10 August 1904 Yellow Sea
Admiral Wilgelm Vitgeft felt the ship shudder as another broadside streaked towards the enemy fleet. He thought back on the events of the day. He had felt pressured to undertake the sortie, both by the Tsar and Viceroy Aleksayev, but so far the disaster that he had secretly thought the day might become had not eventuated. His ships, whipped into shape and out of years of institutional lethargy by Admiral Makarov earlier this same year had performed so far beyond his expectations.
His squadron had cleared the harbor's entrance at 0955 this morning and made a feint to the south-west to conceal his actual intent, hoping to delay the concentration of the two Japanese forces reported to be at sea. By 1100 hours Vitgelf’s fleet was in the open sea. The Russian squadron consisted of the battleships Tsesarevich, Retvizan, Pobeda, Peresvet, Sevastopol and Poltava, four protected cruisers and 14 destroyers.
At about 1225 his fleet had sighted the Japanese near Encounter Rock at a range of about 11 miles. His fleet was headed Southeast at 13 knots, while Togo’s Japanese, on an intercepting course, came from the Northeast at 14 knots. The Japanese had four battleships, two large cruisers, eight protected cruisers, 18 destroyers, and 30 torpedo boats. At 1239 four large Japanese cruisers came into view, fast approaching from the south at 18 knots and had attempted to squeeze the Russians between the two advancing columns.
Just after 1300, the enemy had attempted to cross Vitgeft's “T” and commenced firing their main batteries from the extreme range of more than eight miles. Vitgeft, on-board the battleship Retvizan, had returned fire, but the range was excessive for both sides and no hits had been scored. Vitgeft simply made a quick turn to port, maintained his speed, and increased his range from the Japanese. Their pincer move had failed. It was not until 1325 that, at a range of over eight miles, that the enemy battleships opened fire on Vitgeft's flagship hitting her 12 times with heavy shells. His flagship had returned fire hitting the leading enemy battleship three times. For nearly half an hour the two battleship fleets had pounded each other, slowly closing their range, until by 1405 hours they reached about 3.5 miles, at which time both fleets let loose with their secondary 6 inch guns. As the fleets continued to pound each other with all available guns his flagship was beginning to feel its wounds, but clearly so were the Japanese as their battleships sheared off and their cruisers briefly engaged. Vitgelf was able to use the opportunity to steer away from the main Japanese line, breaking through to the open sea.
It was not until 1445 that the Japanese had closed back to within 7 miles of the trailing battleship Poltava, which was experiencing engine troubles and had been unable to maintain the fleet's 14.5 knots. Poltava had suffered several hits and he had ordered Vice Admiral Ukhtomsky to fall his division to fall back and help the Poltava, concentrating their gunfire onto the leading Japanese battleship. With Admiral Ukhtomsky's division firing as well, the Japanese broke contact after taking more hits and using their superior speed, attempted to pull ahead of Vitgeft's fleet, presumably to try an re-establish contact again under more favorable conditions. By 1520 hours the range had opened and the firing had ceased. As the battleships had broken contact, the Japanese cruiser formation had attempted to get into action, but had been driven off by two 12 inch hits on their leading cruiser.
With darkness only 3 1/2 hours away, Vitgeft had believed that he had outranged Admiral Togo, and would lose him totally when darkness came. However, by 1735 hours the Japanese had closed to within 3.5 miles of the again struggling Poltava, and opened fire upon her. However, the Poltava was still full of fight and had scored several main battery hits on the Japanese ships. Although the range had dropped to about 3 miles, the secondary batteries of 155 and 203 mm guns were still not hitting and penetrating and Poltava and Peresvet, although heavily damaged, were still with the Russian battle line.
Vitgeft looked across at the enemy battleship, anticipating the arrival of his last broadside of four twelve inch shells. He could not anticipate the chaos that one 12 inch shell, fired from the starboard side aft main battery turret would cause. Or the changes it would wreak. All he saw was the lead Japanese battleship rocked by a huge explosion. When it had cleared and he had overcome his own shock, it showed a scene of utter chaos. The leading enemy battleship had blown up, the bow shearing off from the main superstructure. The second Japanese battleship, following close astern had struck the hulk of the first amidships, locking the two ships, one doomed and the other clearly in major trouble, together.
With the Japanese fleet seemingly in total confusion and their fire having dropped briefly to almost zero, with their light screening forces strung out, some ships having slowed whilst others having continued on course, Vitgeft ordered his destroyers in for a torpedo attack and took his battle line in closer, hoping to hurt the Japanese enough to obtain what had seemingly impossible just this morning-domination of the seaward approaches to Port Arthur.
By 1922, as he drew his battered but still intact fleet off, he had achieved such a victory. In addition to the enemy battleship that had blown up, his destroyers had torpedoed the leading enemy battleship in a two ship division that had attempted to intercept their attack on the two stricken Japanese battleships locked together. Hit twice, this ship had rolled over and capsized quickly, it’s division mate fleeing. His own battle line had closed the range, ruthlessly pounding both the hulk and the trapped Japanese battleship, which appeared to have only one 12 inch gun in action. In twenty minutes of close action, his six battleships had caused a scene of total devastation, leaving both only smoking, riven hulks, sinking and on fire from Russian gunfire delivered at ranges as short as 1-1.5 miles. The remaining Japanese ships seemed to have dissolved into confusion, before finally withdrawing from the scene and leaving the stricken ships to their fate.
He had been bloodied, with all of his battleships suffering damage. Three in particular, Poltava, Peresvet and his flagship Tsesarevich, were heavily damaged, plus he had lost a destroyer, with three more damaged. However, the Japanese had been mauled, losing three of their four battleships, with two cruisers damaged. For Admiral Wilgelm Vitgeft, it was a decisive victory, a victory that potentially secured his country’s control of the vital sea lanes.
10 August 1904 Alexander Palace, Tsarskoe Selo, near St Petersburg, Russian Empire
Czar Nicholas II had been a man under incredible pressure over the course of the last several months. His own handling of the war, both from the point of view of the public and within his own family had also been a matter of some question. Since the war had started in February he had faced a series of overwhelming defeats that had seemingly gathered momentum until he had at times felt powerless to stop it. He himself personally loathed the Japanese, a legacy from his own near death experiences in the islands and had been desperate to glean any positives from the endless series of dispatches from Vladivostok, nearly all of them negative. When the last dispatch had arrived from Vitgelf, it had been a beacon of light amongst the slough of defeat. That the flagship of the Russian fleet was named the Tsesarevich was to Nicholas a good omen. Sadly it was to prove a mocking one instead.
It was near midnight when he climbed the stairs to his bedroom, one he shared, contrary to common royal custom, with his beloved wife. He felt that an enormous weight had been lifted from his shoulders; this last week with his wife’s pregnancy nearly due and the news from the war it had almost felt like a giant band was across his chest. Tonight it had felt like a reversion to his carefree days as Tsesarevich. He had shared a number of vodkas and finished with a few ports with his old friend Pavel Alexandrovich and now felt decidedly owlish, so much so that he knocked over some papers and a paperweight off his writing desk in the darkness upon a pair of slightly unsteady feet with a crash.
The Tsarina, alerted by the noise, swung herself out of bed, feeling like a whale in the last stages of pregnancy. As she took her second step, she stumbled badly on something on the floor, latterly shown to be a child’s toy, and fell forward, impacting quite heavily on the wooden arm of the settee. It did not seem like a major incident and she went back to bed with her husband after giving him a minor ticking off plus had the reassuring comfort of feeling the baby move consistently through the first part of the night before dropping back off to sleep.
Two days later, on August 12th, labour started, but when their hoped for and prayed for baby boy had finally been delivered, it was not the healthy child they had hoped for, but a boy that, whilst perfectly formed, showed no signs of life. There was to be no 21 gun salute, only stunned silence and grief. Exactly 18 months later, on February 12 1906, when the Empress bled severely and barely survived the birth of a 6th child and a 5th and yet another daughter, eventually called Victoriya after her own Grandmother to mollify the shattered and disappointed former Alix of Hesse, it was clear no hoped for male heir would be forthcoming.
Admiral Wilgelm Vitgeft felt the ship shudder as another broadside streaked towards the enemy fleet. He thought back on the events of the day. He had felt pressured to undertake the sortie, both by the Tsar and Viceroy Aleksayev, but so far the disaster that he had secretly thought the day might become had not eventuated. His ships, whipped into shape and out of years of institutional lethargy by Admiral Makarov earlier this same year had performed so far beyond his expectations.
His squadron had cleared the harbor's entrance at 0955 this morning and made a feint to the south-west to conceal his actual intent, hoping to delay the concentration of the two Japanese forces reported to be at sea. By 1100 hours Vitgelf’s fleet was in the open sea. The Russian squadron consisted of the battleships Tsesarevich, Retvizan, Pobeda, Peresvet, Sevastopol and Poltava, four protected cruisers and 14 destroyers.
At about 1225 his fleet had sighted the Japanese near Encounter Rock at a range of about 11 miles. His fleet was headed Southeast at 13 knots, while Togo’s Japanese, on an intercepting course, came from the Northeast at 14 knots. The Japanese had four battleships, two large cruisers, eight protected cruisers, 18 destroyers, and 30 torpedo boats. At 1239 four large Japanese cruisers came into view, fast approaching from the south at 18 knots and had attempted to squeeze the Russians between the two advancing columns.
Just after 1300, the enemy had attempted to cross Vitgeft's “T” and commenced firing their main batteries from the extreme range of more than eight miles. Vitgeft, on-board the battleship Retvizan, had returned fire, but the range was excessive for both sides and no hits had been scored. Vitgeft simply made a quick turn to port, maintained his speed, and increased his range from the Japanese. Their pincer move had failed. It was not until 1325 that, at a range of over eight miles, that the enemy battleships opened fire on Vitgeft's flagship hitting her 12 times with heavy shells. His flagship had returned fire hitting the leading enemy battleship three times. For nearly half an hour the two battleship fleets had pounded each other, slowly closing their range, until by 1405 hours they reached about 3.5 miles, at which time both fleets let loose with their secondary 6 inch guns. As the fleets continued to pound each other with all available guns his flagship was beginning to feel its wounds, but clearly so were the Japanese as their battleships sheared off and their cruisers briefly engaged. Vitgelf was able to use the opportunity to steer away from the main Japanese line, breaking through to the open sea.
It was not until 1445 that the Japanese had closed back to within 7 miles of the trailing battleship Poltava, which was experiencing engine troubles and had been unable to maintain the fleet's 14.5 knots. Poltava had suffered several hits and he had ordered Vice Admiral Ukhtomsky to fall his division to fall back and help the Poltava, concentrating their gunfire onto the leading Japanese battleship. With Admiral Ukhtomsky's division firing as well, the Japanese broke contact after taking more hits and using their superior speed, attempted to pull ahead of Vitgeft's fleet, presumably to try an re-establish contact again under more favorable conditions. By 1520 hours the range had opened and the firing had ceased. As the battleships had broken contact, the Japanese cruiser formation had attempted to get into action, but had been driven off by two 12 inch hits on their leading cruiser.
With darkness only 3 1/2 hours away, Vitgeft had believed that he had outranged Admiral Togo, and would lose him totally when darkness came. However, by 1735 hours the Japanese had closed to within 3.5 miles of the again struggling Poltava, and opened fire upon her. However, the Poltava was still full of fight and had scored several main battery hits on the Japanese ships. Although the range had dropped to about 3 miles, the secondary batteries of 155 and 203 mm guns were still not hitting and penetrating and Poltava and Peresvet, although heavily damaged, were still with the Russian battle line.
Vitgeft looked across at the enemy battleship, anticipating the arrival of his last broadside of four twelve inch shells. He could not anticipate the chaos that one 12 inch shell, fired from the starboard side aft main battery turret would cause. Or the changes it would wreak. All he saw was the lead Japanese battleship rocked by a huge explosion. When it had cleared and he had overcome his own shock, it showed a scene of utter chaos. The leading enemy battleship had blown up, the bow shearing off from the main superstructure. The second Japanese battleship, following close astern had struck the hulk of the first amidships, locking the two ships, one doomed and the other clearly in major trouble, together.
With the Japanese fleet seemingly in total confusion and their fire having dropped briefly to almost zero, with their light screening forces strung out, some ships having slowed whilst others having continued on course, Vitgeft ordered his destroyers in for a torpedo attack and took his battle line in closer, hoping to hurt the Japanese enough to obtain what had seemingly impossible just this morning-domination of the seaward approaches to Port Arthur.
By 1922, as he drew his battered but still intact fleet off, he had achieved such a victory. In addition to the enemy battleship that had blown up, his destroyers had torpedoed the leading enemy battleship in a two ship division that had attempted to intercept their attack on the two stricken Japanese battleships locked together. Hit twice, this ship had rolled over and capsized quickly, it’s division mate fleeing. His own battle line had closed the range, ruthlessly pounding both the hulk and the trapped Japanese battleship, which appeared to have only one 12 inch gun in action. In twenty minutes of close action, his six battleships had caused a scene of total devastation, leaving both only smoking, riven hulks, sinking and on fire from Russian gunfire delivered at ranges as short as 1-1.5 miles. The remaining Japanese ships seemed to have dissolved into confusion, before finally withdrawing from the scene and leaving the stricken ships to their fate.
He had been bloodied, with all of his battleships suffering damage. Three in particular, Poltava, Peresvet and his flagship Tsesarevich, were heavily damaged, plus he had lost a destroyer, with three more damaged. However, the Japanese had been mauled, losing three of their four battleships, with two cruisers damaged. For Admiral Wilgelm Vitgeft, it was a decisive victory, a victory that potentially secured his country’s control of the vital sea lanes.
10 August 1904 Alexander Palace, Tsarskoe Selo, near St Petersburg, Russian Empire
Czar Nicholas II had been a man under incredible pressure over the course of the last several months. His own handling of the war, both from the point of view of the public and within his own family had also been a matter of some question. Since the war had started in February he had faced a series of overwhelming defeats that had seemingly gathered momentum until he had at times felt powerless to stop it. He himself personally loathed the Japanese, a legacy from his own near death experiences in the islands and had been desperate to glean any positives from the endless series of dispatches from Vladivostok, nearly all of them negative. When the last dispatch had arrived from Vitgelf, it had been a beacon of light amongst the slough of defeat. That the flagship of the Russian fleet was named the Tsesarevich was to Nicholas a good omen. Sadly it was to prove a mocking one instead.
It was near midnight when he climbed the stairs to his bedroom, one he shared, contrary to common royal custom, with his beloved wife. He felt that an enormous weight had been lifted from his shoulders; this last week with his wife’s pregnancy nearly due and the news from the war it had almost felt like a giant band was across his chest. Tonight it had felt like a reversion to his carefree days as Tsesarevich. He had shared a number of vodkas and finished with a few ports with his old friend Pavel Alexandrovich and now felt decidedly owlish, so much so that he knocked over some papers and a paperweight off his writing desk in the darkness upon a pair of slightly unsteady feet with a crash.
The Tsarina, alerted by the noise, swung herself out of bed, feeling like a whale in the last stages of pregnancy. As she took her second step, she stumbled badly on something on the floor, latterly shown to be a child’s toy, and fell forward, impacting quite heavily on the wooden arm of the settee. It did not seem like a major incident and she went back to bed with her husband after giving him a minor ticking off plus had the reassuring comfort of feeling the baby move consistently through the first part of the night before dropping back off to sleep.
Two days later, on August 12th, labour started, but when their hoped for and prayed for baby boy had finally been delivered, it was not the healthy child they had hoped for, but a boy that, whilst perfectly formed, showed no signs of life. There was to be no 21 gun salute, only stunned silence and grief. Exactly 18 months later, on February 12 1906, when the Empress bled severely and barely survived the birth of a 6th child and a 5th and yet another daughter, eventually called Victoriya after her own Grandmother to mollify the shattered and disappointed former Alix of Hesse, it was clear no hoped for male heir would be forthcoming.
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