“Grand,” answered another with a smile. “If we get this all the way to Vladivostok, then thank the Lord! why, a general battle will be impossible.”
Once more a signal was made to the fleet, and, having cast off the majority[2] of our transports at Shanghai, we take up our fresh and last “order of march.”
Ahead, in wedge formation, was the scout division consisting of three ships—the Svietlana, Almaz, and Ural; next came the fleet in two columns. The starboard column consisted of the 1st and 2nd armoured squadrons, i.e. eight ships—the Suvoroff, Alexander, Borodino, Orel,[3] Sissoy, Navarin, Nakhimoff. On the port side were the 3rd armoured and cruiser squadrons, i.e. eight ships—the Nicolay, Senyavin, Apraxin, Ushakoff, and the cruisers, Oleg, Aurora, Donskoy, and Monomakh. On either beam, and parallel with the leading ships, were the Zemtchug and Izumrud, each accompanied by two torpedo-boats, acting as scouts for the port and starboard columns. In rear of, and between, the wakes of these columns steamed a line of transports which we were obliged to take to Vladivostok[4]—the Anadir, Irtish, Korea, Kamchatka—and with them the repair and steam-tugs, Svir and Russ, ready to render assistance in case of need. With the cruiser squadron were five torpedo-boats, whose duty it was to co-operate with the former in protecting the transports during the battle. Astern of all came the hospital ships, Orel and Kostroma.
This disposition of the fleet would make it possible, if the enemy appeared unexpectedly, for the various squadrons to take order of battle quickly and without any complicated manœuvres (i.e. without attracting attention). The scout division was to turn from whichever side the enemy appeared and to join the cruisers, which were to convoy the transports out of action, and protect them from the enemy’s cruisers. The 1st and 2nd armoured squadrons were to increase speed, and, having inclined to port together,[5] were to take station in front of the 3rd armoured squadron and proceed on their former course. The result would be that the three squadrons would then be in single column line ahead, and the centre of our fleet would consist of twelve armoured ships. The Zemtchug and Izumrud were to manœuvre according to circumstances and, taking advantage of their speed, together with the torpedo-boats assigned to them, were to take station ahead, astern, or abeam of the armoured ships. They were to be on the further side of the fleet from the enemy, out of the range of his shells; their duty being to prevent the enemy’s torpedo-boats from getting round the fleet.
Above was the plan of battle, worked out beforehand and known to every officer in the fleet. The various details as to formations dependent on the direction in which the enemy appeared, the instructions for fire control, the manner in which assistance was to be rendered to injured ships, the transfer of the Admiral’s flag from one ship to another, the handing over of the command, etc., etc., were laid down in special orders issued by the Commander-in-Chief, but these details would scarcely be of interest to readers unacquainted with naval matters.
The day (25th May) passed quietly. Towards evening it was reported that an accident had happened to the Senyavin’s engines, and all that night we steamed slowly. In the ward-room of the Suvoroff the officers grumbled and swore at the “old tubs,”[6] as they nicknamed Nebogatoff’s ships, but, although natural, it was hardly fair, for we ourselves were little better. The prolonged voyage had been a long mournful indictment of our boilers and machinery, while our martyrs of engineers had literally had to “get oil out of flints,” and to effect repairs although with no material at hand with which to make them.
That night, the first cold one after six months in the tropics, we slept splendidly, but, of course, by watches, i.e. half the night one half of the officers and crew were at the guns, and the other half the remainder.
On 26th May the clouds began to break and the sun shone fitfully, but although a fairly fresh south-westerly breeze had sprung up, a thick mist still lay upon the water.
Being anxious to avail himself of every moment of daylight while passing the Japanese coast, where we would most probably be attacked by torpedoes, the Admiral arranged for the fleet to be in the centre of its passage through the straits of Tsu-shima at noon on the 27th May. According to our calculations this would give us about four hours to spare, which we employed in practising manœuvres for the last time.
Once again, and for the last time, we were forcibly reminded of the old truism that a “fleet” is created by long years of 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 scene of operations, is no fleet, but a chance concourse of vessels.