12 July 1904
21N110E – off Fort-Bayard
1930 Local, Partly Cloudy, Calm
Vice-Amiral Guy Travers watched the daylight fading behind the low hills west of Fort-Bayard and reflected on how much he enjoyed this time of day. His small squadron had dropped anchor here this morning and was generally quiet, and stars were starting to emerge from the darkening sky as the last sunlight streaked the scattered clouds in a variety of oranges, pinks, and purples.
Capitane de Vaisseau Jacques Martiniere joined Travers on the quarterdeck of the armored cruiser Gueydon bearing a message sheet. “Traffic from the fort, sir,” he said. “The northern coastal batteries are claiming to have spotted hostile ships off Pointe Fossey. I suspect they’re just fishing junks.”
“Possibly,” allowed Travers. “Everyone is jumping at shadows.” The entire French establishment in the Far East had been on alert for several weeks, since the severing of diplomatic relations with Japan. His squadron had been at sea almost continually for the entire period, cycling between the four major French ports in southeast Asia. While he’d have liked to keep up steam overnight, war had not been declared and a couple ships were having difficulties with their condenser systems. Truth be told most of the fleet was suffering to some extent and they needed the downtime. He had ordered sentries and a full lookout posted, but the squadron was largely shut down to perform routine maintenance.
“Still,” he continued. “Let’s get to the bridge.”
They walked forward along the starboard superstructure and part way to the bridge were met by the Gueydon’s executive officer, Capitaine de Corvette Louis Fischer, bearing another pair of message sheets. “Additional sighting reports Amiral, Commandante. South of Tan-Hai, and twenty miles north, off Wu-Chan. If it’s truly enemy ships they’re widely scattered.”
“That fits what I’d expect of fishing boats,” added Martiniere.
“It’s about to be a very dark night,” Travers said after a pause, gesturing to the thin sliver of waxing crescent moon that was following the sun toward the western horizon. “We’ll not sound Quarters yet, but please double the watch and start building steam.”
“I took the liberty of the latter, Amiral,” said the XO, “I’ll get the watch squared away now.”
The executive officer exited bridge, and Travers turned to Martiniere, noting a hint of a scowl. “He’s a good one, you know.”
Martiniere shrugged and allowed, “Yes, he is quite efficient. A bit too Germanic for my tastes, and incredibly impertinent sometimes.”
“He can’t help the circumstances of his birth,” started Travers. Further conversation was abruptly interrupted by a distant sound, one Travers hadn’t heard outside fleet exercises in almost twenty years. “I believe now we sound Quarters, Commandante.” He picked up his binoculars and looked to the east, toward the low islands separating Kouang Tcheou Wan Bay from the South China Sea. He focused in time to spot a red flare rising from one of the coastal batteries, indicating they were under fire.
Martiniere immediately shook off his casual demeanor and snapped into action. Within seconds the flagship went from near silence to a noisy hive of activity and had sent up a red flare of it’s own, signaling the other ships to immediately raise steam and form up for action. Most ships answered with blinker lights, ready for action and complying with orders. Picault and the destroyer Flamberge sent up not-unexpected red flares, as their more intrusive steam plant repairs would take longer to put right before reporting ready.
“The Escadre is raising steam, Amiral,” reported Martiniere as Fischer rejoined them on the bridge.
“Gueydon will be ready to answer her helm in fifteen minutes,” Fischer added.
“Very good,” answered Travers, silently cursing the relaxed posture of the fleet. He’d missed all the action in the brief Italian war, and now his first combat since Sheipoo Bay was to be caught napping by the Japanese.
Geography might prove to be their saving grace. If enemy ships were exchanging fire with the four-inch batteries at the harbor mouth, they were still seven or eight miles from the anchorage. The bay was shallow in places, and the channel somewhat hazardous. It would likely take a fleet unfamiliar with the passage all of that fifteen minutes and more to cover the distance.
The rumble of thunder to the east died away, replaced first by the stamp of thousands of feet rushing to their battle stations, and then by the steady clamor of anchors being drawn aboard and stowed and the rising sound of nine steam plants coming to life. The small cruiser Beaulieu was the first to check in ready, edging the Gueydon herself by about a minute. Within a matter of a few more minutes all ships in the fleet, save two destroyers and Beaulieu’s sister Picault, had reported in and Travers ordered, “Best speed, make for the harbor entrance.”
“Two thirds ahead, course two points south of east,” ordered Martiniere. That would place them on the south side of the passage to open water, and the speed would allow the squadron’s three light cruisers and five destroyers to form on their flagship.
The ships of the fleet had barely started moving when the call came. “Contact, three thousand meters on the port bow, type unknown” shouted the port lookout.
Thankfully, Travers thought, well outside torpedo range. He felt the Gueydon heel slightly as she gained speed, shifting away from the unknown contact. Within minutes two French destroyers were running through what appeared to be five Japanese ships, all of them also destroyers. The cruisers were all maneuvering erratically, trying to ensure that Japanese torpedoes didn’t find an easy target.
Travers watched it all intently, angry at the surprise attack but powerless at this point to change the course of events. The outcome was, for the moment, entirely in the hands of the individual ships’ officers and men. Flashes of gunfire stuttered, briefly illuminating the night and creating an illusory and confused sense of everyone’s movement.
Ten minutes after the initial sighting Travers worst expectations were confirmed as the destroyer Flamberge was lit by a large explosion and seemed to leap briefly from the water. She had never even started moving and so was still only couple thousand meters from Fort-Bayard’s meager port facilities. There was a chance she would survive if the flooding could be controlled quickly. The maneuvering of the remaining French ships increased it’s frenetic pace as everyone realized Japanese torpedoes were slicing through the water.
A few minutes later the Japanese fleet had started slipping into the darkness to the south side of the bay and the French fleet began to come into a semblance of order. Travers signaled the ships to a course slightly south of east, again aiming for the harbor mouth. He’d be damned if the Japanese were going to come directly into a French port and attack his ships, without some measure of retribution.
The destroyer Arquebuse signaled contact again, then was suddenly illuminated by the flash of a seven-inch high explosive shell shredding her upper works. Arquebuse limped to the north, badly damaged, as a large Japanese ship came barreling toward the French formation on a reciprocal course.
The Japanese ship, an Asama-class armored cruiser, wheeled about upon seeing the French force and the action devolved into a footrace as the gaggle of French ships fell into whatever order they could. They sprinted toward the harbor entrance to try to cut off the Japanese cruiser’s escape. One Japanese destroyer had been savaged in the early fighting, and appeared to be motionless and burning on the south side of the bay. The light cruiser Nantes poured rapid and effective six-inch fire into the fleeing Japanese cruiser, and Gueydon joined in as well with her slower-firing ten-inch main battery.
Then the tables turned again as an even-larger Japanese ship appeared out of the darkness. The lookouts all called the contact immediately, identifying it as a Hatsuse-class battleship, and the Gueydon veered hard to starboard to avoid ramming her. The 14000-ton Hatsuse turned sharply as well, putting the two ships briefly on a parallel course.
“TORPED-“ the port lookout screamed, cut off by a thunderous shock.
Travers and the rest of the bridge crew were thrown off their feet by the blast, and he could immediately feel the ship slowing. Water cascaded over the bridge, and Travers could see the port lookout crumpled over the rail outside.
“Engineering,” Martiniere shouted, barely audible through the ringing in his ears.
“On my way, Commandante,” Fischer shouted back, running from the bridge as the ship started leaning slightly to port. Matiniere turned the wounded Gueydon back to the west, into the harbor, while the Japanese battleship turned east to disengage. Travers ordered the light cruiser Nantes and his two nearest healthy destroyers, Epee and Arbalette, to cover the flagship’s withdrawal. The two fleets separated, with the Japanese trading some final ineffectual jabs with the shore batteries.
“Commandante,” called the Quartier-Maitre of the watch, turning from a voice tube fifteen minutes later. “Capitane Fischer reports flooding well under control. The port engine room is awash but we can make twelve knots on the starboard alone.”
“Very good,” responded Martiniere.
Travers considered the known balance of forces, after just eighty minutes of fighting. He had one wounded armored cruiser, three relatively intact light cruisers (though Picault and Beaulieu had never been intended for a stand-up fight) and three undamaged destroyers. The Japanese had at least one battleship and one armored cruiser, and throughout the fight they’d spotted a half-dozen or more destroyers and light cruisers.
Enough, he decided. “Signal the fleet to fall into order on us. We’ll patrol the harbor mouth until dawn, but I’m not risking our largest ship in Asia pursuing a night fight.”