DESOLATION IN MANCHURIA.
The Hero of Japan
The most severe loss sustained by the Japanese was that of the gallant Commander Hirose, whose death, while it inflamed his comrades with pride, caused universal mourning. He had only recently been promoted for the skill and courage which he had displayed in the previous attempt to block the harbor. He was then in command of the Hokoku Maru, and regardless of the appalling fire directed upon her, he managed to rush his ship further than any of her companions up the channel before he blew her up and sent her to the bottom. An act of particularly cool, almost reckless, daring on his part on that occasion was now fondly recalled by his men. The ship was sinking, she was the target of all the Russian batteries, and the crew had taken refuge in the boats; but Commander Hirose had forgotten something. It was nothing less important than his sword, which he had left on the bridge. So, in spite of the imminent peril of the situation, he coolly went back to recover it, buckled it on, and escaped into the boat just in time, for the ship went down a moment afterwards. Commander Hirose was well known in naval circles in England, for he was a visitor to those shores a few years before on business for the Japanese Admiralty, and had made many friends. His remains were conveyed to Japan and accorded a public funeral, and the Mikado only expressed the feelings of the whole nation when he posthumously conferred upon the fallen hero the Order of the Kite and the Order of the Rising Sun.
Channel Still Unclosed
The exact amount of obstruction caused in the channel by the sinking of the fireships could not be ascertained. It is, however, apparent from subsequent events that whatever inconvenience to navigation, temporary or permanent, may have resulted, it was not sufficient to prevent the passage of Admiral Makaroff's ships. At daybreak on the very morning of the attack he led his whole fleet out and lined it up in the roadstead in readiness to meet the Japanese fleet, which was in sight ten miles out at sea. Seeing, however, that his enemy had no intention of coming outside the range of the forts, Admiral Togo was not to be tempted nearer, and retired with the whole of his force to the southward. For several days he did not give any outward signs of activity, and his ships were not sighted off Port Arthur, a fact which gave rise to the impression that he was engaged in covering the transport of fresh Japanese troops to the west coast of Korea. On the other hand, the vigilance of Admiral Makaroff showed no indication of abating. On the 6th of April the steamer Haimun, specially chartered for the service of the London Times, was overhauled by the cruiser Bayan an at a distance of thirty-five miles to the southeast of Port Arthur. A shot fired across the Haimun's bows brought her to, and two lieutenants put off with a boat's crew and boarded her. The greatest politeness was shown, and after an examination of the Haimun's papers she was allowed to proceed. The Times' correspondent was able to observe that the Bayan, which was flying the flag of the Admiral himself, showed signs of injuries received in the recent fighting. Marks produced by splinters of shell were visible all over her, and a large hole had been rent in one of her smoke-stacks. This fact seems to bear out the story published in the Port Arthur Journal of the destruction wrought upon the Bayan by the high-angle fire of the Japanese in the bombardment of the 10th of March. The correspondent added that the officers and men who boarded his steamer "were a little fine drawn, but nevertheless looked good material." Some indication can be gathered from this statement of the strain which Admiral Togo's repeated attacks had involved upon his opponents. The constant anxiety had necessarily begun to tell upon the defending force, and many more than the officers and crew of the Bayan must have acquired that gaunt, tense appearance that comes from a sense of ever-impending danger heightened by a past experience of tragedy and disaster. No better illustration, indeed, of the watchfulness entailed on the Russians by the perpetual menace of their foe could be given than the case of Admiral Makaroff himself, who sent the following telegram to the President of the War Relief Society at Kronstadt on March 29th:—
"Last night was a very hot one, but we cannot hope for a very quiet time now or in the near future. I sleep without undressing in order that I maybe ready for any emergency. Consequently, I cannot observe your medical advice to take care of myself; nevertheless, I feel splendid."
The Shadows of Fate
These words were destined soon to receive a fulfilment more heart-shaking than any that can have presented itself as possible to the mind either of the writer of the letter or of its recipient. For even then stern Fate was standing ready with the abhorred shears; the shadows were gathering round the head of the devoted Makaroff; and his weary watch, pursued so bravely, so unflinchingly, and, alas for him and his country, so unavailingly, was moving swiftly towards its tragic close.
The Great Catastrophe
For on April 13th the telegraph wires flashed all over the world the news of a blow to Russia's might in the Far East, more appallingly dramatic in its suddenness and more fatal in its consequences than any that had yet befallen her in the preceding two months of bungling and misfortune. The stunning intelligence was conveyed to the Czar in the following telegram from Rear-Admiral Grigorovitch, Naval Commandant at Port Arthur:—