CHAPTER XX. THE DOGGER BANK AFFAIR.
In the middle of September the following startling despatch appeared in the newspapers on both sides of the Atlantic:
"Aberdeen, Scotland, Sept. 16.—A passenger who arrived to-day on board a coasting steamship reports that two Japanese officers and nine sailors came on board the vessel from London.
"As soon as she arrived at Aberdeen they jumped into a small boat and proceeded at once to a mysterious low-lying craft in the offing, apparently a torpedo-boat, which, on receiving the men, steamed seaward.
"It is believed here that the intention of the Japanese is to lie in wait for the Baltic fleet."
In order to understand what Oto Owari and a brother officer were doing in the North Sea at the time when the Associated Press gave out this startling piece of news, we must return to the day when the battle-ship Petropavlovsk "turned turtle" in the bay of Korea, and, attacked by some mysterious agency which was generally supposed to be either a Russian or Japanese submerged contact-mine, sank with nearly every soul on board.
The Octopus, which had made its way under cover of the darkness of the preceding night to the western extremity of the Yellow Sea, and was lying in wait for its huge adversary, had remained awash until daylight. Then, closing the main hatch, she sank until only the end of the camera projected above water. This easily escaped observation, looking, as it did, like a bit of floating wreckage. According to directions from his admiral, Oto made no move to attack the Russian ships when they were coaxed out of their safe harbour by the wily Japanese, it being deemed best not to risk a hasty assault at a time when the enemy were fully alert and in the best condition. In case their squadron should escape from the Japanese force outside—vastly superior to the Russians—and should retreat towards Port Arthur, then the Octopus was to strike its blow, quickly and decisively.
The result is known, although naval authorities still dispute as to the cause of the Petropavlovsk's destruction. Oto, conning the Octopus through the camera, observed the battle-ship returning to port after the brief conflict in the open sea. He touched an electric knob and the submarine quietly sank to a further depth of six feet. Being now entirely out of sight, the terrible war-engine approached without difficulty to within less than a hundred yards of the Russian ship, discharged her torpedo with unerring aim, and accomplished her work. The waters in the immediate vicinity of the huge victim were violently agitated as she careened in her dying agony, and the Octopus herself, lingering near to inflict another blow if necessary, was in danger of being drawn into the vortex made by the battle-ship as she went down. The little submarine reversed her engine quickly enough, however, to escape sharing the fate of her prey, and swiftly glided away to rejoin the Japanese fleet. The agent of destruction, known only to the admiral and the heads of the War Office, was not disclosed in Tokio, as it was deemed best that the Russian Admiralty and the world at large should know nothing of the terrible power Japan was wielding beneath the waves.
Oto remained on duty in command of the Octopus for several weeks longer, and was then detached for a more complicated task, one requiring an extraordinary exercise of intelligence and adaptability, as well as courage.
It was known that the Russians were preparing a formidable fleet at home, to take the place of the war-ships that had been put out of action in the East, and to establish the Muscovite power upon the seas. If this could be done, it was conceded in military circles that Japan's fate would be sealed. With her immense army cut off from supplies and from retreat, the Russian ships could ravage the coast of the Island Kingdom, and the army in Manchuria would be compelled to come to terms. It was all-important to prevent the sailing of the Baltic fleet if possible, or to damage it after it had started on its long voyage.