"We suffered no casualties with the exception of a seaman belonging to the torpedo-boat destroyer Boevoi."
And the Sober Truth
No one reading this remarkable account could imagine that it described an operation which ultimately sealed the doom of Port Arthur. For a more sober but a more accurate narrative we must turn to the dispatches of Admiral Togo. On May 2nd, as already recounted, the Japanese Naval Commander-in-Chief received the news of the successful crossing of the Yalu. His plans were already laid and his preparations were complete. Eight merchant steamers this time had been secured for the service, and upwards of 20,000 men volunteered for the glorious duty of manning them and dying for their country. Of these, 159 were ultimately selected. The names of the steamers were the Mikawa, Sakura, Totomi, Yedo, Otaru, Sagami, Aikoku, and Asagawo. The vessels ordered to escort the doomed hulks were the gunboats Akagi and Chokai, the 2nd, 3rd, 4th, and 5th destroyer flotillas, and the 9th, 10th, and 14th torpedo-boat flotillas. The whole force, which was under the command of Commander Hayashi, started for its destination on the night of May 2nd.
Third Blocking Attempt
It is a melancholy circumstance, typical of the sombre, but ofttimes splendid, tragedy of war, that of this third and most successful attempt to block the harbor the narrative is necessarily the most fragmentary and obscure, owing to the loss of life which it entailed. On the two previous occasions, reckless as was the gallantry of the Japanese and enormous as were the risks they ran, the casualties were surprisingly small, and the majority of the men engaged were able to return to their ships and tell the story of their enterprise. On this night, however, everything was against success; the Russians were more fully prepared to meet attack than they had ever been before; their shooting was more effective; and worse still, the weather turned out wholly unfavorable, the ships had to proceed singly upon their way; and when they were sunk the difficulties in the way of recovering their crews proved more than usually arduous, and most of them were either shot or drowned or taken prisoner. In spite of all these adverse circumstances a splendid success was achieved, but it was achieved under conditions which largely obliterated the record, and leaves but sparse material for the historian.
Lurid Flashing of Searchlights
The broad outlines of the story, however, are clear. When the steamers with their accompanying flotillas were well on their way, a strong southeasterly breeze sprang up, which rapidly freshened into a gale. It was impossible in the circumstances to keep the vessels together, and, fearing that the attack would in consequence be ineffective, Commander Hayashi signalled to his subordinates to abandon the expedition for the time being. But the weather and the heavy seas prevented his signals from being observed, and the gallant enterprise therefore proceeded unchecked. By one in the morning the 14th torpedo-boat flotilla reached the roadstead and pressed steadily towards the eastern side of the harbor mouth. The little vessels were soon exposed to the glare of the searchlights, and at once a furious bombardment broke out upon them from the Russian gunboats and the shore batteries. For the moment they retreated, drawing the enemy's fire upon them, while the leading steamer, which was close behind, made a dash for the channel. This vessel was the Mikawa, under the command of Lieut. Sosa. The Russians, as we have said, were much better prepared to resist attack than on previous occasions. Piles of combustibles, stationed at various points on the shore on each side of the harbor mouth, were set on fire, and cast a lurid light on the scene, throwing into strong relief the dark forms of the advancing ships, while the searchlights flashed backwards and forwards over the unquiet surface of the sea, and made every movement of the Japanese fatally visible to the defenders on the fortress. A storm of missiles burst over the devoted expedition, but undeterred, intent only on reaching the centre of the channel, Lieut. Sosa pushed his vessel forward at the top of her speed. Nothing could stop him or his crew—nor raging sea, nor searchlight, nor even the rain of shot and shell. The Mikawa stuck bravely to her course, and, breaking through the boom which stretched across the mouth, anchored right in the middle of the channel. In a moment the fuse was lighted, and as the commander and his crew pushed off in the boats the ship blew up and sank in the fairway. The Sakura, which was not far behind, was less lucky than her companion. She was driven upon a rock at the eastern side of the entrance, and blew up outside the channel.
On the Bones of their Predecessors
There was a short pause, and then came a fresh contingent of fireships, rushing upon destruction. The aim of the Russian gunners had much improved; in the fierce glare of the searchlights and the flaming beacons every detail of the steamers was distinctly visible, and that they should have succeeded in advancing into the channel in the face of such a withering blast as swept across their course was little short of a miracle. The waters, too, were thickly sown with mines, in readiness for such an assault as this, and they did serious execution. The Aikoku was distant only five cables from the mouth when she struck one of these deadly engines and blew up, her race cut short just when the goal was at hand. Her commander, Lieut. Uchida, the chief engineer, Aoki, and eight of the crew were killed or drowned. The Asagawo was riddled with shot, her rudder was smashed, and drifting upon the shore beneath Golden Hill, she blew up and sank where the bones of so many of her predecessors were already reposing.
Half the Passage Blocked