Awaiting the battle in sight of his own shores, Togo had concentrated as auxiliary squadrons to his armoured fleet a considerable number of protected cruisers and a whole swarm of torpedo craft. At this stage of her naval development, and on the eve of a life-and-death struggle, Japan had no idea of "scrapping" even the older ships. Anything that could carry a few good guns, and brave men to fight them, might be useful, so even the old Chinese ironclad which had carried Ting's flag at the Yalu battle, a ship dating from 1882, was under steam in one of the auxiliary squadrons, with four new 12-inch guns in her barbettes.
There were three of these auxiliary squadrons, commanded by Rear-Admiral Dewa, Rear-Admiral Uriu, and Rear-Admiral Kataoka, the last having as a subordinate commander Rear-Admiral Togo, a relative of the commander-in-chief. Dewa's flag flew in the "Kasagi," a fine cruiser of nearly 5000 tons, built in America, and he had with him her sister ships, the "Chitose" and "Taka-sago." Uriu's flag flew in the "Naniwa," Togo's ship when he was a captain in the Chinese war. Several of the fine cruisers which Ito had then led to victory were present, many of them remodelled, and all provided with new guns. Then there were a number of small protected cruisers, built in Japanese dockyards since the Chinese war, the heralds of the later time when the Japanese navy would all be home-built. Battleships, armoured cruisers, and protected cruisers were all swifter than the Russian ships. The fleet as a whole could manœuvre at fully fifty per cent greater speed than the enemy, and this meant that it could choose its own position in battle.
The five torpedo squadrons included two or three torpedo-gunboats, twenty-one fine destroyers, and some eighty torpedo-boats. Togo's plans had the simplicity which is a necessity in the rough game of war, where elaborate schemes are likely to go wrong. Some of the swift protected cruisers were scouting south of the straits. The fleet was anchored in a body in Masampho Bay, and in wireless communication with its scouts. The armoured fleet was to make the main attack on the head of the Russian advance. The protected cruiser squadrons were to sweep round the enemy's flanks, fall upon his rear, and destroy his transports and auxiliaries. The torpedo flotilla was to be ready to dash in and complete the defeat of the enemy when his fleet was crippled by the fight with the heavy ships.
Most of the officers and men of the Russian fleet had the dogged courage that could carry them through even a hopeless fight, but they looked forward to the immediate future with forebodings of disaster. Even among the officers on board the great "Suvaroff" there was a feeling that the most that could be hoped for was that a few ships would struggle through to Vladivostock, if there was a battle, and that the best thing that could happen would be for the thick weather and rough seas to enable them to avoid anything like a close fight with the Japanese.
During the last day before the fight Rojdestvensky, who did not want to hurry forward, but was timing his advance so as to pass the straits in the middle of the next day, spent some time in manœuvres. Captain Semenoff's notes on the proceedings convey a useful lesson.
"Once again" (he says), "and for the last time, we were forcibly reminded of the old truism that a 'fleet' is created by long 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 theatre of operations, is no fleet, but a chance concourse of vessels."[27]
Wireless telegraphy had come into use since the last naval war, and a fleet could now try to overhear the aerial messages of an enemy. In the Russian fleet the order had been given that no wireless messages were to be sent. In other words, the operators were to keep silence, and listen by watching their apparatus. In the morning of the 26th they thought they detected messages passing. In the evening these were more frequent—"short messages of a word or two" was the interpretation that the experts in the signal cabins put upon the unintelligible flickerings of the indicator, and they suggested that they were mere negative code-signals from the Japanese scouts to their main fleet, repeating an indication that they were on the alert, and had seen nothing. This was mere guesswork, however, and Politovsky's diary of the voyage[28] shows that near the Cape, at Madagascar, and out in the midst of the Indian Ocean, Rojdestvensky's wireless operators had thought that they detected Japanese aerial signalling, simply because the receivers gave indications they could not understand. Possibly these were merely the effect of electric storms on the apparatus.
Once or twice, on 26 May, they thought they could read fragments of sentences, such as—"Last night—nothing—eleven lights—not in line." The short messages in the evening came at fixed times. This showed that prearranged signalling was really going on. It gave the impression that perhaps the fleet was being watched by unseen enemies.
As the sun went down the ships closed up, and half the officers were detailed for duty at the guns during the hours of darkness. The rest lay down fully dressed, ready to turn out at a moment's notice. Many slept on the decks. No lights were shown. Semenoff's description of that night of anxious expectation is worth quoting. He was on board the flagship, the "Suvaroff":—
"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 would 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 were visible on all sides. Men were nimbly running up and down the ladders; there was a tinkling of bells and a 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."[29]