the water front. One resplendent in an admiral’s uniform, handsome in spite of his weak features and waxy color, the Czar Nicholas II. The other an ominous looking priest with sharp eyes, pursed lips, and dour expression, the head of the Holy Synod come to bless the armada that was to set forth to do battle against “the heathen” and restore the prestige of Holy Russia. Then the Anthem, the usual salutes and Admiral Rozhdestvenski was on the Odyssey which was to take him half way around the globe.

A half century has elapsed since the outbreak of the Russian-Japanese war. By common accord centennials and semi-centennials are considered opportune dates on which to analyze and interpret events. But in this case, other reasons can be found to justify a fresh approach to a controversial subject. We should be wiser now than we were fifty years ago. Viewed in retrospect our outspoken partiality toward Japan seems a little naive. It completely ignored the fact that in the past Czarist Russia had been our best friend in Europe and the further fact that sooner or later we were bound to clash with Japan. The cheers that greeted the news of the Japanese attack on Port Arthur have long since been drowned out by our indignation at the “infamous” attack on Pearl Harbor. Are we ready to make an unprejudiced review of the Russian performance in 1904-1905? It would seem as if Russia today were of sufficient importance to us that we cannot afford to neglect any opportunity to familiarize ourselves with her past. Viewed from that angle, the Russian-Japanese war produced one commander who surely deserves being rescued from the oblivion into which he has fallen. It would not have taken many “ifs” to have made him one of the most acclaimed admirals of history. Instead his name, Zinovi Petrovitch Rozhdestvenski, has become synonymous with resounding defeat.

Details concerning the early career of Rozhdestvenski are difficult to obtain. He served as a lieutenant in the Russian-Turkish war of 1877-1878. The outbreak of the Russian-Japanese war found him in the Admiralty where he had made himself thoroughly unpopular by his ruthless fight against the inefficiency, laziness, and dishonesty of the bureaucrats. The Russian high command must have been considerably alarmed at the turn of events in Port Arthur to have allowed his appointment as commander of the Second Pacific Squadron to go through on May 5, 1904. He was fifty-five years old at the time and had never commanded a fleet, but he was a profound student and hence painfully aware of the shortcomings of the Russian Navy. These need not be enumerated here; they will become apparent as we proceed.

The new commander at once found himself on the horns of a dilemma. If Port Arthur was to be relieved and the battered remains of the First Pacific Squadron rescued, not a day was to be lost. Unfortunately months would be required to get the Baltic Fleet (as the Second Pacific Squadron came to be known) in condition to undertake a 20,000 mile journey and arrive prepared for action. Supplies of all sorts must be purchased and an unwieldy train equipped. Colliers must be chartered and directed to various points on the route. The lack of training of both officers and crews must be remedied. Rozhdestvenski grit his teeth and plunged into a whirlpool of work. Between the date of his appointment and his departure, he is said to have issued 100 orders and 400 staff circulars. Two things, however, were beyond his power to improve: the ordnance of his fleet and the quality of his ammunition. And to cap the climax, the revolution was beginning to rear its ugly head. Unmistakable signs of sabotage were of daily occurrence. Rozhdestvenski suspended all shore leave.

In the meantime conditions in the Far East were going from bad to worse. Unless Russia was prepared to admit defeat, the Baltic Fleet must sail. Rendezvous of all units was accordingly set for Libau on October 12, the departure two days later, regardless of the condition of the squadron.

What was Rozhdestvenski’s plan? It was a very simple one and probably the only one that had any chance of success: take the fastest and best ships of the Baltic Fleet and break through to the Shantung peninsula, occupy Chefoo, threaten Japanese communications with the mainland, and relieve Port Arthur. What happened after that was up to the Army. Thanks to the Navy, General Kuropatkin would no longer be entirely dependent on the Siberian Railway.

Here Rozhdestvenski ran up against a strategic misconception that has plagued many a brilliant and aggressive leader: the fallacy of considering armed forces through what Admiral Castex has called “the distorting prism of pure arithmetic.” With mixed amazement and anger he discovered, at the last minute, that he was expected to drag along a squadron of old “coast defense” ironclads, some of which had been sent home from Vladivostok in 1901 as worthless. At this point, his patience broke down. He refused to sail if these “self-sinking” tubs were tagged on to his fleet. Rozhdestvenski had his way—but not for long, as we shall see. He had encountered the wily evil genius who was to hound him for the rest of his life, Captain Nicholas L. Klado. The professional qualifications of this officer can be appraised from the fact that, after witnessing—from a safe distance—the opening operations around Port Arthur and Vladivostok, he expressed the opinion that nothing would be gained by studying Japanese methods. And this armchair strategist had been detached from the Far East station and attached to Rozhdestvenski’s staff to give the new commander the benefit of his “experience.”

On the eve of the departure a banquet was tendered to the officers of the fleet. Vodka and champagne flowed with true Russian prodigality and countless toasts were drunk. Among those present was one bluff old sea dog, Buchwostoff, the commander of the Alexander III. When called upon to respond, he put his two fists on the table and said: “You have wished us all a lucky journey and have expressed the conviction that with our brave sailors we will smash the Japanese. We thank you for your good intentions, but they only show that you do not know why we are going to sea. But we know why we are going to sea. We also know that Russia is not a sea power and that the public funds spent on ship construction have been wasted. You wish us victory, but there will be no victory. I am afraid we shall lose half of our squadron on the way. Well, perhaps this will not happen and we will arrive where we are being sent. Then Togo will blow us up, as his fleet is much better than ours and the Japanese are real seamen.” Here he raised his voice as though he were standing on his bridge in a storm. “There is one thing, however, that I will pledge you. We will know how to die, and we shall never surrender!”

Surrounded by this atmosphere of fatalistic pessimism, Rozhdestvenski went out to seek the enemy.

II

The plan called for a passage in three divisions. The First Division (battleships), commanded by Rozhdestvenski, who was now a vice admiral, consisted of the Kniaz Souvarof (flagship), Alexander III, Borodino, and Orel. These ships constituted the backbone of the fleet and if they, together with the pick of the cruisers and the torpedo boats,¹ had been allowed to proceed independently at full speed, results might have been different. The Second Division, commanded by Rear Admiral Folkersam, consisting of the Osliaba (flagship), Sissoi Veliki, Navarin, and Admiral Nakhimof, was to proceed via the Suez Canal and join the main body off Madagascar. Rozhdestvenski would have much preferred to take the Osliaba with him and not bother with the other ships, which were not much better than the “self-sinkers” and could do no more than 14 knots. Unfortunately, having had his way with the worst of the old ironclads, he had to give in to Klado and his clique regarding the others. The Cruiser Division, commanded by Rear Admiral Enquist, consisted of the Oleg (flagship), Aurora, Svietlana, Almaz, Ismurud, Jemtchug, Ural, and nine torpedo boats, to which was added the Dmitri Donskoi, a venerable relic of the early 80’s which had just gone through a “face-lifting” at great expense. Add the train and you have a total of 26 ships.

The sortie from Libau, which began at 9:00 A.M., was attended with considerable disorder. Some of the larger ships ran aground and could not be floated until high tide, about 4:00 P.M. Meantime the lighter vessels had put to sea. It would take many hours before the urgently needed cruising formation could be established. For a week or more wild reports had been coming in over the wireless, many of them from Russian agents, concerning suspicious craft hovering along the route the fleet would take. Now that the departure of the fleet was known, these reports became more frequent and more precise. Japan had been secretly building torpedo boats in England! Trawlers had been purchased and torpedo tubes mounted on them! Rozhdestvenski ordered the gun crews to sleep by their pieces at night and by day to train their guns at once on any vessel that did not show its colors.

The fleet was hardly on its course when collisions and breakdowns started. The torpedo boat Buistry rammed the Osliaba, bending one of her tubes besides springing a leak. During the first coaling operation in the Great Belt, three Danish colliers were damaged and demanded payment of 6,000 rubles. No sooner was the march resumed than the Orel signalled she was having engine trouble and could only proceed slowly. The torpedo boats began dropping out of line and three of them were ultimately detached and sent home.

And these were ships that had just spent four months in a navy yard!

At the next coaling point, off Cape Skaw, Rozhdestvenski received a visit from the captain of the Danish freighter Bakan, who stated positively that on his return from the Arctic sea he had sighted four torpedo boats which at night displayed fishermen’s lights. The Russian commander prudently suspended coaling operations and made for the North Sea. There at least he would be in less danger from mines. Russian attempts at mine sweeping in the Great Belt had been dismal failures. One of the vessels assigned to that task was the icebreaker Yermak, which promptly snapped a cable. Her captain, resenting criticism, became insubordinate and refused to acknowledge signals, whereupon the Admiral unceremoniously ordered him home in disgrace, and by way of speeding his departure, sent a shell neatly astern of his ship. This incident bolstered up the sagging morale of all hands. So the Old Man could be a tough hombre if necessary!

Among those on board the flagship Souvarof were the representatives of a German firm who had sold the Russian Admiralty a bill of goods in the shape of some unreliable wireless equipment. These gentlemen had volunteered to accompany the fleet as far as the theatre of operations and explain the workings of their apparatus. A good opportunity to test it lay at hand—try to get in touch with the Orel which had fallen behind. When the Orel finally showed up the next morning, she reported that not a single message had she received. Fortunately there were a few Marconi units in the fleet.

It was probably with a sigh of relief that Rozhdestvenski entered the relatively open waters of the North Sea. To be sure, the logistic and personnel problems remained acute, but the possibility of a sneak attack seemed less off the coast of Germany than in the tortuous passages of the Danish islands. A new threat, however, lay ahead of him, one that was to pursue him to the bitter end— international complications.

III

It was a jittery fleet that rounded Cape Skaw and headed for the Straits of Dover. Britain had long been considered by Russians an implacable enemy and, moreover, had recently entered into open alliance with Russia’s latest enemy, Japan. If the fleet ran into a raider it would not be the first time in history that Britain had been lax in enforcing her neutrality. Any innocent fishing smack might be concealing contact mines under her cargo. What a simple matter to sow these along the course of the Russians, provided the course were known. After all, Chinese junks were being used for a similar purpose off Port Arthur and Vladivostok. Rozhdestvenski redoubled his vigilance. The strain on the crews can easily be imagined. If only the enemy were another warship, they would know what to do. But this continual peering through the darkness that lay on the face of the waters or the fog that hid the horizon! It was nerve racking.

At 8:45 P.M. of the 21st the repair ship Kamchatka, which had fallen behind owing to engine trouble, reported that she was being trailed by torpedo boats of unknown nationality. This was followed shortly by a second report to the effect that she was now completely surrounded by torpedo boats.

Admiral Rozhdestvenski and his staff were puzzled. If the Kamchatka were really being shadowed by hostile craft, it was inconceivable that these should waste on a ship of the train an opportunity to attack a ship of the line. In all probability the raiders, if such they were, would follow the Kamchatka in the hope that she would lead them to the main body. This would take until about 10:00 P.M. according to the computations of the staff.

At ten o’clock Rozhdestvenski decided to get in communication with the Kamchatka again. She reported that she was proceeding without lights and had altered her course. The signal closed with a request so suspicious as to raise doubts whether it was a Russian vessel reporting. “Would the Admiral kindly indicate the position of the squadron by searchlight.” Rozhdestvenski replied by ordering the Kamchatka to give her position, after which courses would be assigned to her. The answering signal could not be deciphered.

On the 22nd the storm broke. At 1:00 A.M. of that day, the fleet being in the neighborhood of the Dogger Bank, the lookouts on the First Division were astonished to see a rocket shoot up forward on the port side. The rocket glowed briefly with a bright green light, revealing a group of ships. Searchlights were brought to bear. Yes, without doubt, they were trawlers, probably out from Hull.

Suddenly the Admiral sounded the alarm. The searchlight of the flagship Souvarojf had revealed in the shadow of a trawler a craft Rozhdestvenski took for a torpedo boat. In a few seconds a rain of projectiles fell upon the unfortunate fishermen. The gunners were ordered to aim only at the warships and avoid the trawlers. Easier said than done, as by this time the squadron had joined in the cannonade. After ten minutes the order to “cease fire” was given. Several of the trawlers had been hit, one of them sunk, and in the excitement the Russians had fired on each other. The cruiser Aurora had four hits just above the waterline, her chimneys shot to pieces, one officer slightly wounded, and her chaplain mortally wounded.

At this point the Kamchatka reported that she was being followed by two torpedo boats. Twenty-five minutes later she showed up and announced that both vessels had disappeared. Somewhat of an anticlimax!

Rozhdestvenski continued on his course to Vigo, the next coaling point. The “Hull Incident” came along with him. The Admiral fully expected to hear from his chiefs concerning the events of October 21-22, but he was not prepared for the reception he got in Vigo. The First Division arrived there October 26. No sooner had they dropped anchor than the Harbor Master appeared and advised Rozhdestvenski that he could not take on coal, even from his own colliers, and that none of his men would be allowed ashore. He was also told that he would be required to leave after twenty-four hours. Rozhdestvenski calmly informed the Spanish official that he was in need of repairs and would remain five days in Vigo, that he had a right to take on coal from his own colliers then in the harbor, and that if he encountered any interference with what he considered his rights he would not hesitate to use force. In the meantime he put armed guards at all his anchor buoys and moorings.

If the Admiral had difficulty in understanding why the usually courteous and friendly Spaniards should be so hostile, he was probably enlightened when he read the newspapers. The outcry in the British press was unbelievable. The Baltic Fleet was a “mad dog squadron.” The Czar should at once recall it or, better still, the British fleet should destroy it. In Parliament it was proposed that Rozhdestvenski be tried for piracy. One of the charges brought against him was that one of his torpedo boats had remained on the scene of the fray until dawn without offering help, thus violating one of the unwritten canons of the sea.

The Hull fishermen had grievously overplayed their hand in formulating this accusation, and Rozhdestvenski lost no time in seizing the opportunity to take the offensive. Russian torpedo boats on the scene? Nonsense! There was not a Russian torpedo boat within two hundred miles of the spot. They had all been sent on to Cherbourg. The torpedo boat you saw must have been a Japanese vessel which had been damaged by Russian fire and was making temporary repairs but for obvious reasons could not reveal its presence.² Moreover the Admiral was ready to produce at least three officers who had, independently of each other, seen torpedo boats among the Hull trawlers and could give details of outline and rigging which would exclude any possibility of their being fishing craft.

Russians all over the world who had been hanging their heads in shame could now hold them up. Rozhdestvenski’s version of events put an entirely new face on matters. The Russian Consul-General at Vigo, who had groaned when this mess was tossed into his lap, began showing some spunk. Meanwhile the Admiral had gotten in touch with St. Petersburg, and now it was the Russians who were demanding an international commission to investigate the incident. A board of five officers, one British, one Russian, one French, one Austro-Hungarian, and one American met in Paris. Among the officers who testified was Captain Klado who, be it said, on this occasion was absolutely loyal to his chief.

In due course the commission handed down a typically diplomatic report, one aimed solely at avoiding a European war. The majority of the commission found that Rozhdestvenski had sufficient grounds for believing his squadron in danger, though not for opening fire when he did. In the circumstances Great Britain had no grounds for claiming that she had been offended. As long as Russia was willing to foot the bill for damages—65,000 pounds sterling for one boat sunk, two men killed, and six wounded— there was nothing more to be said, except perhaps to suggest that Rozhdestvenski might have dispatched a ship to the nearest British port to express regrets.

Russia could afford to take the lesson in manners with a smile, and she could afford to pay the bill, which included even the estimated value of the fish assumed to be in the lost nets! What she could not afford, nor could any other nation, was the ridicule of having fired on her own ships and the odium of having shot defenseless fishermen. To this day the Russian Navy has not recovered from either.

Fifty years have now elapsed, and it is extremely improbable that any additional information on the Hull incident will ever come to light. The radio log book of the Kamchatka would make interesting reading, but that and many other pertinent documents have either been destroyed or lost. Moreover there seems to be a deliberate design in Russia to draw a veil over the entire Japanese war. From the knowledge at hand we must conclude that the Russians blundered at the Dogger Bank, although their witnesses stood up remarkably well under British cross- examination in Paris.

It is curious that the Official Japanese Report should give only the briefest mention to the Hull incident. That reticence may contain the answer to the whole affair. The Hull incident may actually have been an early and most successful example of psychological warfare, in which case Japanese secretiveness is perfectly understandable.

IV

Rozhdestvenski had arrived at Vigo on October 26, but it was not until the 31st that the Russian Ambassador in Madrid finally obtained permission for his ships to take on 400 tons apiece from their colliers. Disregarding this arbitrary limitation, each ship took on twice the prescribed amount. Officers and men coaled without interruption for twelve hours. In the meantime Admiral Folker- sam’s division had taken on coal—without asking anyone’s permission—off the coast of England near Brighton. Thereupon both divisions proceeded to a rendezvous at Tangier.

The journey from Vigo to Tangier was a most humiliating experience for Rozhdestvenski. He left Vigo on November 1, escorted by the Spanish cruiser Eslramadura. Once outside territorial waters the British took over. Five of their cruisers never let him out of their sight. From the bridge of the Souvarojf, which had stopped to permit the Orel to repair its machinery, he watched them maneuvering, scouting in pairs in all directions with perfect precision. “Don’t you admire this?” he asked one of the officers on duty. “This is something like it. Those are seamen. Oh, if only we ... ” and he ran down the ladder without completing his sentence.

Rozhdestvenski and Folkersam arrived at Tangier on November 3, where they were kindly received by the Sultan who granted them the unhindered use of the harbor. The coaling operations lasted six hours and averaged 350 tons per ship. The Alexander III did better than 400 tons and was awarded a prize of 1,500 rubles. The Baltic Fleet had by this time steamed 2,320 miles since leaving Libau and had reached the parting of the ways, the First Division to go around the Cape of Good Hope, the Second Division to go through the Suez Canal.

There has been considerable discussion as to why the Russians divided their fleet for the journey to the Far East. The generally accepted reason is that the dimensions of the Borodino class would not allow their passage through the Suez Canal. As a matter of fact all the Russian ships could have transited that waterway. It would indeed have been shortsighted to have fastened that handicap on their navy! The division of the fleet was the result of a careful estimate of the situation by Rozhdestvenski. The route around the Cape had several advantages. France being an ally of Russia would probably allow her to make some use of the colonies of Dakar, Gaboon, and Madagascar. It would avoid the dangerous waters of the Red Sea. Again we have the reports of mysterious torpedo boats, south of Suez this time. Some more psychological warfare? Not entirely. The Japanese did study the question of attacking the Russians in the Indian Ocean but gave up the idea in favor of a concentration in home waters. Britain could not exert as much influence on neutrals in African waters as in the Mediterranean. On the other hand Rozhdestvenski did not dare expose his older ships to the inevitable buffeting of the long journey around the Cape. Some might conceivably not get through. The decision reached was a compromise. The weaker ships would go through the canal; the saving in mileage would offset their lack of speed. The more powerful ships would take the longer but, on the whole, safer route around the Cape. At Tangier the fleet underwent a regrouping to conform to this estimate.

The Osliaba, Admiral Folkersam’s flagship, was added to the First Division which now consisted of the battleships Souvarojf, Alexander III, Borodino, Orel, and Osliaba. This would seem like a reversion to Rozhdestven- ski’s original plan of having the battleship division independently under his command. These ships were to form a column to starboard. Six transports and a hospital ship were to steam to port. The rear was brought up by the cruisers Nakhimof, Aurora, and Dmitry Donskoi in column, under the command of Admiral Enquist. The armored cruisers Sissoi Veliki and Navarin, the light cruisers Svietlana, Jemtchug, Almas, and several transports were assigned to Admiral Folkersam who was to lead them through the Mediterranean. Rendezvous was set for the island of St. Mary off the east coast of Madagascar.

Before touching at Tangier the torpedo boats had been detached and directed to Crete. Folkersam followed on November 3, and on the 4th Rozhdestvenski put to sea and headed south, for Dakar presumably, to the great surprise of naval men all over the globe, who fully expected him to follow his junior into the Mediterranean. What? Undertake a journey of 8,350 miles³ around Africa! Odds were freely offered in London and New York that he would never reach the Far East.

It did seem a foolhardy undertaking. The most serious problem confronting Rozhdestvenski was the coal supply. The Russian Admiralty had entered into a contract with the Hamburg-America Line to deliver coal at stated points along the route. The contract was carelessly drawn and was to cause one serious crisis. Russia was to pay dearly for not having a merchant fleet of her own. But in Tokio the experts began to get worried and to make some rapid calculations. Why, if the Russian ships should make anywhere near their trial speed, they would be in the Formosa channel in the beginning of January at the latest.

And now began a ghastly race against time. For every mile Rozhdestvenski steamed toward Port Arthur, General Nogi gained, at a terrific cost, a few yards on the hills of the Liaotung peninsula.

On November 12 Rozhdestvenski reached Dakar with his fifteen ships. He had lost six hours by reason of a breakdown of the transport Malaya, the lame duck of the fleet. His average speed had been only ten knots. In the harbor lay ten Hamburg-America Line ships with 30,000 tons of coal. The Admiral came ashore to pay his respects to the Governor, a charming French gentleman who informed him, ever so politely, that he had been ordered by his chiefs not to allow the Russian ships to take on coal in the harbor. Obviously the British Ambassador to France had been busy in Paris, and had reminded the Quai d’Orsay of some principles of international law. The Russians must go beyond the three mile limit to do the coaling. Why not try the Cape Verde Islands a few miles away, the Governor suggested? With the ground swell prevalent in these waters, that was equivalent to saying they must not coal at all. Any way, Rozhdestvenski did not have enough coal remaining in his bunkers to take him even as far as the Cape Verde Islands. “You obey orders from Paris, I obey orders from St. Petersburg,” he told the Governor. “I intend to take on coal unless your shore batteries prevent me.” “You surely must know we have no shore batteries,” said the Governor. Both men burst out laughing, and the coaling began.

The Russian crews worked twenty-nine hours in a heat so intense that fifteen to twenty minute shifts were all they could endure. Lieutenant Nelidoff, son of the Russian Ambassador to Paris, died of heat prostration. He was buried in Dakar with full military honors.

After replenishing their supplies from the stores which had been sent ahead months ago, the squadron departed on November 16. From the Governor’s house a message of good luck was fluttering from the signal mast. It was pleasant to know that the entire world did not consider them murderers or morons.

The next leg of the journey, from Dakar to Libreville in the French colony of Gaboon, was anything but lucky. Every few miles some ship would break down. First the Malaya. No sooner had she hoisted the welcome signal “repairs completed” than the Dmitri Donskoi ran on a bar and got sand in her Kingston valve. Next a bearing on the Borodino became overheated. Then again the Malaya, which had stove in a plate while coaling and was leaking like a sieve, reported thather pumps would not work. Rozhdestvenski ordered her taken in tow by the tug Roland. Of course the cable parted. A chain was substituted. Speed had to be reduced to 4J knots. Trouble was encountered finding the mouth of the Gaboon River. A mistake in navigation had resulted in a landfall thirty miles too far south. The Roland dropped the Malaya and set out to find the river. It was not until the 26th that the squadron dropped anchor off Libreville. It had taken ten days to steam 1,950 miles. At that rate Port Arthur seemed a long way off.

A pleasant reception was awaiting Rozhdestvenski in Libreville. The German colliers were ready and steaming out toward the Russian ships, also the Esperance laden with supplies of fresh food. And closing the procession was the Vice-Governor in his launch bringing flowers, fruits, and cases of champagne.

Rozhdestvenski was about to make his requests when the Governor interrupted him to suggest that they first drink a bottle of champagne to the health of the Czar. The Governor was only too willing to have his distinguished visitors remain as long as they wanted. In the meantime, coaling had begun, outside of territorial waters, be it said, as the sea was as smooth as glass. Twenty-six thousand tons were taken on. Every nook and cranny of the ships was filled. The next leg might be a long one, as there was no telling what would happen at the next port of call. Rozhdestvenski had to accept the calculated risk of capsizing. He was about to leave when the Governor suggested that he give his crews a day or so of rest. What could have happened since Dakar to warrant such cordiality? Somebody must have forcibly reminded the Quai d’Orsay that an alliance takes precedence over international law. It was not until December 1 that the Russian squadron put to sea and headed for Great Fish Bay in Portuguese Angola.

It was a very hostile reception the Russians encountered on December 6 in that century old ally of Britain. The Portuguese river gunboat Limpopo ordered Rozhdestvenski to keep outside of the three mile limit. When he refused and proceeded to anchor and take on coal, the little warship hurried off in the direction of Mossamedes to alert the nearest British cruiser. The Admiral did not tarry long, however, and left the next morning for Luderitz in German East Africa. The British cruiser Barossa appeared on the scene long after the squadron had departed. It is interesting to speculate as to what might have happened if the British had arrived sooner. The first World War might have started in 1904 instead of 1914.

During his passage to Luderitz Rozhde- stvenski ran into his first bad weather. The squadron entered Luderitz Bight on December 11 pursued by a force 10 wind. The Admiral’s judgment in not taking Folkersam’s ships around the Cape was being abundantly justified. It was not until the 14th that he could launch a boat and send an officer to call on the Governor. Meantime coaling was out of the question. The delay was maddening.

The welcome given the Russians in Luderitz was in sharp contrast with the hostility shown them in Great Fish Bay. The Germans had a small war of their own on their hands, the Herero insurrection, and were inclined to be sympathetic with those engaged in an all-out war. The Russians were free to take on coal and provisions and make needed repairs. The Governor went so far as to give his visitor a timely warning. He had been informed by one of his agents that the Japanese had been constructing in Bombay torpedo boats resembling in outline the fishing boats used in the British colonies. Rozhdestvenski, who to his dying day was convinced that Japanese craft had been hidden among the Hull trawlers, was therefore not surprised when he received a signal from the Admiralty, quoting a note the British Government had forwarded to the Russian Government, to the effect that the waters off Durban were frequented by fishermen whom the Baltic Fleet would probably meet and that “a repetition of the Hull incident would be most undesirable.” To which ill-disguised threat Rozhdestvenski replied: “I shall ruthlessly destroy all Durbanese fishing craft who attempt to break through my squadron or come within torpedo range. I request that you so inform the Royal British Government in order that the Colonial authorities may give fishermen the appropriate warning.”

On the 16th a steamer from Capetown entered the harbor and a bundle of newspapers was handed to Rozhdestvenski. They contained bad news. On December 6 Nogi had captured 203-Meter Hill. The Admiral knew this meant the end of the Port Arthur squadron. But why had he not been informed by his chiefs instead of being allowed to learn the evil tidings from foreign newspapers? Were they afraid he would turn back? If so, they did not know their man.

On December 17, the weather having moderated, he put to sea to fight Togo unaided.

V

The three thousand mile journey around the Cape of Good Hope beggars description. No sooner was the squadron out of Luderitz Bight than the storm increased in violence until it reached hurricane force. Every ship was carrying in its hold and on deck the coal needed for the long run to the Island of St. Mary. The top-heavy vessels were in constant danger of capsizing. Fortunately the wind was astern. It is a high tribute to the seamanship of the Russians that they came through intact. Only one ship broke down, the Malaya. She had to be left to her fate. When last seen, she was rigging sails and battling against mountainous seas.⁴

Rozhdestvenski reached the island on December 29. The hospital ship Orel⁵ was awaiting him with news. The Port Arthur squadron had been sunk at its moorings by shells lobbed over the surrounding hills. The Admiral had expected this, now that 203- Meter Hill had been captured. But what he was not prepared for was the next piece of news. All the “self-sinkers” had been put under the command of Rear Admiral Nebogatoff and were to be sent out to join him. If the Port Arthur squadron had been destroyed, it was because it had failed in its attempt on August 10 to break through to Vladivostok. That failure was largely due to the fact that, in obedience to orders from the Czar, all ships had joined in the attempt. If the fastest ships had made the try, while the slower ones made a feint at the Japanese base at Dalny, many might have succeeded. Now the Admiralty was proposing to repeat that blunder in a slightly different way.

Destruction of the Port Arthur squadron had at last aroused the Admiralty. Belatedly they called upon Rozhdestvenski for his opinion, pointing out that now a mission of the utmost importance had been entrusted to him. He must secure command of the sea and cut communications between Japan and the mainland. If the Admiral felt that his squadron was unequal to that task, reinforcements would be sent. In other words, St. Petersburg was prating about command of the sea, when the best that could be hoped for was to maintain some kind of naval force in Far Eastern waters. Rozhdestvenski’s reply is worth quoting in extenso.

“I have not the slightest prospect of recovering command of the sea with the force under my orders. The dispatch of reinforcements composed of untested and in some cases badly built vessels would only render my fleet more vulnerable. In my view the only possible course is to use all force to break through to Vladivostok, and from this base threaten the enemy’s communications.”

The answer to that courageous and candid opinion was the dispatch of some unwonted museum pieces that would only be so- many millstones around his neck. Klado had done a thorough job. St. Petersburg was definitely under the spell of “pure arithmetic.” Rozhdestvenski had lost the race against Nogi’s howitzers; now he must win one against his own countrymen. By hook or crook he must get out of Madagascar before orders came to wait for Nebogatoff and his Third Pacific Squadron.

Vladivostok was now the goal; how to get there was the problem. Rozhdestvenski made a rapid readjustment to changed conditions. His plan now was to collect Folkersam and lose Nebogatoff, disappear in the Indian Ocean, make for the Straits of Malacca, and enter the South China Sea. Then a dash for Vladivostok where a squadron of two fast armored cruisers, the Rossia and the Gromoboi, the latter damaged but not beyond repair, and seven torpedo boats, the remains of the Vladivostok squadron, would further improve Russian chances. If Togo were encountered he would be engaged, but if possible he would be given the slip. Whatever ships got through would constitute another “fleet in being” to be reckoned with. It was a bold plan but the only one open to him. Moreover it had some chance of success. Japan’s victories had been Pyrrhic ones. Although the Russian conduct of the war so far had been a series of blunders, in no way attributable to Rozhdestvenski, be it said, it had nevertheless placed Japan in dire straits. Port Arthur had cost her 92,000 men; she had lost the flower of her army; her credit was exhausted; no one would lend her another yen and the constant vigil her fleet had maintained during the past eight months had seriously impaired the condition of her ships. In any event, Japan could not afford to repeat at Vladivostok the experience at Port Arthur.

But where was Folkersam? Safely at anchor in Nossi Be on the northwestern coast of Madagascar where he had arrived on December 29. Rozhdestvenski had wanted to coal and refit at Diego Suarez on the northern tip of Madagascar. It was easily the best harbor on the island and well equipped with shops and docks. Without consulting him the Admiralty had allowed the French Government, in response to British pressure, to substitute Nossi Be and had given Folkersam orders to proceed there. Folkersam had not thought of advising his chief of the change. As a result, for several days Rozhdestvenski did not know where his subordinate was and had to send Enquist’s cruisers scouting to find him. When the tug Roland did discover him, Folkersam had begun overhauling his ships and could not budge. Rozhdestvenski had to accept the fait accompli, interrupt his coaling, and start on a 400 mile trek north to Nossi Be. The newspapers the Roland brought contained more bad news. Port Arthur had capitulated on January 2, 1905.

On January 8 Rozhdestvenski arrived at Nossi Be and began putting pressure on all hands to get ready for sea. The sooner the better. Added to his other reasons for making haste a new one had arisen. Nossi Be was rapidly becoming another Sodom and Gomorrah. The morale of both officers and men was being undermined. Coaling proceeded at a furious pace. To the Admiral’s extreme annoyance it was German coal of inferior quality whereas the contract called for Welsh coal. The supercargo explained that the British government had put an embargo on coal for the Russian fleet, which was undoubtedly true. Tant pis. Let us get on. In five and a half days fifty thousand tons of coal were taken on. Nineteen vessels with 100,000 more tons of coal were on the way to Diego Suarez. Rozhdestvenski was about to give the supercargo instructions where to deliver them when a bolt out of the blue struck him. The Hamburg America Line colliers could not leave Madagascar. A delivery of coal from German ships could not be made on the high sea. The terms of the contract made no provisions for such a delivery. It would be a breach of neutrality. If that was the case, Rozhdestvenski might as well turn around and go home. It was heartbreaking, after superhuman efforts, to find that all his struggles had been in vain! The fate of Russia now depended on her Admiralty lawyers. A new contract would have to be negotiated. Meantime Rozhdestvenski was “in Chancery.”

Let us not be too severe with the Hamburg America Line. The company would expose itself to serious reprisals if it allowed its ships to become, so to speak, part of the Russian train. The astonishing thing is that no one had brought the matter up at the time the contract was made, though it was one that was bound to occur. However it was one for the Admiralty to have broached. The company’s lawyers could hardly have been expected to teach the Admiralty lawyers their business, and least of all to inquire how Rozhdestvenski proposed to get across the Indian Ocean. What seems unpardonable is that the Admiralty knew early in December that Rozhdestvenski’s plan to coal at sea would not meet with the approval of the Hamburg America Line, and they neither warned him to alter his plan nor made any attempt to secure from the company a concurrence in that plan. It would almost seem as if some people in St. Petersburg were looking for a scapegoat and did not want him to succeed.

Rozhdestvenski’s handling of this crisis is proof of his versatility, if nothing else. Without batting an eye, he inquired of the supercargo whether he realized that a breach of contract suit of stupendous proportions would result if his company persisted in its present attitude. The supercargo was duly impressed by that argument. Moreover he had no desire to see his company lose the enormous profits the contract was yielding. He and Rozhdestvenski accordingly worked out a new agreement under which the company would forward to the French port of Saigon, in Annam, whatever coal the Russians required. Furthermore four colliers with 30,- 000 tons of coal were to follow the squadron so that Rozhdestvenski could take on coal as needed during his crossing of the Indian Ocean. This last provision was a personal triumph for the Admiral as it meant a reversal of the company’s previous position. The difficulty of negotiating a contract of this complexity between parties thousands of miles apart is obvious. Every cable had to be sent by ship to some African port and there relayed to St. Petersburg or to Hamburg. To those familiar with “the law’s delay” the time required will seem remarkably short, exactly eight weeks. This was just the lime Togo required to overhaul his entire fleet.

And what was Rozhdestvenski doing during his enforced inactivity? He was trying to teach his men the rudiments of their calling. He began by having his squadron go through such simple maneuvers as getting under way from anchor, easy changes from line ahead to line of bearings. “Four months of cruising in company have not produced the desired result,” he recorded. Then in the evening, like a football coach going over a slow movie of a play, he would give his critique. Bad! Very bad!! Unpardonably bad!!! occur again and again in his notes. “I am dealing with beginners,” he lamented.

Target practice? The Admiral soon abandoned practice with the large caliber guns as a waste of ammunition, but in the meantime a shot from the Souvaroff hit the bridge of the Dmitri Donskoi.⁶ Patiently Rozhdestvenski explained to the gunners that they must learn to get on the target as their shells would explode only on hitting armor, whereas the more modern Japanese shells would detonate on striking merely water. In other words they must make up in accuracy of fire what their shells lacked in destructiveness. The performance of the smaller caliber guns was equally unsatisfactory. The 75 mm. fire was “very bad” and that of the 47 mm. guns was “too shameful to mention.” And it was on these latter guns that the fleet depended to ward off torpedo attacks. If they could not hit a stationary target, the Admiral inquired, how did they expect to hit a rapidly moving Japanese boat! Russian torpedo practice would have been comical had the situation not been so serious. None of the Russian torpedos followed the course on which it was set, and one actually turned around and chased the boat that had fired it.

The limited range of the German wireless continued a grave source of anxiety. Try as they would, neither the Russian nor the German operators could get the sets to work beyond 60 miles, whereas they were supposed to be good for 500 miles. The German engineers by this time had lost interest and had only one idea, to get on one of those German colliers and go home. “Rats leaving a sinking ship,” the Russian officers muttered as they saw them go over the side at Nossi Be.

Finally, on March 16, the combined squadrons of Rozhdestvenski and Folkersam, now reinforced by two cruisers, five torpedo boats and three auxiliaries, put out from Nossi Be. Before leaving, Rozhdestvenski had to take one more hard blow. Kuropatkin had been decisively defeated at Mukden.

“Where are you going?” the Admiralty inquired. Rozhdestvenski had no particular desire to give anyone his forwarding address just then. He would have had even less desire had he known that Klado⁷ was moving heaven and earth to have all the old monitors, gunboats, and torpedo boats, some of them dating from the late 70’s, sent out, without even bothering to have them overhauled. Fortunately for Rozhdestvenski, most of them were rotting away in the Black Sea and moreover, as they were warships, they could not pass through the Dardanelles without raising serious diplomatic difficulties.

“I am on my way East” was the Admiral’s laconic reply.

VI

Although Rozhdestvenski had traveled 11,270 miles since leaving Libau, he still had 5,230 to go to reach Kamranh Bay, near Saigon, where his colliers were to await him. The trackless expanse of the Indian Ocean lay ahead of him. Its immensity was welcome, however, as it permitted running at night with all lights burning. He had tried steaming without lights once. Never again! The danger of collision far outweighed the danger of a night torpedo attack. “You cannot do in war anything you have not learned in peace,” Admiral Makaroff once remarked. In spite of this seeming imprudence, the Baltic Fleet showed up safely in the Straits of Malacca and took the whole world by surprise. The Sunda Straits or any of the passages through the Dutch East Indies seemed so much more likely. When Rozhdestvenski proudly steamed past Singapore on April 8, the British officers rubbed their eyes. There was the much despised Russian fleet of forty-five ships; not one missing. The British press, to their credit be it said, were the first to admit they had been mistaken in the man. It was to be his only triumph.

Probably no one in Singapore was more surprised than the Russian Consul-General. Hastily making a bundle of all newspapers he could lay his hands on, he dashed for the harbor, raised his consular flag on a launch, and headed for the fleet. The Admiral sent a torpedo boat to meet him and the bundle was safely tossed over. The Consul, however, insisted on getting within hailing distance of the flagship, then raising a megaphone he shouted the important bit of news. Nebogat- off had left Djibuti on April 7. Without comment Rozhdestvenski passed through the straits and headed for Kamranh Bay, which he reached on April 12.

And here we come to an incident that has been the subject of much discussion. Early in the morning of the 12th the fleet began coaling sixty miles outside of Kamranh Bay instead of going into the harbor. All ships were ordered to get their engines in shape for another long run, although they had just completed one of over 5,000 miles, and to advise when they would be ready. Vladivostok at last! Excitement among the crews ran high. Repairs were made in record time. At one o’clock the Admiral called on all ships to signal the amount of coal in their bunkers. All but one showed an increase of 100 to 150 tons above the morning report. The Alexander III, Captain Buchwostok, hesitated and then advised 400 tons less than the morning report. “Have you not made a mistake?” the Admiral inquired. “No,” came the answer. What had happened? Instead of basing his first report on an actual measurement of the bunkers, Buchwostok had balanced estimated consumption against estimated intake from the colliers. And this from the ship which for a year and a half had held the efficiency pennant of the fleet! To take coal on now would mean a delay of two to three days as the colliers had gone on to Kamranh.

Whether or not the Alexander III was responsible for Rozhdestvenski’s postponement of his dash to Vladivostok will never be known. All who served with him agree that he was a taciturn man and little given to discussing his plans. It would seem as if success depended more on weather conditions than anything else. One thing is certain. The incident served to bring home forcibly to the Admiral the utter unreliability of his subordinates. Since leaving Libau not a day had gone by without some occurrence that must have made him lose confidence in everything but their bravery. It would take more than bravery, however, to beat the Japanese. While in Kamranh Bay he therefore took an unexpected step. He got in touch with the Admiralty and advised that in view of the condition of his ships and the lowered morale and vitality of his personnel, a fight to the finish with Togo’s fleet would only result in a useless sacrifice.

Curiously enough, the Japanese were said to be greatly perturbed by the arrival of the Baltic Fleet. They too were coming under the spell of “pure arithmetic.” An opportunity of negotiating a not too unfavorable peace was at hand. Rozhdestvenski’s exact recommendation was: “To use the fleet now being assembled in the area of operations as a means of exerting pressure in order to obtain as favorable a peace as possible.” It was the old concept of a “fleet in being” and the same idea advanced by General Kondratenko shortly before his death. Again Rozhdestven- ski had given his government good advice. It was difficult advice to give as it put him in the position of apparently trying to avoid battle. There was another argument in favor of a negotiated peace, one unfortunately none of his chiefs dared look in the face, the ever increasing mutterings of the coming revolution. A few days after Rozhdestvenski’s dispatch to the Admiralty open mutiny broke out on the Orel. Rozhdestvenski hurried on board, called all hands to the quarterdeck, and proceeded to give every man from the skipper to the last seaman a tongue lashing. Then he paused and said in a low voice: “We are all stuck in the same hell. Whoever does not do his duty is a rogue. I am doing mine.” In silence the men watched him go down the ladder, then slunk back to their posts.

The answer from the Admiralty was a curt order to wait for Nebogatoff and then go to Vladivostok. There was nothing left to do but hang around Kamranh Bay and vicinity while French cruisers, like policemen, made him move on. During the day he would cruise aimlessly up and down the coast of Annam waiting for dusk when he could sneak into some anchorage and occasionally take on coal. Suddenly on May 9 he was astonished to hear Russian messages coming over the air. “Vladimir Monomach lo Nicholas I ”! Soon these ships appeared over the horizon, followed by the Apraxin, the Senjavin, the Uchakof. Strange old- fashioned craft with tall chimmeys and short hulls, looking like “owls that had been shooed out of their trees into the blinding tropical sunshine,” to quote an eye witness, but nobody now called them “self-sinkers.” It was the Consul-General at Singapore who had given Rozhdestvenski’s forwarding address. Nobody in St. Petersburg knew it until he had showed up at Kamranh Bay.

No sooner had the Third Pacific Squadron joined the fleet than a boat put out from the flagship Nicholas I and brought Nebogatoff to the Souvarojf for a conference with his commander. It was to be the only one they were to have before going into action. With his usual thoroughness Rozhdestvenski had prepared everything and simply handed Nebogatoff a sheaf of orders to take back to his ship and study. What was uppermost in Rozhdestvenski’s mind was the question of his successor, should he himself be killed or disabled. Nebogatoff was surprised to hear that he had been selected for that position. “What about Folkersam?” he inquired. “Folkersam is dying,” Rozhdestvenski replied.⁸

The story of the Battle of Tsushima is too well known to require retelling. Its effect on Rozhdestvenski is what interests us.

The first question that presents itself is: Did the Baltic Fleet ever have a chance to get through to Vladivostok without battle? The answer is definitely no, not after Togo had been given eight weeks in which to overhaul his ships.⁹ If Rozhdestvenski had contrived to slip through the Japanese cordon in a fog, he was certain to be detected sooner or later and brought to action. The Japanese ships could steam at least 15 to 16 knots, whereas the speed of the Russians in their present condition could not exceed 10 to 11 knots. As a matter of fact on the day of the battle, May 27, 1905, after a cloudy morning, the skies cleared at noon.

Coming now to Rozhdestvenski’s choice of Tsushima Straits. He has been criticised for having chosen this approach as it would take him past the Japanese bases in southern Korea, notably Pusan. True, but the narrow straits of Tsugaru or La Perouse, his alternatives, had undoubtedly been mined and besides were hazardous in foggy weather, and, as usual, he had his coal supply to consider. It would seem as if the soundest plan was to create a doubt in his opponent’s mind and then choose the shortest route. This he did. The slowness of his approach was clever and caused the enemy many anxious hours. It was not until 4:45 A.M. of the day of the battle that one of the Japanese cruisers located him.

And now as to Rozhdestvenski’s conduct during the battle. It was exactly what you would expect of him. He had no hope of victory, but with magnificent coolness and courage he maneuvered to avoid having his T crossed, tried to relieve ships exposed to a concentrated fire, all the while pressing on toward Vladivostok. The Battle of Tsushima, however, had been lost at Nossi Be. The Japanese seemed nevertheless to have sensed that until Rozhdestvenski himself was eliminated, victory was not complete. They therefore concentrated their fire on the Souvaroff for four and a half hours. During this bombardment Rozhdestvenski was wounded several times, once seriously, and shortly before his flagship went down he was taken aboard the torpedo boat Buiny. From that vessel, which had been damaged, he was transferred to the Biedovy. By that time he was unconscious. When he regained consciousness, he learned that the Biedovy had surrendered and that he was on his way to Japan as a prisoner.

There remains one episode to relate if only to justify Rozhdestvenski’s judgment. During the battle very little attention was paid to Nebogatoff’s squadron. One would almost think that the Japanese had spared them for the reason that they were impeding the efforts of the other Russian ships. With Rozhdestvenski captured, Nebogatoff now found himself in command. Surrounded on all sides by the victorious enemy, he was faced with the unpleasant alternative of surrender or annihilation. He chose the former, although his crews were ready to fight on.

The aftermath, as far as Rozhdestvenski was concerned, is quickly told. His captors did everything possible to save his life and in due course had him in shape to undertake the long journey back to Russia. Before leaving Sasebo he received an unexpected visit from Togo whose kindness and courtesy were in the chivalrous tradition of the Bushido. “Defeat is a fate that may befall any of us,” said the Japanese commander philosophically. “All that matters is to do your duty, as you and your men did wonderfully.” Rozhdestvenski took Togo’s hand and said simply: “Thank you. I am no longer ashamed to have been defeated.”

On the long trek across the continent, crowds gathered at every station demanding to see the Admiral. “Zinovi Petrovitch,” they asked, “were you betrayed?” “No,” he invariably answered. “It is very simple, the Japanese hit while we missed.” Which was not quite true, as the Russian gunners, when put to the test under fire, had been much better than had been expected. In fact Togo’s flagship, the Mikasa, had been hit thirty-two times. The Russian gunners, however, could not supply the explosive force their shells lacked.

If Rozhdestvenski had wanted to “play politics.” . . . But that was not in his nature.

Tradition says that when Ulysses returned from his Odyssey, his dog was waiting for him. When Rozhdestvenski arrived in St. Petersburg, not a living creature was there to greet him. Once home, he demanded a court martial to examine his conduct. He was acquitted of any part in Nebogatoff’s surrender, but he was relieved of command for—believe it or not—“dereliction of duty” while Klado, his principal accuser, was promoted!

Rozhdestvenski lived on for two and a half years, haunted ever by the thought of the 4,545 men he had led to defeat and death. “I should have gone down with the Souvaroff.”