THE ADVENTURE OF THE KINSHIU MARU.
By the time that we were fairly out at sea, it was pitch dark, not a star to be seen, and to add still further to the obscurity, a light mist gathered, as it so often does in the Japan Sea, so that by eight o’clock it was only with the utmost difficulty that we were able to discern a small junk which we had in tow, and which had been employed by us to facilitate the landing of the troops. The weather still continued overcast, and the play of sheet lightning gradually grew more vivid and frequent; but there was no wind, and not much sea; and as time went on I began to think, with Yagi, that Takebe’s apprehensions had been groundless, and that we were in for nothing worse than, may be, a thunderstorm, after all.
I spent a couple of hours in the saloon that night, watching the infantry officers, of whom there were six, playing some wonderful game of cards, of which I could make nothing, and then strolled up on the bridge to see what the weather was like, and to have a yarn with Yagi, before turning in for the night. It was still hazy and very overcast, but there was not a breath of air save the draught created by the motion of the ship, and there was a very beautiful display of sheet lightning, almost continuous, which lighted up the clouds, the mist, and the sea in the most marvellous manner.
The ship was then heading south-east, with all her lights burning brightly, as in duty bound, and I was sitting astride a camp-stool, with my shoulders resting against the port rail of the bridge, while Yagi, also occupying a camp-stool, sat facing me. He was spinning some yarn—a sort of Japanese fairy tale, it seemed to be—about a geisha, while I was staring contemplatively into the darkness over the starboard bow, watching the wonderful play of the lightning, when suddenly, as a flash lighted up the gloom, I thought I caught a momentary glimpse of three or four dark shapes, about a mile away, broad on the starboard bow. If I had really seen those shapes, they could only be ships, and they were showing no lights; I therefore ruthlessly cut into the skipper’s yarn by directing his attention to the point where the momentary vision had revealed itself.
“What is that you say?” he exclaimed. “Ships without lights? Then it must be our Admiral, still hunting for the Vladivostock squadron. Well, we have not seen them, and we had better tell him so, and at the same time inquire whether he has any fresh orders for us. Mr Uchida,”—to the chief officer,—“our squadron is away out there, somewhere on the starboard bow. Have the goodness to honourably make our night signal, as I wish to speak the Admiral.”
Uchida hurried away and, the signal lanterns being always kept ready for immediate use, in less than a minute they were hoisted. Meanwhile there had been no further lightning flashes to illuminate the darkness, and I rose to my feet, for we were still steaming ahead at full speed, and I had a feeling that we must be drawing pretty close to the strangers. As I did so, our signal was answered by the imperative order: “Stop immediately!” And at the same instant a brilliant and protracted flicker of sheet lightning revealed four large ships, not more than three cables’ lengths distant. The leading ship was a big lump of a four-funnelled cruiser, the funnels coloured white, with black tops, and she carried three masts. The second craft was very similar in general appearance to the first, also having four white, black-topped funnels, and three masts. The third was a two-masted, three-funnelled ship; while the fourth was of distinctly ancient appearance, being of the period when sails were as much used as steam. She had two funnels, and was barque-rigged, with royal yards across, but she was now under steam, with all her canvas furled. We had no such ships in our fleet, while I instantly identified the barque-rigged craft as the Russian cruiser Rurik, of the Vladivostock squadron! That squadron, then, for which Admiral Kamimura was especially hunting, was actually at sea, and we had fallen in with it!
There was not the least doubt about it. In every wardroom and gunroom of every Japanese warship there was an album containing a beautiful, complete set of photographs of every ship in the Russian navy, each ship being pictured from at least four different points of view; and it was a part of every officer’s duty to study these photographs until he had acquired the ability to identify at sight any Russian warship he might chance to encounter. Thus, in the leading ship of the squadron in sight, a moment’s reflection enabled me to recognise the Rossia, with, astern of her, the Gromoboi, then the Bogatyr, and finally the Rurik.
“Jove!” I exclaimed. “We’ve done it now, with a vengeance, Yagi. Those four ships comprise the Russian Vladivostock squadron; and we are right under their guns! Stop her, man, for heaven’s sake. It is the only thing you can do. If you don’t, the beggars will sink us out of hand.”
“They will probably do that in any case,” growled Yagi, as he laid his hand on the engine-room telegraph and rang down an order to stop the engines. “But, as you honourably say, Captain, it is the only thing to be done, although it means the interior of a Russian prison for all hands of us.”
As the Kinshiu’s engines stopped, the Rossia turned her searchlights upon us, brought her guns to bear, and lowered two boats, the crews of which we could see were armed to the teeth. And at the same moment two destroyers loomed up out of the darkness, one of which stationed herself on our port bow, while the other placed herself upon our starboard quarter, each of them with their tubes and guns manned. Evidently, the Russians did not mean to leave us the smallest loophole for escape.