"You may be unable to return through the breach," said the admiral. "The Chinese will be prepared and alive to the danger."
"I am quite ready," replied the officer addressed, calmly.
"I am grieved to order the attack. But there is no help for it. It must be done for our country's sake. Do your best, as I am sure you will, and emblazon your name upon the scroll of fame."
With these words the admiral dismissed the commander of the flotilla, and with a touching farewell. They "could scarcely have expected to meet again," says the narrator of the interview.
When the officer rejoined his boat he communicated his orders, and did not hide the danger. Death was almost certain, there were no lanterns, no plans, no orders, no signals. The boats cast off everything not necessary for the attack, as a forlorn hope goes into action unfettered.
"Our boats and our bodies are the enemy's." This was the signal. But little hope, and less alarm, was displayed. At a quarter to three a.m. (February 6th) the boats left the fleet to destroy Chinese ships, but our torpedo-boat came back, having collided with the boom in the dark. So I returned unharmed.
We, outside, could not see the results until daylight, but the roar of the cannon, the flashing of the sweeping search-lights, and the bursting of the shells could be perceived in the darkness. We saw rockets signalling in the harbour, but until the boats returned great anxiety was felt. At daybreak they all returned safely, and reported three ships sunk. These were the Wei-yuen, Lai-yuen, and Pao-Hwa.
On the 5th I had rejoined the Naniwa, by permission, and saw that the contest could only end in one way soon. When the news came on the 6th February that the three ships had been sunk there was great rejoicing, and many congratulations were exchanged in the squadron. On the 7th we all took part in "the ball," shelling the forts and firing for a couple of hours until my head seemed splitting, and I was perfectly deaf for a while after.
We were in the middle of the smoke and din when a signal was made high above the vapour that the Chinese torpedo-boats were escaping by the western passage in the direction of Chefoo. The First Flying Squadron was ordered to pursue them—the Yoshino leading us. She is a very fast cruiser, her speed being twenty-three knots, the rest being not much more than eighteen. We spun along, full speed, and some alarm was caused in the Naniwa by a shell which plumped into the coal-bunker. Fortunately the protection afforded by the coal prevented any serious damage being done, and the Chinese boats were all destroyed save two, which managed to elude the pursuers, though crippled, and to reach the treaty port—Chefoo.
I was anxious to go there too, as I believed I could find protection, but of course the Naniwa could not land me at that time. The ship returned to the blockade; the attack and bombardment was resumed on the 8th February, when the combined squadrons, having silenced the fort on Sih Island, destroyed some hundreds of yards of the terrible boom, and cut it up.