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In the Yellow Sea
In the Yellow Seaполная версия

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In the Yellow Sea

Язык: Английский
Год издания: 2017
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*****

I need not dwell upon the details of my mission. Let it suffice that I accompanied the Naniwa, one of the three ships composing a flying squadron to bombard Tengchow if necessary. On the 18th January 1895, the three ships sailed – the Yoshino, Akitsushima, and Naniwa, and after a trial engagement of blank cartridge they shelled the place.

When the feint was made the snow fell thickly, and so bad was the weather that any attack was out of the question. The bombardment was also delayed next day by a snowstorm, but in any case the ships were only employed to divert the attention of the Chinese fleet and army from the main attack of the chief Japanese squadron, and the army, which was landing in Shengtung. The Chinese sent their men to support the force at Tengchow, and meanwhile the Japanese troops landed at Yingching Bay, at the eastern extremity of Shengtung; and I did not see Captain Goldheugh.

When the Japanese arrangements had been carried out, and the army landed, the navy being concentrated in the Bay of Pechili, I was enabled to convey my missive to the admiral, and by him sent, per the Severn, to the Chinese admiral at Wei-hai-Wei. The letter itself was afterwards printed in the Japan Mail. It urged the Chinese to surrender. Admiral Ito stated that his "friend" Ting would be well treated if he would yield, and save much bloodshed. "I entreat you to credit my sincerity," he concluded. "I address this letter to you in pure friendship, and if happily you accept my counsel, I will, with your permission, address some further remarks to you on the subject, giving practical effect to the idea."

Admiral Ting did not reply, and when the 29th of January came, the fleet, which had meantime been making preparations to attack, began the bombardment. The army had already been feeling its way on land, and on the 30th it advanced and encountered the Chinese troops on the headlands, and drove them down to the seaside by Wei-hai-Wei. But then the Chinese fleet in the harbour came into action, and we heard the guns at ten o'clock a.m., and it was supposed that the Japs had retired, as indeed was the case.

But the eastern forts were taken later by the Japanese, who manned the captured guns. We subsequently heard many interesting and even romantic accounts of this attack, which succeeded so well that when the boats from the fleet made an attempt to break the east boom in the harbour they were fired at by the Japanese, thinking the Chinese were attacking from the sea side. This was on the night of the 30th January.

These incidents were related to me later, but I can tell something of the attack by sea, and I never wish to join in such another under such circumstances. It was not because I had any fear, that was not in my mind; but I did not at first take any real interest in the business. I wanted to be landed at Chefoo, and sent home, or, at anyrate, back to Shanghai. Instead, I was in the midst of storm and stress – winter of the most terrible, fire and cold, both almost equally deadly. As luck had it, the First Flying Squadron, in which the Naniwa was included, was "left out in the cold"; but I warmed up later to war-pitch.

Before I proceed with my narrative I must give you an idea of the surroundings. Wei-hai-Wei embraces a wide bay, perhaps twenty miles in extent, with hills crowned by forts and batteries on land. On the sea front it is protected by two islands, one (Lui-kung) of fair size, and inhabited; the other, Sih-tao, is merely the foundation of a fort. The former island separates the harbour into two entrances, in the eastern of which lies the smaller island-fort. At the opposite side is deep water, and in all directions on mainland and islands, on sea and shore, are defences – forts, batteries, mines, and ships of war – all Chinese. The Chinese fleet consisted of fifteen men-o'-war and gunboats, and thirteen torpedo-boats. The Japanese fleet numbered twenty-four ships and sixteen torpedo-boats. Besides these latter ships were numerous other vessels "looking on" and watching the struggle with the greatest interest. The captain of the Naniwa offered to send me on board an English ship, or convey me to Chefoo, but I thought I would see the match out – the end was not far off. Having gone so far I thought I had better complete the tale, and curiosity was at length aroused; my poor services were even enlisted on one occasion.

Besides the defences already mentioned, the Chinese had fixed two substantial booms across the bay. Steel hawsers, supplemented with great baulks of timber of immense thickness, anchored by chains and grapnels, were supplied with torpedoes on both sides, in addition to the mines outside. Had any European or Japanese soldiers been in possession of Wei-hai-Wei, or Port Arthur, it must have been impregnable, and if Russia seizes either place we shall find this out.

It was evident that the capture of Wei-hai-Wei depended upon the destruction of the boom; and this seemed to be an impossible feat. When the strength and position of the obstruction were considered, the desperate nature of the service might well have daunted the Japanese, who would be exposed to the fire of the forts and batteries in nearly all directions. But if the assailants hesitated it was only in order to make sure of the result.

The weather continued very bad, but worse was approaching. I had had no further news respecting Captain Goldheugh, and no one thought about my departure. The Japanese vessels were divided into five squadrons. The main squadron consisting of the flagship Matsushima, the Chiyoda, Itsukushima, and Hashidate. The four flying squadrons included first the Yoshino, Takachiho, Akitsushima, and Naniwa. The other three flying squadrons and the three torpedo-flotillas may be mentioned generally.

On the 30th January 1895 the Admiral Ito decided to attack. All the vessels united outside Wei-hai-Wei, and began patrolling the coast. At intervals, and later more constantly, we heard the heavy guns as the eastern forts were attacked by the troops ashore, and these continuous roars made us impatient of inaction.

"I wish I could do something," I said at last to Tomi. "Can't I join you if you go out in a torpedo-boat? Wouldn't your captain give me a chance to do something?"

"Perhaps he might. He would not refuse a volunteer; and you could steer the boat I suppose? Shall I ask the lieutenant?"

"Please," I replied. "Anything will be better than loafing here!"

"We shall not 'loaf' as you call it. The admiral has signalled us to be ready to support the attack, and no hammocks will be slung to-night."

"All right," I said; "the sooner the better! Where are we making for now?"

"For the western entrance. The main and second squad are guarding the eastern. That island with a fort upon it may give us a hint presently."

We continued to steam slowly to and fro all the morning. The roar of the engagement increased every minute, and all hands became excited. It was like a cat watching a mouse in a cage. We were so many cats prowling about the cage in which numerous Chinese "mice" were calmly seated watching us, while the dogs of war inland were worrying the dogs ashore. We could do nothing at our end, though it was pleasant to see the No. 3 and No. 4 squads had begun to throw shells at "long bowls" in the direction of the eastern batteries to support the land attack.

It was aggravating to see the big Chinese "mice" steaming inside the harbour, followed by some small craft – like micelets – between the islands, and assisting the forts, yet never venturing out into the gulf. But as the day wore into late afternoon a great white smoke arose on shore, and a fearful explosion rang the knell of the fort; with telescopes we could see the Chinese running away.

The admiral at this time signalled our No. 1 fleet to join him, and we went back to the long line, spreading ourselves all across the harbour outside. Then an order went out to try the boom that night, and the Chinese began to find our range from the islands, whence they began "pilling" us at frequent intervals, with the setting sun behind them, which interfered with the Japanese accuracy of fire. We managed to creep in to the east side and keep up the watch. Tomi was right; there was no hammocks slung. The men lay around the guns on mats.

That night was cold, and when I rose, shivering, I was glad to get warm clothing. As the day passed the snow and sleet came heavily down, and at last the storm hid everything. The wind and sea rose, and the thermometer and barometer fell fast. The ships were then fully exposed to the fearful storm on a lee shore; the thermometer was below freezing, and all chance of reducing Wei-hai-Wei more distant than ever! The climax for us came when the admiral, with three squadrons, retreated to the shelter of Yengching Bay, leaving us – the first squad – on guard in the snow and storm.

Yet not a single murmur arose from the ships which continued to watch the harbour, though the chances of the escape of the Chinese in such weather, and in such a gale, were infinitesimal. So the last day of January and the first of February passed in fearful discomfort, and without any opportunity of distinction, though all the other Japanese ships were in shelter, and thus left the Chinese to their own devices. When the cat is away the mice will play, and this proverb was fitly illustrated in this case, for on the 1st of February Admiral Ting destroyed all the guns in the western forts.

This was a very sensible move on his part, because he knew that if the enemy attacked and captured them the Japanese could have turned the Chinese guns against his fleet in harbour! So while the storm raged the Chinese sailors spiked the guns,[8] and thus caused a breathing space for the beleaguered inhabitants of the forts and ships. On the 3rd there was some exchange of "civilities," but the snow again caused a truce. That evening we had a little consultation on board the Naniwa, and the speculations as regarded our success were numerous and varied in their way, but the ultimate result was never doubted.

"We must win," said one. "We hold the place now. We have seen the Chinese retreating. We have captured most of the forts. The Chinese may as well surrender!"

"They are too proud," said another. "The eyes of Europe are upon them."

"And on us," interrupted a third. "Shall we give way now? Certainly not!"

"What can we do then?" I ventured to ask (Tomi translated). "Cannot we attack by sea and break the boom? such things have been done."

I had read of this, and though I could not at the time recall the historical incident, the fact was impressed upon my mind.

"We must await orders. But it must come to that," said a senior.

"Mr. Julius will help when the time comes," said Tomi. "He will be on board one of the boats, I daresay."

"If permitted," I said. "When the weather moderates we shall see."

In this way we tried to cheer ourselves, and in other ways we managed to pass the terrible days of wind and snow. The ships were completely covered with snow, an inch thick, at least, even though the roll of the vessels shook off the flakes continually. The thermometer went down to twenty-five degrees below freezing, and that was quite sufficient for us at sea. When on the 3rd the weather improved we heard the news announced that the torpedo-boats were to have an innings, and I became excited.

I had never actually witnessed the attack of a torpedo. When formerly in the Naniwa I had seen a Chinese vessel sunk off Hai-yang, but had only seen the effects. Now, if permitted, I would perhaps see something new! A very novel experience indeed, because torpedoes had never been used in warfare before then. At intervals we had been exchanging shots and experimenting upon the boom, but none of us in our ship had been engaged. We were policemen, and little else. But the attempt had to be made, and, by what I may call accident, I was in the first attack.

There was an officer named Kosaki – a splendid fellow – who had done excellent service under fire before in a torpedo-boat, and he was attached to boat No. 6. There were ten boats employed, and the news was known that day, and there was talk of volunteers trying to proceed in her, for they all knew that "No. 6" was bound to do something! Tomi told me this. He had been ordered to carry a report to the main squadron, and suggested that I should accompany him.

"Perhaps you may have a chance to join the torpedo-boat," he said. I thanked him, and muffled up we were rowed to the flagship, where Tomi delivered his message. Then we perceived that the first squadron was closing in, and we waited on board the greater ship, which was firing at the Lui-kung Island as well as the smaller one. Lui-kung is precipitous and unassailable: the batteries were concealed, and some of the guns, I think, were depressed and raised, like the Moncrieff carriages at Woolwich long ago. The ships could not reach in close: the water is shallow, and the guns were well served. Meantime the Chinese rested behind the shelter of the boom.

"I hear we shall attack the boom to-night," said Tomi.

"Is there any chance of my finding a berth in the flotilla?" I asked.

"Ask the commander," said my friend. "The captain of No. 6 is a warrant officer. He might consent. Shall I try for you?"

I nodded assent. Perhaps it was a silly ambition! Tomi had a chance and grasped it. As the "captain" of the boat was descending the side Tomi arrested him, and made the request. Something was said, and then Tomi returned to me.

"Well?" I asked, feeling rather "half-hearted" about the result.

"You may join as a correspondent, but must not tell your experience till the place is taken – if you survive."

"He said so?"

"Yes. 'Let him come and die, if he wishes it,' he said."

"Then I just will go – and chance it!" I said boldly.

"All right. He is waiting. Good luck to you."

CHAPTER XVIII

ON BOARD THE TORPEDO-BOAT – BREAKING OF THE

BOOM – CAPTURE OF WEI-HAI-WEI – CONCLUSION

My first impressions regarding a torpedo-boat were, firstly, that the deck rests dangerously near the water; and secondly, that the craft itself is unsafe – at least, unsteady. Then the vessel, – or "ship," as I believe it is called, – is, if cabined, certainly "cribbed and confined." There is not much space to live in; perhaps the sailors who man her are not expected to live – much. Where they usually sleep, unless in the coal-bunkers or in the engine-room, I do not exactly know. They did not sleep at all while I was on board, and I understand that they never change nor wash (or "hardly ever"), under service conditions. So far as my rather limited experience goes, existence on board this ship is by no means enjoyable, save when in harbour, and then it is useless. When at sea in roughish weather, and on service particularly, the "pleasure" must be deadly-lively.

The torpedo-boat is about one hundred and twenty-five feet long, and perhaps twelve feet at beam. There are larger craft than this, I think, but these dimensions will suffice for the usual limits. The torpedoes are fixed from the tubes, which, in my "ship," extended one on each bow and astern. There is a steering-tower, or "conning-tower," fore and aft, and very small space for living in. There are no bulwarks to prevent one sliding away into the sea in a calm, only a rail with stanchions, upon which a wire rope is stretched as a protection. But in bad weather the sea does not wait for the sailor, it invades him, and washes everything overboard which may be loose, carrying the men off if they do not go below or lash themselves. The rolling is absolutely fearful, and I am informed that when the officers eat they must feed each other like infants, one holding the cup, or plate, while the other drinks, or eats, from it. All the services are tinware, and the food is also tinned, and water is plentiful inside and out, and leaks.

To this kind of experience I was quite new, and the haggard spectre of mal-de-mer presented itself all the time. How the sailors usually manage I do not know; they must suffer, I imagine, at sea. But a dozen sick men in that boat! Well – curtain!

*****

February the 3rd was the most anxious night I had hitherto passed. I was assisted on board, and I think Tomi introduced me to the officers as a British newspaper correspondent. At anyrate, I was politely received, fed, and entertained so far as possible, but the accommodation was decidedly very limited – much more than the welcome.

I managed to understand that we would not actually attack. The idea was to make the breach sufficient to admit other boats next time; so, after all, we should not run any fearful risk, I fancied. But I did not know then that we were to go inside the boom, – into the harbour, – as I had little opportunity to talk, even had I been acquainted with the Japanese tongue, I made only mental observations – I was afraid of making mistakes in my language again.

The day died; the moon rose and disappeared; then came the turn of "No. 6." When blackness fell upon the water – a darkness in which the boat was almost buried – the engines began to beat silently, the screws revolved almost noiselessly, and we skimmed away towards the places already determined upon. The men lay close, only the helmsman, the officer himself, was visible. I lay by him, by permission, and two men watched forward. This was no torpedo attack, it was a survey.

An hour passed. There was no spot at which an entry could be made on the west side, and a long search only revealed a small space between the rocks on the eastern side and that end of the enormous boom which stood up threatening us in the dark. This barrier seemed bigger than I had ever imagined, and its mass seemed, from our small craft, so enormous, that I almost despaired. Dynamite could not injure it from outside. Perhaps gun-cotton or powder would, if applied inside the harbour where the resistance was less.

At last! Searching closely, the boat found the spot where the barrier ceased, – a very small passage, through which it seemed almost impossible to drive the boat in safety. But the hands which held the helm were incapable of nervousness. No tremor shook those iron muscles as the boat's head was turned rock-wise. It was sink or swim then – a torpedo in the path would end it for us. But unheeding, or rather disdaining, the danger, the skipper turned the boat's head to the small space in the sea.

The rocks grumbled at us as we slowly and deftly passed. The sullen murmurs of the waves were supplemented by the swishing of the revolving screws, or drowned perhaps by the former. Still the boat skimmed on, and then almost noiselessly brought up in the harbour, within the range of the Chinese torpedo-squadron, which speedily perceived the intruder.

The situation was peculiar. We were in hostile waters; the ships and torpedo-boats, and even the forts, quickly woke up. Shells came whizzing in our direction. We could see them streaking the blackness, like meteors, then flying shrieking over our heads, and plunging or bursting in the sea beyond the boom, or within it. But not one touched the Japanese boat, which lay dark and silent by the boom, though had an electric searchlight been used by some approaching vessel we must have been discovered at once.

The cold was intense as the devoted vessel cracked the ice which lay on the agitated surface of the harbour, but we did not mind it. The sound of the ice, one imagined, must have announced our whereabouts to the Chinese, but as we moved swiftly the aim was not accurate, and we lay alongside the barrier, silently, to prepare for the charge which the master had determined to explode against it.

The mine was laid with great difficulty, not only because of the darkness and the penetrating cold, but because of the unsteadiness of the little craft, which surged against the boom, and crackled loudly at every concussion. At length the job was complete, the charge was laid, the battery by which it was intended to explode the powder was prepared, the wire already extended.

Now the critical moment approached. A few directions, a few words of warning, a caution to the engineers, an order to the steersman, then: Ready? Fire! Away! away! Get out of reach as quietly and as quickly as possible.

We made tracks, noisy ones too. The island fort burst into fire, and more shells came tearing around us, but nothing else happened. The mine had failed!

Investigation at once discovered the reason. We had not proceeded far under the star-shower of shells when the report was made. The wire was cut! cut by a fluke of the anchor, which had chafed through it. There was no alternative, we must return.

In a few moments the boat was heading back, careless of the meteoric display around us. The skipper sprang up from the wheel-shelter and refastened the wire, unheeding the increasing storm of projectiles, which flew around us and pitted the icy water like hail. But again he was met by failure. The charge refused to ignite, and there was no other chance now save handwork, – that is, by doing it himself, amid the greatest danger of death by shot or shell, or drowning from the boom, or explosion, – and all this in the black darkness, relieved only by the gleams of murderous shells. The crew worked well and bravely, excited, as one may say, perhaps, by the coolness of their chief. The shot came leaping, ricochetting over the harbour; the shells screamed most unpleasantly in our ears; fingers were numbed, and our breathing was like steam amid those exertions. But the skipper landed on the boom, fixed three very destructive charges, and resumed his post at the wheel, ready, when the engines were moved full speed ahead. The deed was done!

Then the line was pulled taut, the detonator exploded, the three charges flared, the boom was rent, and the torpedo-boat No. 6 sped away over the sea, past the staring flotilla at a distance, keeping her perilous course, past the narrow entrance, amid such a cannonade as I had had never dreamed of, – a duel now between the victors and the victims of the outrage. But the boat returned, unharmed, in the darkness, and in a short time showed her lights in the offing, out of reach of the hail of shot and flaming shell, to enjoy the rest which the gallant crew had fairly earned when the report had been received.

This was an expedition conducted with great intrepidity, and crowned with immediate success, the results of which proved most disastrous to the defence. Next night two flotillas penetrated the harbour through the wider breach No. 6 had made, and a fearful engagement ensued. In this two torpedo-boats were lost, and in No. 6 the tubes were frozen, so the torpedoes were not discharged. One of the first two boats referred to was blown up by a shell, but the great man-o'-war, Ting-yuen, was scuttled by a torpedo or torpedoes, and next day sank slowly in sight of the fleet. The Japanese had had two boats lost and two injured. The latter were sent to Port Arthur to repair. The boat I was in was struck fifty times, once by a shell.

This was "warm" work, but next night it became warmer still, for the leader of the expedition reported that the admiral, with tears in his eyes, had told him of the necessity of destroying the rest of the fleet, and the danger of it. On that second night, the 4th, we knew that many men had been killed by shot, that many besides had been scalded, and many actually frozen to death in the water, even under comparatively fortunate circumstances. The admiral and his captains knew the danger, and the latter fully appreciated it when next day a further attack was determined upon.

"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.

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