Russian Imperialism and Naval Power: Military Strategy and the Build-Up to the Russo-Japanese War 9780755625680, 9781848856912

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LIST OF MAPS

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The Russian Empire at the Turn of the Twentieth Century The Far East The Black Sea and the Turkish Straits The Baltic Sea and the Arctic Ocean

277 278 279 280

NOTE ON USAGE

The Russian transliteration system employed is a modified version of the US Library of Congress system. In order to allow for a smoother read I have omitted the diacritic marks for the unpronounced soft and hard signs of the Russian alphabet. In addition, I have not applied the transliteration in the case of surnames of foreign origin and names which are familiar in English by other spellings. For instance, Witte and Nicholas II, rather than Vitte and Nikolai II. For reasons of simplicity I have left out the classification following some of the ranks of Russian naval officers. For example, captain instead of captain first class. Unless otherwise stated, dates are in the Julian calendar, used in the Russian empire, which was 12 and 13 days behind the Gregorian calendar in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries respectively. Several qualifications have to be made regarding references to sources. First of all, the publication details correspond to the copy of the source actually used and not necessarily to those of the first edition. In addition, when two or more chapters from an edited collection are cited in the notes, these will not be listed separately in the bibliography, which will only include the details of the collection in a single reference. Citations of Russian archival material will not distinguish between the front of a page and the reverse side. Finally, citations of French archival material are based on the catalogue in use in 2003.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

It is with great pleasure that I am expressing my gratitude to all those who in their own unique way contributed to the genesis and completion of this study. First of all, I should thank Professor Edward Acton who many years ago stirred my interest in Russian history. While researching for this study I was able to work in several archives. These include the State Archive of the Russian Federation (GARF) and the Russian State Military-Historical Archive (RGVIA) in Moscow, the Russian State Archive of the Navy (RGVMF) in St Petersburg, the French Historical Service of the Navy (SHM) in Vincennes and the National Archives (NA) in Kew. I would like to take the opportunity to extend my appreciation to the staff of the aforementioned institutions for their more than generous assistance and hospitality. Furthermore, I have benefited from the valuable advice, encouragement and help provided along the way by Professor Janet Hartley, Professor Andrew Lambert, Oleg Airapetov and many others. Above all, I am extremely grateful to my mentor, Professor Dominic Lieven, whose input in the making of this book is inestimable. Last, but certainly far from least, I must mention that this project would never have been completed without the moral support of my parents, to whom I dedicate this book. It goes without saying that I bear the responsibility for any mistakes or omissions.

ABBREVIATIONS

ADM BB CAB CID d. DDF DMI DNI EMGM f. GARF GMSh GUKiS IKpriMGSh KA MS l. MSGh MTK NA NID op. RGAVMF

Admiralty Papers (in NA) General Service (in SHM) Cabinet Papers (in NA) Committee of Imperial Defence delo (file) Documents Diplomatiques Français Director of Military Intelligence Director of Naval Intelligence État-Major Général de la Marine fond (collection) Gosudarstvennyi Arkhiv Rossiiskoi Federatsii Glavnyi Morskoi Shtab Glavnoe Upravlenie Korablestroenia i Snabzheniia Istoricheskaia kommissiia po opisaniiu deistvii flota v voinu 1904–1905 gg. pri Morskom Generalnom Shtabe Krasnyi Arkhiv Morskoi Sbornik list (page) Morksoi Generalnyi Shtab Morskoi Tekhnicheskii Komitet The National Archives Naval Intelligence Department opis (register) Rossiiskii Gosudarstvennyi Arkhiv Voenno-Morskogo Flota

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RGVIA

Rossiiskii Gosudarstvennyi Voenno-Istoricheskii Arkhiv Royal Navy Service Historique de la Marine Voenno-istoricheskaia Kommissiia po opisaniiu russko-iaponskoi voiny Voenno-Morskoi Uchenyi Otdel War Office Papers (in NA)

RN SHM VIK VMUO WO

Introduction

The aim of this book is to present a detailed analysis of Russian naval strategy from 1894 to the outbreak of the Russo-Japanese War in January 1904. The decade was strongly underpinned by the ideologies and dynamics of imperialism and naval expansion. The whole world appeared to be up for grabs and sea power was seen as crucial for successful imperialism. Russia became increasingly involved in the Far East, one of the focal points of imperialist competition at the time. Ultimately, this resulted in war against Japan, at the hands of whom Russia suffered a catastrophic defeat. Given the vast distance and tenuous communication links separating Russia’s European powerbase from the Far East, naval power was vital in defending the empire’s interests in the region. Despite the fact that during these years Russian foreign policy had placed substantial weight on Far Eastern affairs, this did not signify an abdication from responsibilities and interests in other theatres. This applied, above all, to the generals and admirals who carried the burden of always planning for the effective defence of every inch of the Russian empire’s vast frontiers situated either in Central Europe, the Near East, Central Asia or in the Far East. Specifically, the naval authorities, apart from the Pacific Ocean, also had to accommodate security arrangements for another two key maritime theatres, namely the Baltic and the Black Sea. Evidently, any study of Russian naval strategy must first and foremost interpret it as an organic whole, since any fundamental resolutions taken in regard to one theatre inevitably influenced the potential options elsewhere. Therefore, even though the focus of this book will gravitate towards examining naval strategic

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developments in the Far East given their preponderant political and strategic weight during these years, nevertheless this will take place through the prism of the overall direction of Russian naval strategy. Bearing in mind that Russia was bound to an alliance with France, the book will therefore also consider the alliance’s effects on the formulation of Tsarist naval strategy. In addition, the argument will incorporate the British Admiralty’s perceptions and assessments of Russian naval power. Conceding that strategy is a rather abstract and polymorphous concept, it is essential to strictly define it in order to provide the reader with a lucid understanding of the actual content of this book. In practice the formulation and application of military strategy is influenced by many intertwined factors attached to the specific nature of a given polity. Geography is one of those factors; the size and location of a state is an important determinant in terms of threat assessment, tactics and deployment of armed forces. Also essential is the diplomatic and political framework in shaping state objectives and aspirations to which strategy has to conform. Moreover, strategic planning is shaped by the character and organization of the civilian and military governmental apparatus. The nature of government is significant in affecting the ability of those in charge to interpret the environment in which they operate, while the organizational structure of military institutions is vital in regulating the effectiveness of strategic decision-making. Economic, military and technological variables are also influential in the implementation and maintenance of strategic choices. In addition to such tangible concepts, the ideological and cultural context within which decision-makers operate is significant. Last, but not least, the characters and personalities of the civilian and military leaders often leave a strong imprint on the whole process.1 Without downgrading the effect of all of the above elements in the development and implementation of strategy, owing to size restrictions but also as a consequence of the fact that during research some of the Russian archives were either completely inaccessible or partly accessible, this book will mainly concentrate on the purely military aspects of Russian naval strategy. Other elements will be outlined in the first two chapters and subsequently enter the narrative only

Introduction

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when they profoundly affect the argument. Yet it is still necessary clearly to qualify the purely military side of strategy for the purposes of the current study. In this respect, technical details related to ship construction will take a back seat and the narrative will revolve around B. H. Liddel Hart’s definition, according to which strategy is the ‘art of distributing and applying military means to fulfil the ends of policy’.2 In terms of historiography, secondary sources analyzing Tsarist grand and military strategy, particularly in the English language, provide only glimpses and a rather limited treatment of naval strategy in 1894–1904.3 Moreover, despite the plethora of publications examining Russia’s Far Eastern policy during these years, the overwhelming majority of these works touch upon the subject of Russian naval strategy only superficially.4 Instead, for a more insightful analysis of the subject, it is necessary to look at specialized works both in English and in Russian that fall within the realm of naval history. In contrast to the 1880s and the period immediately prior to the First World War, secondary works offering an integrated, detailed and all-encompassing study of Russian naval strategy in 1894–1904 are scarce.5 Even today the main source on Russian naval strategy in the Far East during the pre-war period remains the study published by the Naval General Staff (Morksoi Generalnyi Shtab and hereafter MGSh) in 1912 along with its 1918 complement.6 The study chiefly focused on wartime actions, while the analysis of pre-war developments was incomplete and marked by the selective presentation of information. Considering that Russia suffered a catastrophic defeat in the Russo-Japanese War and the reputation of prominent individuals still alive was in peril during the publication of the study, it was preferable to abstain from tendering a detailed and impartial but potentially harmful analysis. The most detailed English language account of Russian naval operations during the Russo-Japanese War can be found in J. S. Corbett’s Maritime Operations in the RussoJapanese War, originally in print two years after the MGSh study.7 Corbett’s outline corresponds to the 1912 study, and his interpretation – apart from his sharp and perceptive theoretical treatment of strategic issues – does not offer any insightful new information on

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Russian pre-war strategic planning. Another shortcoming of both of these works is the complete absence of an integrated approach: placing maritime strategy in the Far East in the overall context of Russian naval strategy. In 1911 A. Nemitts endeavoured to do so but, as in the case of the MGSh study, he concentrated on the actions of the fleet during the war and his examination of pre-war naval strategy is elliptic and far from complete.8 V. A. Zolotarev’s and I. A. Kozlov’s more recent attempt has similar problems as regards the field of pre-war strategy.9 Despite the publication of several up-to-date articles scrutinizing various facets of Russian naval strategy in the Far East, the issue has yet to be explored in-depth.10 For an integrated account of Russian naval strategy during the period one has to look elsewhere. First of all, reference should be made to several general histories of the Russian navy such as those by L. G. Beskrovnyi, V. D. Dotsenko, F. N. Gromov, D. W. Mitchell, M. S. Monakov and B. I. Rodionov as well as V. A. Zolotarev and I. A. Kozlov.11 Notwithstanding their wide-ranging scope, these works delineate a factually good, albeit relatively superficial, outline of the overall course of Russian naval strategy at the turn of the twentieth century. A more comprehensive account of the overall course of Russian naval strategy in 1894–1904 can be found in the initial chapters of M. A. Petrov’s book on Russian naval planning before 1914.12 Another useful source is I. S. Rybachenok’s study of the Franco-Russian alliance, which contains a detailed summary of some pivotal naval strategic matters up until 1899.13 An interesting but somewhat disjointed and textbook-like discussion of the theoretical foundations behind the practical application Russian naval strategy during the years in question can be found in the work of V. D. Dotsenko and others.14 The above survey suggests that the existing bibliography, certainly as far as English language sources are concerned, is lacking a coherent and detailed inspection of the subject. Based on research conducted in the State Archive of the Russian Federation (Gosudarstvennyi Arkhiv Rossiiskoi Federatsii and hereafter GARF), the Russian State Archive of the Navy (Rossiiskii Gosudarstvennyi Arkhiv VoennoMorskogo Flota and hereafter RGAVMF), the Russian State MilitaryHistorical Archive (Rossiiskii Gosudarstvennyi Voenno-Istoricheskii

Introduction

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Arkhiv and hereafter RGVIA), the National Archives of the United Kingdom (hereafter NA) and the French Historical Service of the Navy (Service Historique de la Marine and hereafter SHM) which is now part of the Historical Service of the Ministry of Defence, this book will attempt to present an in-depth analysis of the topic.15 This study will be structured as follows. The first chapter will give a short outline of the international political environment in the era of high imperialism and of the various technical and strategic developments in the field of naval affairs. The next chapter will look at Russia’s political, economic and geostrategic position during the period, the place of the navy within it and how the naval department was structured and operated. The third chapter will extensively examine the direction of Russian naval strategy during the 1880s and early 1890s. From the fourth chapter and thereafter analysis will concentrate on the course of Russian naval strategy in 1894–1904.

1 Imperialism and Naval Power

The decades between 1815 and the 1860s witnessed the gradual acceleration and proliferation of the process of industrialization in Europe and North America. The global economy, mainly operating through the seaborne transfer of goods, became more integrated and underwent a spectacular boom, partly due to the erosion of tariff barriers and the application of free trade policies. International politics were generally marked by relative stability and the preservation of equilibrium between the European Great Powers. Concurrently, as a consequence of industrialization, western societies attained decisive financial and military advantages over the non-European pre-industrial societies, which allowed the former to increasingly impose their political will and expand their economic influence over the latter. Britain was the custodian of this world order. Britain’s hegemony rested upon the country’s advanced state of industrialization, financial power, a vibrant economy, a large overseas colonial empire and indisputable naval supremacy that handed control over the global network of maritime commercial arteries.1 In the second half of the nineteenth and early years of the twentieth centuries the international milieu changed dramatically. One important reason was that the spread and thrust of industrialization picked up considerable pace and prompted the simultaneous emergence of several dynamic national economies. From 1873 and up until the

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mid-1890s the competition between these economies greatly intensified as world trade was severely disturbed by acute depressions in prices and profitability, affecting both the agricultural and manufacturing sectors. Most governments, attempting to protect and stimulate the further growth of their economies, reacted by suspending free trade policies and putting in place protective measures such as import tariffs. Although from the mid-1890s the global economy recovered and began to grow again, nevertheless it did so under the long shadow of continuing virulent international antagonisms.2 The era was also characterized by the broad appeal of the creed of modern militant nationalism. Nationalism regarded the nation as a divine creation with a distinctive spirit and mission geared towards progress and the accomplishment of glory. Hence, the nation should form the supreme focus of men’s loyalty and energy. Such beliefs were further compounded by widespread racist attitudes claiming that a nation enjoyed inherent superiority over others. Social Darwinist ideas advocating the concept of a natural environment of struggle, where only the fittest would survive through the uninhibited and blunt exercise of superior might, also left their ideological imprint. In the domain of international affairs these views highlighted the inevitability of Great Power rivalries and fuelled them with vigour and ferocity. Despite the fear that armed conflict could lead to domestic social unrest, since the early 1870s the possibility of conducting a short victorious war without internal complications instilled faith in the use of armed force. Within this extremely competitive and aggressive climate of international relations, it was only natural that the statesmen and military men of the Great Powers were anxious to maintain the position of their own state amongst the ranks of this exclusive club.3 Industrialization had an important impact on military affairs. Although the industrialization of warfare started taking place in the first half of the nineteenth century, it was only from the 1850s onwards that the tempo accelerated and transformed land and naval armaments that had remained relatively stable for centuries. In land warfare the development of rifled breech-loading guns, machine guns and quick-firing artillery enormously amplified the volume and accuracy of fire, making battlefields deadlier than ever before.

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Furthermore, electric telegraphs and railways, now permitting the rapid concentration and deployment of large armies against the enemy, in conjunction with advances in public finance and administration, also raised the possibility of total mobilization. Even though technology alone could not decide the outcome of a war, there was no escaping the fact that industrially produced and technologically advanced weapons had become crucial for victory. Therefore the level of industrialization, and particularly the military industrial manufacturing sector of the various Great Powers, crucially affected their military weight and political standing. This was also clearly illustrated by the incontrovertible military superiority of the industrialized western societies over their technologically underdeveloped counterparts in Africa and Asia.4 The impact of the new technology on military efficiency often meant that interstate tensions were expressed through arms races. The necessity to stay ahead in an environment of ongoing technological innovation and progress, but also the emergence of nationally centred military industrial complexes requiring a steady flow of large investment, increased the importance of military preparations in peacetime. Moreover, governments supported their diplomacy and their pursuit of political or other objectives by exerting pressure through the indirect threat of increasing their armaments. Arms races also developed their own autonomous dynamics; an escalating local arms race between two powers could turn into one of global dimensions. Whatever the motives, arms races contributed to the mounting militarization of international relations. While between the mid-1860s and the early 1890s Great Powers were principally engaged in land armament races, from the 1890s onwards naval races gathered significant momentum.5 For some scholars, the international political scene was also destabilized by the relative decline of British power and hegemony. According to this view, although by the end of the nineteenth century Britain retained financial predominance, nevertheless its economy, which relied on the operation of free trade principles, was hit hard by the international turn to protectionism. Furthermore, the shrinking of the British industrial sector made the country’s position even more precarious. At the same time the increasing

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use of railways and the growth of overland transportation reduced the importance of sea power. In any case, whilst by the turn of the twentieth century the strength of the Royal Navy (hereafter RN) was still impressive, the expansion of the industrial base of most other powers and the corresponding gradual strengthening of their fleets made it clear that Britain could not compete with all of them and preserve its naval supremacy. Consequently, compromises and accommodation with some of them had to be reached.6 However, other scholars have refuted the above thesis and argued that, notwithstanding the loss of industrial primacy, Britain was still sufficiently sturdy both financially and industrially. Doubts have also been raised over the actual decline of the importance of maritime communications and sea power despite the notable development of overland means of transportation. According to scholars ascribing to this school of thought, Britain, still owning a large empire and an impressive navy, had a unique global reach and offensive power.7 However, there is no doubt that the rise of a unified Germany after 1871 did upset the balance of power. Situated at the heart of Europe, efficiently organized, having a large population as well as a burgeoning industrial infrastructure and strong military capabilities, Germany became the strongest power in continental Europe. In spite of this, Germany, under the leadership of Chancellor O. von Bismarck, pursued a conservative and relatively restrained foreign policy rather than vying for European continental hegemony. To a large extent this ensured that peace amongst the Great Powers was sustained. Nevertheless, in the first half of the 1890s the situation changed drastically and the continental European powers found themselves divided into two opposing alliance blocks, namely the Triple Alliance composed of Germany, Austria-Hungary and Italy and the Dual Alliance of Russia and France. Even so, at least until 1905, the alliance system was flexible and permitted the existence of a variety of links between any two members of the opposing coalitions. In turn this facilitated the resolution of disputes between them without seeking military assistance from their partners. Peace was also preserved since most of the powers focused their attention on extra-European questions. While it is true that extra-European affairs

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sometimes aggravated relations amid powers, in most cases they did not touch upon their overwhelmingly Eurocentric vital interests, hence providing room for negotiation and agreement.8 The last quarter of the nineteenth and early part of the twentieth centuries are often referred to as the age of imperialism. During that time the economic and military predominance of the industrialized western societies over the extra-European pre-industrial ones was ruthlessly translated by the former into formal conquest or the extension of informal political, economic and cultural authority at an unprecedented scale. Most of the world outside Europe and North America was brought under the formal rule or the political and economic domination of a handful of states. Imperialism reached its peak between the 1890s and 1910, when the struggle for the acquisition and the exertion of influence over overseas territories became a key factor in Great-Power politics. In 1894–1907 the weakness and vulnerability of the vast Chinese empire turned the focal point of imperial antagonisms to the Far East and eventually resulted in the Russo-Japanese War.9 Imperialism has always been an emotive subject and, as such, an array of divergent and often contradictory interpretations regarding its roots and dynamics have been put forward. A detached and wellrounded analysis should be based on a polymorphous explanation encompassing the political, economic, cultural and psychological influences defining the conduct of all sides involved.10 Firstly, the destabilization of the European balance of power caused by a strong and unified Germany and the impossibility to redress it peacefully drove most powers to turn to the exploitation of overseas territories as a way of strengthening their position. This trend was also underpinned by the relative calm in Europe, which allowed the powers to respond to opportunities aboard. The fact that new technologies facilitated the invasion and exploitation of continental interiors imparted additional impetus. Within this framework, the political and strategic motives for imperialism included reasons of prestige – since colonial acquisitions were seen as a sign of grandeur – an instinctive defensive reaction against the unwanted expansion of rival powers and the desire to get hold of strategic bases on a global scale. Imperialism has also been linked with the internal politics of some of

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the Great Powers. In this sense, conservative elites perceived imperialism as a means of protecting their privileged position threatened by the radical social changes ushered in by industrialization. Specifically, the elites thought that overseas expansion would generate prosperity, create national unity and achieve social stability. Ideologically, imperatives for expansion have also been connected with the nationalist, Darwinist and racist beliefs of western societies, but also with the morally dubious paternalistic strand of Christian humanitarianism urging intervention and religious conversion for the benefit of the poor and ignorant societies of Africa, Asia and the Pacific.11 The division of the globe also had an economic dimension. During the period, the industrialized powers encountered the challenges of growing populations, the decline of the agricultural and growth of the manufacturing sectors of their economies. Against this background, colonies and overseas markets could supply foodstuffs and raw materials which were impossible to obtain at home. In addition, in an atmosphere of intense and escalating economic competition, recession and protective tariffs, overseas markets were important sources for cheap raw materials and outlets for the exportation of goods. The extension of mercantilist protectionism through the acquisition of, and exclusive control over, territories was particularly alluring if not vital for powers with a weak industrial base. Overseas economic expansion also adopted the form of informal penetration of sovereign states. Such countries, having borrowed extensively from imperial powers, were in return compelled to make commercial and economic concessions. The Great Powers took advantage of this and mostly through banking and railway enterprises attempted to further their political leverage in the country in question. Apart from these essentially metropolitan explanations, imperial expansion was also linked to the political stability, economic competence, ability and willingness of the various pre-industrial societies to resist the colonial powers.12 Whatever the causes, imperialism was closely intertwined with the concept of navalism. Navalism can simply be defined as support for, or the actual implementation of, a naval build-up serving the purpose of national aggrandizement. The volatile nature of international affairs, fused with the Social Darwinist conviction that a nation could only

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grow or decline, ultimately implied that overseas expansion was absolutely necessary for national security. The writings of the American naval thinker A. T. Mahan bestowed a solid ideological justification to the notion that sea power was pivotal in the rise and fall of nations. In this context, in the 1890s the majority of Great Powers perceived navies as an indispensable instrument of their national security policy. As illustrated by the example of Britain, naval power was a valuable tool in facilitating the acquisition of overseas colonies and a means of exerting coercion, influence and control in distant parts of the globe. Moreover, the defence of far-flung territories and the worldwide maritime communication lanes linking them to the metropolises of the colonial powers could only be assured by the employment of naval power. Navies could also be used for pre-emptive deterrence against rival powers. A big fleet was also warranted in terms of prestige, which could consequently raise the eminence of a power in the international political arena. In this sense, warships became clearly discernible representative symbols of power and national will. Naval expansion was also induced by the existing arms race mentality and by the fact that the construction of expensive fleets was an effective and convenient way to subsidize domestic industries. Last, but not least, a potent combination of divergent political, economic, societal and cultural factors created a climate of great popular enthralment with the navy. In the 1890s the culmination of all this was a simultaneous and substantial naval build-up by nearly all of the Great Powers. However, prior to describing the precise nature of this process and the strategic theories guiding the use of naval power, a brief analysis of the technical aspects of warship design is required.13 In the two centuries between 1650 and 1850, despite the tendency of vessels to grow larger, the basic elements of warship design had remained unaltered. During this period, which is known as the age of sail, warships were made of timber, relied for their propulsion on the kinetic power generated by the interaction of inexhaustible supplies of wind with manually controlled canvas sails, and were armed with smoothbore muzzle-loading bronze or iron guns firing solid iron cast projectiles. The largest of these vessels, that for reasons of brevity and simplicity will be referred to as battleships, were the main fighting units in naval warfare. They were complemented by smaller, more

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agile and less well-armed ships such as frigates and corvettes, which were mainly designed for scouting and attacking merchant vessels.14 During the first half of the nineteenth century technical progress spurred a process of change in naval architecture. By 1859 major technological innovations, in combination with the experience of the Crimean War (1854–1856) and Anglo-French naval competition, ushered in a new era in warship design, with Britain assuming a commanding lead. This new era was heralded in 1859 by the launch of the British HMS Warrior. The vessel had an iron hull protected by wrought iron armour plates, was partly armed with rifled breechloading shell-firing guns and the main motive power was generated by a steam engine. Sail propulsion was now relegated to an auxiliary role. The Warrior set the main parameters for future warship construction and in doing so began the gradual decline to obsolescence of the wooden battleships.15 In naval architecture the period between the launch of the Warrior and of the British battleship HMS Dreadnought in 1905 has been termed the age of ironclads. By and large, warships of the period had metal-skinned hulls, were propelled by steam and their main armaments fired explosive shells. A key characteristic of the era was the relentless pace of continuous technological improvements in terms of construction materials, engines, ordnance and armour. Ironically, until the outbreak of the Russo-Japanese War in 1904 there were few naval conflicts. Even those that occurred were, in most cases, smallscale and rarely involved the latest equipment and equally matched opponents. This prohibited the testing of new technology. Another hallmark was that naval warfare assumed a three-dimensional nature through the introduction of mines, the torpedo and submarines. While in the age of sail the sea had only supported vessels, it now became a medium of concealment and transmission of attack.16 The ironclad era can be subdivided into distinct stages, the first of which spanned from the late 1850s until the late 1880s. During these decades the evolution of warships in general and particularly that of battleships was marked by uncertainty and the unfeasibility of defining a satisfactory universal design. This resulted from the lack of any significant war experience, the absence of systematic discussion and manoeuvres to determine the tactical deployment of the fleet, as

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well as the unremitting progression of technology. Furthermore, the confusion created by the wide scope and possibilities that new technology offered, in conjunction with the rising costs in shipbuilding, tended to limit the displacement of vessels and encumbered the emergence of balanced designs. On the whole, the period was typified by a rapid rate of obsolescence and the construction of hybrid fleets made up of miscellaneous types of vessels.17 Specifically, two of the key features of battleship design in this period were the abolition of rigs and, more importantly, the rapidly increasing size and power of ordnance at the expense of armour protection. By the end of the 1880s the offensive capabilities of battleships were much stronger than their defensive qualities and serious doubts were raised about the wisdom of pursuing the manufacturing of expensive but vulnerable vessels. These doubts were compounded by the advent of the torpedo as a menacing weapon and the concomitant appearance of torpedo-carrying craft, which were cheap to assemble even in large numbers.18 Alongside battleships capable of cruising in the high seas, navies also built a variety of shallow draft ironclads for both defensive and offensive operations in littoral and inshore waters. These vessels, which will be collectively referred to as coastal defence battleships, were cheaper to construct than ocean-going battleships but were slower, had a small radius of action and dire sea-keeping qualities in the high seas. Overall, these qualities made it impossible to integrate coastal defence battleships in the main battle fleet and also rendered them inferior to ocean-going battleships.19 Apart from battleships, fleets also included cruising vessels. In contrast to battleships, their main features of relatively high speeds, moderate displacement and gun calibre, as well as extended radius of action, qualified them for showing the flag and policing duties in distant waters but also for conducting either commerce protection or raiding in the high seas. For a combination of technical and practical reasons, cruisers evolved at a slower pace than battleships. It was only in the early 1890s that cruiser construction caught up with that of battleships. This marked the genesis of the modern cruiser, the main type of which was the protected cruiser. These vessels did not carry any sailing rigs, were light, fast and comparatively well-armed. They were lightly protected by an armoured deck and some armour

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around the gun mountings. In tandem, some armoured cruisers were also built. Despite their superior defensive capabilities, as a result of being fitted with an armour belt on the waterline, they were slower than protected cruisers. To an extent they were effectively secondclass battleships.20 These years also saw the emergence of a third dimension in naval warfare emanating from significant advancements in underwater weapons. The experimentation with such weapons, and their use, can be traced back to ancient times. However, particularly since the American Civil War (1861–1865), their evolution advanced dramatically. For the first time in history it became practicable to attack from a distance, with explosive means, the sensitive underwater areas of vessels and sink them. One way to achieve this was through the use of underwater mines or explosive devices, which were either freefloating, moored or lying on the seabed. Nevertheless, for most of the ironclad age, owing to the growing success of countermining, mines were assigned to an exclusively defensive role. Instead, the most potent weapon in the armoury of underwater warfare was the self-propelled torpedo, which was developed by the British inventor R. Whitehead in the late 1860s. During the following decade, the torpedo was incorporated into the arsenals of most navies as a consequence of improvements in terms of speed, power of explosives, accuracy and range. The efficacy of the torpedo as a naval weapon also depended on its carrying platform. From the mid-1870s the main carriers of torpedoes were purpose-built, high-speed small craft that were cheap to construct in large numbers. They became known as torpedo boats. By the 1880s their size, seaworthiness and sturdiness made feasible their effective employment in open coastal waters. By the mid-1880s, despite several tactical difficulties, the imprecise firing and long reloading times of heavy naval guns made it possible to consider that swarms of small, fast and agile torpedo boats had a reasonable chance of attacking much larger adversaries such as battleships.21 The second and final stage of the ironclad age, known as the predreadnought period, lasted from 1889 to 1905. Despite occasional controversies, warship and, above all, battleship design stabilized dramatically. Warship design was marked by coherence, consistency

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and the emergence of widely accepted specifications. Even though technological progress continued unabated, it was nevertheless more concerned with details rather than with fundamental design para­ meters. By the end of the 1880s a number of technical developments in the fields of hull manufacturing, propulsion, ordnance and armour offered improved capabilities but also enabled the construction of larger displacement vessels at a reasonable cost. The latter, combined with a positive climate for naval expenditure, resulted in increasing the displacement of individual ships, which in turn led to more balanced designs and the appearance of efficient ocean-going battleships. In the 1890s the fighting competence of battleships was vastly augmented. The efficiency of naval artillery was greatly increased, not only by manufacturing improvements as regards the accuracy, range and performance of guns but also through the introduction of more penetrating and destructive projectiles, the use of smokeless chemical propellants and fire control equipment. Simultaneously, significant advances in armour plating offered enhanced protection. These trends were supplemented by more durable and efficient engine machinery, which allowed for higher speed and reduced fuel consumption. Pre-dreadnought battleships had iron hulls, were propelled by triple expansion steam engines and water-tube boilers, their main ordnance consisted of steel breech-loading guns and were protected by processed nickel-steel plates.22 The improved qualities of battleships were further amplified by the decline of the threat posed by torpedo boats. This largely stemmed from the efficient tactical organization of the fleets and the employment of medium-calibre quick-firing guns with a substantially higher rate of fire and firepower. Although torpedo boats continued to pose a threat to battleships, this was no longer greater than when one battleship faced another. The combined outcome of all these developments was that in the 1890s the majority of navies recognized battleships as the main tool in their naval arsenals.23 Several major and minor naval powers persisted with the construction of coastal defence battleships.24 Nevertheless, the focus of shipbuilding efforts had now irreversibly shifted to ocean-going battleships. The fundamental design elements for battleships in 1890–1905 can be traced to the early 1890s in the British Royal

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Sovereign class. However, the first true pre-dreadnoughts were the ships of the RN’s Majestic class completed between 1895 and 1898. The Majestic class served as the basis for nearly all developments in battleship design until 1905. Despite national variations in design details, particularly with regard to ordnance and armour, all of the principal naval powers built similar types of battleships. Typical examples of pre-dreadnought battleships displaced 12,000–14,000 tons, could reach speeds up to 18 knots and were armed with four 12-inch and 12–14 six-inch guns.25 The naval armouries of the pre-dreadnought era also contained protected cruisers of all sizes, which were constructed with a bias towards either commerce raiding or colonial duties. However, it must be stressed that from 1895 onwards, as advances in armour manufacturing made it possible to fit side armour over an extended area without excessively increasing the displacement of vessels, large armoured cruisers became a very popular, albeit expensive, choice for the majority of naval powers. The design of armoured cruisers paralleled technical developments affecting battleship construction. Armoured cruisers were usually large ships, in some cases even approaching the displacement of battleships, armed with smaller calibre guns than battleships but enjoying the benefits of higher speeds. By the early years of the twentieth century, apart from carrying out commerce raiding, the strong armoured cruisers were expected to scout and more importantly to support battleships in the line of battle, serving as a fast wing.26 In the 1890s torpedo boats continued to exist, usually in the form of small craft of 200 tons equipped with torpedo launchers. Nevertheless, their potential effectiveness was diminished by improvements in countermeasures and the appearance of torpedo boat destroyers, which by the turn of the twentieth century were regarded as reliable fleet escorts. Destroyers were essentially of the same genre as torpedo boats but were bigger, more seaworthy and better armed, carrying both torpedo launchers and quick-firing guns.27 The difficulty for torpedo craft in approaching their targets encouraged the emergence of underwater torpedo carriers in the guise of submarines. In the 1880s the development of submarines picked up considerable pace. France took the lead, but by 1902 most major naval powers had

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recognized the potential value of submarines and sanctioned their inclusion in their arsenals. This did not signify the full integration of submarines into naval warfare – mainly owing to their limited radius, submarines were overwhelmingly classified as port and coastal defence weapons.28 Evidently, the capacity of a state to manufacture all of the fundamental component parts of warships ultimately depended upon its metallurgical, machine-tool and engineering industries. The production of these components required an industrial infrastructure of the highest order, which only a handful of countries possessed. Warship building was also specifically tied to the maritime engineering sector. Even during the age of sail, the intricacies of warship construction and the necessity to maintain vessels resulted in the foundation of large, permanent shipbuilding establishments manned by a skilled workforce. The introduction of ironclads, as well as increases in displacement, led shipbuilding facilities to expand in size and incorporate engineering workshops for the manufacture of engines and the processing of armour plates. Shipyards were large, technologically advanced assembly plants operated by a skilled workforce, with Britain retaining the undisputed lead in the field at least until 1904.29 In a global context, by the end of the nineteenth century, state-owned enterprises coexisted with very proficient private companies in the domain of armaments manufacturing and shipbuilding. In fact, governments routinely looked to private arms and shipbuilding firms for large orders of naval materiel. For instance, in 1889–1898 the German navy placed 50 per cent of its warship orders with private contractors.30 The financial resources at the disposal of governments were also crucial in warship manufacturing, since from the 1860s costs spiralled exponentially. Crucially, in the years between 1895 and 1904, the growth in the displacement of large vessels, the adoption of the latest sophisticated technical innovations and improvements in ordnance and armour resulted in the dramatic increase of building costs. For instance, while in 1889–1896 the RN expended ₤16.8 million to construct 25 battleships, in 1897–1904 the amount required for 27 such vessels had risen to ₤29.9 million. Moreover, during the predreadnought era, expenses for the building and manning of large

20

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armoured cruisers were also significant. Simultaneously, apart from the considerable funds allocated for creating a navy, the outlays on maintaining one also swelled as steam propulsion imposed an unquenchable demand for coal.31 Steam propulsion had also effectively reduced the cruising radius of vessels. It established an absolute reliance on naval bases and coaling stations as fuel replenishing centres. The unprecedented destructive power of naval ordnance also dictated the presence of well-equipped regional bases for repairs. Because of this indispensable link between warships and coastal establishments, naval operations assumed a strong regional character.32 Tactically, steam propulsion also left a deep imprint on the conduct of naval warfare by ending dependence on arbitrary wind power and allowing close and precise manoeuvres in battle. Nonetheless, in practice the elaborate and radical changes of course and speed required by the employment of complex formations, and the lack of wartime experience, set limits on effective manoeuvrability. This situation was not made any easier by the fact that only a few naval officers studied the connection between the new naval technology and wartime tactics. All this meant that, with minor exceptions, few navies had worked out a clear tactical doctrine.33 The rapid technological progress initially absorbed all attention and energies and consequently hindered the emergence of critical and insightful analysis in the field of naval strategy. In the late 1850s and the first half of the 1860s, naval strategic thought adopted tactical patterns from land warfare. Fleet action was perceived in terms of steaming in columns and aiming at turning the opponent’s flank. Overwhelming emphasis was also placed on coastal fortresses and militias for repulsing enemy amphibious attacks. The wide and diverse nature of such views seriously encumbered their codification into a coherent strategic theory. However, in the decades between 1865 and 1890 naval strategic thought was revived in the form of distinct national strategic schools. Their theories were influenced by the varied nature of the political and economic effects of industrialization, different geographical dictates, as well as military traditions. The most important of these schools sprang into existence in the leading maritime powers of the time, namely Britain and France.34

Imperialism and Naval Power

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In Britain the main issues underpinning the development of naval strategic thought centred on the defence of the island metropolis and the country’s great dependence on seaborne commerce. In the second half of the nineteenth century the heavily industrialized British economy became more reliant than ever on maritime commerce. Agriculture was subordinated to the industrial sector to such an extent that Britain was no longer self-sufficient in food. Many principal foodstuffs were now imported from overseas. Simultaneously the industrial sector was fuelled to a large extent by the importation of raw materials. All this meant that Britain had become extremely vulnerable to the potential interruption of its seaborne commerce since this could bring starvation, economic disruption and eventually social upheaval. Nonetheless, for several reasons, including the uncertainty caused by rapid technological progress in naval architecture, by the 1860s British defence policy had given undue weight to the use of coastal fortresses, army units and militias for the protection of the metropolis and colonies.35 In 1867 Captain J. C. R. Colomb of the Royal Marine Artillery put forward a strategic hypothesis, which he believed would offer a coherent system for Britain’s national defence. He argued that the security of the British empire depended on defending the metropolitan islands and colonies from invasion. Additionally, it was also critical to safeguard the transoceanic communication lanes upon which food and raw materials were transported between the metropolis, colonies and foreign trade centres. Colomb was of the opinion that a strong ocean-going fleet could best achieve these tasks. This fleet should command the waters around Britain and have at its disposal a global network of bases, coaling and repair facilities that would also permit it to control the crucial communication lines on the high seas. Colomb’s strategic blueprint, which overwhelmingly emphasized the role of the navy over that of the army for the defence of the empire, set the theoretical foundations of the so-called Blue Water School of naval strategy.36 However, Colomb did not prescribe any detailed strategic principles for the effective employment of the fleet. Coincidentally, his brother, Rear Admiral P. H. Colomb, from the 1870s onwards, embarked on resolving this issue. Rear Admiral Colomb attempted

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to do so through historical analysis and illustration, influenced in this respect by the naval historian Sir J. K. Laughton. Colomb summed up his thoughts in his book, Naval Warfare: Its Ruling Principles and Practice Historically Treated, first published in 1891. He alleged that technical progress had not affected the basic strategic principles of naval warfare, which were essentially immutable. These he derived by examining the history of the RN in the age of sail.37 For Colomb, the fundamental law of naval warfare was to obtain command of the sea. Possession of command of the sea served as a reliable guarantee against invasion and ensured the protection of one’s own maritime commerce. Further, command of the sea made it possible to undertake amphibious attacks with land forces supported by the navy against the adversary’s shores and to destroy his maritime commerce. Command of the sea was to be primarily achieved by defeating the rival fleet in one or a series of decisive engagements. This demanded the concentration of a numerically superior fleet composed of powerful vessels. So the primary instruments in naval warfare were battleships. Even if the enemy avoided battle, ownership of a superior battle fleet still permitted a state to attain command of the sea and derive all of its benefits by blockading and immobilizing the opponent’s ships in their ports. Colomb also endorsed the utility of cruisers for raiding the opponent’s commerce, but assigned them an auxiliary role considering that their operations hinged on first having acquired command of the sea.38 Colomb also examined the use of an inferior fleet, particularly in relation to defending one’s coastline against amphibious landings. He believed that an inferior fleet engaging in battle a superior adversary would certainly be destroyed and consequently the latter would gain absolute mastery of the sea. Instead, he argued that a relatively inferior fleet should refuse battle and preserve itself by remaining in being. Colomb was optimistic that the continuing presence of a fleet in being constituted an important and sufficient deterrent, paralyzing the actions of a superior enemy and in particular their landing operations.39 The basic tenets of Colomb’s theory essentially codified the traditional British naval strategic doctrine that had been broadly and successfully applied since the age of sail. In the second half of the

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nineteenth century the RN pursued the same policy, with the qualification that until 1890 the lack of a serious challenge gave Britain the opportunity to concentrate on amphibious power projection against the enemy’s shores, ports and naval arsenals. In practice, until 1889 the RN continued with battleship construction but also added a large number of cruisers and torpedo boats as well as specialized vessels for coastal operations. Even though in the mid-1880s the impasse in battleship design and the threat of the torpedo boats created doubts about future construction, in 1889 these were emphatically dispelled by the Naval Defence Act which distinguished ocean-going battleships as the core element of the RN’s fleet composition.40 Meanwhile, across the Channel, France became the birthplace of the Jeune École, which some regard as the most coherent and internationally influential school of naval strategic thought up to the early 1890s.41 In the late 1860s the unsuccessful attempt to match the strength of the RN had demonstrated that France’s industrial and financial resources were limited in comparison to those of Britain. Moreover, following a comprehensive defeat by Prussia in 1871, France had to pay a large indemnity and simultaneously reconstitute its shattered army. The latter task was of paramount importance, since the French army would play the key role in a future struggle for survival against the ever more powerful united Germany. Given that the outcome of such a struggle would be decided by a land campaign, the role of the French navy could only be auxiliary in the overall scheme of national defence priorities and as such its funding was restricted. Nevertheless, during the first half of the 1880s France embarked on a policy of colonial expansion that gradually led to mounting antagonism with Britain. In contrast to war with Germany, armed conflict with Britain would depend on a naval campaign fought between a weak French fleet and the far superior RN.42 Consequently, French naval thought was geared towards devising a naval doctrine corresponding to the needs of an inferior navy. Between 1869 and 1874 the French naval Captain Baron L. A. R. Grivel wrote three books. The most significant was De la guerre maritime avant et depuis les nouvelles inventions: Étude historique et stratégique, which was published in 1869. Grivel did not believe that the naval technical revolution had fundamentally changed the

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character of naval warfare. He argued that possessing a strong navy and commanding the sea were imperative preconditions for operations against the enemy’s maritime trade and coastline. In this sense, in case of war with a continental power equipped with an inferior navy, France should strive to gain command of the sea with its battleship fleet. However, the French navy should also be able to adapt to its opponents and, above all, the RN. In the event of conflict with Britain, Grivel conceded that France’s industrial and financial limitations made it impossible to outbuild the RN in battleships. Hence the inferior French navy could not compete with Britain for command of the sea. Instead, for Grivel, France’s only hope was to directly strike at Britain’s sources of prosperity, which were very closely intertwined with maritime commerce. He thus prescribed the use of cruisers for conducting a strategy of guerre de course, in other words, attacks against the adversary’s merchant marine. Grivel also highlighted that littoral defence was the responsibility of both services, with the navy contributing mines and a fleet composed of torpedo boats, gunboats and coastal defence battleships.43 France’s defeat in 1871 injected additional impetus to the shaping of a doctrine for an inferior naval power. Some, like Admiral J. de la Gravière, still supported a policy of obtaining command of the sea and doubted the value of a predatory guerre de course strategy unless the former objective was achieved first. Others, however, in the 1870s and 1880s, challenged these views and presented a radical alternative, the so-called Jeune École of naval strategy. The principal figure of the school was Vice Admiral H. L. T. Aube, while other leading advocates included the journalist G. Charmes and Commandant P. Fontin.44 Many Jeune École supporters, not least Aube, passionately advocated France’s overseas expansion aiming at boosting the country’s prestige and the acquisition of economic and strategic advantages. Aube thought that the French navy had but one function, namely defending France’s colonial empire and imperial aspirations against Britain. In this context he demonstrated little interest in a naval struggle against the weaker fleet of a continental foe. Concurrently, continental military theorists, while accepting that navies were important with regard to colonies and overseas territories, nevertheless pointed out that in a confrontation between land powers, ground

Imperialism and Naval Power

25

forces constituted the pivotal factor in determining victory. France in particular had become painfully aware of this in 1871, when, despite enjoying undisputed naval predominance, the fleet had done little to avert defeat. Furthermore, the logic that in a continental war navies were subordinate to armies was reinforced by the expectation that such a conflict would have a short duration. This seemed to have been justified both in 1871 and in the Prussian–Austrian War of 1866.45 The Jeune École accepted these premises and focused attention on a potential clash with Britain, in which the French navy would have to play a key role despite its inability to openly challenge the unquestionable superiority of the RN. Moreover, Aube took the view that the various technological advances had rendered the element of chance largely irrelevant in a decisive engagement between battleship fleets. Thus numerical advantage now predetermined the victory of the strongest side. Therefore, an inferior fleet, instead of being sacrificed aimlessly, should refuse to give battle and stay put in protected bases. Yet, Aube held the view that technology had also ushered in fundamental changes in naval warfare. One of these was the option of using different types of vessels for performing specific tasks. This reflected the emergence of high-speed torpedo boats with reasonable cruising qualities and radius and later submarines armed with the potentially lethal locomotive torpedo. Swarms of small and agile torpedo boats could overwhelm defences and be awkward targets for the slow-moving battleships. Besides, the successful implementation of guerre de course was facilitated by the development of fast steam-propelled cruisers. The Jeune École placed great faith in the superiority of torpedo boats and cruisers over battleships. Such views acquired additional impetus by the impasse of battleship design until the second half of the 1880s and also appeared to be confirmed by the relatively few naval actions occurring during the period. Furthermore, considering the limited financial resources at the disposal of the French navy, they represented an attractive alternative of defeating Britain without the vast outlays involved in building a large battleship fleet. For instance, it was estimated that 60 torpedo boats could be constructed for the same price as one battleship. However, despite Aube’s preference for torpedo craft and cruisers, he did not completely renounce the employment of battleships in naval

26

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warfare. He envisaged that they could either play a supporting role in coastal defence operations or even under advantageous conditions engage segments of the adversary’s battle fleet.46 Aube thought that, by and large, the capital vessels of both sides would be neutralized. The battleships of the inferior navy would not take on the opponent in decisive battle, while at the same time the superior navy would also not venture in the open sea due to the fear of exposing its battleships to torpedo attacks. Moreover, the threat of inexpensive torpedo craft and mines would render any enemy attempt to closely blockade the coastline very costly. According to the Jeune École the efficacy of blockade as a practical naval strategy had been unequivocally undermined by the introduction of steam propulsion. Steam propulsion meant the constant refuelling of the blockading fleet and enabled the blockaded vessels to escape even in bad weather conditions. In the eyes of Jeune École theorists these assumptions were validated by the experiences of the American Civil War and the failure of the French blockade effort in 1871.47 Closely linked with the above was the Jeune École prescription for a reliable defence of the littoral through the unreserved adoption of the German mobile coastal defence system on both land and sea. The strategy of coastal defence was the direct product of the Prussian army’s predominant influence in the formulation of strategy, as well as the logical adaptation of new weaponry such as mines, small warships and torpedo craft for this task. The concept entailed an extended network of telegraphically connected coastal observation points and a number of fortified bases hosting a mix of troops and warships, which could quickly move to defend the coastline against an enemy landing.48 Finally, one of the most important ideas promulgated by the Jeune École was that of guerre de course. Guerre de course had been extensively practised by France in the age of sail, but in most cases failed. Yet, the Jeune École put great faith in it, partly drawing confidence from the assumption that close blockades had become impracticable. Jeune École thinkers also understood that industrialized Britain depended more than ever before on the maritime importation of food and raw materials. The aim of guerre de course for the Jeune École was not to starve the British population and industry but to cause massive economic disorganization, dislocation, social disorder and a climate

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27

of panic, which would ultimately compel the British government to sue for peace.49 Controversially, Aube was also prepared to support the indiscriminate naval bombardment of coastal cities and commercial ports as a means of undermining enemy morale. Even so, while Aube maintained some balance and moderation in his theories, other Jeune École advocates, such as Charmes, held more extreme views. Charmes was more explicit than Aube over the bombardment of civilian coastal targets and even entertained the belief that this could be exclusively carried out by gunboats. Moreover, he proclaimed not only that battleships were totally outdated vessels approaching extinction and bound to be replaced by torpedo boats, but also that a guerre de course could be successfully conducted with even a very small number of cruisers. Another radical Jeune École exponent was Commandant A. Gougeard, whose vision of naval warfare was exclusively reduced to guerre de course.50 The Jeune École instigated fierce debate and a philosophical schism in almost every navy. Between the mid-1880s and early 1890s it had a strong influence on the policies of most naval powers with the exception of Britain. In France, despite their domestic roots, Jeune École ideas resulted in a protracted debate and created deep ideological division over naval strategy. Subsequently, until 1905 French naval strategy was incoherent. Still, notwithstanding this confusing state of affairs, from the 1880s onwards France constructed large numbers of cruisers, torpedo boats and comparatively few battleships. During the 1880s, even though they did not give serious consideration to guerre de course, both Germany and Austria-Hungary were committed to a policy of coastal defence and built numerous torpedo boats. The Italian navy, despite the belated embrace of Jeune École policies, also engaged in the construction of a large number of torpedo boats. Outside Europe, the American navy was overwhelmingly geared to the conduct of guerre de course and intended to defend the home ports with coastal defence armoured vessels, mines and coastal artillery. The slowly emerging Japanese navy until the early 1890s mainly evolved as a cruiser and coastal defence force.51 Regardless of the widespread appeal of the Jeune École, it did not proffer an all-encompassing general theory of sea power and strategy

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that could be fully absorbed by the various national strategic schools. In the early 1890s the American naval expert Captain Mahan put forward such a general theory, the influence of which spread rapidly. By the middle of the decade, although national schools continued to exist, most of them now accepted Mahan’s theories.52 Mahan, who taught naval history and strategy at the United States Naval War College between 1885 and 1892, penned the fundamental aspects of his theories in his two key books, The Influence of Sea Power upon History 1660–1783 and The Influence of Sea Power upon the French Revolution and Empire 1793–1812, respectively published in 1890 and 1892.53 By the late 1880s the United States Navy was stagnating both in terms of materiel and personnel, but certain circles of the American naval, political and industrial elite were pressing for its enlargement. It was against this background that Mahan composed his theory. Even though he was perhaps selected by his superiors to synthesize propaganda supporting a naval build-up, it is certain that he personally endeavoured to improve the professional education of his fellow officers. In any case, in his attempt to provide persuasive reasoning supporting a long-term, systematic and expensive naval expansion, in the long introductory chapter of his first book he forged an argument which strongly linked politics and economics with sea power. In this respect, Mahan crucially shifted emphasis from the exposition of purely military strategy to a powerful geopolitical and economic analysis.54 After examining the various naval struggles of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, Mahan concluded that sea power was, and remained, a decisive element in the history of international relations. He argued that sea power had offered Britain security, prosperity and a commanding global role. Therefore, extrapolating from the example of Britain, any nation aspiring to Great-Power status should become a sea power. Even though Mahan did not offer a precise definition of sea power, he believed that it consisted of a series of overlapping factors. They included the production of goods, their maritime transportation by merchant shipping, and overseas colonies which served as markets and sources of raw materials. Collectively these factors endowed with prosperity the state

Imperialism and Naval Power

29

possessing them. Consequently, since national prosperity largely depended upon maritime commerce, the protection and growth of the latter as well as the disruption of enemy trade made ownership of a powerful navy mandatory. Nevertheless, Mahan also thought that, under the right geographical and political conditions, even a modest fleet was sufficient to deter a more powerful adversary from undertaking hostile action.55 Mahan also analyzed the purely military facets of naval strategy, though his treatment was not systematic. Again he took the view that historical research provided an insight into the general principles of naval strategy. Mahan accepted that the introduction of new technology could affect the conduct of naval warfare on a tactical level, but was convinced that the study of the past demonstrated the existence of certain fundamental, universal and immutable strategic laws. However, in contrast to popular perception, he did not necessarily recommend their doctrinaire application. Mahan’s conceptualization of these principles were mainly inspired by A. H. de Jomini’s Précis de l’ art de la guerre, a book on land warfare, which he adapted to naval warfare.56 Given the importance that Mahan assigned to seaborne commerce, it is not surprising that he thought victory critically depended on securing one’s own lines of oceanic communications and commerce and conversely disrupting those of the enemy. Mahan was not opposed per se to a strategy of guerre de course but he generally considered it inadequate. First and foremost, guerre de course did not assure the safety of one’s own maritime commerce. Secondly, he condemned attacks against individual merchant ships and convoys as less efficient than actually controlling the oceanic arteries of communications forming the thoroughfare upon which maritime commerce flowed. Consequently, he urged that it was imperative to establish control over these lines of communication. This could be achieved by gaining command of the sea by offensive action through decisive engagements aiming at the annihilation of the adversary’s fleet. Therefore, for Mahan, the element of battle was a key part of his general theory. Although most of his followers interpreted this narrowly and reduced their vision of naval warfare to a single cataclysmic battle, Mahan himself acknowledged that there were exceptions to the rule. He

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thought that battle should have a worthwhile strategic objective and that in certain cases the risks involved did not justify engaging the enemy. In any case, his blueprint for success in battle centred on the concentration of a numerically superior fleet, preferably against fractions of the enemy, at a decisive point. Taking into account that at sea it was impossible to count on the choice of advantageous terrain as a multiplier of force, in addition to quantitative superiority it was also critical to have great offensive power. In this sense battleships were the only vessels capable of projecting such power. Hence, for Mahan, battleships should constitute the backbone of the navy. Finally, he also argued that if the enemy shrank from engaging one’s superior battleship fleet, then command of the sea could be established by a strategy of blockade, which would immobilize both the opponent’s naval forces and merchant marine in their own harbours.57 Even though Mahan did not reject a strategy of coastal defence in principle, he nevertheless did so on grounds of practical application. He was of the opinion that large numbers of small craft scattered along the coastline were susceptible to wide dispersal and could not provide security. Moreover, he believed that although bases were important for the fleet, nonetheless their fortification should be undertaken by the army in order not to drain resources from the navy. Overall, Mahan staunchly advocated that only a strong battleship fleet capable of keeping the enemy away through offensive action in the high seas could successfully guarantee the protection of the coastline.58 Inspired by Jomini, Mahan also placed emphasis on some other general strategic rules. Apart from accentuating the value of concentration of force in battle, he also employed this principle widely and axiomatically. For example, he applied the principle of concentration in the strategic deployment of forces. Furthermore, he attributed great value to placing units in a central bastion or a series of positions connected with short and secure lines of communications. This would enable their rapid concentration at any of these points and the separation of those of the opponent. Mahan also assigned particular importance to logistics, since steam propulsion required the constant refuelling of vessels. In this context, he argued that it was necessary to occupy and hold a network of coaling stations for facilitating fleet operations.59

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31

Mahan addressed the issue of possessing an inferior fleet. He deemed that the safest and most effective way to make use of it was to lock it up in an impregnable base and impress on the stronger rival fleet the burden of continuously guarding against its escape. Whilst recognizing that a fleet in being constituted a perpetual menace, he nevertheless pointed out that its value was overrated as eventually the superior fleet would obliterate an inferior opponent.60 It is evident that many facets of Mahan’s conclusions were anticipated by the Blue Water School of naval strategy and that his work formed an integral part of it. Although Mahan’s views were not original, he was the first to closely and persuasively link sea power with the broad political and economic requirements in attaining national greatness. Apart from the straightforward and didactic qualities of his books and their publication in numerous languages, his work became internationally acclaimed and influential largely because the time was ripe for a broad endorsement of his theory. The political and economic forces and impulses of imperialism and navalism confirmed, at least superficially, Mahan’s analysis. In this environment, virtually all heads of states, politicians and military leaders perceived Mahan’s ideas as universal truths about international relations and military strategy. They came to trust that naval supremacy and the application of certain strategic axioms were the indispensable prerequisite for victory in war and the achievement of national greatness. Imperial and naval expansion would have taken place independently of Mahan, but his theories certainly stimulated and invigorated the whole process.61 In the 1890s the influence of the Jeune École waned under the weight of a broad array of domestic, diplomatic and strategic considerations intellectually reinforced by Mahan’s writings and the stabilization of naval architecture expressed through the emergence of well-designed and powerful battleships. The overwhelming majority of naval powers rapidly expanded their fleets, focusing on the construction of battleships as their key components.62 Cruisers and torpedo craft were no longer perceived as the main striking force of navies, but nevertheless continued to be integrated into the arsenals of most naval powers since their inclusion was considered significant for a balanced fleet.63 Despite all this, it must be stressed that

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the widespread conversion of navies to the edicts of the Blue Water School was not total. Indeed, certain elements of Jeune École doctrine survived as viable practical strategic choices. This was, above all, the case in relation to coastal defence. For instance, during the early years of the twentieth century, even the RN seriously contemplated the employment of torpedo boat flotillas and submarines as a cheap and reliable means of defence against an invasion of the British Isles.64

2 The Russian Empire and Navy at the turn of the Twentieth Century

At the turn of the twentieth century Russia was a populous and territorially vast empire covering one-sixth of the planet’s land surface with its borders stretching from Central Europe to the Pacific Ocean. From a military point of view, Russia possessed the most numerous army in the world and a relatively strong fleet.1 Until 1905 the Russian empire was administered by an autocratic system of government in its purest form. All power and authority was ‘God ordained’ and lay in the hands of the ruler, namely the Tsar. Therefore all senior officials depended upon the autocrat’s acquiescence, trust and favour for putting their policies into practice. The highest echelons of government operated through a system of regular oral and written reports given personally by the ministers to the Tsar. Such reports dealt exclusively with affairs concerning the specific department of state represented by the individual minister. Collegial institutions designed to coordinate overall government policy atrophied, as the Tsar did not properly utilize them. The Tsar, anxious to protect his autocratic powers, did not wish to be bound by collegial organs as he could be coerced by an individual or a group of ministers into sanctioning a decision which he might personally disagree with. The appointment of a prime minister was certainly out of the question, because it would signify at least a partial abdication of the ruler’s autocratic powers. Consequently, collegial institutions discussed matters affecting more than one agency only haphazardly. Instead

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such issues were mostly discussed by ad hoc special interdepartmental commissions occasionally chaired by the Tsar. This set-up allowed the autocrat to justify his position and power by standing above his bureaucrats and mediating between them. In practice, this administrative structure resulted in the isolation of individual ministries and the absence of systematized and efficient institutional cooperation, which in turn led to severe outbreaks of interdepartmental strife and encumbered the establishment and implementation of balanced and coherent overall state policies.2 Given the pivotal role of the autocrat and the idiosyncratic character of the governmental structure, much depended on the personal qualities of the individual occupying the throne. Ideally, a resolute Tsar with a firmly determined identity would limit the centrifugal tendencies of the system and imbue it with coherence and a solid sense of direction. The years between 1895 and 1904 approximately form the first decade of rule by Tsar Nicholas II, who ascended to the throne at the age of 26 following the death of his father Alexander III in the autumn of 1894. However, Nicholas II was both technically and psychologically unprepared for the job. Firstly, he did not have a firm understanding of overall state policy requirements and the workings of the governmental apparatus. Secondly, owing to his kind and sensitive nature he lacked the forcefulness to bring hardened statesmen to work together under his leadership. His aversion to controversy and open disagreement often made him indecisive in committing himself to policy recommendations put forward by his ministers, despite the fact that he might have originally expressed his support for them. Consequently, this undermined ministerial trust in the Emperor and further intensified the inherent ministerial conflict.3 By 1900, although senior bureaucrats still viewed the Tsar as the fundamental source of power and authority, they nevertheless had developed an attitude that implied institutional constraints on autocratic power. Having undergone a process of professionalization and acquired a considerable esprit de corps, senior bureaucrats stressed the need for efficient administration by expecting the Emperor to comply with the procedures of the state’s administrative machinery exclusively operated by them. Until 1902 the inexperienced Nicholas II seems to have conformed to this expectation.

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Apart from undertaking the required mediation between departments, on the whole he approved the policy recommendations of his ministers with little reservation. However, by 1903 and up to the beginning of war with Japan, bureaucrats found their views increasingly challenged by the Tsar. Whether motivated by an attempt to guard the vestiges of autocratic power from the encroachment of the bureaucratic elite or seeking to promote a different policy, in 1903 official state policy was overridden by the blunt exercise of autocratic power. The most notable and serious example of autocratic intervention against the policies of senior bureaucrats can be found in the so-called Bezobrazovshchina. Using A. M. Bezobrazov, a courtier and unofficial advisor, as spokesman, Nicholas II disregarded the collective views of his ministers of finance, foreign affairs and war over the conduct of Russia’s Far Eastern policy. The Tsar then made the chief decision-maker as regards Far Eastern policy a regional military viceroy operating outside ministerial control.4 However, irrespective of individuals and their ephemeral choices, since the eighteenth century the Tsars and their senior officials were collectively and fundamentally preoccupied by the higher notion of safeguarding the empire’s status as a Great Power, as this was perceived to be the raison d’être of the regime. Despite the spread of industrialization and the growing dependence of a state’s power on industrial and economic prowess, by the 1850s Russia was still a predominately agricultural and poor country. Russia’s comprehensive defeat in the Crimean War in 1856 by the western industrialized powers of Britain and France clearly illustrated the discrepancy between Great-Power claims and the reality of underdevelopment. In the 1860s and 1870s an effort to rectify the situation was undertaken by Tsar Alexander II through the introduction of a number of domestic reforms. Nevertheless, by the end of his reign in 1881 the empire was not fully reformed and had not reached a satisfactory level of industrialization, while state finances were in tatters. During the 1880s and early 1890s his successor, Alexander III, placed strong emphasis on a policy of tackling these pressing problems. This policy was based upon maintaining equilibrium in the empire’s balance of payments through the massive exportation of agricultural products and a stable rouble. Rigorous budget management and cuts in unproductive state

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expenditure supplemented these measures. In turn, the establishment of healthy finances allowed the obtaining of foreign loans. The state used these to sponsor the development of heavy industry, primarily through the construction of economically profitable railways, the flagship of which was the vast and costly Trans-Siberian railway. The development of heavy industry was also sustained by the raising of high import tariffs. Since 1892 the energetic Minister of Finance, S. Iu. Witte, vigorously and consistently pursued this system, enjoying the trust of Nicholas II. Although Russia under Witte’s guidance underwent an unprecedented industrial expansion, nonetheless it still remained a predominantly agrarian country lagging behind the leading industrial powers.5 In spite of the rapid extension of the Russian railway network, shipping continued to play a dominant role as regards the empire’s external commerce. In 1900 maritime transportation conveyed 73 per cent and 54 per cent of all Russian exports and imports respectively. During the reign of Alexander III the Russian government had come to the conclusion that the country needed a significant commercial fleet, which it subsidized generously, but even by the turn of the twentieth century without great success. Russian shipping companies were of limited size and could not seriously contend with foreign competitors. Even though in 1899 the Russian merchant marine consisted of 456 vessels with a total displacement of 393,000 tons, nevertheless it was much smaller than the commercial fleets of most other powers. For instance, it was respectively 30 and five times smaller than the British and German merchant fleets. Therefore, it is not surprising that Russian-owned shipping firms carried only 12 per cent of the empire’s total of import and export goods.6 A complex framework underlay the Russian empire’s geopolitical position. Despite possessing large parts of Europe and Asia, most Russian statesmen considered that Russia’s vital interests lay in the former. The European parts of the empire constituted the demographic, political and economic heartland, which generated revenue and furnished its military power. The Ukraine and south Russia in particular were the main source of agricultural products, crucial for financial stability, but also an important mining and metallurgical centre. Further to the north, Russian-occupied Poland not only

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made a substantial contribution to the empire’s economy but also served as a barrier against invasion by European continental powers. Ominously, both of these areas were bordered by Austria-Hungary, a rival Great Power. More importantly, since 1871 the emergence of a strong Germany raised the spectre of a potent threat to Russia’s western borderlands. To make matters worse it was expected that Russia would have to confront the superior forces of the two Germanic powers joined through the Triple Alliance.7 Since the 1870s and until 1890 Russian statesmen had attempted to contain this threat by engaging primarily Germany but also Austria-Hungary through a series of diplomatic and alliance arrangements. From the early 1890s onwards, while maintaining relatively stable relations with Germany, Russia’s core security safeguard in Europe was an alliance with France. This alliance, which was mainly motivated by the mutual threat of Germany, had at its core a defensive military convention stipulating the simultaneous mobilization of French and Russian land forces in opposing aggressive action by Germany and the Triple Alliance. Even though, at French instigation, certain military measures against Britain were also contemplated in 1900–1901, nevertheless they only had a superficial nature. Another important aspect of the alliance was that France became Russia’s chief creditor. Russia’s potentially vital military assistance to France counterbalanced the latter’s upper hand in the financial domain and upheld the alliance as a partnership among equals. Yet, despite striving to coordinate the diplomatic policies of the alliance on a global scale, the two allies did not always see eye to eye in extraEuropean affairs and in the Near East.8 In the Near East, Russia for centuries espoused several historic missions. One of them was the ideologically motivated aspiration to liberate the fellow Slav and Orthodox Christian populations of the Balkan peninsula from Ottoman rule. Another such mission was the desire to capture Constantinople, which would also enhance Russia’s power among the Balkan Slavs and other Orthodox nations. However, in the latter half of the nineteenth century Russian political, strategic and economic interests focused on the fate of the Ottoman-controlled Black Sea Straits that surrounded Constantinople. Politically, the capture of the Straits would elevate

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Russia’s prestige as a Great Power and consequently further cement the authority of the autocracy. Strategically, the Straits commanded the approaches to Russia’s vulnerable Black Sea littoral. The Crimean War had clearly pointed to the threat posed to Russia’s southern coastline by the presence of the fleet of one or more leading maritime powers in the Black Sea basin. From an economic perspective, by the early twentieth century 37 per cent of all Russian goods sold overseas, including the bulk of Russia’s vital grain exports, were shipped out of the Black Sea ports and channelled to foreign markets through the Straits. Whilst passage through the Ottoman-controlled Straits in peacetime was closed to the warships of all other states, merchant vessels enjoyed uninhibited access.9 Given the importance of the Straits, Russia aimed for their eventual seizure although, despite the weakness of the Ottoman empire, since 1878 Russia was not in a position to undertake any aggressive action. Russia did not only face financial and military difficulties, but was also extremely cautious as any such Russian military endeavour would encounter the staunch opposition of other Great Powers with interests in the Straits and even armed opposition primarily from Britain and Austria-Hungary. Therefore Russia was forced to postpone the capture of the Straits, at least until it possessed sufficient military might. Meanwhile, Russian policy operated on the principle of supporting the status quo and the commitment that the Straits under no circumstances should fall under the control of other Great Powers. In case of emergency the Russian military was preparing for a reactive and defensive contingency plan of seizing the eastern channel of the Straits, namely the upper Bosphorus.10 Russia had expanded in Central Asia since the eighteenth century, but from the 1860s to the early 1880s had conquered vast territories. Essentially the impetus for this was prestige, the possibility of relatively easy and cheap victories and the initiative of ambitious local commanders. Moreover, geopolitically, Russian expansion must be viewed in the context of confrontation with Britain. Firstly, Russian expansion assumed the form of preventive penetration against British designs in the region. Secondly, it was also a means of exerting political and military pressure on Britain through the potential utilization of the area as a staging platform for an offensive against British-ruled

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India, though such an operation was never seriously contemplated. In 1885 the Afghan crisis raised the spectre of a clash with Britain, but by 1904 Anglo-Russian disputes in Central Asia, though not resolved, had been somewhat regulated. This did not mean that imperial antagonism between the two powers in Asia subsided, as from the early 1890s the successful economic and commercial penetration of Russia in Persia caused British consternation and opposition.11 Antagonism with Britain also extended to the Far East where, after several centuries of expansion, Russian territories bordered substantial bodies of water in the Pacific Ocean. Until the early 1890s the development of these possessions had proceeded very slowly because of the inhospitable climate, sparse population, the lack of a reliable food base as well as severe transportation and communication difficulties due to the separation of the area by vast distances from the European centre of the empire. Until the middle of the 1890s, preoccupation with the European and the Near Eastern theatres, as well as the absence of strong military presence in the Far East, imposed upon Russia the necessity to pursue a passive and defensive regional policy focusing on the maintenance of the status quo and peaceful relations with its Asiatic neighbours. However, from 1886 onwards the aspiration to open the untapped resources of Siberia and of the Russian Far East and the increasing penetration of the Great Powers in China activated a more dynamic policy, expressed through the commencement of the construction of the Trans-Siberian railway in 1891.12 Although in 1894–1904 Russia’s vital interests continued to lie in Europe and the Near East, increasing attention was paid to the Far East. The Franco-Russian alliance offered Russia a degree of security in Europe against the threat of Germany. In the Near East, the relative stability of the region from 1897 onwards and an agreement with Austria-Hungary over maintaining the status quo gave Russia some breathing space to redirect attention to elsewhere. Domestically, the empire’s finances were in good shape and the industrial sector was growing rapidly. Meanwhile the dynamics of the era of imperialism imbued Russian statesmen, like their German counterparts, with the anxiety that the empire would be left out of the inevitable redistribution of the globe if they failed to decisively participate in the scramble for territories and resources. The new focus of Russian

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imperial expansion in the Far East was also largely conditioned by the sustained penetration of other powers in the region and the vulnerability of the Chinese empire.13 Additionally, Russian expansion in the Far East was justified ideologically through various guises. These included the belief that Russian culture stood midway between Europe and Asia, thus providing a firm basis for creating a Eurasian empire, or that the Russian psyche had a closer affinity to Asia, which ultimately directed the country’s imperial destiny towards this continent. For others, expansion was warranted by Russian moral and military superiority over the people of Asia and a mission civilizatrice. Another theory evolved around the notion of the Yellow Peril, according to which Russia should advance in Asia in order to defend itself and Europe from hordes of ‘barbaric Orientals’. Against this backdrop, the overoptimistic and ambitious Nicholas II sanctioned an expansionist policy in the Far East. His desires conveniently merged with those of Witte, who believed that Russia, taking advantage of its Eurasian geography and the construction of the Trans-Siberian railway, should actively seek to act as a trading link between Europe and China. Moreover, the establishment of a Russian monopoly over the markets and resources of northern China would bring in profits that could support Russia’s industrial development. Witte envisaged the materialization of these schemes through a policy of peaceful economic penetration. However, despite Witte’s intentions, by 1904 Russian involvement in the Far East resulted in a military confrontation with Japan.14 It was in this geopolitical, economic and ideological context that the Russian empire’s defence policy was formulated. Apart from various periodically convened special commissions, imperial Russia, at least during the period in question, lacked a permanent organ responsible for the coordination of foreign and military policy. Implicitly this meant that the highest leadership of the armed forces alone took military strategic planning decisions. Tsarist armed forces were administered by the War and Navy Ministries, which operated separately and independently of each other. In the absence of a combined collegial organ, issues affecting both services were discussed in joint commissions, if at all. A case in point was the joint commission charged with planning for the capture of the upper Bosphorus.

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Fierce and long-lasting disagreements between generals and admirals over a number of matters, such as the organization of coastal defence, hindered the establishment of a defined and coordinated joint imperial defence doctrine.15 In the overall scheme of Tsarist imperial defence, tradition, Russia’s vast continental extent, its general geopolitical situation and small merchant marine furnished the army with a substantial institutional, material and strategic advantage and rendered the navy a junior partner. In short, the strategic orientation of the senior partner was conditioned by the following parameters. First and foremost, the army was required to deploy forces in order to defend the enormous and extended borders of the empire spreading through multiple separate theatres threatened by a host of potential enemies. However, most reservists lived in the hinterland of the empire and had to cover considerable distances before reaching any of the theatres. A strategic railway network would have allowed the fast deployment of masses of men along the various frontiers. In practice, Russia was deprived of this capability since the huge expenditure demanded due to the sheer size of the empire could not be justified for laying an unprofitable network of strategic railways. Consequently, Russia maintained a peacetime army far in excess of that of any other power, which by 1904 numbered over 1 million men. Nevertheless, the dispersal of this force in various unconnected theatres made it impossible to ensure their defence. This dire predicament was made even worse by the slow and inadequate equipping of the large standing army with technologically advanced hardware, at a time when armaments were expensive and underwent quick obsolescence. Since 1873 these constraints induced the army’s planners to assign primary importance to defending the vital western frontier against Germany and Austria-Hungary. The absence, even in this theatre, of a sufficient railway system permitting the rapid mobilization, reinforcement and concentration of forces in contrast to the superior German and Austro-Hungarian capabilities meant that almost half of the Russian standing army was deployed in the western frontiers and specifically in Poland.16 Tsarist Russia was the world’s largest continental state and at the same time the empire’s maritime borders were almost 15 times

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longer than those of France. Even so the empire did not enjoy unfettered access to the high seas.17 Though theoretically immediate access to the world’s oceans could be gained in the Arctic Ocean and the White Sea, extreme climatic conditions and the large distance of the neighbouring coastline from the demographic and industrial heartland limited the effective naval utilization of the region. In the Baltic Sea the extended Russian coastline contained the imperial capital of St Petersburg at the outskirts of which was a sizeable part of the empire’s industrial infrastructure. Nevertheless, only the south-western part was ice-free and open for navigation throughout the year. Egress from the Baltic Sea was possible only through the straits separating Denmark and Sweden, but these could be relatively easily blockaded by Germany or Britain in time of crisis. The Black Sea was another enclosed sea separated by the Ottoman-controlled Straits from the eastern Mediterranean Sea. Given that passage through the Straits was legally barred to the Russian fleet, any warships maintained in the Black Sea basin were effectively isolated. If access through the Straits to the Mediterranean was achieved, even then the British would remain in control of the basin. In the Far East the northern part of the Russian coastline was immediately connected to the open ocean but was too remote and underdeveloped to be of any practical value. Further to the south the Japanese islands and the Korean peninsula tightly encircled and isolated from the Pacific Ocean Russia’s only major port of Vladivostok and the surrounding waters of the Sea of Japan. The Korean Straits were the main passageway from the Sea of Japan to the Pacific Ocean, but during that period access through them increasingly depended on good relations with Japan. Russia’s already difficult naval predicament in the Far East was further complicated as Vladivostok was ice-bound for a substantial part of the year and its port facilities were limited.18 Considering all of the above, it is evident that every one of these theatres had to be seen as separate from the others. Ideally the Russian navy should deploy in each one a self-contained strong fleet capable of dealing with the challenges facing it, though in practice Russian finances could not sustain such an option. A strategy of shifting of ships between theatres was unfeasible in relation to the Black Sea

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and was also extremely difficult in relation to the other theatres, as it required excellent preparations and a long transit time. Russia did not have even a single intermediary base or coaling station on the coastlines of Europe, Africa and Asia. In peacetime ships travelling from the Baltic to the Far East had to buy coal at neutral ports, but in time of war such ports would be inaccessible. The alternative of refuelling ships at sea was also hard since Russia was short of an adequate number of ocean-going colliers, while the hiring of neutral colliers entailed many complications and dangers. At least theoretically, the movement of vessels via the exclusively Russian-controlled route through the Arctic Ocean to the Far East was possible. However, this route did not have a practical significance for a battle fleet as it could only be traversed with the assistance of powerful icebreakers. Instead, the most viable option for Russian naval strategy was to operate on the principle of independent theatres, with the crucial qualification of allocating the majority of forces to one specific theatre in accordance with overall state interests.19 This of course entailed the danger of discovering, after assigning priority to one theatre, that a rival power had chosen to mount a challenge in another. Russian military strategy on both land and sea closely depended on the resources assigned by the Ministry of Finance. By the turn of the century this ministry had become institutionally dominant over other departments. The Ministry of Finance enjoyed the support of both Alexander III and Nicholas II, as the body driving Russia’s industrialization effort. The ministry’s management of the process of industrial development furnished it with far-reaching control over wide areas of state policy. The Ministry of Finance also successfully exploited the disunity of the Russian governmental apparatus through strong alliances with other ministries, its internal cohesion as well as the high calibre of the department’s personnel. By using these advantages, through adept manoeuvring and his unique opportunity to impose his will by controlling the resources of other departments, Witte had in fact secured a position close to that of an unofficial premier. From this dominant position his actions were guided by the firm belief that Russia’s political independence and Great-Power status hinged on financial stability and the industrialization of the empire, even if this entailed temporary inferiority in the military sphere. Crucially the

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use of armaments programmes as a stimulus for the economy did not figure in Witte’s calculations. Therefore the armed forces were seen as unproductive consumers of vast resources which drained funds from the industrialization programme. As a result the military was forced to operate under a policy of financial stringency. In addition, by the 1890s the War and Navy Ministries had little room for manoeuvre as their funding was regulated by the predelny biudzhet, which fixed their budgets for a five-year period. Additional funds outside the defined normal budget could only be granted under special circumstances and with the agreement of the Minister of Finance.20 Despite all this, in the 1890s and in the first few years of the twentieth century, Russian military spending and specifically army expenses outstripped that of any other power, with both services obtaining a rising amount of funds in real terms. Nevertheless, a more careful examination indicates that actually the Russian armed forces received a declining share of the total state budget. Military spending for both services fell from 28 per cent in the early 1890s to 24 per cent in the second half of the decade. In the 1890s the proceeds generated from taxation led to a considerable increase in state revenues but, concurrently, Russian government expenditure spiralled as resources were diverted to civilian needs, the servicing of loans obtained abroad and, above all, to the construction and running of railways, particularly the Trans-Siberian railway. In spite of the army’s primacy in imperial defence, it was the War Ministry that was mostly affected by the policy of financial austerity. During the same period the navy’s share of the budget swelled from 4.3 per cent to 5.5 per cent. This was also reflected in the combined armed services total budget by the rise of the Navy Ministry’s share from 15.3 per cent to 23.1 per cent by 1904. After 1898 this led the War Ministry to complain that the navy siphoned precious funds from the army.21 Gatrell has asserted that the navy, in contrast to the army, was not underfunded and the armament requirements of the Navy Ministry were satisfied, since most of the money was spent on the construction and repair of vessels. In this sense he attributed the navy’s disastrous performance in the Russo-Japanese War to the mismanagement of adequate resources and enforced economies impairing the training of crews.22 Although Gatrell is certainly right about the adverse effects

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of enforced economies, nevertheless, his view that the navy was not underfunded is debatable. Firstly, the growth of the naval budget was, in any event, conditioned by the dramatic increases of shipbuilding costs. While the construction costs for Russian battleships in the 1880s stood at 9 to 10 million roubles, by the turn of the century they had leapt to at least 13.4 million.23 Secondly, before the outbreak of the Russo-Japanese War, and specifically in 1896–1902, less than half of the Navy Ministry’s total funds were allocated to shipbuilding.24 In addition, since from the 1890s onwards all of the Great Powers were pouring substantial resources into the development of their navies, the increase of the Russian naval budget did not guarantee security. For example, in 1895–1904 the average annual budget of the Japanese navy was several times higher than in 1889–1894.25 The policy of enforced economies compromised several aspects of naval preparation and ultimately lowered the overall fighting capacities of the fleet whatever the number of ships. The Navy Ministry’s rising budget can be attributed to a significant extent to Nicholas II. Even though Nicholas II lacked a firm understanding of defence matters, he was nevertheless attracted to military traditions and pageantry and intervened in military affairs. For instance, he continued the tradition of tolerating the often unproductive interference of uniformed Grand Dukes in the running of the army and navy. Crucially, like the Emperor of Germany, Wilhelm II, and other European monarchs of his time, Nicholas II was a naval enthusiast. Not only did he enjoy his ceremonial role as commander-in-chief, he was also of pivotal importance to the expansion of the fleet before 1904 and the rebirth of a large and expensive battleship fleet at the expense of the army after 1907.26 Characteristically, following a conference in the decade prior to 1904 that set in motion a new shipbuilding programme, Nicholas II wrote: ‘I feel unprecedented joy that I can clearly demonstrate my long standing love for the fleet’.27 Apart from Nicholas’s benevolent attitude, during the second half of the nineteenth century the navy also benefited from the patronage of the Romanov ruling dynasty through the appointment of its members to the post of the General Admiral, the nominal leadership position of the Navy Ministry. Since 1881 the post was occupied

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by Grand Duke Alexei Alexandrovich, Alexander III’s brother and Nicholas II’s uncle. Many contemporaries, including Witte and the General Admiral’s immediate subordinate, the Director of the Navy Ministry from 1882 to 1888, Vice Admiral I. A. Shestakov, agree that Alexei was not an efficient administrator, being more interested in external appearances and the opposite sex than tackling professional issues.28 The British ambassador in St Petersburg confirms this opinion. In 1904 he described the General Admiral as a ‘person who has no weight, and only serves as a figure-head and as a prop to the Admiralty in its relations with the Emperor’. He added that Alexei was ‘entirely engrossed by his relations with an actress of the French theatre’.29 Another Romanov serving in the navy, Grand Duke Alexander Mikhailovich was even more critical by referring to his relative as ‘an unsurpassed caricature of a General Admiral’, even though his malice can to a degree be attributed to his aspirations of obtaining the post for himself. Nicholas II was aware of his uncle’s shortcomings but was unwilling to replace him, partly because his judgement was clouded by sentimental and family reasons.30 The second most powerful position in the Navy Ministry was that of Director. In the years between the death of Shestakov in 1888 and the beginning of the war with Japan, the individuals occupying this position were ineffective in guiding the navy’s professional and institutional development. According to Witte, Vice Admiral N. M. Chikhachev, who held the post between 1888 and 1896, paid more attention to financial aspects of administration than military affairs. His successors, Vice Admirals P. P. Tyrtov (1896–1903) and F. K. Avelan (1903–1905), had limited abilities and were not suited for the job. For instance, Alexander Mikhailovich considered Avelan a good sailor but completely unfit for his high administrative role.31 The administrative organization of the Russian armed forces was plagued by the workings of a highly centralized system, a weak internal departmental hierarchical set-up and the absence of clearly defined decision-making mechanisms. Specifically, the Navy Ministry’s structure was essentially founded upon the laws introduced by Shestakov in 1885–1888. They embodied the principle of centralization and the strict compartmentalization and division of military, financial and technical affairs under different departments. Military matters

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and the preparedness of the fleet for war were under the auspices of the Main Naval Staff (Glavnyi Morskoi Shtab and hereafter GMSh) and its chief, who was the main assistant of the Director of the Navy Ministry. Despite Shestakov’s centralizing intentions, in practice, the GMSh had a broad and diverse spectrum of responsibilities ranging from strategic issues and administering the fleet’s fighting component, to personnel and educational affairs. This wide array of functions subordinated under one roof created a dissipation of effort, which in turn bred inefficiency. All financial issues were managed by the Main Administration for Shipbuilding and Supplying (Glavnoe Upravlenie Korablestroenia i Snabzheniia and hereafter GUKiS), whose boss enjoyed substantial independence within the framework of the established budget. Finally, technical subjects and shipbuilding were under the competence of the Naval Technical Committee (Morskoi Tekhnicheskii Komitet and hereafter MTK). However, since the allocation of funds depended on GUKiS, which was not very forthcoming, MTK’s autonomy was limited. The wrangling caused by the financial monopoly of GUKiS over MTK’s technical suggestions and the detached and weak participation of GMSh in the process curtailed the resolution of disagreements and the pursuit of a coherent and effective policy in the domain of technical affairs.32 Ideally, strategic and operational planning should have been undertaken by an independent naval general staff, responsible for peacetime planning and exercising overall control in wartime. However, in Russia a naval general staff only came into existence in the aftermath of the Russo-Japanese War in 1906.33 The creation of an independent naval general staff had been advocated ever since 1888 but until late in 1902 nothing had come of this.34 In November 1902 and the first months of 1903 the issue resurfaced, albeit in a limited form, this time envisaging the establishment of a strategic and operational planning section within the framework of the GMSh and the creation of small staffs in the main bases of the Russian fleet in three of the naval theatres. Nevertheless, apart from the appointment of Captain L. A. Brusilov to prepare the ground for this innovation, no concrete measures were taken before the outbreak of the war with Japan. It was only after the war with Japan had commenced that the Tsar officially ratified this policy.35

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During the pre-war period the navy’s strategic and operational decision-making assumed the following pattern. Questions related to the development of an overall strategy were discussed by ad hoc special commissions composed of senior admirals under the chairmanship of the General Admiral or the Director of the Navy Ministry. Strategic issues were also within the remit of the GMSh, but it was swamped with supervising a wide array of functions and was incapable of devoting sufficient time and attention to strategic questions. Since 1892 strategic and operational planning within the GMSh had been allocated to one of its sections, namely the Naval Scientific Section (Voenno-Morskoi Uchenyi Otdel and hereafter VMUO). Nonetheless, like its parent institution, the VMUO was unable to concentrate on such matters. The VMUO was in charge of a large number of affairs relatively unconnected to strategy, such as composing the cruising schedule of the fleet, the collection of naval intelligence and diplomatic reports. The situation was made worse by the small personnel contingent of the VMUO, which ranged from six to nine officers. In November 1902, Rear Admiral A. A. Virenius, the then Chief of the VMUO, argued that only one officer was in charge of studying strategic and operational issues and that even he had to divert his attention to other random projects. Virenius noted that by 1902 the VMUO had not prepared any operational plans, something that did not change until the outbreak of the Russo-Japanese War.36 Given the ineffective strategic role of the GMSh and of the VMUO, the Nicholas Naval Academy in St Petersburg, though essentially a higher education institution for naval officers, was frequently asked to assist the GMSh through the study of strategic and operational questions. At the instigation of Alexander Mikhailovich, since the mid-1890s the academy played out a war game two days per week throughout the winter period. The games, held with the participation of academy staff and students as well as senior naval and army officers, examined reality-based strategic scenarios often assigned by the leadership of the Navy Ministry. Operational planning was also in the hands of makeshift fleet staffs in different geographical theatres. Nevertheless, at least until 1904 these staffs were, in practice, only auxiliary mechanisms at the disposal of the regional naval commander-in-chief and as such their planning conformed to his personal directions and whims.

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This was important, given that local commanders enjoyed a substantial degree of autonomy since their subordination to the GMSh was far from absolute.37 Finally, naval strategic deliberations were also influenced by the intelligence reports dispatched by the naval attachés accredited to all of the main naval powers.38 The formulation of Russian maritime strategy was also influenced by the higher education of naval officers provided by the Nicholas Naval Academy. On the whole the academy suffered from lack of discipline and a problematic course structure. Moreover, until the mid-1890s the academy’s courses centred on an overwhelmingly scientific and technical curriculum. In 1896 a one-year course on naval theory became available to captains and senior lieutenants. The course comprised classes in naval strategy, tactics, history and maritime law. Compounding the existing shortcomings plaguing the academy, the course itself was initially hastily organized and marred by the shortage of lecturers. Those eventually appointed were either young officers such as Captain N. L. Klado or army officers such as Lieutenant Colonel N. I. Orlov. Furthermore, in practice, the course only lasted from six to eight months and lacked a firm sense of direction as the Navy Ministry declined to set up any precise instructions. To a degree this stemmed from the fact that the majority of naval officers had a very low opinion of the course’s practical value. This was also reflected by the enrolment figures of the course; before 1905 the full complement of 15 officers a year was never achieved. On top of all this, course graduates encountered a culture of suspicion and prejudice among their peers and despite their credentials were assigned to random administrative positions. By the beginning of the war in the Far East no course graduate had been appointed to an important staff position.39 Naval strategic issues in Tsarist Russia were also debated in the pages of the Navy Ministry’s official monthly professional journal, the Morskoi Sbornik, published for the Russian naval officer corps. The journal housed a wide and diverse array of topics including technical, educational, administrative and strategic matters of theoretical, practical, contemporary and historical relevance.40 The absence of an independent naval general staff and the organizational background underlying the configuration of strategic and

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operational considerations were not unique attributes of the Russian navy. With the exception of Japan, which possessed an independent naval general staff, other navies only moved decisively in this direction in the years following the Russo-Japanese War.41 Interestingly, to all intents and purposes the administrative organization of the Russian War Ministry had much in common with that of the Navy Ministry. As in the case of the navy, Russian army planning was plagued by the lack of an integrated staff and planning process, and of a single institutional focus. Decisively, in contrast to the German army, the Russian army was also deprived of the services of a general staff. From the 1860s and until 1903, strategic and operational considerations for the central army authorities in St Petersburg were carried out by sections of the Main Staff (Glavnyi Shtab and hereafter GSh). The GSh was the equivalent of the GMSh and was likewise responsible for a wide array of matters.42 During the second half of the nineteenth century several Russian military intellectuals studied land and naval strategy. Nevertheless, by the beginning of the twentieth century an indigenous and comprehensive naval strategic school had not emerged. Instead, foreign theories played a key part in the formulation of Russian naval strategic thought. Practically all the main works on the subject were translated into Russian. For example, Colomb’s Naval Warfare was published in 1894, while Mahan’s first and second books were published in 1894 and 1898 respectively. However, despite the growing influence of the Blue Water School, Russian naval strategists and officers continued to be attracted to Jeune École ideas.43 Consequently, by 1904 the ideological direction of Russian naval strategic doctrine was not characterized by clear consensus. Even as late as 1908 a lively debate was raging between the disciples of Mahan and the Blue Water School and those of the Jeune École over the future development of the Russian navy.44 This is exemplified by the divergent views of two leading Russian naval thinkers in the decade before 1904, Captain Klado and Vice Admiral S. O. Makarov. Klado recommended that a comprehensive understanding of the importance of naval power could be obtained by reading Mahan’s work. Extrapolating from Mahan, Klado highlighted the vital significance of international seaborne commerce for the welfare of maritime

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and continental states alike and the role of naval power in an environment of ongoing imperial antagonisms over colonies and markets in distant corners of the globe. Klado argued that naval power was of great importance in maintaining and enhancing Russia’s position as a Great Power. He additionally argued that the existence of a respectable navy was the sole means of protecting the flank and rear of the Russian army from an enemy landing. Klado, in typical Mahanian fashion, assumed the existence of immutable strategic principles and placed faith in offensive operations conducted by a strong battleship fleet supported by cruisers and destroyers. Klado believed that the key object of war at sea was obtaining command of the sea by concentrating superior forces which should destroy and blockade the adversary’s navy. He dismissed guerre de course before attaining command of the sea and advocated that only a strong offensively-oriented fleet could reliably defend coastal areas. Nonetheless, Klado accepted that naval strategy had a national character shaped by geopolitical and financial dictates. Therefore, if financial limitations left no other option, Klado argued that it would be preferable to employ, for coastal defence purposes, inexpensive but numerous torpedo flotillas rather than a weak battleship fleet, whose function it was to dispute command of the sea from the opponent’s stronger fleet.45 Klado, who justifiably has frequently been described as Mahan’s Russian counterpart, acquired a substantial reputation in the country and led a publicity effort propagating the principles of the Blue Water School of naval thought backed by the editorial board of Morskoi Sbornik. In fact, he even delivered lectures to members of the royal family, which might partly explain Nicholas II’s support for a battleship fleet.46 Whilst many in Russia, like Klado, adopted and endorsed the theories of Mahan and Colomb, Makarov, one of the most talented officers of his time whose interests spanned a wide range of naval topics, questioned this school of thought. Makarov’s views stood in stark antithesis to those of Klado, Mahan and Colomb. He believed that technological advances had a big impact on naval warfare and thus did not recognize the existence of eternally abiding strategic principles. Instead he proclaimed that strategy and tactics should be guided according to the circumstances on the ground and the most efficient employment of the available weapons and technologies. Although

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Makarov did not discard the utility of battleships, he attributed great importance to torpedo craft and fast lightly armoured cruisers with strong artillery. He held the view that torpedo craft had created a high element of risk and therefore undermined both blockade action and the strategy of a decisive battle geared towards obtaining command of the sea. Additionally, he suggested that amphibious landing operations could be successfully carried out without first acquiring command of the sea. Finally, even though he supported the principle of concentration of superior forces in battle and the annihilation of the enemy, he rejected Mahan’s fatalistic view that almost nothing should be attempted by smaller forces.47 Russian army officers had also undertaken theoretical studies regarding the employment of naval power. For instance, Orlov was in charge of setting up the first lecture programme for the Naval Academy’s newly introduced course on naval strategy. Orlov, who did not issue a textbook, read lectures in which he essentially applied general strategic principles of land warfare, such as the importance of bases and communication lines, into naval warfare. In relation to naval matters exclusively, he considered the destruction of the enemy fleet, guerre de course and the blockade of the opponent’s coastline as primary operations. Moreover, Orlov examined the question of combined army and navy actions as regards the defence of the coastline from an amphibious landing. He took the view that ideally the mission of the navy consisted in concentrating its forces and engaging the opponent’s fleet and transport ships in the open sea.48 Colonel V. A. Moshnin of the GSh also looked at joint services operations for the defence of the coastline.49 For Moshnin such operations should not be haphazard but an inherent part of integrated national defence planning by the army and navy.50 Until the outbreak of the war in 1904 the Navy Ministry had not issued a coherent official tactical doctrine. Whatever instructions existed were devoid of critical analysis, very general or extremely narrow. Instead, Russian naval tactics, as elsewhere, were mainly developed unofficially, drawing upon the work of individual officers such as Klado and Makarov. In the absence of useful official publications, officers interested in tactics often consulted such works and in particular that of Makarov. It was only after the beginning of the war

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with Japan that the first official tactical battle manual was produced for the fleet based upon Makarov’s views.51 The great majority of Russian naval officers were nobles, though few owned sizeable estates. However, service in the navy was not as appealing as in the Guards regiments. A naval career in general carried less prestige, offered fewer opportunities for advancement and involved difficult conditions of service. At any rate, the Russian naval officer corps was predominantly made up of descendants of families with a naval tradition. It included many members of the Baltic nobility, who were usually of German or Swedish lineage and who, through naval service, demonstrated their loyalty to Russia and the throne. The naval qualifications statute of 1885, that governed promotions and appointments, heavily affected the officers’ collective quality and efficiency. Promotions were regulated by a rigid system hinging on specific terms spent at sea, available vacancies and recommendations by superiors. The statute was of course introduced to cut out nepotism and ensure that officers had the requisite experience before acquiring senior jobs. However, in practice, the system stifled talent and initiative by placing overwhelming emphasis on bureaucratic routine, external appearances and the superficial completion of service obligations for advancement in the ranks. In the spirit of facilitating the fulfilment of the system’s criteria there were frequent changes of officers commanding vessels, detachments and squadrons, which ultimately compromised military efficiency. Moreover, the element of patronage incorporated into the system often operated at the expense of meritocracy, principally as regards senior appointments. Consequently many unsuitable officers, who either simply fulfilled the qualification requirements or through patronage, occupied command positions. Finally, the system which had been originally introduced in the 1880s partly to reduce a surplus of officers, in the 1890s had created a shortage as a result of the rapid growth of the fleet. At the beginning of the war with Japan, Russian battleships and cruisers in the Far East were on average short of four or five officers each.52 As in the army, the lower tiers of naval personnel were recruited through conscription. Naval conscripts were obliged to serve five years in active service and another five in first-line reserve.53 By

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the turn of the twentieth century the increasing mechanization of warships had prompted the navy to give preference to skilled recruits of a working-class background over peasants. Although this significantly raised the quality of personnel, it only had a real impact after 1905. Whatever the background of conscripts, they all experienced extremely harsh conditions of service. Sailors were badly paid and even underfed, contemptuously treated by officers and subjected to a strict disciplinary regime. The deep cultural and mental gulf separating the educated officer elite and the sailors of humble origins created mutual suspicion and incomprehension, which led to severe breakdowns of discipline and even revolutionary agitation. A naval officer who served as Nicholas II’s adjutant, S. S. Fabritskii, recalled that by the turn of the century some officers avoided walking in the streets of the island naval base of Kronstadt for fear of reprisals by disgruntled sailors. Another problem was the lack of a numerous and solid group of long-service petty officers and specialists, despite the dramatic expansion of lower tier personnel from 30,152 in 1894 to 58,600 men in 1902. Following the completion of their national service, the overwhelming majority of recruits abandoned the navy, lured by the prospects of better conditions and pay by the civilian industrial sector. This deprived the fleet of a middle stratum of men infused with naval principles, which could bridge the gap between officers and sailors and act as an experienced cadre in war.54 Peacetime training for both officers and men was conducted in the Baltic and the Black Sea, with the former constituting the main training centre. Despite the creation of a quartermaster school in Vladivostok in 1898 and the belated dispatch of an artillery-training vessel to the Far East, personnel serving in the theatre was mainly instructed in the Baltic Sea. Because of the ice-bound conditions of the Baltic Sea, vessels were kept in port for most part of the year, essentially limiting training and manoeuvres to the period between May and September. Even though climatic conditions in the Black Sea were better, the power of tradition imposed the same regime as in the Baltic Sea. In the months between autumn and spring, sailors served on shore and many officers went on leave. Consequently, the establishment of a genuine esprit de corps among ships crews was undermined. Moreover, when training and manoeuvres took place

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their efficiency was hampered by a number of problems. By the late 1890s the Baltic training squadron was a disparate collection of obsolete vessels often beset by mechanical failures, which affected the training of crews. The absence of an official tactical doctrine and the frequent replacement of senior officers minimized the effectiveness of tactical training and proper fleet exercises. In addition, the overwhelmingly coastal defence orientation of the Baltic Fleet restricted training and manoeuvring to the vicinity of the roadstead. The upshot of this was that crews were imbued with instinctively defensive tendencies and were unaccustomed to either cruising or giving battle on the high seas. Furthermore, the gradual introduction in the 1890s and 1902 of the so-called policy of armed reserve had a negative effect. Under the regime of armed reserve, during the winter crews would continue to live aboard their ships, as this would permit vessels to be put to sea within 12 hours in case of emergency, but at the same time reasons of economy restricted the combined cruising of the whole squadron. Finally, again because of a policy of economizing, even when ships were in training they spent most of the time anchored and crews received only minimum practice in cruising, manoeuvring and testing their artillery skills.55 The materiel of the Russian navy ultimately depended upon the empire’s shipbuilding industry. The development of a modern shipbuilding industry began during the Crimean War and accelerated in the 1860s with the construction of ironclad vessels. By 1900 the sector was predominantly state-owned with its geographical epicentre situated in the Baltic region, mainly in the St Petersburg area. In the Black Sea there were a small number of shipyards which depended on the delivery of materials and items from St Petersburg. In the Far East, with the exception of a small yard for the assembly of already manufactured torpedo craft set up in 1902–1903, there was a total lack of any shipbuilding infrastructure. Overall the Russian shipbuilding industry was in a position to produce the key components of warships and to build all types of ships ranging from battleships to torpedo craft. However, the existing infrastructure was inadequate for satisfying all of the navy’s needs in the decade before 1904. The industry was small and stretched to the limit owing to the simultaneous construction of a significant number of large vessels, which

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required the placing of orders with foreign firms. In 1894–1904, out of the 11 battleships, two armoured cruisers and 14 protected cruisers constructed for the navy, two battleships, one armoured and six protected cruisers were built abroad. Another important weakness lay in the procurement of armour plate, which in many cases had to be imported. This also applied to several pieces of mechanical and electrical equipment.56 The well-equipped and skilfully-managed Baltic Works shipbuilding factory, located at St Petersburg, was capable of maintaining high standards of construction similar to western European enterprises. However, a low level of productivity and quality of work were endemic in most other Russian shipyards. This can be attributed to the use of antiquated equipment, the employment of seasonal workers and a complex bureaucratic system of organization and management. Moreover, despite the state’s administrative control over shipbuilding, the sector was structurally fragmented and uncoordinated, demonstrating little concern over prices and completion deadlines. In addition, the design of warships undertaken by an overworked MTK was a drawn-out affair, including extensive alterations when ships were under construction. Another characteristic was the high price of domestically produced machinery, which can be partly attributed to high import tariffs on non-ferrous metals required for the manufacturing of engine components. The cost of vessels and, above all, battleships was also increased by the purchase of expensive foreignmade armour plate and other items with a devalued rouble since 1897. Taken as a whole, these conditions meant that warships manufactured in Russia were more expensive than foreign ones and that the building process was plagued by protracted delays. For instance, in 1903 the construction costs for one ton of a Russian-made battleship added up to 1,100 roubles, whilst in Britain, the United States and Germany expenses were 550–700, and in France and Italy 800–900 roubles. Nonetheless, even though in 1894–1904 the average construction time for battleships in Russia lagged significantly behind Britain and Germany, it compared favourably to France and Italy.57 By the turn of the twentieth century the Russian navy’s choices on type of vessels closely corresponded with the international trend and included ocean-going battleships, cruisers, torpedo craft and

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submarines, largely based upon the copying and development of foreign designs. Nevertheless, one important anomaly is that in the decade before the war with Japan, apart from a couple of armoured cruisers the Russian navy was, for the most part, reinforced by several medium and small, relatively weakly defended or armed protected cruisers. This was prompted both by the assumption that the existing number of armoured cruisers was sufficient and the practical realization that protected cruisers, though inferior to foreign larger and stronger armoured cruisers, were much cheaper to construct.58 By and large the design of Russian warships was problematic. First of all, the absence of a well-defined strategic doctrine was ultimately reflected in the technical characteristics of vessels. Secondly, even as late as 1898, the MTK had not engaged in the firm design standardization for each of the various types of vessel, but instead only put forward general recommendations. Consequently, vessels of the same class had diverse technical features. Furthermore, overworked contractors and the MTK’s repeated calls for changes, even in ships already under construction, resulted not only in delays but crucially in defects which compromised the quality of vessels. A case in point is the excessive weight of Russian battleships that limited their speed and protection. Despite this and other criticisms, Russian battleships were still adequately designed and were not technologically far inferior to their foreign counterparts. Still, when compared to British and Japanese battleships they were slower and had a smaller displacement for reasons of economy, which ultimately reduced their cruising radius and their protection. In addition, as proven during the war with Japan, the rate of fire of Russian large and medium guns was slower than that of the equivalent Japanese guns. Furthermore, due to financial restrictions, by 1904 only some vessels carried contemporary range finders for guns and radio-telecommunications equipment, while telescopic sights were only installed on one ship, which was not even located in the Far East. Yet, maybe the greatest weakness of the Russian navy was the quality of ammunition, which included stocks of cheap shells containing small quantities of explosive material and unreliable fuses. It should also be mentioned that, due to economizing and limited repair facilities, Russian warships underwent repairs and modernization only sporadically.59

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Finally, reference should also be made to the Society of the Volunteer Fleet (Obshchestva Dobrovolnogo Flota). Set up in 1878 as a civilian and quasi-governmental organization, the Volunteer Fleet was mainly geared towards creating a supporting force of fast steamers, which the Navy Ministry could employ in case of armed conflict with a stronger naval opponent, essentially Britain. In peacetime the steamers, commanded by retired naval officers and manned by both commissioned sailors and men from the reserve, were involved in commercial activities for the generation of funds directed to their upkeep and the purchase of additional ships. In wartime the steamers would be quickly armed and transformed into auxiliary cruisers for conducting guerre de course. In 1886 Alexander III placed the administration of the Volunteer Fleet in the hands of a committee, which was subordinated to the Navy Ministry. However, by the turn of the twentieth century the Volunteer Fleet did not participate in any military operations and the vessels were increasingly employed for commercial tasks and the transportation of Russian troops in the Black Sea and overseas.60 In December 1899 the Volunteer Fleet was facing financial difficulties and it seems that just one steamer could realistically and efficiently carry out guerre de course operations.61 In May 1900 a commission chaired by the Chief of the GMSh examined the state and predicament of the Volunteer Fleet. The commission concluded that although the Volunteer Fleet could continue to subsist financially, no funds would be allocated for the construction of new fast steamers. Moreover, the commission also assigned several of the existing vessels as auxiliary transport ships to the Far Eastern theatre.62

3 Russian Naval Strategy, 1881–1893

The substance and direction of Russian naval strategy in the 1880s and early 1890s were underpinned by the legacy of the preceding decades. In the Crimean War the outnumbered and technologically inferior Russian navy was comprehensively defeated by the combined naval might of Britain and France. With the Black Sea Fleet scuttled at the roadstead of Sevastopol and Russian naval forces in the Baltic blockaded within the boundaries of the Finnish Gulf and their island arsenal of Kronstadt, Anglo-French troops landed on both of these seaboards. For more than two decades after 1856 the Navy Ministry was headed by the General Admiral Grand Duke Konstantin Nikolaevich, Alexander II’s brother. During that period Russian naval expenditure was limited as much of the state budget was devoted to internal civilian needs. Consequently, the construction of a large and costly ironclad fleet was unfeasible. Moreover, since climatic, geographic and political conditions did not permit the concentration of all naval assets, the naval leadership had to entrust the defence of each theatre to autonomous regional fleets. Hence, in the event of future conflict with the British maritime colossus or an Anglo-French coalition, the Russian navy would have to fight from a position of substantial inferiority. Therefore, Konstantin Nikolaevich and his associates decided to develop the Russian navy as an essentially coastal defence force able to generate considerable trouble for a stronger foe. They hoped that when the navy’s resistance finally crumbled, the army would be in a position to oppose enemy landing

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operations. Yet they acknowledged the need for an offensive capability, particularly against Britain, given the insurmountable difficulties involved in launching an overland invasion of India through Central Asia. Russian naval planners believed that they could challenge Britain through guerre de course. However, the Russian navy was expected to take the offensive against minor naval powers.1 Given that both St Petersburg and the epicentre of the Russian shipbuilding industry were located in the Baltic region, the Navy Ministry centred attention on this theatre, at least until 1876. The composition of the Baltic Fleet was dictated by the industrial and financial inability to construct ocean-going battleships in sufficient numbers and the shallow waters washing the littoral. Notwithstanding the construction of some ocean-going battleships in the 1860s and 1870s, the Baltic Fleet was mainly reinforced with coastal defence battleships and gunboats, which were allocated the mission of defending St Petersburg and Kronstadt. Their task was complicated by the fact that Kronstadt, which was the Baltic Fleet’s only reliable base, was ice-bound for a large part of the year. Evidently, during these months the Baltic Fleet was condemned to de facto inactivity, although concurrently enemy operations were also considerably impaired. In the early 1870s Konstantin Nikolaevich considered the Baltic Fleet to be stronger than the navies of neighbouring states in the basin, but admitted that it was incomparably inferior to the RN. Even so, he and the leadership of the Navy Ministry believed that the fleet was in a position to defend the empire’s capital and Kronstadt, with the help of the latter’s forts. This perception must have been strengthened by the gradual modernization of Kronstadt’s fortifications in the 1870s. In the meantime, Russia’s shipbuilding facilities in the Baltic were also producing cruisers for guerre de course.2 Taking into account the climatic conditions and geographical morphology of the Baltic Sea, the RN could blockade the Baltic Fleet with relative ease. Evidently, Russian commerce raiding cruisers had to be positioned elsewhere, if they were to enjoy unimpeded access to the high seas. The only realistic outlet within the empire’s boundaries was Russia’s Far Eastern coastline.3 During the American Civil War, and specifically in 1863, the threat of war with the maritime powers re-emerged. Russian cruisers were deployed on US territory with the

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mission of undertaking guerre de course in the Atlantic and Pacific Oceans.4 This decision can be partly attributed to the teething difficulties of stationing naval forces in the Russian Far East. The vast distance and tenuous communication links separating the European powerbase from the underdeveloped Far Eastern possessions of the Russian empire meant that it was impossible to deploy substantial ground forces in these territories. Therefore, naval power was the only pragmatic alternative for underwriting Russia’s political and military interests in this distant theatre. However, the establishment of a permanent and strong squadron was encumbered by the fact that Russia’s Far Eastern seaboard was ice-bound for several months and lacked the necessary industrial infrastructure to enable the repair of vessels. Despite several attempts to obtain an ice-free port, by the early 1880s the main Russian naval base in the Far East was the ice-bound and poorly-equipped Vladivostok.5 Russian warships regularly spent the winter at Japan’s ice-free ports and particularly Nagasaki, where they underwent repairs. During these decades the Russian naval presence in the Far East consisted of a small flotilla and a cruiser squadron, the ships of which were dispatched from the Baltic through the Mediterranean Sea.6 The strength of the squadron fluctuated according to political contingencies.7 In the Crimean War the focal point of the Anglo-French campaign against Russia was on the shores of the Black Sea. Nevertheless, until the mid-1870s the Russian naval leadership attached to this theatre only secondary importance. The Ottoman empire was not perceived to be a serious military threat and Russian diplomacy avoided conflicts in the Near East with other powers. Vitally, the 1856 Treaty of Paris limited to an absolute minimum the naval forces that St Petersburg could maintain in the Black Sea, although in any case Russia’s regional shipbuilding facilities were limited. In 1869 the Russian government, in contravention of the treaty, decided to construct coastal defence battleships as a means of defence against Austria-Hungary and the Ottoman empire in the Danube. In the wake of German unification in 1871, the European powers recognized Russia’s right to build a fleet in the Black Sea without any restrictions. Nevertheless, by 1876 the Black Sea Fleet had only been reinforced with two coastal defence battleships of doubtful design.8

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From 1875 Russia became increasingly involved in Balkan affairs, and by the spring of 1877 was at war with the Ottoman empire. Even though the Black Sea Fleet was indisputably inferior to the Turkish navy, it nevertheless conducted a successful campaign. The small Black Sea Fleet, in conjunction with extensive mine-laying, protected the coastline from landings, torpedo craft kept the Ottoman fleet at bay and armed steamers attacked the opponent’s maritime lines of communication. In addition, through the use of minefields and torpedo boats the Russian navy paralyzed the enemy’s warships in the Danube and assisted the army in crossing the river. In February 1878 the Sultan admitted defeat and agreed to a draconian peace treaty imposed by St Petersburg. Although the treaty did not hand over control of the Straits to Russia, Britain and Austria-Hungary fervently opposed it. Facing the prospect of war with a hostile coalition of European powers, Russia, financially drained and war-weary, withdrew the peace treaty. This decision can also be partly attributed to the fact that a squadron of the RN’s powerful Mediterranean Fleet had crossed the Dardanelles, the western channel of the Straits, and anchored off Constantinople. The prospect of confronting Britain at sea looked ominous. The Russian military leadership examined a plan to block the entrance of the RN into the Black Sea by occupying the Bosphorus and closing off the channel with minefields and coastal artillery, but decided that it would be difficult to implement, particularly without Turkish cooperation. The Russians also considered that because of their naval weakness much of the Baltic coastline would be at the mercy of the RN, although they believed that Kronstadt and St Petersburg were safe. Additionally, the naval leadership doubted whether guerre de course would have an impact on the war effort. Under the circumstances, Russia was forced to agree to a post-war settlement arbitrated by the other European powers at the Congress of Berlin. Despite making some gains, many within the Russian elite viewed the outcome of the congress as a defeat. The British squadron remained in the Straits until the spring of 1879, and London proclaimed its intention of repeating the same course of action in the future, if necessary. Meanwhile, Anglo-Russian antagonism in the Near East and Central Asia continued unabated. By the autumn of 1879 Russian statesmen, haunted by the projection

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that the dissolution of the Ottoman empire was imminent, anxious to defend the Black Sea coastline and vital grain exports flowing through the Straits, but also ideologically driven by visions of Russia’s historic mission in the Balkans and Constantinople, were determined to doggedly oppose any attempt by Britain to occupy the Straits and to obstruct any foray of the RN into the Black Sea. The recent war with Turkey had demonstrated to the War Ministry that an overland advance to the Straits through the Balkans was tactically difficult and could spark a confrontation with Austria-Hungary. Consequently, in September 1879 a commission chaired by Alexander II approved the seizure and fortification of the Bosphorus by an amphibious expedition if the Ottoman empire dissolved. For Russian officials, the success of the expedition depended upon possessing a transport fleet capable of conveying 20,000 troops and a strong battleship fleet in the Black Sea.9 During the 1870s, although relations between St Petersburg and Berlin remained cordial, the Russians were becoming increasingly anxious about Germany’s burgeoning economic and military power. At the Congress of Berlin, contrary to Russian expectations, Germany did not offer any diplomatic support. Consequently, many members of the Russian elite became extremely dissatisfied with their western neighbour. In the following year, Germany and AustriaHungary concluded a defensive alliance against Russia. In 1879 the Russian government found itself internationally isolated, at a time when it required peace and stability for embarking on a programme of economic development. Deprived of any other options, by June 1881 Russia became allied to Germany and Austria-Hungary, forming the Dreikaiserbund.10 Russian senior officials remained sceptical and suspicious of the two Germanic powers, but at least they had managed to secure the empire’s western frontiers. The alliance also deprived London of potential coalition partners, since crucially both Berlin and Vienna were committed to applying political pressure in the event that the RN threatened to enter into the Straits.11 Despite the formation of the Dreikaiserbund, the Russian military did not revise the well-entrenched attitude that Germany’s everincreasing military capabilities constituted the empire’s prime security threat. In January 1880, the future chief of the GSh, General

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N. N. Obruchev, put forward an operational plan for a war against Germany and Austria-Hungary. According to Obruchev, the welldeveloped railway infrastructure of the potential adversaries allowed for quicker mobilization and endowed them with superiority in manpower in the initial stages of the campaign. This imposed the obligation of keeping the bulk of the Russian army on the western frontier, even in peacetime. The mission of the army was to operate defensively against Germany and take the offensive against AustriaHungary. The plan was approved, and its underlying principles served as a template for future plans drafted at least until 1904. Since the Baltic coastline formed the Russian army’s northern flank on the western frontier, a German landing there could divert badly needed units from the main theatre of the land campaign. By the late 1870s, the considerably reinforced German navy was superior in armoured vessels to the Russian fleet. Moreover, the majority of the ships of the Baltic Fleet were outdated and incapable of engaging contemporary battleships. Although they could put up some resistance behind the fortifications of Kronstadt, they were unable to defend the remainder of the coastline from the RN or the German navy. In the summer of 1882, German naval planning envisaged offensive action in the Baltic Sea aimed at the destruction or blockade of the Russian fleet complemented by diversionary landing operations. In 1881–1882 the Russian Navy Ministry received intelligence information, which highlighted the further increase of the German naval budget and also confirmed the existence of arrangements for a large-scale landing on Russia’s Baltic shores.12 In the Far East, throughout the 1870s and in the early 1880s, Russia was at loggerheads with China over frontier disputes. In 1880 the Russian government took several precautionary military measures, including the decision to defend Vladivostok from a naval attack with coastal artillery batteries and minefields and to proceed with the temporary increase of the Pacific Ocean squadron. Nevertheless, Russian statesmen realized that defensive arrangements for the Far East were far from complete. The strength of the Russian army in the area continued to be small and the arrival of reinforcements from Europe would take a long time. Additionally, even though the Chinese fleet did not represent a serious menace, the Pacific Ocean

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squadron was too weak to implement an offensive policy of blockade and lacked a well-equipped regional base. In the end these problems proved to be inconsequential, as St Petersburg and Peking peacefully settled their differences. However, the Far Eastern theatre continued to be a source of concern since Russo-Chinese relations remained embittered. The Navy Ministry was particularly troubled by reports indicating plans for the future expansion of both the Chinese and Japanese navies.13 Therefore, in the aftermath of the Russo-Turkish War the urgent need to strengthen the Russian navy was clearly understood by the Navy Ministry. However, apart from the lack of funds, the introduction of a new shipbuilding programme was further complicated by the fact that naval policy had become a political battleground between the liberal-minded Konstantin Nikolaevich and conservative circles in court and the high bureaucracy. One of the leading figures of the conservative opposition was the heir to the throne, the Tsarevich Alexander Alexandrovich, who held a deep-seated dislike for his uncle. Even before the outbreak of the war in 1876, the leadership of the Navy Ministry was criticized for building coastal defence battleships of dubious design and for failing to sufficiently expand the Black Sea Fleet. After the war, these and other criticisms continued to be directed against the leadership of the Navy Ministry. In 1879 the Tsarevich, who for a time leaned towards the option of developing the Russian navy as a cruiser force, effectively blocked the Navy Ministry’s calls for reinforcing the Baltic and Black Sea Fleets with battleships. However, throughout these testing years Alexander II faithfully backed Konstantin Nikolaevich. Furthermore, by 1880 even members of the conservative opposition relinquished their belief in the value of an exclusively cruiser-based navy and were prepared to endorse the Navy Ministry’s recommendations.14 Decisively, in 1880 the Ministry of Finance was prepared to fund a fresh shipbuilding effort. Rear Admiral A. A. Peshchurov, the Director of the Navy Ministry, took up the task of composing a detailed proposal for the new shipbuilding programme. Peshchurov placed great emphasis on the importance of the Baltic theatre, advocating that the Russian fleet in this sea should equal the combined navies of Germany, Sweden and Denmark. He urged that Russia

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should create a large Baltic Fleet, which would include many oceangoing and coastal defence battleships, gunboats and a strong torpedo flotilla. Peshchurov also suggested that the Black Sea Fleet should be on a par with the Ottoman navy. Despite acknowledging that Russia should have a Pacific Ocean squadron equal to the fleets of China and Japan, he nevertheless only recommended the construction of gunboats, torpedo vessels and dispatch vessels for service in Asiatic waters. This stemmed from recognizing the practical necessity of curtailing expenditure for shipbuilding somewhat, from the absence of an industrial infrastructure in the Far East for maintenance purposes, from the belief that the two Asiatic powers would not combine against Russia and from the possibility of reinforcing the Pacific Ocean squadron with a detachment of the Baltic Fleet in case of emergency. Finally, Peshchurov examined the issue of carrying out a policy of guerre de course against Britain, Germany and France. Under pressure from Konstantin Nikolaevich, he concluded that, despite the lack of coaling and supply stations, Russian cruisers should assail enemy commercial vessels on a global scale. Overall, the materialization of the shipbuilding plan should commence in 1882 and be completed by 1902 at a price tag of 215 million roubles.15 The new shipbuilding programme was not yet ratified by Alexander II when he was assassinated on 1 March 1881. Shortly after ascending to the throne, Alexander III dismissed several of his ministers and unsurprisingly replaced Konstantin Nikolaevich as General Admiral with his brother Grand Duke Alexei Alexandrovich. In 1882 Vice Admiral I. A. Shestakov, a competent professional, became Director of the Navy Ministry.16 Alexei, who was a naval officer, had been a stern critic of Konstantin Nikolaevich’s management of the Navy Ministry long before his appointment. His letters to the Tsarevich, just before the outbreak of the Russo-Turkish War, are characterized by deep frustration about the state of the fleet.17 A sense of Alexei’s professional opinions can be discerned in a letter to his brother from January 1877. Alexei expressed the hope that, given the chance, Alexander would assist the navy. Although he conceded that it was beyond Russia’s financial resources to sustain a first-class navy, he nevertheless rejected the strategy of possessing a strictly defensive fleet. Instead, he argued for a balanced fleet incorporating torpedo vessels

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for the defence of ports and river estuaries, but also strong high-seas battleships and large numbers of cruisers for guerre de course, which would furnish a viable offensive capability. Alexei acknowledged that the implementation of this suggestion would absorb substantial funds, but forcefully advised his brother that if they could not be procured then it would be preferable to completely give up on the idea of having a navy.18 At any rate, the personnel reshuffle did not halt the momentum for a new shipbuilding programme. On 21 August 1881 an interministerial special commission, chaired by the new General Admiral, established the programme’s basic strategic goals and priorities. These were accepted by Alexander III in September. In November and December a commission of senior admirals laid down the numbers and defined the technical characteristics of vessels to be constructed. In April 1882 the Navy Ministry submitted the completed programme to the Tsar and presented the Ministry of Finance with the bill. In May the financial aspects of the programme were discussed by another interministerial commission, where the navy managed to obtain the necessary funds after overcoming the fierce objections of the Minister of Finance. Finally, on 20 May, Alexander officially ratified the programme.19 The new programme assigned priority to the development of the Black Sea Fleet. The main mission of the Russian military in the region consisted of blocking the entrance of an enemy fleet in the Black Sea by seizing both sides of the Bosphorus channel. This was to be achieved by means of a landing expedition of 30,000 troops supported by the fleet. The programme stated that the Black Sea Fleet should be unconditionally superior to its Ottoman counterpart, not only for ensuring the success of the expedition but also for protecting Russia’s maritime commercial interests in the Black Sea. The relatively small size of the theatre and Russia’s weak regional shipbuilding infrastructure de facto limited the size of the Black Sea Fleet. Yet, the programme considered that the Black Sea Fleet would be strong enough to fulfil its role if composed of eight oceangoing battleships, three cruisers and 20 torpedo boats. This required the construction of all of these vessels with the exception of one cruiser and one torpedo boat which were already in service. Despite debating the use of small riverine coastal defence vessels for shielding

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Russia’s borders in the Danube from Austria-Hungary, no measures were taken to this effect.20 According to the programme, the Baltic Fleet had to defend the Russian littoral from an enemy blockade. Against stronger opponents, such as the RN, this was to be accomplished by a combination of coastal defence forces and whenever the opportunity arose through offensive operations in open waters undertaken by ocean-going battleships. Against lesser adversaries, namely other Baltic states and especially Germany, it was expected that the high-seas battleships of the Baltic Fleet would aggressively gain command of the sea. The coastal defence element of the Baltic Fleet would be made up of 20 coastal defence battleships, 20 gunboats and 100 torpedo boats. With the exception of 11 gunboats, which had to be constructed, the remaining vessels were already in service. Although the idea of constructing an additional 100 torpedo boats with greater seagoing qualities was discussed, in the end the project was dropped. The high-seas component of the Baltic Fleet would number 18 battleships, which would equal the combined strength of the German and Swedish fleets. To arrive at this number the Navy Ministry would have to build 16 new battleships. Since offensive operations would be severely encumbered because Kronstadt was ice-bound for many months, the establishment of a base in the ice-free parts of the Baltic coastline was also recommended, but lack of funds postponed the selection and construction of a new naval arsenal.21 The programme stipulated that the naval defence of Russia’s Far Eastern possessions should be founded upon the concept of protecting the most important points of the shoreline with coastal artillery, the mining of adjacent waters and a permanent flotilla of eight gunboats, 12 torpedo boats and two transports, out of which only half of the torpedo boats were already in commission. Concurrently, Russia’s diplomatic and economic interests in the region were to be safeguarded by the presence of a cruiser squadron, although the programme did not define its numerical strength. The role of the squadron would also be pivotal in supporting the flotilla in case of war against China or Japan, though it would have to be reinforced with additional vessels, including battleships, dispatched from the Baltic. In the event of armed conflict with a European power,

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the mission of Russian cruisers operating in the region consisted of posing a serious threat to the enemy’s maritime communications and colonies.22 The last point, which essentially rested upon guerre de course operations, was examined in detail. The programme stated that despite the absence of support bases and stations in distant parts of the globe Russia could not discard the option of cruiser warfare. Access to the open oceans from the Baltic and Black Sea depended on the discretion of Britain and other powers, and could be effectively blocked by the fleet of an adversary. Therefore, commerce raiding was for Russia an important, if not the only, means to inflict damage on foes possessing significant commercial shipping and for diverting part of their fleets from the Russian coastline. The programme concluded that Russia should have 30 cruisers and called for the construction of 13 such vessels given that 17 were in service.23 One of the founding principles of the programme was that, as far as possible, the construction of vessels had to be carried out domestically. Furthermore, in view of the fact that funds were scarce and the government was committed to limiting overall state expenditure, the duration of the programme was set at 20 years (1882–1902). The total funds amounted to 374,860,160 roubles, out of which roughly 242,360,260 were to cover shipbuilding costs.24 Of this amount, 5,324,800 were allocated to the Far Eastern flotilla, 116,871,040 to the Black Sea Fleet and 169,797,260 would pay for the development of the Baltic Fleet and cruisers for guerre de course. The construction of the 24 battleships for the Baltic and Black Sea Fleets would absorb 183 million, in other words almost half of the total amount. In this respect, Russian naval strategy, while still counting on Jeune École tactics, also demonstrated a commitment to assembling a high-seas battle fleet. In fact, despite the furore and polemics of the previous years, many of the programme’s principles were founded upon the suggestions of the previous naval administration. In any event, the programme commenced in 1883 with the placement of orders for the construction of three battleships and four torpedo boats for the Black Sea, one battleship for the Baltic and three cruisers.25 Almost two years later, in March 1885, Russia was on the verge of war with Britain. The crisis arose over a border dispute between

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Russia and the British protectorate of Afghanistan, which served as a buffer blocking an eventual Russian advance towards India. However, by September the crisis was settled diplomatically as the two sides arrived at an agreement. Although, during the crisis, influenced by the concerted effort of several European powers including Germany and Austria-Hungary, the Sublime Porte agreed to keep the Straits closed to the RN, nevertheless Russia’s decision to refrain from an armed confrontation can be partly attributed to the unsatisfactory condition of her navy.26 On 30 March 1885 Vice Admiral N. M. Chikhachev, the Chief of the GMSh, compared the strengths of the Russian and British navies. Although Chikhachev believed that the defences of the Kronstadt and Sveaborg naval bases were adequate, he nevertheless argued that the battleship element of the Baltic Fleet was negligible, that the majority of torpedo boats were slow and had terrible seagoing qualities, but also that underwater mines would not cause significant damage to the RN, which would therefore have the opportunity to blockade and attack the Russian littoral in this theatre. In the south, the RN could enter unimpeded into the Black Sea basin and bombard Sevastopol and other coastal cities with impunity. In the Far East the RN could operate without difficulty against Vladivostok, while Russia’s prospects of carrying out guerre de course were bleak. Besides, with the German menace at the back of his mind, Chikhachev held the view that even if Russia achieved some naval victories, the war would financially drain the empire and greatly weaken chances of success in a future conflict. Overall, Chikhachev concluded that under these circumstances Russia should avoid a military confrontation with Britain.27 During the crisis the retired Vice Admiral I. F. Likhachev, in a report to the leadership of the Navy Ministry, suggested that Russian naval strategy should be exclusively geared towards countering the threat of the RN. Given the undisputed dominance of the RN over the Russian navy, Likhachev was of the opinion that the maritime defence of the empire in all theatres should be founded upon the creation of numerous torpedo flotillas operating within the framework of a coastal defence system. He furthermore advocated the conduct of guerre de course by cruisers operating from Vladivostok.

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However, Chikhachev strongly disputed the organization of Russia’s maritime defences exclusively upon Jeune École principles. He argued that a battleship fleet in the Black Sea was indispensable, since it would eventually enable Russia to capture Constantinople and the Straits. Chikhachev admitted that in the Baltic Sea the Russian navy could not confront the RN in a decisive engagement, but believed that the Baltic Fleet was currently strong enough to compel the dispatch of large British forces to the theatre, the maintenance of which would require great sacrifices. In addition, even though he accepted that Kronstadt’s fortifications could do with some improvements, he nevertheless stated that an attack against the fortress by the RN would involve great risks to the British. Despite admitting that the remaining Baltic littoral was open to enemy bombardment, he did not regard this to be of crucial importance for the outcome of the war and added that defence against British landings was now facilitated by the use of railways. In any event, even if the British occupied several points along the coastline, the coming of the winter would compel their abandonment. Instead, Chikhachev thought that the development of the navy should be guided, above all, by the prospect of war against Germany, since a Russian defeat by the Germans would threaten the survival of the empire.28 Strategic and operational planning for the Baltic Fleet, particularly in the latter half of the 1880s, was mainly conducted by joint services special commissions.29 The commissions recognized that Britain represented a threat for the security of the Baltic littoral. However, Obruchev, the Chief of the GSh, adopted the view that since Britain would most likely land only a small expeditionary force on the Baltic coastline, the Russian army would not encounter any serious difficulties in repelling such attacks. Vitally, in line with Obruchev’s thinking, the joint commissions deliberated that the major threat to the security of Russia’s western frontiers emanated from the Triple Alliance and specifically Germany. The outcome of the war with Germany and its allies almost exclusively depended on the land campaign, with the southern Baltic coastline constituting the Russian army’s northern flank on the empire’s western borders. The members of the commissions thought that, aiming to divert and distract Russian units from the land campaign, the strong German

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fleet would support an amphibious landing in the Baltic basin. By the end of the 1880s the consensus was that the port of Riga with its important railway junctions would be Germany’s most likely target. The Russian military estimated that within ten days of the outbreak of the war a German expeditionary force of 30,000–35,000 troops could land in the Gulf of Riga, creating serious difficulties for the Russian army, which would only be mobilized between the seventh and 21st days. Consequently, the main mission of the Baltic Fleet consisted of assisting the army in defending Russia’s Baltic shores by opposing a German landing.30 In 1883–1885 the Russians closely monitored the general progress of naval affairs abroad and the shipbuilding efforts of other powers. The Russians, through Morskoi Sbornik, had become aware of the extreme view propounded by Charmes that the importance of battleships in naval warfare had been eroded by torpedo boats. However, one of the Russian reviewers of Charmes’ work took a more measured approach about the actual capabilities of torpedo boats when pitted against well-defended battleships.31 This attitude was also reflected in other articles, which although they acknowledged the increased importance of torpedo boats, mainly as a defensive weapon, nevertheless considered that the significance of battleships had not been irrevocably diminished and even professed that the two types of vessels were complementary.32 Even so, during this time many foreign navies and, above all, France and Germany placed great faith in the value of the relatively inexpensive torpedo boats and vigorously expanded their fleets in that direction. Of particular interest to the Russians was that in March 1884 the German navy decided to temporarily postpone the construction of battleships in favour of creating a 150-strong coastal defence torpedo flotilla and was energetically engaged in realizing this aspiration.33 The leadership of the Russian navy was certainly well-informed of these developments and it seems that it was particularly impressed with Germany’s decision to temporarily postpone building new battleships. At the beginning of March 1885 Shestakov reported to the Tsar that the Russian fleet should be immediately reinforced with torpedo craft. On 12 March Alexander III was sympathetic to the request and ordered that an interministerial commission should

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discuss the issue. Before the commission was convened, Chikhachev submitted a report to Shestakov. Although Chikhachev did not question the tactical value of battleships per se, he suggested that Russia should follow the example of other European powers and pursue the construction of torpedo craft. He noted that the German navy had attained predominance over the Baltic Fleet in all types of vessels, which would be further compounded by the creation of a strong torpedo flotilla by 1888.34 Chikhachev discounted the idea that Russia should attempt to counterbalance Germany’s superiority by reinforcing the Baltic Fleet with eight new battleships. His reasoning was that the numerically and qualitatively very superior German torpedo forces would pose a potent threat for the Russian battleships. He thought that the manufacture of battleships for the Baltic Sea should not be completely discontinued but somewhat curtailed in order to subsidize the building of new torpedo craft in large numbers. The commission finally met at the time of the Afghan imbroglio and specifically on 28 March. Shestakov essentially repeated to his fellow ministers several of Chikhachev’s arguments. Shestakov, seeking the cheap and rapid reinforcement of the fleet, proposed to remove from the shipbuilding programme six battleships designated for the Baltic Fleet and another two intended for service in the Black Sea and to replace them by building 66 torpedo vessels and one protected cruiser for the Baltic theatre in the ensuing four to five years at a cost of 22 million roubles. Both the commission and the Tsar approved Shestakov’s recommendation.35 From 1885 onwards a concerted effort to endow the Baltic Fleet with a reliable base began. The fact that Kronstadt was ice-bound for many months condemned the fleet to inactivity. As a result the defence of the Baltic coastline all-year-round would require the diversion of badly needed troops from the key battlegrounds of the land campaign. Therefore, by the spring of 1885 the leadership of both the army and the navy concluded that it was essential to deploy the fleet at an ice-free port.36 The War Ministry and Obruchev thought that a new naval base should be created in the port of Libau. Libau was located very close to the borders with Germany and was perceived to be an integral part of the Russian army’s defensive line on the western frontier. For the War Ministry, safeguarding Libau was significant

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as it would deprive the adversary of the opportunity to disrupt the Russian railway communications network. Moreover, Libau was also thought to be advantageously positioned for allowing the fleet to protect the Gulf of Riga. Within the Navy Ministry, Libau’s main supporter was Chikhachev, who believed that the port was suitable as a naval base since it was ice-free throughout the year. He also thought that the loss of this already functional commercial port would be an economic blow to Russia. Initially, the option of the neighbouring port of Vindau was also put on the table, but support for Libau was stronger.37 Shestakov and many naval officers, as well as some army officers, strongly challenged the choice of Libau. First of all, Libau, situated close to the frontier, was a luring and cheap prize for the Germans. Secondly, the relatively weak Baltic Fleet could be fairly easily blockaded in Libau’s port, which only had one exit. Instead Shestakov and other officers advocated the option of the islands of the Moonzund Archipelago located on the north-eastern part of the Gulf of Riga. Although the waters surrounding Moonzund froze for four-and-ahalf months annually, this was not deemed to be a significant drawback, since during this time of the year strong winds and floating ice seriously encumbered enemy naval operations even in the ice-free parts of the Baltic coastline. Crucially, because Moonzund occupied a central position in the theatre and had good internal communications, even a weak Baltic Fleet could threaten an enemy advance towards Kronstadt and defend the entrance of the Gulf of Riga. Furthermore, the existence of multiple exits leading in different directions made Moonzund difficult to blockade.38 The disagreement over the choice of a naval base led to impasse until 1887. During that year the Russian military authorities examined the issue in detail. In November 1887, after pressure was applied by Shestakov, an interministerial commission concluded that Moonzund should be developed as the new base for the Baltic Fleet. In the first half of 1888 this was sanctioned by Alexander III, who took on board the professional advice of his ministers on this technical issue. In the summer of that year a study suggested that Moonzund could be developed into a naval base within eight years at a cost of 36 million roubles. However, Shestakov died in the

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autumn of 1888 and the appointment of Chikhachev as Director of the Navy Ministry halted the process. Despite resistance from supporters of Moonzund, in 1889 Chikhachev and the War Ministry reversed the previous decision and now designated Libau as the Baltic Fleet’s new naval base.39 In the early 1890s the technical aspects and details involved had been studied and the completion of the base was projected for 1904 at a cost of approximately 50 million roubles. After all this, the construction of a naval base in Libau was formally ratified by Alexander III in 1892.40 Therefore, throughout the reign of Alexander III and even beyond, Kronstadt remained the principal Russian naval base in the Baltic. Apart from the climate-related limitations imposed upon the movement of the fleet, Kronstadt’s harbour was narrow but also inadequately equipped and supplied. Despite some modernization efforts being undertaken during these years, the quality as well as the length of construction and repair work on vessels was unsatisfactory.41 Besides, by 1895 a commission under Obruchev opined that Kronstadt’s coastal fortifications required strengthening.42 In terms of operational deployment, in the first months of 1885 a joint services commission under Obruchev recommended that Libau, Vindau and the entrances of the Gulf of Riga should be protected by torpedo craft, though in the case of the latter defensive arrangements would be complemented by minefields and coastal artillery. The approaches to Kronstadt were also to be defended by minefields and coastal batteries.43 During the Afghan crisis the naval leadership was of the opinion that the defence of Kronstadt would be carried out by minefields, coastal artillery, gunboats and coastal defence battleships. In addition, all ships available for a battle squadron should be deployed in the port of Sveaborg, with the task of threatening the flank of an enemy fleet approaching Kronstadt. Furthermore, Chikhachev prescribed the dispersion of torpedo vessels to various points of the Baltic coastline with the mission to harass and weaken the enemy.44 The 1885 and 1886 Baltic Fleet manoeuvres were organized on the premise of having to defend against a superior foe by deploying the main elements of the fleet in Sveaborg and shielding the Gulf of Riga with minefields and torpedo craft.45 In 1887 a joint army and navy commission decided to defend the Gulf of Riga with minefields,

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coastal defence battleships, artillery and torpedo boats. The Finnish Gulf and Kronstadt were to be guarded by similar means, whilst the core of the battle fleet was to be deployed at Sveaborg.46 However, many senior admirals in 1888 expressed the opinion that although the Baltic Fleet could defend Kronstadt and St Petersburg, it would be unable to effectively oppose enemy, in other words German, landing operations elsewhere on the Baltic coastline.47 In 1889 a joint services commission decided that after the construction of Libau was completed and the fleet was further reinforced, the battleship squadron in the Baltic theatre would be concentrated in Libau, whereas the Gulf of Riga would be guarded by coastal defence forces.48 In the meantime, the main forces of the fleet would be positioned in Sveaborg, while the defence of the Riga and Finnish Gulfs would be secured by a combination of minefields and warships. Upon the insistence of the army, in 1890, a commission headed by the new Chief of the GMSh, Vice Admiral O. K. Kremer, scrutinized in detail the means required for the defence of the two gulfs. The commission concluded that ideally the entrances to the Gulf of Riga should be blocked by 3,500 mines protected by ten gunboats and 46 torpedo craft. The defence of the Finnish Gulf and Kronstadt was to be provided for by 4,100 mines watched over by torpedo boats. However, the commission pointed out that in reality there were insufficient mines, minelayers and torpedo craft. It also suggested the construction of a naval station in Riga and several nests for torpedo vessels in the vicinity of the Finnish Gulf.49 Nevertheless, in 1886–1889, judging from the articles published in Morskoi Sbornik, professional naval opinion in Russia and abroad gradually revised the previous assumptions regarding the significance of torpedo craft in naval warfare. First of all, battleships were thought to have become more capable of repelling torpedo attacks. Secondly, the use of torpedo boats was thought to be often difficult. Torpedo vessels were thus considered to be a defensive weapon which should be employed in a coastal defence role in conjunction with battleships, coastal fortresses and minefields. Battleships were now perceived to have pivotal importance in successfully obtaining command of the sea, exerting influence in distant parts of the world, supporting coastal defence and carrying out a host of offensive operations against

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the enemy’s coastline. Clearly, naval opinion now favoured a shift towards the development of a balanced fleet comprising all types of vessels, which however would be centred on battleships.50 In the spring of 1890 the General Admiral reported to the Tsar that the shipbuilding programme was beset by financial difficulties, which he largely attributed to the dramatic rise of construction costs. For example, despite the initial estimates that in 1883–1889 the arming of vessels would absorb 11.7 million roubles, the actual amount expended stood at 20.1 million. The General Admiral also informed his brother that most European states, as well as China and Japan, had embarked on a course of naval expansion. Alexei Alexandrovich was chiefly concerned with the situation in the Baltic Sea, since in a war against Germany the naval defence of the littoral was essential if the concentration of all available land forces on the western frontier was to be possible. In 1890 the Baltic Fleet consisted of four battleships, 20 coastal defence battleships, 21 cruisers of various types, 16 large and 89 smaller torpedo vessels. Germany had 12 battleships, 15 coastal defence battleships, 27 cruisers, 116 large and 13 small torpedo craft. This clearly demonstrated the numerical inferiority of the Baltic Fleet, which in reality was even greater as many of the Russian vessels were antiquated and even some of the up-to-date ships were technically inferior to their German counterparts.51 As if this was not bad enough, Germany intended to construct by 1895 four large and nine smaller battleships and a host of other ships, which would give Berlin indisputable naval hegemony in the Baltic Sea. The General Admiral urged that Russia should respond. Reflecting the shift in naval opinion concerning the importance of battleships, he recommended reinstating the eight battleships excluded from the programme in 1885, arguing that such vessels constituted the principal element in naval warfare. Yet, at the same time he also supported the conduct of guerre de course operations, which could divert parts of the adversary’s fleet from the Russian coastline. Overall, the General Admiral requested the allocation of 61.5 million roubles on top of the normal budget by 1895 in order to subsidize the building of the new vessels and the improvement of shipbuilding infrastructure.52 On 6 November 1890 a special interdepartmental commission examined the navy’s request. Despite the objections of the Minister

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of Finance, in the end the navy was successful in receiving the whole amount requested by Grand Duke Alexei. However, in doing so the naval leadership agreed to extend the construction period to 1896. Twenty days later, Alexander III approved the commission’s resolution.53 The Navy Ministry decided to construct ten battleships, five gunboats and 50 torpedo boats for the Baltic Sea and three armoured cruisers for guerre de course by 1896. During the first half of the 1890s the Russian navy laid down four battleships, three coastal defence battleships, two armoured cruisers and three gunboats.54 Operational planning for the Baltic Fleet continued. In the manoeuvres of 1891 and 1892 the task of the Baltic Fleet, which would theoretically be blockaded in Sveaborg, was to disrupt the opponent’s communications. In both years the manoeuvres demonstrated that the Baltic Fleet was not strong enough to fulfil its designated mission.55 In February 1893 Captain N. N. Lomen of the VMUO produced a report in which he put forward a plan for the operational deployment of the Baltic Fleet. The battle squadron, consisting of five ocean-going battleships, old coastal defence battleships, some cruisers and torpedo craft, was to be deployed in Sveaborg, whereas five coastal defence battleships, a couple of cruisers and a 26-strong torpedo flotilla were to be used for the defence of the Gulf of Riga. Finally, gunboats and torpedo vessels were to guard the Finnish Gulf and Kronstadt. Lomen was pessimistic about the current state of affairs in the Baltic, arguing that the Baltic Fleet was small and that many of the vessels were antiquated. Additionally, he even questioned the wisdom of positioning large warships in Sveaborg because of the port’s limited repair facilities.56 Meanwhile, the Russian navy’s anxiety over the security of the Black Sea theatre had not diminished. The first relatively detailed plan for the seizure of the Bosphorus appeared in January 1882 and was drawn up by Colonel V. U. Sollogub of the GSh. He considered the seizure of the Bosphorus to be only the opening step of the operation, which should ultimately result in the capture of Constantinople. His plan involved landing in the Bosphorus a first echelon of 27,000– 40,000 troops, although he admitted that the currently available steamers could only convey 24,000 men. The Black Sea Fleet should not only escort the troop transports but also support the landing by bombarding the Turkish coastal fortifications.

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By 1885 the Navy Ministry had received a number of plans from various quarters examining possibilities for seizing the Bosphorus and Constantinople.57 However, until the Afghan crisis the War and Navy Ministries had not arrived at an official decision regarding the objectives and operational details of the expedition. Given that the planning and implementation of the Bosphorus expedition depended upon the close cooperation of the army and navy, in March 1885 a joint services commission was established for discussing issues related to the operation. The commission was headed by the Commander of the Odessa Military District and its members included the Commander of the Black Sea Fleet, his chief of staff and the Chief of Staff of the Odessa Military District.58 After a series of sessions held from March to September 1885, the commission sketched out an operational plan for the expedition. According to the plan the 26,000 strong expeditionary corps would be drawn from units stationed on the Black Sea coast. The bulk of these forces were to embark in Odessa and Sevastopol. Due to the absence of military transports the landing detachment would be carried by 48 civilian and Volunteer Fleet steamers. The steamers would be convoyed to the Bosphorus by the Black Sea Fleet, which would also directly support the landing by bombarding enemy fortifications. Once both sides of the Bosphorus were seized and secured, the channel would be mined; the minefields were to be protected by coastal batteries and the Black Sea Fleet. In the following days the ground forces occupying the Bosphorus would be reinforced with additional troops. However, the commission concluded that the Black Sea Fleet was still very weak, since the battleships projected by the shipbuilding programme were still under construction. Therefore, the fleet was not strong enough to safely convoy the steamers, and even if a landing was successful and minefields were laid, the fleet’s weakness would endanger the defence of the position. Therefore, sooner or later, the adversary’s naval forces would gain access into the Black Sea. The commission’s conclusions and recommendations for strengthening the expedition were forwarded to the leadership of both services.59 At the end of October 1885, Shestakov and the War Minister, P. S. Vannovskii, thought that it would be urgently prudent to reinforce the Black Sea Fleet with six gunboats and six torpedo boats. The relatively short

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time required for building these vessels would strengthen the fleet for the Bosphorus operation, before the battleships already under construction were completed. On 3 November an interministerial commission agreed to subsidize the building of these vessels and the development of other expedition-related means with 8 million roubles.60 The decision immediately to strengthen the expedition in the autumn of 1885 was heavily influenced by ongoing tensions in the Balkans and the looming prospect of war. Obruchev noted that apart from utilizing the expedition in order to respond to the movement of the RN into the Black Sea, the occupation of the Bosphorus and the creation of a strong defensive position in the channel were desirable for other reasons. Firstly, it would be possible to relocate troops from Russia’s southern coastline to the western frontiers. Crucially, the expedition was the only realistic way of projecting military power to the Straits, given the great difficulties that the Russian army would encounter in moving through the Balkans and particularly Bulgaria. This point was certainly confirmed in the following years, since by 1887 Russia had lost all influence over the Bulgarian government.61 Furthermore, the same year witnessed the dissolution of the Dreikaiserbund as Russia and Austria-Hungary clashed over Bulgaria.62 In the second half of the 1880s and in the early 1890s, the basic parameters of the operation essentially remained those established in 1885. Nevertheless, many aspects of the expedition were studied in detail by various commissions and individuals. For example, the strength of the first landing detachment fluctuated from 8,000 to over 30,000 men.63 At the same time, in 1885–1893 ground units and the Black Sea Fleet conducted combined training exercises, involving the disembarkation of troops and guns at several points along the Black Sea coastline.64 In 1889 Vannovskii and Shestakov reported to Alexander III that the 8 million roubles allocated in 1885 paid for the construction of six gunboats and six torpedo boats, a number of small craft for the disembarkation of troops, mines and supplies. They argued that the construction of gunboats in conjunction with the development of the Black Sea Fleet meant that Russia’s naval artillery strength

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was significantly superior to the Turkish fleet and coastal artillery. Although Russia’s naval position in the Black Sea had improved, nevertheless the ministers submitted a request to fund the construction of two minelayers and 800 mines. The Tsar approved the report and the Ministry of Finance provided the funds for this between 1890 and 1892.65 By 1890 the battleworthy forces of the Black Sea Fleet comprised three battleships, one cruiser, six gunboats and six torpedo boats, while another two battleships were already laid down. Moreover, significant progress had been made in reinforcing other elements needed for the Bosphorus expedition.66 In the early 1890s the discontent of the Christian population of the Ottoman empire was intensifying. The most extreme manifestation of this state of affairs took the form of an Armenian revolt, to which the Ottoman government reacted with brutally repressive measures. In 1892 the Russian ambassador in Constantinople, A. I. Nelidov, was anxious that this could prompt Britain to intervene with dire implications for control of the Straits. Nelidov counselled that, as a precaution, Russia should occupy the Bosphorus. Nevertheless, Alexander III turned down Nelidov’s call on the grounds that such a move, even if precautionary, would most likely result in dangerous international complications.67 In 1892 the Commander of the Black Sea Fleet, Vice Admiral N. V. Kopytov, influenced by the troubled situation in the region and rumours pointing to the future reinforcement of the Ottoman navy, was worried about the strength of his forces. In March 1892 he proposed to the GMSh that the strength of the Black Sea Fleet should be brought up to 12 battleships, four cruisers, 12 gunboats and a large number of torpedo craft. However, the GMSh rejected Kopytov’s suggestion on financial grounds.68 In January 1893 Kremer presented to Chikhachev a report drafted by Captain Lomen. Lomen recommended that the Bosphorus Straits should be captured through the landing of 10,000 troops and subsequently immediately fortified by mines, coastal artillery and torpedo batteries. However, Lomen pointed out that the expedition lacked sufficient means for the quick disembarkation of troops, as well as sufficient mines and minelayers.69 In the following month, Kremer told Obruchev that the War and Navy Ministries should jointly resolve a number of important issues, such as

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the numerical strength of the first echelon and the insufficient means for the transportation of troops and of the special artillery detachment which would protect the minefields.70 In April the joint commission dealing with matters concerning the expedition decided that it would be necessary to improve the coastal artillery element and mine-laying but also increase the number of troops to more than 27,000.71 In December 1893 the Chief of the VMUO, Captain A. R. Rodionov, reported to the GMSh that despite the various considerations put forward over the years there was no coherent, detailed and formally approved operational plan for the Bosphorus expedition. Furthermore, the issue of who would be in command was still undecided as the army and navy had not reached an agreement on this. Additionally, it was still unclear whether the first landing echelon would consist of 8,000 or 30,000 troops. Besides, it was not only important to resolve how to convey the coastal artillery batteries to the Straits, but also essential to build transport ships, increase the existing means of disembarkation and concentrate sufficient supplies. Rodionov concluded that, given all of the above and the necessity to act suddenly and with secrecy, it was impossible to carry out the expedition successfully.72 Even though planning for the Black Sea Fleet was dominated by the expedition, concerns over its success led to the examination of other alternatives. For example, in May 1892 the Commander of the Odessa Military District argued that if a strong enemy fleet accompanying an expeditionary force entered the Black Sea, the defence of the Russian coastline in the basin could not be guaranteed due to the small number of troops present.73 He thought that the opponent would probably strike against and try to seize the coastal fortresses of Ochakov, Kerch, Sevastopol and the undefended port of Odessa. He suggested that one option would be to station the fleet in Sevastopol, from where it should attack the enemy if the opportunity arose. The second option he put forward was to employ the fleet in conjunction with minefields and coastal batteries for the defence of these fortresses.74 From 1878 until 1886 the Russian navy maintained three to four cruisers and clippers in the Mediterranean Sea, which made use of the Greek port of Piraeus for acquiring provisions and carrying out repairs.75 In 1884 and 1886 Rear Admiral N. I. Kaznakov, who

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during those years commanded the Mediterranean detachment, suggested to the Navy Ministry that his vessels could indirectly assist the Bosphorus expedition. He thought that if the detachment disrupted Ottoman naval communications in the Aegean Archipelago, it could not only delay the arrival of reinforcements and supplies to the Bosphorus but also distract Turkish warships. He also suggested that at the beginning of the war Russia should set up a torpedo boat station in one of the islands near the Dardanelles, with the aim of delaying the advance of the British Mediterranean Fleet to the Straits. Kaznakov even recommended strengthening the detachment to such an extent as to enable it to blockade the Dardanelles. However, Shestakov rejected these schemes for several reasons. To start with, maintaining significant numbers of torpedo boats in the Aegean would encounter substantial financial and other difficulties. Moreover, Shestakov believed that Russian interests in the Mediterranean did not justify increasing the country’s naval presence there. For the Director of the Navy Ministry, the detachment’s strategic tasks consisted of conducting guerre de course in the open oceans against Britain and reinforcing the Pacific Ocean squadron.76 In 1887 the detachment was dispersed and until 1889 the clipper Strelok, which was stationed at Piraeus, was the main permanent representative of the Russian navy in the Mediterranean Sea.77 By the summer of 1887 Lieutenant M. K. Istomin of the Strelok had drafted a report examining operational planning options for the Mediterranean theatre. He argued, overoptimistically, that in case of war with Britain the Russian navy should employ 12 torpedo boats, using the Aegean islands as support points. The mission of the torpedo boats would be to conduct guerre de course in the eastern Mediterranean and the waters adjacent to the Suez Canal. Given that the area constituted the vital artery of British maritime commercial communications between the metropolitan islands and Asia, a guerre de course would harm the enemy economically and more importantly create a climate of panic and fear. Furthermore, it would be possible to distract British warships from the Baltic and the Black Sea, thus easing the burden of the Russian navy in these waters.78 In 1888 Istomin forwarded to the GMSh another two reports expounding his ideas. Despite the fact that Istomin’s schemes were not developed

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further, nevertheless for many years his initial report was seen as a blueprint for operational planning in the Mediterranean theatre.79 During Alexander III’s reign the Navy Ministry also examined strategic questions regarding the Far Eastern theatre and guerre de course. In the first half of the 1880s the naval leadership’s attention focused on the issue of obtaining reliable bases, which could be used both in case of conflict with China and for commerce raiding operations against European powers, especially Britain. Given that the port of Vladivostok was badly equipped, situated away from the main British maritime commercial arteries and relatively easy to blockade by a superior fleet, the Russian navy considered alternative bases, including various locations in Korea and the Pacific Ocean. However, by 1885 nothing had come out of this quest. During the Afghan crisis the navy intended to protect the ill-equipped Vladivostok with minefields guarded by torpedo boats. The Pacific Ocean squadron, at least initially, was expected not to commit itself to the defence of the port but instead to carry out guerre de course against British targets on the high seas, though it would have a nearly impossible task since it was screened by a stronger RN squadron. In fact, across the globe several of the Russian cruisers were closely observed by superior British forces. Even if some of the Russian cruisers escaped to the open oceans, they would encounter great difficulties in obtaining coal and provisions.80 In the aftermath of the crisis, Russian statesmen were increasingly concerned with the empire’s military weakness in the Far East. Their anxiety was compounded by the conviction that in the future British naval supremacy in the region could be complemented by the intervention of the large Chinese army and relatively strong fleet, which was in the process of being reinforced with two German-built battleships. The situation was further complicated since between April 1885 and 1887 Britain occupied Port Hamilton in the Korean Straits. The British possession of Port Hamilton meant that the RN could blockade the Russian Pacific Ocean squadron within the boundaries of the Sea of Japan without difficulty. These developments resulted in calls for strengthening Russia’s land and naval forces in the theatre, and once again raised the question whether the navy should acquire a more suitable base in the Korean peninsula.81

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In 1886 an interministerial commission discussed the question of obtaining a new naval base in the peninsula. The Minister of Foreign Affairs, N. K. Giers, objected as this would tempt other European powers to follow suit and also strain relations with China and Japan. The Governor General of the Priamur, Adjutant General Baron A. N. von Korff, agreed on the grounds that Russia should first develop its existing possessions before acquiring new territories. Shestakov concurred and thought that Vladivostok should remain Russia’s principal naval base in the Far East. In the end the commission agreed with Shestakov and sanctioned the allocation of funds for improving Vladivostok’s infrastructure. In principle, the commission also accepted the wisdom of reinforcing the Pacific Ocean squadron.82 In February 1887, in the context of another interministerial commission, Shestakov made concrete proposals for the reinforcement of the Pacific Ocean squadron entailing the allocation of a relatively modest amount on top of the normal budget. He stated that if his request was granted, then it would be possible to distract British warships from European waters and also furnish the Pacific Ocean squadron with adequate forces for combating the Chinese navy. However, the Minister of Finance refused to pay for this policy.83 In contrast, in 1888 the Ministry of Finance provided funds, albeit limited, for strengthening Russia’s land forces in the Far East.84 It was against this background that operational planning for the Far East in 1885–1893 took place. First of all, debate continued over the defensive arrangements for Vladivostok. In 1887 the Russian military decided that Vladivostok and the surrounding coastline would be defended by extensive mine-laying, gunboats and torpedo boats. However, it was conceded that the existing means were insufficient. It seems that this had not changed by 1892, when a commission headed by von Korff declared that the defence of Vladivostok could not be guaranteed because of weak coastal artillery batteries and a small garrison.85 Even though Vladivostok’s port facilities had improved to some extent since 1886, in the early 1890s the port was still illequipped and supplied for the maintenance and provisioning needs of the Pacific Ocean squadron. In addition, Vladivostok’s ice-bound conditions limited the squadron’s freedom of movement. Hence, the squadron continued to winter in Japanese ports between October

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and May.86 Anxiety over the possible blockade of the squadron in the Sea of Japan was still alive in the late 1880s. This stemmed both from possible British actions and the consideration that if China occupied Korea it would consequently exert control over the vital passageway of the Korean Straits. The Russian government decided that it would respond to this contingency by seizing a Korean port.87 In April 1888 the Navy Ministry instructed the Commander of the Pacific Ocean squadron to draft a comprehensive plan covering the scenario of war against a European power and particularly Britain. To this effect a commission, consisting of the squadron’s senior officers and chaired by the Flag Captain S. O. Makarov, was set up in August 1888. The commission reported back to the Director of the Navy Ministry in the autumn of the same year. It concluded that Vladivostok should be left to its own defensive devices and that the squadron should give undivided attention to conducting guerre de course in the Pacific Ocean against Britain or Germany. Each of the squadron’s vessels would operate independently in separate geographical areas encompassing most of the Pacific Ocean, from the China Sea to South American waters. Supplies were to be procured in Vladivostok and Nagasaki as well as from steamers on the high seas. The commission also sketched a plan in the event of hostilities with China, according to which the Russian squadron, although marginally weaker than the Chinese fleet, would perform offensive operations in the Gulf of Pechilee, including attacks against the enemy’s coastal commerce. The plans were approved and remained in place at least until the mid-1890s.88 In 1886–1888 the Navy Ministry also toyed with the idea of suddenly and secretly striking against the British Far Eastern colonies, coastal railway junctions on Canada’s western coast and Australian ports. For instance, an attack against Hong Kong would involve an expeditionary force of 2,000–3,000 troops conveyed by a couple of transports under the protection of two to three warships. However, these schemes were not backed by any concrete preparatory measures.89 According to a report from 1888, the Russian navy still perceived guerre de course as the best means of fighting Britain at sea. The threat posed to Britain’s transoceanic communications was, in principle, thought to be serious enough to divert RN warships

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from the Baltic and the Mediterranean Sea. Equally, a guerre de course targeting Germany’s expanding maritime commerce could achieve the same results. In 1888 Russia had eight cruisers capable of carrying out cruiser warfare and only one base, namely Vladivostok, which could serve as a support point. The report admitted that the existing cruisers, though sufficient in a confrontation with Germany, were inadequate in war against Britain. In addition, Vladivostok was ice-bound in the winter, situated away from the main commercial arteries and could be easily blockaded by the RN. The report proposed increasing the number of cruisers through the construction of strongly armed ships capable of operating autonomously for long periods in the open ocean.90 As already mentioned, two armoured cruisers designed for commerce raiding were constructed in the 1890s. During the first half of the 1890s, the growing importance of the Far East for Russia, in combination with serious doubts over the successful conduct of guerre de course operations in the region, prompted the reappearance of calls for the augmenting of naval forces in this theatre. One proposal advised stationing 36 gunboats at Vladivostok, which apart from contributing to the defence of the port could also assist Russian cruisers to break through an enemy blockade.91 Another suggestion was put forward by Admiral V. Stetsenko in 1893. He argued that because of the want of worldwide supply points, the small number of Russian cruisers and the probability that Vladivostok would be the subject of a blockade, guerre de course against Britain would encounter substantial difficulties. He thus supported the deployment in Vladivostok of a squadron of ten battleships and three to four cruisers. Such a force would allow the cruisers to have unimpeded egress to the high seas. Crucially, the squadron would guarantee the defence of Russia’s Far Eastern possessions and even serve as a powerful instrument for the future expansion of the empire in the region.92 Even though nothing came out of Stetsenko’s opinions, they nevertheless represent the growing influence of the views of the Blue Water School in Russia. In 1891 the editor of Morskoi Sbornik, R. Zotov, gave a very favourable review to Colomb’s book, which he regarded as a fundamental work of naval strategy. In the second half of 1892 he

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gave an equally, if not more enthusiastic, reception to Mahan’s book, which he reviewed at great length. For Zotov, the complementary works of these two authors had turned naval strategy into a science with axiomatically defined principles exemplified by historical examples. After analyzing in great depth Mahan’s and Colomb’s strategic ideas and complementing them with those of the Russian strategist Lieutenant General G. A. Leer, Zotov fully endorsed them and advocated that they merited special attention by all sailors.93 Nevertheless, despite the rhetoric, by 1893 the Russian navy’s position in all three theatres was unsatisfactory as challenges were greater than scarce resources, which were spread thinly in the Baltic, the Black Sea and the Far East. Above all, the 1890 decision to proceed with the reinforcement of the Baltic Fleet mirrored the heightened anxiety felt by the Russian government over Germany’s intentions, as well as Berlin’s growing military power. Despite the dissolution of the Dreikaiserbund in 1887, Russia and Germany signed an alliance treaty in the same year. However, in the spring of 1890 the treaty expired and Germany declined to renew it. In contrast, in 1891 the Triple Alliance was renewed amidst signs that even Britain might join it. Hence, Russia found itself isolated in a hostile world. Obruchev was seriously alarmed that the existing operational plan against Germany and Austria-Hungary was unworkable without French support.94 It was in this setting that in 1890–1894 Russia and an equally isolated France negotiated and forged an alliance. The centrepiece of the alliance was a military convention founded upon the premise of conducting a defensive war against Germany and its Triple Alliance partners. No measures were envisaged in relation to conflict with Britain. France and Russia agreed simultaneously to mobilize their armies in the event that one of the Triple Alliance members mobilized their own. France would pit the largest part of its army against Germany, and Russia would reciprocate by fielding at least 700,000 troops, also against Germany. If one of the two allies was attacked by Germany, the other would have to launch an offensive against the latter.95 Although the forging of the alliance was promoted by the visit of a French squadron to Kronstadt in 1891 and the return visit of a Russian squadron to Toulon in 1893, no naval convention was

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signed until 1912. As far as the French were concerned, this was partly because of their negative evaluation of the Russian navy. The French were critical of what they perceived as the Russian navy’s poorly designed ships, random fleet composition, antiquated torpedo forces, and badly disciplined and trained personnel, despite the fact that the efficiency of the French navy was affected by organizational, structural, materiel and personnel problems of a similar nature.96 In the spring of 1890 the parliamentary deputy and later Navy Minister of France, J.-L. de Lanessan, published a pamphlet in which he argued that France should not expect much from the Russian navy. The Black Sea Fleet of three battleships could only be of use if it broke through the Straits to the Mediterranean, which was very improbable. Lanessan also viewed the Baltic Fleet as technically and numerically weak. Hence, he believed that France could not rely on Russian naval support, apart from hoping that the mere existence of the Baltic Fleet would immobilize part of the German navy in the Baltic.97 More importantly, in 1892 and 1893 the French Naval Staff (État-Major Général de la Marine and hereafter EMGM) studied the possibilities for naval cooperation between France and Russia against the Triple Alliance.98 Since Kronstadt was ice-bound between November and April/May, during that period the Baltic Fleet would be immobilized. This meant that Germany could concentrate its strong fleet against the weaker French Northern squadron and obtain command of the North Sea. If war broke out before the Baltic Fleet was immobilized by climatic conditions, French naval planners raised the option of uniting the Russian and French fleets at the straits separating Denmark and Sweden and conducting combined offensive operations against the German coastline. Nevertheless, they concluded that, particularly at the outbreak of hostilities, independent actions by the allied fleets would be more advantageous. They were of the opinion that the German navy was much superior to the Baltic Fleet, but expressed the hope that the former would still maintain a significant detachment in the Baltic to screen the Russian forces. In relation to south European waters, they took the view that the Black Sea Fleet would not have access to the Mediterranean due to British opposition. However, they believed that France could

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possibly count on the assistance of two to three cruisers, which would probably be deployed in the Mediterranean. Finally, they noted that the Russian Pacific Ocean squadron was strong enough to successfully attack German warships and maritime commercial shipping in the region. They suggested that the French Far Eastern squadron could combine with the Russian cruisers. In August 1893 a study concerning French naval operations against the Triple Alliance stipulated that France should not anticipate any direct assistance by the Russian fleet. Instead France could only hope indirectly to benefit from the independent operations of the Russian navy and particularly by the diversion of parts of the German fleet to the Baltic.99 At this point, reference should be made to the reappearance of Russian naval power in the Mediterranean, which has often been linked with the alliance. In 1890–1892 the Russians augmented their naval presence in the basin by dispatching a very small number of ships.100 In 1892 the French government and the Russian ambassadors in Paris and Constantinople called for the establishment of a permanent Russian Mediterranean squadron, with the immediate objective of carrying out a demonstration of allied naval power in the eastern Mediterranean. Initially, the Navy Ministry resisted such a move on the grounds that it did not have sufficient ships to spare, but also because it would lead to the dispersal of forces and induce a possible British reaction. In 1893 the issue was debated anew in the context of the anticipated visit of a Russian squadron to Toulon.101 In the autumn of 1893 a small squadron under Rear Admiral F. K. Avelan, made up of one battleship, three cruisers and one gunboat, visited the French port and thereafter remained in the Mediterranean. Avelan’s instructions stated that the task of the Mediterranean detachment was to support Russia’s political interests in the region and to act as a training platform for crews. The only reference made to strategic and operational issues was the vague order to examine the possibility of implementing Istomin’s plan for guerre de course in the eastern Mediterranean.102 Hence it is evident that despite the re-establishment of a permanent, albeit small, Mediterranean detachment there was no hidden agenda entailing combined naval action with France. At any rate, the conclusion of the Franco-Russian alliance helped St Petersburg to escape international isolation and secured

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badly-needed French military assistance in waging a land campaign against Germany. However, since no naval convention was incorporated in the agreement, the Russian navy would not receive the direct support of its French counterpart in any theatre. Even so, the alliance with France did offer some indirect benefits to Russia’s naval position. Firstly, in the early 1890s the German military recognized that it would most likely fight Russia and France simultaneously. Existing plans to destroy or blockade the weak Baltic Fleet and carry out a landing on Russia’s Baltic littoral were now dropped in favour of taking the offensive against France. Instead, Germany would only maintain a small number of ships in the Baltic to keep the Russian fleet in check.103 The Franco-Russian alliance also had important implications for Russia’s naval position vis-à-vis Britain. Even before the conclusion of the alliance, in the late 1880s, British statesmen and defence planners were pessimistic about the prospect of countering an overland invasion of India by causing serious injury to Russia elsewhere.104 At about the same time the Admiralty became concerned with the possibility of having to confront a Franco-Russian coalition at sea. In fact, this was one of the factors which led to the introduction of the Naval Defence Act in 1889, which was founded upon the principle that the strength of the RN should at least equal in numbers the battleships of two powers. In December 1893 the First Lord of the Admiralty, Lord Spencer, informed the Cabinet that Britain’s shipbuilding efforts would be measured against the combined naval might of France and Russia. Against this background, in the early 1890s the stiffening of the Black Sea Fleet with contemporary battleships, the improvement of the various means at the disposal of the Bosphorus expedition, Turkish military weakness and the assumption that the Sultan was not bent on defying a Russian advance convinced the British that the Russians could at any time seize Constantinople and the Straits by coup de main. Resisting such an attempt would require the employment of the entire Mediterranean Fleet. Taking into account the Franco-Russian alliance, this could grievously endanger Britain’s naval position in the western Mediterranean and even in the Channel, in the event that Paris decided to take advantage of the situation. In the spring of 1892 the Director of Military Intelligence

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(hereafter DMI) and the Director of Naval Intelligence (hereafter DNI) proclaimed that Britain alone could not prevent the Russians from seizing the Straits, unless the French Mediterranean Fleet, stationed at Toulon, was destroyed first. By the summer of 1894 the Admiralty had decided that in the event of war it would initially concentrate on defeating the French to the detriment of resisting Russia at the Straits and barring the emergence of the Black Sea Fleet into the Mediterranean. Although the British government did not officially repudiate the policy of resisting Russia in the Straits, nevertheless, on the advice of the Admiralty, it hoped that maintaining in peacetime part of the Mediterranean Fleet within reach of the Straits would act as a deterrent.105 It seems that the British bluff worked since the worries of the Russian navy about securing the Bosphorus remained acute.

4 Russian Naval Strategy at the Crossroads, 1894–1895

In the first half of 1894 an Armenian revolt threw the Ottoman empire again into turmoil. In August and September the Sultan’s government retaliated with a brutal policy of repression. Initially, the European powers, and particularly Britain, considered the option of military intervention against the Porte. However, eventually the interested powers refrained from intervention and instead addressed the issue by engaging in diplomatic consultations.1 In February 1894 Kremer wrote to Obruchev that the War and Navy Ministries should discuss the Bosphorus expedition. Kremer argued that since the success of the expedition depended upon swift execution, it was essential to resolve a series of related issues. They included the necessity to exactly define the strength of the land forces of the expeditionary corps and the apparent impossibility of quickly dispatching to the Bosphorus the special artillery detachment owing to the lack of specialized transports. Although the War Ministry expressed the desire to cooperate, in the end the two departments decided to postpone the discussion of these matters until the autumn of 1894.2 Starting from 1894 the attention of the Russian government progressively gravitated to the Far East. The weak kingdom of Korea had for centuries been a bone of contention between China and Japan. In the latter part of the nineteenth century this antagonism became more acute as the rapidly industrializing Japan was in need of new overseas markets, while Tokyo’s foreign policy became increasingly aggressive. Simultaneously, Japan felt threatened by western

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imperialism and especially Russia’s potential for expansion in the region through the construction of the Trans-Siberian railway. By the spring of the same year a popular uprising in Korea had destabilized the country. Anxious that European powers and particularly Russia would take advantage of the situation, but also keen to protect its interests in the context of antagonism with China, Japan intervened militarily; by 20 July China and Japan were at war.3 On 9 August an interministerial commission, chaired by Giers, was convened to discuss the situation in the Far East. Giers set the tone by arguing that Russia’s main concern was to defend the pre-war status quo and the independence of Korea. Giers believed that Russia would face a ‘second Bosphorus’ if Japan occupied the southern part of the Korean peninsula. In this case, Japan would possess both sides of the Korean Straits and effectively control maritime communications between the Russian coastline neighbouring the Sea of Japan and the Pacific Ocean. Other participants voiced concerns over the possibility of British interference. Chikhachev discussed the option of occupying an island and setting up a naval base on the eastern shores of Korea, although ultimately he argued against such action, since the fortification of the base would entail considerable expense. Even so, he recommended, as a precautionary measure, the reinforcement of the Pacific Ocean squadron with warships from the Mediterranean. In a similar vein, Vannovskii proposed the mobilization of Russian troops on the borders with Korea. In the end the commission approved the mobilization of troops, but decided that Russia should try to ensure the independence of Korea through diplomatic means and in cooperation with other powers.4 At least until the end of 1894, however, these resolutions remained unfulfilled. This was partly because other powers were not prepared to meddle. More importantly, the Russian governmental apparatus had fallen into a state of confusion because of the illness and death of Alexander III on 20 October and the growing disability of the ailing Giers, who died in January 1895.5 Before the Sino-Japanese War, the Russian Pacific Ocean cruiserbased squadron was at Vladivostok under the command of Vice Admiral S. P. Tyrtov. On 3 July 1894 the Navy Ministry, aware of

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trouble brewing in neighbouring Korea, instructed Tyrtov to make all the necessary preparations and put the squadron to sea, but this failed to materialize. Following the August conference the Navy Ministry repeated the request, but again the squadron remained in Vladivostok, hampered by the need for repairs, which were delayed by the absence of a dry dock, equipment and materials. The squadron was eventually on the move by the beginning of November, when Tyrtov guided his ships to Japan to obtain coal supplies and provisions. In contrast to previous years, the concentration of the whole of the squadron in one Japanese port was no longer feasible, for in 1894 the Japanese government introduced the restriction that no more than two foreign warships of the same power could be stationed in one of the country’s ports at any time. Independently of the ongoing Sino-Japanese War, this was an important development that could potentially compromise the overall conduct of Russian naval strategy in the region. In any crisis, particularly during the winter months, the squadron would either be immobilized in ice-bound Vladivostok or left without a base in which to concentrate.6 In the autumn of 1894 the Sino-Japanese War was in full flow; the Navy Ministry, worried by the situation in the Far East, decided to reinforce the squadron in these waters. On 11 November the Commander of the Mediterranean detachment, Rear Admiral Avelan, was instructed to dispatch to the Far East one cruiser and two torpedo craft. Further reinforcements, in the form of two gunboats and three torpedo craft, were sent from the Baltic.7 Later in November, Rear Admiral Makarov assumed command of the Mediterranean detachment. The Navy Ministry informed Makarov upon his appointment that the detachment should be prepared for undertaking guerre de course and to act as a reserve for backing up the Pacific Ocean squadron.8 Between September 1894 and January 1895 Japan conducted a very successful war against China. As a result the Japanese controlled the whole of the Korean peninsula, significant parts of south Manchuria including the Liaotung peninsula with the Chinese naval arsenal of Port Arthur and the nearby port of Talienwan, as well as territory on the other side of the Gulf of Pechilee. China, acknowledging defeat, was ready to negotiate a peace settlement.9

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This situation forced the Russian government, now headed by Nicholas II, to examine the problem. On 20 January 1895 an interministerial commission chaired by the General Admiral was convened. The commission was held with the participation of Vannovskii, Chikhachev, Obruchev, Kremer, Witte, the Acting Minister of Foreign Affairs N. P. Shishkin and the Chief of the ministry’s Asiatic Department. Securing free passage through the Korean Straits and the prospect of British intervention continued to be issues of great concern. However, some of the participants believed that a Japanese occupation of south Manchuria could infringe Russian interests in China. From a naval perspective, the commission discussed whether it would be desirable to occupy the Korean island of Kargodo located on the south-eastern extremity of the peninsula, as a means of guaranteeing unimpeded access through the Korean Straits. The General Admiral and Chikhachev were more amenable to the idea than before, something which can possibly be attributed to the realization of the potential difficulties of stationing the Pacific Ocean squadron in Japanese ports. In any event, the commission concluded that Russian policy would continue to aim at maintaining the independence of Korea, which should be achieved through diplomacy and in cooperation with other powers. In addition, the commission also deemed it necessary to bolster Russia’s negotiating position. At the instigation of both the naval leadership and Witte, it was agreed that the Pacific Ocean squadron should be temporarily reinforced to such an extent as to be superior to the Japanese fleet. Witte made it clear that the permanent augmentation of the squadron would have to be decided in the future and could only materialize within the financial limitations of the current budget.10 On 24 January Makarov was instructed to move to the Far East and amalgamate his forces with those of the Pacific Ocean squadron. Tyrtov was given command of the combined squadron. At the beginning of March, Chikhachev informed Tyrtov that the task of this combined squadron would be to support Russia’s interests in relation to the expected peace settlement between China and Japan, and that he should be prepared to undertake action against Japan and/or Britain by utilizing Korean and Chinese ports.11 Even before the meeting of the commission, on 7 January, the GMSh had already asked the Russian naval attaché in Japan,

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Lieutenant A. F. Shvank, to make available information on the organization and composition of the Japanese fleet. Shvank reported a week later and stressed the emergence of Japan as a serious opponent and naval threat to Russia in the region. He noted that despite financial difficulties the Japanese government intended to significantly reinforce its fleet in the future with all types of vessels, including battleships and armoured cruisers, but did not provide any specific details of a possible Japanese build-up. The Navy Ministry had been aware since May 1894 that Japan had ordered two battleships in Britain. In February 1895, Captain P. P. Ukhtomskii, the naval attaché in London, informed the GMSh that the battleships were of the powerful Royal Sovereign type.12 In the meantime, several important developments took place in the Baltic theatre. First of all, while the construction of Libau was underway, in the spring of 1894 the War and Navy Ministries disagreed over the organization of the port’s coastal fortifications.13 At the same time, opposition to the construction of Libau, emanating from various quarters, such as the Director of the Baltic Works M. I. Kazi and also Witte, had resurfaced. Specifically, Kazi and Witte supported the construction of a naval base on the Murman coastline bordering the Arctic Ocean. Alexander III was sympathetic to the Murman option and, in the summer of 1894, Witte and others including Kazi travelled on a fact-finding mission to the north of Russia. Upon his return in August, Witte reported back to the Tsar that the proximity of Libau to the German frontier was a source of danger. Moreover, the Russian fleet could be easily blockaded in Libau or within the Baltic basin by the German or the British navy. Crucially, the costs for the construction of a well-equipped and protected port would be great. In fact, Witte estimated that the total outlays would rise to more than 100 million roubles. Given all of the above, the Murman option was certainly more attractive. The Murman coastline was ice-free and had immediate access to the open ocean. Therefore, the stationing of warships there would be extremely advantageous for guerre de course operations against both Germany and Britain. In addition, the expenses required for erecting a fortified port in Murman were less than those required for Libau. It seems that before his death Alexander III was prepared to halt the construction of the

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latter in favour of the former. During the first months of his reign, Nicholas II initially endorsed the option of Murman, but changed his mind and consented to continuing with the construction of Libau, under pressure from the General Admiral.14 Under the influence of the French alliance, in 1894 the GMSh was prepared to support the view that the battleships and the bulk of the Baltic Fleet could be deployed in Libau for undertaking offensive operations against the German fleet in the open sea; coastal defence vessels would defend the remainder of the coastline. This notion corresponds to the views of the French navy from 1892 and 1893 about the possible contribution of the Russian fleet in the context of a coalition war. However, these ideas were not taken further due to the absence of sufficient forces and the lack of French interest in the project.15 The Baltic Fleet manoeuvres for 1894 and 1895 were conducted upon the scenario of defending the approaches to the Gulf of Riga against a superior enemy fleet, through delaying tactics and mine-laying.16 This indicates that, in practice, the weakness of the Baltic Fleet made it realistic to aspire only to its defensive utilization. On 8 January 1895 the VMUO, in a report to Chikhachev, analyzed the situation in the Baltic Sea. The report considered that the German fleet was far superior to Russian naval forces in these waters. It also stated that until additional battleships were built and the Libau base was completed, the naval defence of the Baltic theatre could not be guaranteed. The VMUO argued that since both of these prerequisites would take time to materialize, the theatre should be defended at least temporarily by a coastal defence system. In this context, the VMUO suggested the construction of 15 scout cruisers, 20 gunboats, 150 torpedo craft and six minelayers.17 In the meantime, the crisis in the Near East was still simmering and the Russian military continued to examine issues related to the Bosphorus expedition. On 16–18 December 1894 a commission chaired by Kopytov was convened with the participation of highranking officers from the Black Sea Fleet and the Odessa Military District, including the district’s Chief of Staff, Major General V. V. Sakharov. The commission emphasized that insufficient means and preparation could endanger the success of the operation, given that

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one of the main preconditions of the operation was that is should be carried out swiftly. The commission examined in detail several aspects of the operation and put forward a number of recommendations. For instance, the commission considered necessary an increase of the first landing echelon from 13,000–14,000 troops to 16,000–23,000 with the inclusion of cavalry, engineer and artillery elements, and envisaged the later arrival of another 13,000–20,000 troops. Moreover, the members of the commission deemed the guns of the special artillery detachment to be insufficient in terms of quality and quantity, and also took the view that a detailed plan of action for the mining of the channel was lacking. They also proposed the construction of special military transports for the needs of the expedition and the improvement of landing means.18 On 24 February and 4 March 1895 a special commission, chaired by Vannovskii and including Chikhachev, Obruchev, Kremer, Kopytov, Sakharov and other military personnel, discussed the Bosphorus expedition. The commission sketched the foundations of an operational plan according to which 13,000 troops would be loaded onto transports and a couple of battleships within 24 hours. The transports, screened by the Black Sea Fleet, would advance to the Bosphorus and upon arrival the battleships would silence the enemy coastal fortifications and support the amphibious assault. Although Kopytov suggested the option of carrying out a naval demonstration against Constantinople and attacking the Turkish fleet in port, the other members of the commission took the view that such actions were only secondary and subordinated to the overall plan of action. Following the occupation of both shores of the Bosphorus, the next task would be to set up a defensive position for blocking the passage of enemy warships into the Black Sea. This was to be accomplished by minefields guarded by the special artillery detachment deployed on the positions occupied by the expeditionary force. However, the commission highlighted a number of issues which could compromise the operation, such as the need to modernize the guns of the special artillery detachment, the lack of sufficient stocks of mines and minelayers, as well as specialized steamers for the transportation of the artillery pieces and horses. The commission decided that it was essential to rectify these deficiencies plaguing the expedition.19

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In the spring of 1895 the shipbuilding programme approved in 1890 was approaching expiration, which made it necessary to review the options for the future development of the Russian navy. Early in March the GMSh and specifically a commission under Kremer produced a report. It stated that the Black Sea Fleet had already achieved superiority over the Turkish navy, but nonetheless supported the completion of the 1882 programme through the construction of one battleship, two cruisers of 4,000 tons and a number of smaller vessels. In relation to forces in the Baltic Sea, the commission conceded that they were still inferior to the German fleet. In 1895 the main forces of the Baltic Fleet consisted of nine battleships completed or under construction, three coastal defence battleships, seven first-class and ten second-class cruisers as well as 75 torpedo craft. Against them, Germany could pit a fleet of 16 battleships, one first-class and 21 second-class cruisers, 13 gunboats and 128 torpedo vessels. Apart from the obvious numerical inferiority of the Baltic Fleet in battleships, the overwhelming majority of the older coastal defence battleships and cruisers were almost useless. Unlike the VMUO, Kremer and the GMSh recommended that the Baltic Fleet should be reinforced through the construction of five battleships of 11,000 tons each, five coastal defence battleships, five cruisers of 4,000 tons, ten destroyers, 25 torpedo boats and two minelayers. After the addition of these ships the Baltic Fleet would continue to be numerically inferior to the German fleet, though the Russian battle squadron would be qualitatively superior since ten of the German battleships were constructed in the 1870s and 1880s. Somewhat in contradiction, the report recognized that in the ensuing years Germany would undoubtedly carry on strengthening its navy and that this would demand the further reinforcement of the Baltic Fleet in the near future. As regards the Far East, the commission acknowledged that the Sino-Japanese War had led to the emergence of Japan as a serious threat. The Japanese navy was already a respectable force and further growth was expected after the war. Although this necessitated bolstering the strength of the Pacific Ocean squadron, nonetheless such an effort could not be undertaken owing to financial limitations. Consequently, the development of the Russian navy in the Far East should continue to be founded upon existing principles.

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Specifically, the report proposed to increase the number of gunboats in the theatre and recommended the reinforcement of the Pacific Ocean squadron with the dispatch of vessels from the Baltic Sea in time of crisis. Finally, the commission also debated expanding the number of cruisers for guerre de course operations.20 The report was distributed amongst senior naval personnel for discussion. On 22 March another commission was convened and chaired by the General Admiral at his palace. The commission members included Chikhachev, Kremer and several admirals. Although Vice Admiral Kopytov once again called for substantially increasing the size of the Black Sea Fleet, the other participants agreed with GMSh’s modest recommendations for that theatre. The admirals also supported the GMSh’s suggestion of creating a powerful Baltic Fleet composed of battleships, cruisers and torpedo craft. In relation to the Far East, Chikhachev argued that even though the situation was not clear, the anticipated augmentation of the Japanese fleet required a response. Chikhachev, the General Admiral and some of the admirals remained faithful to existing principles of the 1882 programme, believing that in time of crisis the Pacific Ocean squadron could be increased through the dispatch of reinforcements from the Baltic. Others, like Vice Admiral P. P. Tyrtov, the brother of the Pacific Ocean squadron’s commander, argued in favour of maintaining a strong permanent squadron in Far Eastern waters. However, Tyrtov admitted that the building of battleships designated specifically for the Far East would be excessive. Consensus emerged through compromise, namely in the form of constructing a type of vessel capable of both giving battle with enemy battleships and conducting guerre de course, a solution the commission members were favourably inclined towards. Nevertheless, disagreement over the technical characteristics of cruisers precluded any precise recommendations for the construction of such ships. Overall, the commission ratified GMSh’s proposals with only minor alterations.21 An important letter was addressed to the commission by the Tsar’s Flag Captain, Rear Admiral Lomen, who was ill and did not attend the meeting. Lomen endorsed GMSh’s suggestions for the Black Sea Fleet, but was diametrically opposed to those concerning the Baltic theatre. He argued that the shipbuilding effort undertaken in 1890

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had not borne fruit and that currently the Baltic Fleet was significantly weaker than the German fleet. Moreover, if the Baltic Fleet was reinforced according to GMSh’s proposal it would remain inferior to the German fleet. Germany, being financially and technically superior to Russia, could, without great strain, sustain its existing naval pre-eminence in the Baltic. Lomen stated that: However large our spending may be on strengthening our fleet it will only bring about the corresponding strengthening of the German fleet and also would not provide our fleet with that superiority which up until now [we] were striving for. He added that in any case the outcome of a conflict with Germany would always be decided by the action of land forces. Thus, he called for the abandonment of the 1882 shipbuilding principles, ‘the tasks of which are practically unattainable for us’. Like the VMUO, Lomen concluded that the defence of the Baltic littoral should be limited to the most important points and entrusted to coastal artillery, minelaying and torpedo craft.22 In relation to the Far East, Lomen denoted the growing importance of the region for Russia and pointed out the emerging threat of Japan. He took the view that, at least until the completion of the Trans-Siberian railway, Russia required a battleship fleet ‘which would give to us unconditional superiority over the Japanese’. This was a means not only of defending Russia’s territory but also of limiting Japan’s political influence in the region. To this effect, it was essential to permanently transfer from the Baltic to the Far East all the battleships completed or under construction. In addition, it would also be necessary to build cruisers and torpedo craft and to bring up the strength of the Pacific Ocean squadron to a position of unconditional superiority over the Japanese fleet. Lomen also endorsed the use of guerre de course as the only stratagem furnishing Russia with the capability to inflict considerable damage on a European adversary’s maritime commerce and distract part of hostile naval forces from its coastline. Specifically, he believed that Russian cruisers should be deployed in Vladivostok mainly for operations directed against Britain, although he also envisaged the use of the Murman coastline

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as a base for cruisers. Such ships operating from this locality would be able to conduct guerre de course against both Britain and Germany. In the event of war against the latter, this could possibly divert enemy warships from the Baltic theatre.23 Even though the commission disregarded Lomen’s views, voices calling for the reorientation of Russian naval strategy were not silenced. On the contrary, four days following the commission’s meeting, Grand Duke Alexander Mikhailovich submitted to Nicholas II a letter and a report accompanied by Lomen’s letter. Alexander Mikhailovich expressed his strong disapproval of the current direction of Russian naval strategy, which he criticized for leading to the creation of a defensively-oriented navy. Alexander Mikhailovich stated that: I understand the issue like this, either to have a fleet capable of protecting our coastline in all seas against enemy attempts and capable of carrying out offensive and cruiser warfare or having none [no fleet] whatsoever.24 The Grand Duke urged that the Pacific Ocean squadron should be immediately reinforced with a couple of battleships and armoured cruisers, and augmented even further in the following ten years through the construction of five battleships, five large cruisers and a host of other vessels including gunboats and torpedo craft. He also noted that it was necessary to improve Vladivostok’s shipbuilding and repair facilities. In Europe, the Baltic coastline and St Petersburg should be exclusively defended by a large torpedo craft flotilla, which would operate in conjunction with coastal fortifications. Alexander Mikhailovich also objected to the continuing construction of the Libau port, which involved significant financial outlays. He also recommended the reinforcement of the Black Sea Fleet in the ensuing decade with five battleships and other vessels including numerous torpedo craft. Finally, Alexander Mikhailovich proposed the creation of a northern fleet with a core force of 11 battleships and ten armoured cruisers designed for long-distance guerre de course operations. This fleet would be stationed on the Murman coastline, where it would be essential to establish a fortified and fully-equipped port.

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The overall funds required just for the construction of the warships for all four fleets in the ensuing decade added up to approximately 427 million roubles.25 Alexander Mikhailovich’s and Lomen’s views reflected the emergence of a group of naval officers aspiring to reorient the direction of Russian naval strategy. This was founded upon their support for an active policy in the Far East, complemented by the creation there of a permanent and strong offensively-minded battle fleet. Such a fleet would not simply serve the purpose of defending the coastline but could also be used as a tool for pursuing an aggressive policy in the region. From an institutional viewpoint, this would open the road to great naval expansion. Alexander Mikhailovich and his close associate Kazi, who was a sworn personal enemy of Chikhachev, also acted as an informal opposition group to the naval leadership.26 In the intervening time, from January to March 1895, Russia consulted with other European powers about undertaking a diplomatic initiative in the Far East. However, Britain was unwilling whereas France and Germany were vacillating. Concurrently, both Japan and China tried to enlist the support of European powers but Russia held a neutral stance. On 18 March China and Japan agreed to end the war and signed the Treaty of Simonoseki. Although Korea was to be independent, China was obliged to pay a war indemnity to Japan as well as to cede to the latter Formosa, the Pescadores Islands and the Liaotung peninsula in south-western Manchuria. Russia was now faced with two options, either to join Japan by annexing territories in the region or to support Peking in resisting Tokyo’s demands. The Russian governmental elite was divided on the issue.27 Nicholas II, the General Admiral, Obruchev and some within the Ministry of Foreign Affairs were in favour of reaching an agreement with Tokyo. Japan would obtain the southern parts of Manchuria and most of Korea and in return Russia would acquire northern Manchuria and parts of north-eastern Korea. For Obruchev this was desirable as there was no need to create a new strong foe at a time when the western frontiers in Europe were already under threat by powerful enemies. From a naval perspective, this policy would allow for the acquisition of a much-needed ice-free port on the eastern coastline of Korea. Such an arrangement could also lead to the

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establishment of an alliance with a militarily strong Japan against China and Britain. Japan’s strong navy would, above all, be useful against the RN. However, Witte, Vannovskii, Chikhachev and the new Minister of Foreign Affairs Prince, A. B. Lobanov-Rostovskii, were of the opinion that Japan could not be trusted as it harboured tendencies for further expansion. Moreover, the Japanese presence in south Manchuria would form a constant menace to Peking and would limit Russia’s political and commercial interests in China. Furthermore, it could ultimately result in a partition of China by all the powers. These last two points were especially important for Witte, who argued that by opposing Japan and sustaining China’s territorial integrity, Russia would gain Peking’s gratitude. Using this and the Trans-Siberian railway as platforms, Russia would be in a position to begin the peaceful commercial penetration of China and in turn attain large economic, and eventually, political benefits. On 30 March, in an interministerial commission, Witte and the other ministers concurring with him were successful in enforcing their views. Despite Nicholas’s II initial objection, on 4 April the young Tsar, under pressure from his ministers and swayed by Witte’s arguments, sanctioned this policy.28 The adoption of this course of action was facilitated since Germany and a reluctant France were, for their own reasons, now prepared to join Russia in resisting the Japanese occupation of south Manchuria and the Liaotung peninsula. On 11 April the three powers, whose association came to be known as the Dreibund, presented Japan with an ultimatum to abandon the Liaotung peninsula. The deadline given for Japan’s answer was set for 26 April. From a military perspective, the Dreibund powers recognized that it would be impossible to fight Japan on land in the short term. The solution lay in using naval power to interrupt the communications of the Japanese army located in Manchuria with its island metropolis.29 The basic strategic considerations from the perspective of the Russian army were formulated by the Governor General of the Priamur, Lieutenant General S. M. Dukhovskoi, and were approved by Vannovskii. In the spring of 1895 Russia’s ground forces in the Far East numbered 30,000 troops. However, Japan already had over 70,000 men in Korea and south Manchuria. This superiority

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allowed the Japanese to strike against the Priamur either by moving north overland from south Manchuria or by conducting an amphibious landing. Dukhovksoi thought that the naval balance of power would be an effective barrier against a Japanese amphibious landing. By implication the Japanese army would have to march overland through Manchuria to the Russian borders. To counteract this, while maintaining some forces for the defence of Vladivostok and the outlying territory, the main body of the Russian Far Eastern army should pre-emptively move into northern Manchuria in order to halt the Japanese advance. Despite the numerical inferiority of the Russian forces, the Japanese army was already war-weary and by advancing to north Manchuria would overextend its supply lines. A further factor hampering the operations of the Japanese army on the Asian mainland would be the disruption of maritime supply lines with its island metropolis by the Russian Pacific Ocean squadron. It seems that the faith demonstrated by the army in the capabilities of the navy was derived from Chikhachev. On 30 March, during the meeting of the interministerial commission, he claimed that the Russian squadron had moral superiority over the Japanese navy. Even though he admitted that a major offensive against the Japanese fleet would be risky, nonetheless he was confident that the squadron could interrupt the enemy’s maritime lines of communications.30 After the arrival of reinforcements from the Mediterranean and the Baltic, Russian naval forces in the Far East comprised the battleship Nikolai I, three armoured cruisers, two protected and three non-armoured cruisers, six gunboats and nine torpedo vessels. On the opposite side, the effective fighting forces of the Japanese navy consisted of four antiquated small battleships, one small armoured cruiser, eight protected cruisers and 15 other mainly old nonarmoured cruisers, seven gunboats and about 40 torpedo craft.31 Despite the numerically larger Japanese force, even without French and German warships the presence of a battleship and three armoured cruisers at least evened out the odds. In early April the majority of the Russian warships in Far Eastern waters assembled in Japanese ports under Tyrtov’s command. By 10 April Chikhachev, through a series of telegrams, gave Tyrtov several instructions. Initially, Chikhachev informed Tyrtov that in case of

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conflict the squadron should not count on the assistance of allied fleets, but a few days later this was reversed. Crucially, he also stated that during hostilities the key tasks of the squadron were to initiate ‘offensive action against the Japanese fleet and ports and to stop the possibility of the Japanese sending reinforcements to the coasts of Korea, Manchuria and China’. Upon receiving these orders, Tyrtov tried to discover the intentions of the French and the German admirals. During that time, the French squadron was located in Nagasaki while its German counterpart was at the Chinese port of Cheefu. Tyrtov held several meetings with the French commander, Rear Admiral Count O. de Beaumont, but was told that Paris had not issued orders for military action. The German commander gave the same response to the captain of a Russian cruiser sent to Cheefu with the purpose of clarifying the issue. Thus, Tyrtov concluded that he was not to expect assistance from the French and German squadrons.32 As in 1888, Makarov was once again given the duty of developing an operational plan for the squadron. Makarov did so abetted by Captain Z. P. Rozhestvenskii and Lieutenant Prince A. A. Dolgorukov. Given the impossibility of using Japanese ports, the most important element of the plan was the choice of a port for concentrating the squadron. An essential prerequisite was that such a port should have reliable and secure telegraph communications. Although Vladivostok satisfied this condition, it was nevertheless situated far from the major Japanese lines of maritime communications with the mainland. These lines, for the most part, went through the Korean Straits and the Yellow Sea. Theoretically, the choice of a Korean port, particularly in the southern coast of the peninsula, would be ideal. The main obstacle was that the Japanese occupied Korea and its telegraphic network. Makarov instead considered that the best available option was to place the squadron at Cheefu. Despite the lack of repair facilities, Cheefu’s geographic position gave the opportunity to the Russian squadron to interdict Japanese naval communications in the Yellow Sea and the Gulf of Pechilee. This was significant as substantial numbers of Japanese troops were in the Liaotung peninsula, from where they could land close to Peking.33 Tyrtov made repeated calls for the squadron to leave Japan, but this did not happen until 18 April. The reason was that the Ministry

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of Foreign Affairs believed that such a move would compromise the ongoing negotiations. On 18 April Tyrtov was aware that 60 Japanese transport ships were at Talienwan, from where they could carry troops for a landing in the vicinity of Peking.34 Tyrtov informed Chikachev and the French admiral that this was a good opportunity to intimidate Japan by capturing the transports. However, his request was rebuffed both by Chikhachev and the French. Nevertheless, on the same day St Petersburg authorized the relocation of the squadron to Cheefu. On 20–21 April the Russian vessels left Japan. Before leaving, Tyrtov invited the French squadron to follow. Even though his request was refused, as a sign of goodwill one of the best French cruisers was to travel to Cheefu and place itself at the disposal of Tyrtov, on the understanding that it would not participate in military operations. Two days later Paris reversed its stance and ordered de Beaumont to join the Russians in Cheefu and if necessary to engage in armed conflict. There is no information concerning the intentions of the German squadron. In any event, on 24 April the Russian squadron was concentrated in Cheefu, where it began preparing for battle. Though Tyrtov was not ordered to commence military operations, if war broke out the initial mission of the squadron was to resist the landing of Japanese troops close to Peking.35 Facing the prospect of war against the Dreibund powers the Japanese government examined its options. Although initially hesitant, on 25 April the Japanese finally agreed to withdraw their troops and relinquish possession of the Liaotung peninsula. The decision was based upon the inability to obtain British support, the financial exhaustion of the country after six months of war and the advice of the Japanese military leadership. The army was worn down by the war effort and plagued by the lack of reserves and supplies. The fleet was equally worn down and also divided between the Yellow Sea and the Pescadores Islands. Crucially, the bulk of the fleet was situated at the distant Pescadores and not in the potential theatre of operations. Under these circumstances, and given the naval balance, the Japanese naval leadership believed that it might lose command of the Korean Straits. This would effectively cut off the communications and supplies of the land forces on the Asian mainland and even allow the enemy to bombard the Japanese coastline. The Japanese navy

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was of the opinion that the most serious threat emanated from the Russian naval component of the Dreibund consortium.36 Therefore, the naval demonstration was one of the decisive factors in forcing the Japanese capitulation to the Dreibund’s demand. Nevertheless, humiliation also brought about Japan’s determination to avoid a repetition of such events in the future. Between April and early July 1895 the Japanese government decided to double the size of the army and to significantly strengthen the navy. The reinforcement of the navy was also dictated by the fact that the war had turned Japan into a budding maritime empire. Japan now possessed Formosa, exerted substantial influence in Korea and had the prospect of at least commercial growth in Manchuria. Against this background, Japanese public opinion was well disposed towards the creation of a strong navy to guarantee the survival and prosperity of the country. For the naval leadership the Dreibund intervention had clearly underlined the weakness of the Japanese fleet in comparison with the naval forces of European powers. Given that control of the sea was essential for military operations on the Asian mainland, Japan’s naval leaders reflected that their navy should be adequate to confront the naval forces that a European power or a combination of powers could deploy in the Far East. Even though Russia was perceived as the most likely adversary, nonetheless the possibility of facing the RN was also envisaged. The Chief of the Naval Affairs Bureau, Yamamoto Gombei, infused these ideas with concrete direction by putting together the outline of a new shipbuilding programme. In addition to the two battleships already under construction in Britain, the programme centred on the acquisition of another four battleships of the most contemporary and powerful type. Moreover, the programme included four armoured and four protected cruisers, 86 torpedo vessels and also made provisions for expanding the country’s naval infrastructure. The new programme was officially approved in the first months of 1896 and its duration was set for the decade between 1896 and 1906. Because of the limited resources of the Japanese shipbuilding industry, the overwhelming majority of vessels were to be built abroad and primarily in Britain.37 The reinforcement of the Russian and other European squadrons in the Far East, along with the emergence of Japanese naval power,

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prompted the British Admiralty to evaluate the situation. In March 1895 the DNI, Rear Admiral L. Beaumont, compared the strength of the British, Russian and French navies in the region and concluded that the RN was somewhat inferior to the combined forces of the two allies. However, Lord Spencer, who wished to avoid denuding precious units from home waters, doubted that the French and the Russian squadrons in the Far East could cooperate effectively and believed the RN’s personnel to be superior. He declared that ‘our Naval Force seems strong relatively to the fleets of France & Russia separately and as to Japan we hope that we shall remain on friendly terms with her’.38 In the meantime, because of the slow evacuation of Japanese troops from the Liaotung peninsula, the core units of the Russian squadron remained concentrated in Cheefu until the beginning of July, when they moved to Vladivostok for repairs. Even though Vladivostok remained the only Russian base in the Far East, the underdeveloped state of the port and shipbuilding facilities, in combination with the inadequacy of both the coastal defences and the garrison, seriously compromised its value as a naval station.39 This situation could seriously undermine the ability of the Pacific Ocean squadron to operate successfully in a future crisis, irrespective of its numerical composition. While in Cheefu, on 9 and 12 May 1895 the squadron’s senior officers held two conferences. The participants saw Japan as a new threat to Russian interests in the region. They thus advocated the establishment of a permanent Pacific Ocean squadron which should be superior to the Japanese fleet. In fact, each officer put forward his own recommendations concerning the desired composition of the squadron, based upon the premise that the Japanese fleet would include three battleships.40 Some, like Rear Admiral E. I. Alekseev and Captain Rozhestvenskii, advocated the creation of a balanced fleet centred on a core of five to seven battleships supported by cruisers and torpedo craft. Others proposed a squadron composition of ten armoured cruisers, 15–20 protected cruisers and torpedo vessels. Notably, Makarov stood out by advocating a force of 33 lightly protected cruisers and 66 torpedo boats. However, irrespective of these differences, the participants of the conferences generally

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agreed that an increase of the squadron also necessitated the development of Vladivostok’s port facilities.41 Coincidentally, two days after the last of the Far Eastern conferences, Alexander Mikhailovich addressed another letter to Nicholas II. The Grand Duke compared the Russian squadron in Pacific waters with the Japanese fleet. According to his calculations the former was inferior to the latter. This was the case as the Japanese had 23 warships, capable of undertaking battle under contemporary conditions, against Russia’s ten. Moreover, the Japanese vessels were collectively faster and, critically, had an absolute superiority in large-calibre quick-firing guns. Furthermore, the Japanese also had 40 torpedo craft while the Russian squadron could only count on the support of 15 such vessels. Consequently, Alexander Mikhailovich pleaded for the immediate reinforcement of the Pacific Ocean squadron and for turning Vladivostok into a fully equipped port with funds subtracted from the Libau construction budget. Moreover, he argued that Russia was in desperate need of fast cruisers both for scouting and commerce raiding, and thus made a strong appeal for the urgent construction of such vessels.42 In the following month, in another report to Nicholas II, Alexander Mikhailovich argued that Russia should ideally possess 20 strong cruisers for attacking British colonies and commerce in the Far East, but noted that the existing number of cruisers was totally inadequate. After recommending the type of cruisers that Russia should construct, he suggested the further reinforcement of the Black Sea Fleet and stressed the need for defending the Baltic littoral through a coastal defence fleet since Russia’s battleships should be directed to the Far East in order to counter the menace of Japan.43 Despite all of the above, the parameters of the Russian shipbuilding programme remained unaltered. On 11 April another commission finalized the number and technical elements of the vessels to be constructed. An important aspect of the programme was that the projected battleships should satisfy the criteria of both being able to engage other battleships and being fast enough for carrying out guerre de course operations. The commission decided that the technical characteristics of the programme’s five battleships should be based upon those of the British Renown type. These ships had sufficiently strong

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artillery for fighting against German battleships in the Baltic and similar British battleships and armoured cruisers stationed in the Far East, but were also capable of guerre de course operations. However, the commission conceded that they would be weaker than the two new Japanese battleships which were under construction in Britain. The solution was considered to lie in the numerical advantage of the Russian battleships.44 The Navy Ministry also determined the financial requirements of the shipbuilding programme and the department’s overall budget. The growing costs entailed in the construction of modern warships as well as expenditure for the development of a naval base in Libau dictated the increase of the naval budget. The Navy Ministry desired to establish a budget which would start at 57.5 million in 1896 and increase by 500,000 roubles yearly until 1902. However, Witte wanted to maintain the ministry’s budget at 55 million for the whole period. On 3 July Witte’s resistance was overridden, as the Tsar gave his approval for the implementation of the plan based upon the financial estimates of the Navy Ministry. Witte attempted to fight back and limit the naval budget by calling a conference on 12 July to discuss the issue with the naval leadership. His effort failed. The Tsar had already ratified the programme and reaffirmed this on 15 July. The programme, which would have the same duration as the budget, envisaged propping up the Baltic Fleet through the construction of five battleships, four coastal defence battleships, six protected cruisers of 6,000 tons each, one 4,000 ton cruiser, three gunboats, five destroyers and an unspecified number of additional torpedo craft. The Black Sea Fleet would be reinforced with one battleship and two protected cruisers, which would complete the 1882 programme, as well as two minelayers and several transports for the needs of the Bosphorus expedition. Naval forces in Far Eastern waters would be only slightly increased with the construction of two gunboats, while in case of emergency they would be strengthened with battleships from the Baltic Sea. Finally, it was also decided to improve the port and repair facilities of Vladivostok.45 Although the Tsar approved the shipbuilding programme, most likely prompted by Alexander Mikhailovich’s reports, he personally demanded the construction of large armoured cruisers,

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essentially designed for guerre de course, which were not included in the programme. This eventually materialized through the construction of one such vessel.46 From a theoretical point of view, the reluctance of the Navy Ministry to embark upon the construction of expensive armoured cruisers is reflected by the ongoing debate raging in the pages of Morskoi Sbornik over the subject of guerre de course and the regular publication of articles endorsing Mahanian views.47 The critical question is why the naval leadership continued with the execution of a shipbuilding programme no longer corresponding to the new political and military realities that had emerged in the Far East since the spring of 1895. The main reason was that the General Admiral and Chikhachev considered that Germany posed a lethal threat to Russian security and thus assigned priority to reinforcing the Baltic Fleet.48 In addition, it seems that they believed that a coastal defence system could not reliably guarantee the protection of the Baltic littoral. Budgetary limitations made it impossible to simultaneously reinforce the Far Eastern theatre. In any event, they must have thought that the existing strategic framework was still adequate for counteracting the increase of the Japanese fleet by just two battleships. Obviously this was a mistake, since Japan had embarked on the path of creating a powerful battleship-centred navy. When the Russian shipbuilding programme was developed and approved, the Navy Ministry was unaware of Japan’s intention to dramatically increase its naval forces. On 3 July Colonel K. I. Vogak, the Russian military attaché in China and Japan, dispatched a fairly accurate report to the GSh on the future reinforcement of the Japanese army and navy. Nevertheless, this document was only passed on to the GMSh on 5 September. Furthermore, the new Russian naval attaché in Japan, Lieutenant I. V. Budilovskii, assumed his post only on 5 June. As a result of the recent crisis and the subsequent Japanese antipathy to Russia, he encountered difficulties in obtaining intelligence. Eventually, in July he sent two reports to the Navy Ministry containing information on the future expansion of the Japanese navy. The first one was not very accurate; for example, he noted that Japan would construct an additional two instead of four battleships. The second report was considerably more precise. Both reports reached Chikhachev and Kremer on 21 August. On

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28 August the GMSh asked Budilovskii to come up with further details. Still, even by late November the GMSh did not have clear-cut and detailed intelligence about the future plans of the Japanese navy.49 After obtaining information about the prospective reinforcement of the Japanese army, in July 1895 both Vannovskii and Dukhovskoi advocated enhancing the defensive capabilities of land forces in the Far East. At the end of July the GSh concurred. During the autumn of 1895 the details of the plan were finalized and on 30 December were formally sanctioned by Nicholas II. The programme envisaged the qualitative improvement and moderate reinforcement of land forces as well as the fortification of Vladivostok by 1900 at a total cost of 33 million roubles.50 It seems that in August 1895 the Tsar wished to be informed about the current strengths and weaknesses of his navy. Against this background, Lomen requested Kazi to compile a report to this effect.51 Given that the views of Kazi, Lomen and Alexander Mikhailovich were almost identical, it is possible that the Tsar was seeking an unofficial audit. Kazi submitted his report to the Emperor on 27 August. He presented a caustic overview of the Navy Ministry. His criticisms ranged from the technical weakness of Russian warships and the insufficient training of crews to the generally problematic conduct of naval administration under the General Admiral and Chikhachev.52 From a strategic perspective, Kazi thought that the Black Sea Fleet currently enjoyed undisputed superiority over the Turkish fleet. Nevertheless, given the possible intervention of a strong British squadron, Russia should be in a position to block the entrance to the Black Sea by undertaking the Bosphorus expedition. Therefore, Kazi agreed with the established policy of strengthening the Russian navy in the Black Sea through the implementation of the 1882 programme. In relation to the Baltic theatre, Kazi argued that the fleet was not in a position to defend the coastline against the German navy. The existing battleship contingent of the Baltic Fleet was weaker than that of the German navy, while most of the coastal defence battleships and the majority of torpedo craft were antiquated. Moreover, the available cruiser forces were limited and thus incapable of distracting segments of the enemy fleet from the Baltic Sea. In addition, he took the view that the dispatch of

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warships from the Baltic to the Far East was indispensable. Taking into account Germany’s economic and technical pre-eminence, Kazi believed that it was impossible for Russia to win a naval armaments race. Russia also had to be able to defend the Baltic coastline against the even stronger British fleet, in which case the battleship element of the Baltic Fleet would always end up blockaded in its ports. Given all of the above, he proposed that the defence of the Baltic Sea should be based on a coastal defence system. This required the manufacturing of torpedo craft and setting up several support points along the coastline, the pivotal one of which should be Moonzund. In this respect, he urged halting the construction of Libau, since the costs were huge and because the fleet could be easily blockaded there.53 Kazi argued that Japan posed a serious threat to Russia in the Far East, which in turn obliged Russia to maintain in the region a fleet unconditionally superior to the Japanese. He thought that during the spring crisis, despite the arrival of reinforcements from the Mediterranean and the Baltic, the forces assembled in the Far East were inferior to those of Japan.54 Furthermore, the Japanese fleet was located close to its well-equipped bases, which sharply contrasted with the inadequate repair facilities and supplies stored at Vladivostok. Evidently unaware of Japan’s intentions, he noted that by 1897 its naval forces would be strengthened by the addition of two battleships. If Russia dispatched by 1898 all the completed or under construction battleships and cruisers from the Baltic to the Far East it would manage to put together a superior battle fleet to Japan’s. The core of this force would be composed of six battleships. If required, another two battleships kept as a reserve in the Mediterranean Sea could further increase the strength of the squadron. Nevertheless, since Japan would still have an advantage in terms of torpedo craft, Kazi proposed that Russia should build 20 new torpedo vessels in order to somewhat counterbalance this. Simultaneously the Russian navy should also seek to acquire an ice-free port and upgrade Vladivostok’s port infrastructure.55 Finally, Kazi argued that a strategy of guerre de course was important, being the only means through which Russia could threaten Britain. However, Russia currently possessed only two cruisers

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capable of effectively conducting such operations, while their only support point, Vladivostok, was beset with problems. Kazi suggested ordering at least five new large armoured cruisers and establishing a port on the Murman coastline as a second base. He, somewhat unrealistically, envisaged a guerre de course strategy on a global scale with cruisers roaming the oceans between Murman and Vladivostok. Overall, Kazi’s proposal’s required the dramatic increase of the naval budget for 1896–1902 from 413 to 553 million roubles.56 On 5 September Nicholas II asked Lomen to congratulate Kazi on his behalf for the report. The Tsar, demonstrating implicit support for Kazi’s arguments, recommended that copies should be sent to his brother, Alexander Mikhailovich, and even Witte.57 Kazi’s report was initially kept secret from the highest leadership of the Navy Ministry, though eventually Chikhachev and the General Admiral got hold of it. On 29 October the General Admiral put forward a fierce rebuttal to Kazi’s criticisms and arguments.58 Specifically with regard to strategic questions, Alexei stressed that Germany posed a mortal threat to Russia’s national security. Admitting that the Baltic Fleet would be weaker than the forces that Germany could deploy against it, he asserted that the Russian navy was stronger in extraEuropean waters. In this sense, the Russian navy could effectively threaten Germany’s large maritime commerce and weakly defended colonies, thus compelling Berlin to detach warships from the Baltic theatre. The German fleet in the Baltic would thus be perennially menaced by the appearance of enemy forces at its rear. Furthermore, Russia in the Baltic would also reap the advantages of assuming a defensive posture, since the coastal defence fleet could fight under the protection of coastal fortified positions. Alexei argued that the recent events in the Far East had not diminished the vital importance of the Baltic theatre. He declared that: Not denying the importance of Japanese successes nor the serious demands which they present us with, the Navy Ministry cannot however accept that it should change the fundamental direction of the state’s policy. Coastal defence against a strong opponent can only be accepted in the presence of a strong battle squadron operating from well fortified and equipped ports.

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Hence coastal defence vessels without the backing of battleships could not guarantee St Petersburg’s defence and foil a landing at the rear of the Russian army.59 The General Admiral also advocated continuing with the construction of a naval port in Libau on the grounds that the great expenses were justified by the growth of the Russian fleet, the fact that Libau could only be blockaded by a very strong adversary and that the port would allow the Russian navy to protect the whole of the Baltic coastline and relieve the army of this obligation. He also rejected the idea of establishing a naval base in Moonzund because it entailed large expenditure. In addition, Alexei objected to the creation of a naval base on the Murman coastline due to the high costs and difficulties involved in building, equipping, fortifying and sustaining a garrison in the Arctic Circle. Besides, the maintenance of cruisers in foreign waters rather than Murman would be cheaper and more secure since adversaries could not blockade them with ease.60 The report also labelled erroneous Kazi’s comparison of the current strengths of the Japanese and Russian naval forces in the Far East. According to Alexei, Kazi tampered with the evidence and distorted the true capabilities of the two rival fleets. At any rate, the Navy Ministry could, if required, bolster the strength of the Pacific Ocean squadron with an additional two battleships. Finally, Alexei disagreed with building large armoured cruisers for guerre de course on the basis that the technical characteristics of such vessels were not as yet properly defined. Consequently, manufacturing such ships entailed the risk that they could be obsolete when built. Crucially, the construction of five large armoured cruisers would be very expensive, as it would cost some 64 million roubles.61 Meanwhile, in the summer of 1895 Rear Admiral Alekseev visited the Chinese port of Kiaochow and the Korean peninsula. Following his travels he put forward an analysis of the naval strategic situation in the Far East. He argued that in case of war with Japan the main mission of the Russian squadron would eventually be the destruction of the adversary’s fleet. At that time, Japan still had not completely evacuated the Liaotung peninsula and also exerted great influence in Korea. Under these circumstances the Russian fleet should not permit the landing of Japanese ground forces in

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southern Manchuria, the western coast of Korea and the Korean Straits. This demanded the significant reinforcement of the Pacific Ocean squadron and stationing it at a suitable base. Vladivostok did not fulfil this criterion as it was ice-bound for several months and because it was far from the operational theatre. Alekseev was of the opinion that the squadron should make use of Kiaochow, which was ice-free, geographically well-placed and suitable for the safe accommodation of a large force. In this respect, St Petersburg should come to an agreement with Peking over the right of the Russian squadron to use the port.62 In August 1895 a conference of the senior officers of the Pacific Ocean squadron was held in Vladivostok under Tyrtov. Tyrtov communicated by telegram the conclusions of the conference to St Petersburg. Tyrtov, echoing Alekseev’s views, called for the reinforcement of the squadron and suggested obtaining China’s permission for using Kiaochow during the winter period. On 26 September Chikhachev telegraphed to Tyrtov that ‘in case of war with Japan your task must be to destroy the Japanese battle fleet, knock out the naval arsenals and merchant vessels’. Chikhachev also noted that two cruisers and one gunboat were already on their way to the Far East and that further reinforcements, including one battleship, should be expected in the future. He also stated that although it should not be difficult to secure China’s permission for using Kiaochow, nevertheless it would be desirable to study Kargodo and the surrounding area as a possible option for stationing the squadron.63 By November, China had granted the use of Kiaochow as a winter station for the squadron. In that month Alekseev evaluated the island of Kargodo and the nearby port of Mosampo situated on the Korean mainland. He believed that even though local telegraph communications were in Japanese hands, nevertheless Kargodo was well endowed as a base. It was ice-free, safe for the concentration of the squadron and suitable for the construction of a base. Mosampo could also be linked with the Russian railway system. Alekseev recognized the advantages of stationing the squadron there in case of war with Japan. However, because of its close proximity to Japan, he argued that the threat of a Japanese surprise attack would permanently loom large. Therefore, the safe deployment of the squadron there would entail

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erecting a well-fortified base at great expense. He thus concluded that Russia should only set up a coal depot in the locality.64 In the interim, the crisis in the Near East had not subsided and by the summer of 1895 Britain was considering the option of applying military power to enforce reforms upon the Sultan’s government. During the summer the crisis worsened, which in the eyes of the Russian government enhanced the possibility of foreign interference and magnified fears that such a course of events would result in the partition of the Ottoman empire. Consequently, Russian statesmen once more had to give serious thought to the Bosphorus expedition.65 On 23 June Obruchev addressed a report on the subject of the Bosphorus expedition to Nicholas II. Obruchev counselled that seizing the Bosphorus would be highly advantageous for Russia, since it would nullify the British threat to the Black Sea coastline, allow the release of troops from this theatre and their relocation to the vulnerable western frontiers, and free the empire’s hands in the Far East. Obruchev pointed out that currently the strength of the Black Sea Fleet amounted to five battleships, two old coastal defence battleships, one cruiser, six gunboats, 28 torpedo boats and two minelayers, noting that another two battleships were under construction. He added that an expeditionary force of 35,000 troops and the special artillery detachment were already in place. Nevertheless, drawing on the deliberations of the various commissions that had examined the issue in 1894 and 1895, Obruchev drew attention to a number of deficiencies that could gravely hamper the successful implementation of the operation. For instance, due to the fact that the Black Sea Fleet was far from being in a high state of readiness it was doubtful whether it could manage to cruise at short notice. Furthermore, the vessels were not supplied with an adequate amount of coal, their crews were short of officers and engineers, there was an insufficient number of minelayers, some of the guns of the special artillery detachment had to be replaced with new ones and, crucially, many of the Volunteer Fleet steamers which would transport parts of the expeditionary force were located outside the boundaries of the Black Sea. Obruchev made a number of concrete recommendations for correcting the existing problems. The report was approved by Nicholas II, who jotted that he considered as ‘unconditionally necessary’ the swift resolution of these issues.66

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By the autumn of 1895 the situation had deteriorated further and the presence of part of the British Mediterranean Fleet close to the Dardanelles worried the Russian government, which in October mobilized the Black Sea Fleet. At the end of the month Vannovskii and Chikhachev, in contradiction to Obruchev’s report, expressed the view that it would be possible to undertake the expedition. Their optimism can possibly be explained by the undisputed superiority that the Black Sea Fleet had over the antiquated battleships of the Ottoman navy, the poor quality and morale of the Turkish land forces and the pronounced weaknesses of the coastal fortifications defending the Bosphorus. However, Lobanov-Rostovskii and the Ministry of Foreign Affairs opposed such a move as it would lead to unwelcome political complications. To an extent, the unwillingness of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs to approve the operation also stemmed from doubts over the prospects of success from a military viewpoint. In November senior officers of the Black Sea Fleet expressed the view that the warships were insufficiently equipped with ammunition and coal and that the existing number of steamers permitted the transportation of only 8,000 troops from the main embarkation port of Odessa. These views coincided with the impression of the French military attaché, who reported to his government that the mobilization of the Black Sea Fleet and of the expeditionary corps was a slow and arduous process. Besides, the squadron was badly-prepared and the number of transport vessels was inadequate. He concluded that the operation could only be successful if it was carried out unopposed with the consent of the Sultan.67 In the autumn of 1895, although Russia’s preparations, such as the mobilization of the Black Sea Fleet, were intended to respond to a British move in the Straits, in actual fact they gave the impression that a coup de main was on the cards. In this climate, the Cabinet’s Defence Committee requested the Admiralty to examine the consequences that a Russian occupation of Constantinople would have on British naval and strategic interests. Beaumont riposted in a memorandum that the seizure of Constantinople would inevitably result in Russia obtaining control over the Dardanelles. Such a development would signify that Britain could no longer threaten Russia in the Black  Sea. Moreover, the Russian navy would acquire a naval

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base in the Straits, from which it could enter at will into the eastern Mediterranean and even obtain command of this part of the basin. In turn this could lead to the gradual reduction of British commerce in those waters, the waning of British influence over Egypt and the Suez Canal and eventually the disruption of communications with India. Under the circumstances, Britain would be forced to assemble a large squadron in the Levant, which would prevent the RN from concentrating sufficient forces against the French. Beaumont unambiguously stated that Britain alone could not resist a Russian seizure of the Straits. Nonetheless, he argued that a British occupation of the Dardanelles could succeed and even save Constantinople on the premise that the Turks were willing to resist Russia. The Prime Minister, Lord Salisbury, who believed that British interests would be seriously endangered if Russia captured the Straits, called a special meeting of the Cabinet to discuss the matter. During the meeting Salisbury, wanting to forestall a Russian coup de main, suggested sending the fleet through the Dardanelles, but his proposal was turned down by the leadership of the Admiralty and other members of the Cabinet. Their objections stemmed mainly from the dangers emanating for the RN in the event of French intervention, Vienna’s refusal to support such a course of action and Salisbury’s failure to persuade his colleagues about the imminence of the Russian threat. Even though it is open to discussion whether or how exactly the British would have responded to a Russian occupation of the Straits, it is certain that the Admiralty was still prepared to look into the option of seizing the Dardanelles.68 During these years the Russians took a pessimistic view of a potential Franco-Russian naval challenge against Britain. They concluded that, first of all, the RN had a significant margin of superiority over France and Russia in battleships of all classes and some of the British ships were far stronger than anything that the allies had at their disposal, whilst the lead of the RN over the allies also extended to cruisers. Moreover, Britain could reply to the construction of new vessels by manufacturing ships of better quality because of its superior financial means, industrial base and naval organization. The Russians held a negative strategic assessment of the French navy. Despite the fact that the naval base of Toulon was positively evaluated and the French

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Mediterranean squadron was thought to consist of more contemporary battleships than the RN maintained in the basin, nonetheless the arrival of reinforcements from the Channel would reverse the situation to Britain’s advantage. Simultaneously the British were stronger than the French in all of the other theatres. Although in the Far East the Franco-Russian squadrons could equal the British forces, nevertheless the latter could be quickly reinforced from adjacent stations. Another source of scepticism about the potential value of the French navy was the low opinion of the technical qualities of all types of vessels combined with the lack of a homogeneous fleet. In fact, Klado argued that the French navy was generally technically inferior to the RN and that in case of war the French coastline, colonies and commerce would be at the mercy of Britain.69 Given such views and the negative attitude of the French towards the Russian navy, effective naval cooperation between the allies existed only in the minds of British naval planners. In the autumn of 1895 the anxiety caused by the ongoing crisis in the Near East and the acknowledgement of the changed geopolitical situation in the Far East led the Russian government to re-examine the strategic orientation of the navy. On 19 November a special commission was convened. Its members consisted of the General Admiral, Vannovskii, Lobanov-Rostovskii, Chikhachev, Obruchev and Kremer. They agreed that the Black Sea Fleet must maintain superiority over the Turkish navy. Crucially, it should also be capable of supporting the Bosphorus expedition, whose aim was to hinder the entrance of the RN in to the Black Sea basin. The expedition was to be carried out within 48 hours through the combined action of the squadron with an expeditionary force of 30,000 troops. Even though the current strength of the squadron was thought to be adequate, it was recognized that the lack of specialized horse and artillery transports compromised the chances of success. The commission therefore recommended the construction of such vessels. Moreover, the commission, taking into account the ever-present British menace to the Straits, suggested raising the readiness of the squadron by increasing the period it spent at sea from four to eight months.70 For the Baltic theatre, the commission stated that the outcome of war against Germany on the western frontier would depend on

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the action of land forces. Therefore the task of the navy was only secondary and consisted of defending the sea approaches to the capital and the flank or rear of the Russian army. The commission argued that this could be achieved through numerous detachments of torpedo boats operating from strongly fortified coastal points. However, preference was given to employing a strong battle fleet based upon an ice-free port, from where it could meet the German navy in a decisive battle.71 The argument was spuriously justified by the notion that the absence of a strong Russian battle fleet would permit Germany to unleash its whole naval might against France and thus reduce the importance of the alliance in French eyes.72 Whilst the views of the commission related to the Baltic and the Black Sea did not differ from the foundations of the 1882 programme, this was not so in the case of the Far Eastern theatre. The commission members acknowledged that the situation had changed since the Sino-Japanese War and underlined the emergence of Japan as a threat. In spite of the gradual growth of the Russian army in the Far East, the fleet would still have to play a critical role in case of war with Japan by contesting an enemy landing on the mainland.73 According to the commission ‘the presence of a significant squadron in the Pacific Ocean is necessary for us not only for action in war but also for [exerting] moral influence over Japan in time of peace’. The commission supported the creation of a strong and permanent squadron centred upon a core of battleships and cruisers. However, in the absence of a reliable winter station the squadron was in a disadvantageous position, as it still had to rely on Japanese ports. Hence, the commission stressed the necessity of acquiring an ice-free port in the region and stipulated that this ‘comprises for our fleet the most urgent need’. Until this was achieved, part of the Pacific Ocean squadron should be located in the Mediterranean, from where it could travel to the Far East within a month. Moreover, vessels stationed in the Mediterranean would be available for use in the event of complications in Europe. Nicholas II approved the commission’s resolutions and scribbled on the side of the commission journal that ‘in my opinion it would better to keep in the Mediterranean part of the Baltic squadron than to weaken even by one vessel the Pacific Ocean squadron’.74

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Nevertheless, immediate priority was given to improving the means of the Bosphorus expedition. On 25 November another commission was held with the participation of the War and Navy Ministers, their chiefs of staff, Lobanov-Rostovskii, Witte and other senior officials. The participants stated that the current political and strategic situation in the Near East made it imperative to quickly implement Obruchev’s recommendations from June 1895. They agreed that the army’s needs for the expedition could be met from the War Ministry’s budget, but Witte obstinately refused to assign funds for the more expensive demands of the Navy Ministry, including the construction of special transports.75 Interministerial consultations on this and other matters related to the Bosphorus expedition would continue for most of the following year, concurrently with a new round of polemics over the direction of naval strategy in the Far East.

5 The Establishment of Far Eastern Primacy, 1896–1898

The Sino-Japanese War had clearly underscored China’s weakness. This was fully recognized by the Great Powers, which in the aftermath of the war tried to exploit this state of affairs to their benefit. The powers mainly sought to gain economic advantages by obtaining trading and railway concessions. Peking’s gratitude to St Petersburg from the spring of 1895 onwards provided Witte with a platform for establishing a leading position in China, compared to the other Great Powers. In June 1895, Russia gave China a major loan for paying a substantial part of the indemnity owed to Japan. In January 1896 the Russo-Chinese Bank was established. The bank was controlled by the Russian Ministry of Finance and apart from promoting trade between the two countries it acquired considerable political clout over the Chinese government. Witte was also striving to obtain a railway concession for the construction of a section of the TransSiberian railway inside the Chinese borders in northern Manchuria. The Manchurian section would constitute a significant shortcut, reduce building costs and encourage trade with China. In May 1896 China consented to the railway concession in return for a defensive alliance with Russia, according to which the two countries were to cooperate militarily in case of Japanese aggression against either one of them or Korea. The military measures included the provision that in wartime China’s ports would be at the disposal of the Russian navy. More importantly, under the mantle of facilitating the movement of troops, Russia was granted the right to construct a section

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of the Trans-Siberian railway in northern Manchuria. The construction of the line was initially supposed to be completed by 1903, but because of delay – technical and planning complications – actual building work commenced only in 1898.1 During these years Russian influence also increased exponentially in Korea. Between the spring and autumn of 1895, Japan held a dominant position in the peninsula. However, as a result of inept handling of the situation on the ground, by the summer of 1896 Japan’s authority had been substantially eroded, while Russia emerged as the prime beneficiary. In May 1896 Russia and Japan concluded an agreement which stipulated that they both enjoyed equal rights in Korea. Nonetheless, by the autumn of 1897 Russian influence had greatly expanded through a range of policies, which included the posting of military and financial advisors.2 It was against this background that Russian naval strategic considerations for the Far Eastern theatre developed until late in 1897. In December 1895 and January 1896 the Nicholas Naval Academy conducted a war game examining the scenario of conflict between Russia and Japan based on the currently available forces. The conclusions of the game were presented in an officially published study compiled by Lieutenant M. N. Beklemishev in 1896. The study stated that the antagonism between Russia and Japan over Korea was likely to lead to war. Because of its geographical position and the disposition of naval bases, Japan could carry out landings on both sides of the Korean peninsula and in the vicinity of Vladivostok. The best strategy for opposing this would be to concentrate the Russian squadron in a central position. The squadron operating from such a position should then seek to destroy or weaken the Japanese fleet and obtain command of the sea, which would subsequently bar Japanese landing operations in the direction of Korea and Vladivostok. This would additionally facilitate the eventual movement of Russian land forces in Korea. Furthermore, the Russian navy should also target Japanese maritime commerce through guerre de course.3 However, the study noted that the adoption of such a plan was at present impossible. In December 1895 the Russian Pacific Ocean squadron was significantly inferior to the Japanese fleet both in terms of gun-power and torpedo craft. Furthermore, the Japanese navy had

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at its disposal well-equipped bases in the theatre of operations, which starkly contrasted with the absence of even one such base for the Russian squadron. Hence, in the opening stages of the conflict the weaker Russian squadron should avoid a decisive engagement with the Japanese fleet and instead wait for the arrival of reinforcements from the Mediterranean and European waters. While waiting, the squadron should utilize a Chinese port close to Hong Kong and carry out a demonstration against the Japanese possessions of Formosa and the Pescadores Islands. Following the arrival of reinforcements, although the Russian squadron would still be inferior in terms of torpedo vessels, it would nevertheless be considerably stronger than the Japanese battle fleet and capable of performing offensive operations. Specifically, the squadron would move close to Nagasaki and, after defeating the Japanese fleet, interfere with the transportation of Japanese troops to Korea. Further damage to Japan’s war effort would be inflicted through guerre de course and raids on the Japanese coastline. It was thought that such actions would force Japan to sue for peace.4 In the spring of 1896 Makarov presented to the Navy Ministry a report which reviewed the general geopolitical situation in the Far East and included some naval operational considerations.5 Makarov believed that the cause of a Russo-Japanese war would be conflicting aspirations over Korea. Japan would probably try to occupy Korea by landing troops on the peninsula, which in turn necessitated that Russia should oppose such action. Due to the proximity of the Korean coastline to the Japanese home islands, if the Russian squadron was stationed in Vladivostok then the enemy would land troops unhindered. Vladivostok was also ice-bound for several months and situated away from the operational theatre. Thus it would be more advantageous to position the squadron in the vicinity of the centrally located and ice-free Korean Straits, from where it could oppose enemy landings on the peninsula and Vladivostok. Therefore, Russia should capture, equip and fortify a Korean port, namely Fusan, and deploy a strong squadron there. Nevertheless, Makarov acknowledged that operating in the coastal waters of the Korean Straits would place the squadron under the constant menace of Japanese torpedo forces. In order to minimize the risks, he urged that the squadron

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should immediately and decisively engage the Japanese battle fleet. The outcome of the battle would determine the fate of the war.6 Makarov also examined the option of blockading the Japanese littoral and attacking the country’s maritime commerce. He took the view that blockading the vast Japanese coastline would be an extremely hard task. Firstly, blockade action would require a large number of vessels and, secondly, because of the absence of suitably located Russian naval bases in the region the provisioning of the squadron with supplies and fuel would be difficult. Therefore, Makarov ruled out the option of establishing a blockade. In relation to conducting guerre de course against Japan, Makarov was again pessimistic. The bulk of Japanese maritime commerce was handled by ports situated on the country’s southern and eastern shores. Given that Vladivostok was far away from these ports, any cruiser operations or blockade action would be very complicated. Yet, he was prepared to endorse attacks against Japan’s merchant marine by fast cruisers in the open oceans.7 In the spring of 1896 the former commander of the Pacific Ocean squadron, Vice Admiral S. P. Tyrtov, argued that it was essential to furnish the squadron with a detailed operational plan against Japan. He thought that the composition of such a plan was beyond the capacity of the squadron’s commander and it should be drawn up by the central naval authorities in St Petersburg.8 Even though it is obvious that in 1896 the Naval Academy and senior admirals perceived the ideal hypothesis of a naval operational plan against Japan in terms of concentrating the squadron in a central position in the Korean Straits and defeating the Japanese fleet, Tyrtov’s counsel was left unheeded and the squadron remained without a clearly defined operational plan. Evidently, a suitable and well-equipped naval base was crucial for the efficient operation of the squadron. In February 1896 Chikhachev instructed Lieutenant General A. A. Kolokoltsov to examine the development of Vladivostok’s repair facilities. Chikhachev argued that since Vladivostok was ice-bound in the winter and situated at a distance from the potential operational theatre, it would eventually be necessary to get hold of a new base. However, until this was achieved Vladivostok’s port facilities should be expanded by inexpensive

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means. Specifically, the repair infrastructure should be upgraded to support a squadron of four battleships, seven large cruisers, four second-class cruisers, five gunboats and ten torpedo boats.9 Simultaneously, the Navy Ministry was probing for an ice-free port in the Far East. Chikhachev indicated this to Rear Admiral Alekseev, the new Commander of the Pacific Ocean squadron since January 1896. Chikhachev argued that ‘we must provide ourselves with a base from which [we] could freely act at any time of the year’ and stated that the search for such a port should be mainly focused on Korea. This point acquired even more gravity after Alekseev’s second-incommand, Rear Admiral G. P. Chukhin, evaluated Kiaochow negatively. It seems that as a result of this and Alekseev’s visit to Korea in the spring of 1896, the latter reversed his opinion about Kiaochow and advocated the acquisition of a port on the peninsula’s southern coastline bordering the Korean Straits. The growth of Russian influence in the country must have generated optimism about the possibility of attaining an ice-free port there. In particular, Alekseev now leaned towards the construction of a base in the Kargodo Archipelago.10 Vice Admiral F. V. Dubasov, Alekseev’s successor since August 1897, continued the search for a port. Immediately after assuming command, Dubasov carried out a survey of several Korean ports, paying special attention to Mosampo and the outlying Kargodo Archipelago. For Dubasov, the area, from a topographic and hydrographic perspective, was very advantageous for the construction of a naval base and could also be reliably defended both from land and sea. Moreover, given that Mosampo was connected by railway with Seoul it could, in due course, be linked with the Russian railway system. More importantly, since Mosampo was situated on the southern coastline of Korea it lay upon the maritime communications of Japan with Korea and China but also protected the flank of the Russian possessions in the Sea of Japan. Therefore, Dubasov urged that Russia should occupy Mosampo, where it should create a naval base and terminus for the Trans-Siberian railway in the waters of the Pacific Ocean.11 On 19 November 1897 Dubasov arrived in Seoul in order to become acquainted first-hand with Russia’s position in Korea and explore the possibility of obtaining a naval base in the peninsula.12 On 25 November Dubasov dispatched to St Petersburg

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his study of the Korean ports and an analysis of the political situation in the country.13 Considering that between 1896 and the autumn of 1897 Russia had the upper hand in Korea, maybe there was a window of opportunity for satisfying the navy’s demand for a base on the peninsula. However, this did not materialize as a result of Witte’s insistence on confining Russian Far Eastern policy to peaceful penetration. Furthermore, Russia’s course of action in Korea was inconsistent and insufficiently determined given that energies were mostly directed towards gaining advantages in China. At the same time, Japan was gradually demonstrating a growing resolve to oppose Russian activities in the peninsula.14 Pessimism about the chances of acquiring a Korean port encouraged the view that Vladivostok had to be significantly developed as a naval base. Rear Admiral Chukhin, who assumed command of Vladivostok’s port at the end of October 1896, reported that the absence of sufficient repair amenities and supplies compromised the port’s reliability as a base for the Pacific Ocean squadron and requested funds for rectifying this situation.15 Early in 1897 a commission under the General Admiral had decided that Vladivostok’s port infrastructure had to be developed within a period of five years at a cost of 15.5 million roubles, which had to be assigned on top of the normal budget. This received the Tsar’s approval on 19 May 1897. By the beginning of December 1897 the Navy Ministry reconsidered the project and presented a detailed and even more expensive construction plan with a price tag of 17.8 million.16 Meanwhile, as early as December 1895 Budilovskii reported to St Petersburg that a large proportion of the construction funds for the Japanese shipbuilding programme were scheduled to be dispensed between 1896 and 1898. However, it seems that the leadership of the Navy Ministry did not think that this was plausible.17 Consequently, it deemed that there was no reason to take immediate and decisive steps for the reinforcement of the Pacific Ocean squadron. Grand Duke Alexander Mikhailovich, however, questioned this standpoint. Early in 1896 he published a long pamphlet entitled Soobrazheniia o neobkhodimosti usilit sostav russkogo flota v Tikhom Okeane (Considerations about the Necessity to Reinforce the Composition of the Russian Fleet in the Pacific Ocean). The Grand

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Duke pointed to the importance of Siberia for the commercial and economic development of Russia. He argued that the Far Eastern coastline should serve as a commercial outlet to the open ocean for the Trans-Siberian railway and that free egress to the ocean would be crucial for the exploitation of the railway. He added that Russia should play a leading role in Far Eastern affairs and predicted a clash with Japan over Korea. Hence, he deduced that Russia should have a strong naval presence in the region for supporting its interests.18 After examining the Japanese shipbuilding programme, Alexander Mikhailovich pointed out that it would endow Japan with a strong and offensively-minded fleet. Upon the conclusion of the programme in 1906, Japan would have seven battleships with the inclusion of an old vessel taken as trophy from China, four coastal defence ironclads, 25 cruisers including four large armoured cruisers, and 145 torpedo craft. He warned that a large part of the programme would already be completed by 1903. Faced with the growth of the Japanese fleet, Russia should respond through assembling a Pacific Ocean squadron strong enough to destroy the Japanese battle fleet. The squadron should also be capable of guerre de course operations against Britain. Explicitly, by 1904 he proposed to concentrate in the Far East seven to eight battleships, ten armoured cruisers or more, six protected cruisers, five gunboats and 71 torpedo vessels. To achieve this, it would be necessary to build two more battleships, at least 13 more armoured cruisers, four protected cruisers and nearly all of the torpedo vessels. He estimated that this required the assignment of 35 million roubles on top of the normal budget. Furthermore, he also suggested the substantial upgrading of Vladivostok’s port facilities.19 In relation to the other theatres, he admitted that the Black Sea Fleet was already relatively strong, but having in mind the simultaneous seizure of both the Bosphorus and the Dardanelles he advocated further and extensive reinforcement over time with numerous battleships, cruisers and torpedo vessels. Looking at the Baltic Fleet, he stipulated that its tasks were exclusively defensive and mainly revolved around the protection of Russia’s Baltic coastline from a German landing. The German navy was already superior in battleships and the absence of sufficient funds would make it impossible for the Russian Baltic Fleet to catch up. He proposed instead the

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creation of a 200-strong torpedo flotilla operating in the framework of a coastal defence system. In support of his argument, he stated that the manufacturing costs for all the torpedo vessels stood at 40 million roubles, which could alternatively fund the construction of only four battleships.20 Alexander Mikhailovich’s pamphlet was distributed to a large number of individuals, mainly prominent naval officers either in active service or retirement. The overwhelming majority supported the Grand Duke’s views either unequivocally or in terms of the general principles put forward.21 Collectively, their views can be summarized as follows. They thought that the naval threat emanating from Japan and European rivals in the Far East, together with the need to enhance Russia’s prestige and dignity as a Great Power in the region, dictated the urgent reinforcement of the squadron in these waters, even if this entailed increased expenditure for improving Russia’s shipbuilding infrastructure and the placing of shipbuilding orders in foreign firms. Furthermore, the necessity to substantially upgrade Vladivostok’s port facilities was underlined, although some recommended the simultaneous acquisition of an ice-free port in the area. They also agreed with Alexander Mikhailovich’s ideas regarding the Baltic and Black Sea theatres. For example, Rear Admiral A. A. Birilev, despite raising objections on a few issues of secondary importance, praised Alexander Mikhailovich for lucidly and pragmatically defining the tasks of the Russian navy in each of the major theatres.22 Birilev particularly commended Alexander Mikhailovich’s suggestion to defend the Baltic theatre exclusively by torpedo forces, which went against the traditional policy of the Navy Ministry.23 Similarly, S. P. Tyrtov advocated the dispatch from the Baltic Sea to the Far East of all contemporary ships and the immediate construction of a torpedo flotilla in the Baltic.24 A minority adopted a more measured, if not critical, approach towards Alexander Mikhailovich’s suggestions. For instance, Makarov approved the overall conclusions, although he remarked that the reinforcement of the Pacific Ocean squadron should be conditional upon the formulation of specific considerations and plans for the Baltic theatre.25 Admiral Stetsenko, although accepting the desirability of augmenting the Pacific Ocean squadron in tandem with the

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development of Vladivostok’s port facilities, objected to maintaining exclusively a coastal defence force in the Baltic on the grounds that Germany should not be permitted to obtain command of those waters.26 Vice Admiral V. P. Verkhovskii agreed with strengthening the Pacific Ocean squadron and also considered the establishment of an ice-free base in Korea indispensable. However, he was of the opinion that the reinforcement of the Pacific Ocean squadron should not cause any disruptions in the development of the Black Sea Fleet and rejected the view that the Baltic littoral could be reliably safeguarded from an enemy landing through the exclusive use of a torpedo flotilla.27 Vice Admiral Kaznakov was in agreement with Alexander Mikhailovich about the role and tasks of the Pacific Ocean squadron, but warned that the costs for the implementation of the programme would actually be higher than the Grand Duke’s estimate. Besides, he stated that ‘the Pacific Ocean fleet even with the strongest composition cannot play the roles which are demanded of it in the Mediterranean Sea or in the Baltic’, in the context of supporting Russia’s Great-Power interests in Europe.28 Crucially, Chikhachev continued to oppose the reinforcement of the Pacific Ocean squadron at the expense of the Baltic Fleet, on the grounds that a military confrontation with Germany constituted the most dangerous threat to Russian security. He was also of the opinion that Russia’s littoral in the Baltic Sea could not be reliably defended through the exclusive use of torpedo craft as such vessels were only auxiliary to battleships. If the battleship component of the Baltic Fleet moved to the Far East, Germany would gain an advantageous position on the maritime flank of the Russian army on the western frontier. He believed that even though the Baltic Fleet was inferior to the German navy, the imbalance could be somewhat redressed by diverting parts of the enemy fleet from the Baltic Sea through guerre de course and raids on German colonies carried out by Russian cruisers.29 As already demonstrated, Chikhachev considered that the moderate strengthening of the Pacific Ocean squadron would be sufficient, possibly in conjunction with the arrival of warships from European waters. Alexander Mikhailovich’s proposals encountered further ministerial opposition in the person of Witte. Witte rejected the

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allocation of additional resources for Alexander Mikhailovich’s plan. He thought that the required increase of the naval budget was inadequately conceived since it excluded the large funds demanded for the construction of a well-equipped base and the squadron’s maintenance costs. Moreover, he objected to the strengthening of naval forces in the Far East at the expense of other theatres, where Russia would have to counter the threat of Germany and Britain. He argued that even in the Far East Russia could face the combined might of the Japanese and British navies. Hence, despite the significant expenses for the reinforcement of the Far Eastern theatre, the correlation of strength between the Russian squadron and its foes would hardly change. Critically, for Witte, Russia was a continental and not a maritime power and as such should not engage in a naval race, but rely instead on land forces for the projection of military might. In this sense the security of the Far Eastern theatre would be enhanced by the designated increase of the defensive capabilities of land forces there and – vitally – through the construction of the costly TransSiberian railway, which would permit their quick reinforcement. Witte concluded that ‘Russia – a continental state – foreseeing the possibility of conflict with the island state of Japan and preparing for this event, must not in her measures blindly copy Japan by prioritizing the development of Russia’s naval forces in the Pacific Ocean’, but instead must ‘take measures towards guaranteeing the means for the quick mobilization of its land forces in the Far East’.30 Ultimately, the decision for the establishment of a strong Pacific Ocean squadron depended upon the Tsar. On 14 April 1896 Alexander Mikhailovich had appealed to Nicholas II. He claimed that although some admirals completely disagreed with the foundations of the 1895 shipbuilding programme, they were given very little time to prepare their considerations and only one opportunity to present their views. He implied that, with the exception of Lomen, the admirals were silenced since they were aware from the very beginning that the General Admiral and Chikhachev supported the principles underpinning the programme. Effectively arguing that they had manipulated the whole affair, he called for the re-examination of the shipbuilding programme by a new commission appointed and even possibly chaired by Nicholas II. Alexander Mikhailovich

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also boldly and fiercely criticized the highest leadership of the Navy Ministry for administrative mismanagement and undermining the morale of personnel, which could result in defeat and humiliation in case of war.31 The General Admiral and Chikhachev became aware of the criticisms and threatened to resign unless Alexander Mikhailovich provided an official apology and ceased his interventions in naval affairs. Most likely with the intention of maintaining discipline within the navy and also keeping the peace within the Romanov family, Nicholas II instructed Alexander Mikhailovich to stop meddling in naval affairs. Alexander Mikhailovich obliged. Nevertheless, it seems that the Tsar at this stage was dissatisfied with both the General Admiral and Chikhachev, because of the pressure they had had exerted over Libau and their insistence on the primacy of the Baltic theatre. Having sacrificed Alexander Mikhailovich, Nicholas II used his criticism as a pretext for enforcing a reshuffle in the highest echelons of the Navy Ministry. Nicholas II did not dismiss Alexei Alexandrovich, probably for sentimental reasons and in order not to dissatisfy his mother, the dowager empress Marie Fedorovna. However, Chikhachev was removed and replaced by Vice Admiral P. P. Tyrtov in July 1896. Kremer also gave up his post and was substituted by Rear Admiral Avelan. Tyrtov’s appointment represented a perfect compromise between the Tsar and the General Admiral. Although Tyrtov was the General Admiral’s choice, at the same time, in contrast to Chikhachev, he was favourably predisposed to strengthening the Far Eastern theatre and was thought to be adept in handling administrative matters.32 The French were well informed about events in the Russian Admiralty, through the reports of their naval attaché in St Petersburg. He astutely noted that Chikhachev’s replacement by Tyrtov was related to Alexander Mikhailovich’s criticisms. Interestingly, he also reported that many in the Navy Ministry were dissatisfied with Tyrtov’s appointment because of his poor health.33 The general evaluation of the French naval attaché regarding the condition of the Russian navy in 1896 is also instructive. The attaché described Russia’s shipbuilding infrastructure as weak, slow and dependent on foreign deliveries of armour plate and auxiliary mechanisms, and he viewed

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Russian warships as technically inadequate and slow. He thought that both officers and other personnel were not real sailors as they did not spend much time at sea, and he highlighted a culture of widespread intoxication and loose discipline within the ranks of the Russian navy. He believed that officers were ignorant of even rudimentary rules of tactics and that the Russian navy did not have a strategic doctrine, for which he castigated the highest leadership and the General Admiral specifically. Looking at the state of Russian naval forces in European waters, the attaché argued that the Black Sea Fleet was badly trained and effectively blockaded in the confines of this basin. In addition, the fleet was so inferior to the British Mediterranean Fleet that it would be an easy prey for the RN. Therefore, he considered that the Bosphorus expedition would be fraught with difficulties. With reference to the Baltic theatre, he pointed out that the Baltic Fleet was very small and only capable of defensive operations. He thus discounted the possibility of dispatching the existing battleships to the North Sea for assisting the French navy against Germany. He explained that the weakening of the Baltic Fleet was the result of reinforcing the Pacific Ocean squadron with the best vessels. In fact, he expected that this policy would continue under Tyrtov’s leadership.34 He argued that ‘in conclusion Russia … possesses a very feeble navy for the role that such a Great Power may be asked to play in the European seas’. He then wrote in more forceful terms that ‘the Russian navy at this moment is not ready to support at sea a European war’.35 By 1896–1897 the British Admiralty had also come round to the view that the RN was capable of dealing with the Franco-Russian threat both in the Mediterranean and in north European waters. Furthermore, in the spring of 1896 the British instigated a new shipbuilding programme, which was aimed against the combined navies of the Dual Alliance. During these years the construction of strong French armoured cruisers for guerre de course was a source of serious concern and eventually, in 1897, provoked a response in kind. The British Admiralty simultaneously observed Russian naval developments and shipbuilding efforts.36 In the first half of 1896 the Naval Intelligence Department (hereafter NID) was aware that the Russians were steadily increasing their naval forces in the Mediterranean and the Far East. The NID was also informed of the existence of the 1895

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shipbuilding programme and accurately predicted the small annual growth of Russian naval estimates until 1902. The British noted that in 1895 the building of warships in Russia was pressed with great energy, abetted by improvements in the country’s shipbuilding infrastructure.37 However, the British naval attaché in Russia indicated that the construction process was still marred by delays. The attaché remarked that: The ships on the whole may be considered efficient, though in some cases there had been bad workmanship. The aspirations to obtain, and ability to supply, the latest improvements in all branches are great, but the knowledge, experience and power to efficiently handle them is somewhat wanting at present, though matters in this respect are daily improving. For the attaché, Russian naval personnel was not yet up to standard, mainly because of inadequate practice, particularly in the Baltic Fleet.38 At any rate, following Tyrtov’s appointment, the Navy Ministry did not modify the shipbuilding plan for reinforcing the Pacific Ocean squadron nor did it examine in-depth the situation in this theatre. This was because until the autumn of 1897 the attention of Russian defence planners was centred on the Near East. From the spring of 1896 onwards the Armenians continued their armed struggle against the Sultan’s government, while the Greek population of the Ottoman-controlled island of Crete revolted. Russian statesmen were certainly worried about the fate of the Ottoman empire and the Straits, but steered through these troubled waters by placing emphasis on diplomacy.39 This did not mean that the Russian armed services remained idle. Following up on the resolutions from November 1895, between February and October 1896 several commissions examined aspects of the Bosphorus expedition. The military authorities accepted that the implementation of the expedition would be plagued by the lack of a sufficient number of steamers for shipping a landing echelon of 30,000–35,000 troops and of specially modified transports for hauling the guns of the artillery detachment. The stocks of mines

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and the existing minelayers were deemed inadequate, and the available coastal artillery assets designated for the protection of minefields were judged to be unsuitable for the task at hand. In this respect, planners now contemplated that the minefields should also be defended by coastal torpedo batteries and torpedo craft. Although the improvement of the expedition’s means was thought to be essential, neither the War nor the Navy Ministry wanted to pay for them.40 In November Vannovskii admitted to Count A. I. Musin-Pushkin, the Commander of the Odessa Military District, that despite the existence of the strong Black Sea Fleet and sufficient troops, the ‘means of this operation were still far from completed according to the programme’.41 The success of the Bosphorus operation ultimately depended upon the reaction of the naval forces of potential opponents. According to a report produced by the Odessa Military District in 1896, the Turkish fleet would not pose a serious challenge since nearly all of the vessels were antiquated and their mobilization would be sluggish owing to inadequate maintenance. However, the report stated, without hesitation, that in the event of war with Russia the British Mediterranean Fleet, which should always be considered superior to the Russian Black Sea Fleet, would attempt to reach Constantinople and the Black Sea.42 Nevertheless, the report expressed the view that if the expedition was not delayed and was carried out with utmost secrecy it should be possible to seize the channel and set up a defensive position before the arrival of the British ships. Yet, the report admitted that during times of crisis British warships habitually prowled the waters of the eastern Mediterranean close to the Straits. It was expected that the RN would dispatch to the Straits a strong squadron with a core force of ten battleships, which would encounter the smaller Black Sea Fleet of six battleships complemented by a small escorting force consisting of one cruiser, gunboats and torpedo craft. Apart from the obvious numerical superiority in terms of battleships, the RN squadron was also thought to be stronger than the Black Sea Fleet in armament and armour.43 Evidently, if the British warships arrived at the Bosphorus before the Russians had managed to establish a defensive position, then the inferior Black Sea Fleet would have to give battle under extremely difficult conditions. However, the

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odds would be somewhat better if the Russian expeditionary force had in advance managed to mine the waterway and place in position the guns of the special artillery detachment. Furthermore, the narrow width of the channel would restrict the effectiveness of the entire British squadron.44 From the spring of 1896 onwards the deteriorating situation in the Ottoman empire led to the gathering of an international armada in the waters of the eastern Mediterranean. In May 1896 the General Admiral recognized that Russia should dispatch large naval forces to the Mediterranean as an insurance against any eventuality. Subsequently, Russian warships were redeployed from the Baltic and the Far East to the eastern Mediterranean. Early in 1897 the Russian Mediterranean detachment, commanded by Rear Admiral P. P. Andreev, comprised four battleships, two gunboats and four torpedo vessels.45 Since August the Russian government became increasingly anxious about the situation. The Armenian revolt had spread to Constantinople and the British fleet was located worryingly close to the Dardanelles. In the autumn of 1896 Nelidov believed that there was a high probability that the Ottoman empire would collapse. He foresaw the intervention of the Great Powers, which would most likely result in the internationalization of the Straits, a regime permitting free access to the warships of all powers to the Black Sea. In order to safeguard the security of the Black Sea coastline, Nelidov suggested that if the other Great Powers decided to perform a naval demonstration as a means of coercing the Sultan, then Russia should occupy the upper Bosphorus with or without their consent. Nelidov thought that the operation should preferably be carried out in agreement with the Sultan, though he was certain that in any case the expeditionary forces would not encounter serious opposition as the Bosphorus fortifications were badly armed and the Ottoman army demoralized. The issue was discussed on 23 November by Nelidov and an interministerial commission chaired by the Tsar. Witte objected to Nelidov’s plan on the grounds that unilateral action could spark off a European war. Vannovskii and Obruchev endorsed the ambassador’s proposal despite knowledge of the problems plaguing the expedition. Tyrtov disagreed but equally did not openly stand up to them. In the

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end, with the blessing of the Tsar, it was decided that Russia should occupy the upper Bosphorus, even without the consent of other powers, if European warships crossed the Dardanelles. However, this decision was reversed in December partly because of France’s rejection of the project and refusal to support Russia militarily under the circumstances. Despite the volte-face, military preparations for the expedition did not cease as the crisis continued and the danger of the British Mediterranean Fleet entering the Straits remained.46 Early in 1897, Vannovskii was still apprehensive about the prospect of a European demonstration within the Straits and the nightmare scenario that the channel would fall under the control of another Great Power, thus creating the perpetual menace of naval attacks on Russia’s Black Sea coastline. He thus called for establishing a contingency plan. Although the new Minister of Foreign Affairs, Count M. N. Muravev, objected to unilateral Russian military intervention in the Straits, he nevertheless shared the concerns of the War Minister.47 On 11 January Nicholas II consented to launching the Bosphorus expedition if the warships of other powers went through the Dardanelles.48 The military aspects of the operation had already been examined on 8 January by a special commission composed of Vannovskii, Obruchev, Alexei Alexandrovich, Tyrtov and Avelan. The commission set up the general parameters of the expedition, upon which a detailed operational plan was to be drawn up under the supervision of Kopytov, with the participation of the authorities of the Odessa Military District. The commission accepted that Constantinople was out of bounds and that the operation should be limited to the seizure and subsequently the immediate establishment of a defensive position on both shores of the Bosphorus for blocking the entrance of foreign warships into the Black Sea. On 11 January, Nicholas II approved the project and almost simultaneously Kopytov and Musin-Pushkin were informed of the commission’s resolutions and were issued with the corresponding instructions.49 On 20 January Kopytov informed both the General Admiral and Vannovskii that he had embarked on putting together a plan for the expedition.50 It envisaged the occupation of the coastal fortifications on both sides of the upper Bosphorus, with the agreement of the Sultan or against light opposition from the Turkish military. The

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operation depended on the swift transportation and landing of about 12,700 troops supported by the Black Sea Fleet, which consisted of the battleships Sinop, Chesma, Ekaterina II, Dvenadtsats Apostolov, Georgii Pobiedonosets, Tri Sviatellia and a small flotilla of light forces. Following the seizure of the Turkish fortifications their defences were to be bolstered by a special artillery detachment. The plan acknowledged that if Britain intervened then the expedition might well fail.51 The Ottoman navy was justifiably discounted as a serious threat, since by the spring of 1897 only two antiquated battleships and two gunboats were fit for action.52 On 3 February an interministerial commission, which discussed various aspects of the expedition, drew attention to the possibility of foreign and particularly British interference. Although this scenario was not considered likely, nevertheless the commission concluded that the Black Sea Fleet should be ready for any eventuality. Kopytov was subsequently told that the planning of the operation should now encompass the possibility of naval intervention by Britain and even by the Triple Alliance. Kopytov believed that if the British fleet arrived in the Straits earlier or simultaneously with the expeditionary forces then the whole operation would be fatally jeopardized, since the Black Sea Fleet would have to engage in unequal battle both with the RN and against the Turkish coastal fortifications. Consequently, Kopytov believed that the success of the operation could only be guaranteed if the expeditionary force arrived at the Bosphorus before the British Fleet and the channel was immediately sealed off with the placement of minefields. On 8 February Kopytov sent a telegram to the General Admiral in which he voiced his serious misgivings about the prospects of the expedition’s success in the event of interference by other powers. Two days later, Kopytov wrote to Tyrtov that the lack of sufficient transport means would result in delays. In an effort to quell Kopytov’s worries, the General Admiral and Tyrtov informed him that it was unlikely that the expedition would face any serious opposition other than the Turkish coastal fortifications. However, by the middle of February the leaders of the War and Navy Ministries concluded that the expedition could only be carried out in the absence of British meddling. On 16 February Tyrtov wrote to Vannovskii that the General Admiral declared that the operation could only be

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undertaken against Turkish resistance since British military interference would grievously endanger the amphibious landing, in which case the expedition would possibly not be dispatched.53 In the end the expedition was aborted due to military weakness, especially in the context of the perceived threat of British intervention, policy disagreement in governing circles, the lack of French military support and because the situation in Constantinople had stabilized.54 The situation in Crete, however, then deteriorated and the Black Sea Fleet was kept in a state of readiness to undertake the expedition in case of emergency. In the spring of 1897 Greece and Turkey went to war. Russian officials were concerned that if Greece was defeated a large British squadron would enter the Dardanelles and that the war would arouse the appetite of other Balkan states for territorial acquisition at the expense of the Ottoman empire, which in all likelihood would result in Austro-Hungarian military intervention. Russia, aware that France would not stand behind her in case of conflict with Austria-Hungary in the Balkans, sought to reach an agreement with Vienna. At the same time, Russia’s growing involvement in the Far East generated willingness to place affairs in the Near Eastern theatre on ice. Austria-Hungary, troubled by internal problems, was open to persuasion. In the midst of the Greek-Turkish War, in April Russia and Austria-Hungary agreed to maintain the status quo in the Balkans, by guaranteeing the territorial integrity of the Ottoman empire. Even though the war ended in May, it was only in the summer of 1897 that the situation began to finally stabilize in the region. Until then, the Russian government continued to be jittery about a possible threat to the Straits, but the return of peace to the Near East and the security offered by the settlement with Austria-Hungary subsequently allowed Russia to turn her gaze fully to the Far East.55 In the first two months of 1896 the British Cabinet had concluded that it might be necessary forcefully to resist a Russian coup de main in the Straits. In February British defence planners examined the option of blocking the emergence of the Black Sea Fleet into the Mediterranean. Beaumont and the DMI, Major General E. Chapman, were extremely sceptical about the success of such an undertaking, one of the reasons being the high element of risk involved in the absence of French neutrality. When the question of

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the Straits resurfaced during the autumn crisis of 1896 the Cabinet asked the War Office and the Admiralty to evaluate the situation. The new DMI, Sir J. Ardagh, argued that because of Ottoman military weakness the Russians could seize the Straits at any time. Furthermore, like his predecessor, he was pessimistic over stopping the entry of the Black Sea Fleet into the Mediterranean. In particular, he pointed out that the Mediterranean Fleet could be substantially damaged if it attempted to force the Dardanelles’ fortifications. As a result, the crippled British fleet could be encircled within the confines of the Straits by the Russian Black Sea Fleet and the French Toulon squadron. On the same wavelength, Beaumont surmised that as long as France and Russia acted in concert, which he deemed likely, there was nothing that Britain alone could do to prevent Russia from obtaining control over the Straits. Both intelligence directors agreed that such a development would give the Black Sea Fleet unimpeded access to the Mediterranean and in due time imperil British control over Egypt and the Suez Canal. By January 1897 Salisbury, influenced by the advice of the two services, the hostility of British public opinion towards the Sultan’s brutal regime and the mounting difficulties of coordinating action with the Triple Alliance, reluctantly accepted that ultimately Russia could not be denied the Straits. In fact, in late 1896 and early 1897 the RN did not take any measures for opposing a coup de main, thus providing the Russians with their best opportunity, had they been prepared to throw caution to the wind and had they been informed of British thinking.56 During the time when the attention of the Russian naval authorities was focused on the Near East, a host of interesting developments took place in the other naval theatres. In January 1897 Makarov suggested to Tyrtov opening the Arctic Ocean to navigation through the use of icebreakers. Makarov believed that the use of large icebreakers in the Arctic Ocean would make possible the movement of warships to the Far East by a shorter and safer route. However, Tyrtov declined to give his blessing to such a project on grounds of cost and the lack of available ships for testing the idea. Nevertheless, Witte, who was interested in the potential commercial benefits that could be accrued from winter navigation in the Finnish Gulf and the opening of the Arctic Ocean, funded the construction of an icebreaker. This vessel

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was completed in 1899 but its use encountered several difficulties. By 1904 the Arctic Ocean had not turned into an alternative route for the dispatch of Russian naval forces from Europe to the Far East.57 As far as the Baltic was concerned, in January 1896 a joint army and navy commission reaffirmed the importance of Libau as a base for the fleet. Nevertheless, the commission also accepted that Libau should be able independently to defend itself during the absence of the fleet through a small flotilla of scout cruisers, gunboats and destroyers.58 In March 1897 the commission envisaged that the defence of the Gulf of Riga would be provided for by minefields, old coastal defence battleships and 30 torpedo craft. Kronstadt was also to be defended by minefields, coastal batteries and a large number of torpedo vessels. However, the commission concluded that the existing torpedo forces in the Baltic theatre were insufficient and proposed their substantial increase to 160 craft in order to equal those of the German navy.59 In tandem, in the spring of 1896 the strengthening of Kronstadt’s defences, chiefly through the erection of new batteries armed with contemporary guns, was approved. Construction work began in 1897 but was hampered by technical and climatic difficulties; nevertheless, considerable progress was achieved by the outset of the RussoJapanese War in 1904.60 The above overview demonstrates that by 1897 the naval defence of Russia’s Baltic coastline was compromised by Kronstadt’s weak defensive capabilities and more importantly the significant dwindling of the Baltic Fleet caused by the dispatch of vessels to the Mediterranean and the Far East. Therefore, the navy could only hope to provide for the security of the Baltic littoral through coastal defence means – though the resources at hand were perceived to be insufficient even for this modest task. In 1896 the general staff of the German Army no longer considered war against Russia alone as probable and instead planned for a war against the combination of Russia and France. The German army was initially to launch a massive offensive against France, while maintaining a defensive posture against Russia. Thus the army was unwilling to release troops for landing operations directed against Russia in the Baltic. Nevertheless, the German navy still planned for a war against Russia alone. The superior German fleet was to either destroy or blockade the Russian fleet and obtain command of the

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Baltic Sea. The plan also prescribed the destruction of Libau and other Russian ports. However, although the navy pushed for landing operations this was rejected by the army.61 Meanwhile in the Far East, in 1896–1897 the Japanese naval leadership concluded that a fleet of six contemporary battleships would be insufficient, if Russia’s naval forces were concentrated in the region. Since budgetary limitations did not allow for the construction of another battleship squadron, the Japanese navy decided to acquire armoured cruisers deemed capable of taking their place in the line. Such vessels were indeed superior to many older battleships by virtue of their new armour and powerful quick-firing guns. Consequently, Japan’s naval leaders chose to remove four protected cruisers from the programme and replace them with two armoured cruisers. This would result in the creation of a battle fleet of six new battleships and six armoured cruisers. Moreover, the funding of the programme was augmented and organized in such a way that the Japanese fleet would be almost fully reinforced by 1903.62 This information slowly started trickling to St Petersburg, mainly through the reports of the new naval attaché in Japan, Lieutenant I. I. Chagin. The first indication about the accelerated nature of the Japanese shipbuilding programme appeared in his report of 8 January 1897. Chagin argued that the Japanese fleet would be fully reinforced and superior to the Russian squadron by 1903. In February he mentioned that four protected cruisers had been removed from the construction list and substituted by two armoured cruisers. Even though these reports were seen by Tyrtov, no carefully-planned countermeasures were instigated. This was because the information on hand was mainly based on rumours and required independent confirmation. More importantly, the naval leadership was still preoccupied with the Near East and on maintaining the Black Sea Fleet in a state of readiness.63 At the beginning of March Alexander Mikhailovich made another, albeit brief, foray into naval affairs by addressing a letter to the Tsar. Alexander Mikhailovich apologized for writing over naval matters, but neverthelass warned Nicholas II that it was imperative to take urgent and dynamic measures for the increase of the Russian fleet. Alexander Mikhailovich argued that the Japanese had increased their

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shipbuilding funds and that the German navy would undoubtedly be reinforced by 1900. Taking the view that the Pacific Ocean squadron should not be included in a comparison of forces with Germany, he suggested the establishment of a fleet distinctively designated for the Pacific Ocean in tandem with the creation of a torpedo flotilla for the defence of the Baltic theatre. It is worth noting that, in somewhat contradictory fashion and in contrast to his past views, Alexander Mikhailovich now raised the ambitious option of even assembling in the long run a battle fleet equal to Germany’s.64 In the meantime, by March 1897 the GMSh had realized that the ongoing shipbuilding programme was encountering financial difficulties because of reductions in the naval budget, the incorrect calculation of construction costs in the naval estimates and the expansion of personnel accompanying the growth of the fleet.65 The Navy Ministry believed that the execution of the programme now depended on the provision of 51 million roubles on top of the normal budget. The GMSh also paid attention to the significant increase of the naval budgets of other powers with specific mention made of Japan. Given all of the above, the GMSh requested the allocation of an additional 30 million for the construction of cruisers and torpedo vessels outside the framework of the existing programme.66 On 18 March 1897 Nicholas II, who decided to get involved personally, convened and chaired a special commission in Tsarskoe Selo, which was held with the participation of the General Admiral, Tyrtov and Witte. In the end, probably under pressure from the Tsar, Witte agreed to grant the Navy Ministry an extra-budgetary assignment of 55 million, out of which 25 would become immediately available. The commission also sanctioned the construction of three 6,000 ton cruisers and 25 torpedo craft, in addition to the vessels included in the 1895 programme, without however assigning them to a specific operational theatre.67 In any event, naval thinking concerning the Far East entered a new stage in the last months of 1897. The stabilization of the situation in the Near East must have at last given the naval leadership the opportunity to comprehensively examine developments in other theatres. Meanwhile, Baron R. R. Rosen, the Russian ambassador in Tokyo since August, was worried about Japanese intentions over Korea and

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asked Chagin to examine the strength of the Japanese navy. Chagin obliged and produced a report in August which was received by the VMUO and its chief, Captain A. G. von Nidermiller, in September. Incorporating information from Chagin’s report, on 1 September Rosen dispatched to the Ministry of Foreign Affairs a survey of the geostrategic situation in the Far East. Rosen’s report was passed on to Tyrtov in October, who later forwarded it to the General Admiral.68 Collectively, Rosen’s and Chagin’s reports painted the following picture. Antagonism between Russia and Japan over Korea could possibly result in armed conflict. However, unlike in 1895 it was improbable that any European powers would aid Russia in case of war over Korea. On the contrary, Russia could face an AngloJapanese coalition. Moreover, the defensive alliance with China was void of any military value, since from 1895 onwards China’s land and naval forces were in a desperate state and most of its ports were situated away from the potential theatre of operations in Korea.69 Currently the Russian Pacific Ocean squadron was inferior to the Japanese fleet, and the Russian army in the area was weak and incapable of resisting a Japanese amphibious landing on the Korean peninsula, where it was estimated that the Japanese could quickly and without difficulty disembark an advanced echelon of 6,000–8,000 troops. The reinforcement of the Russian army in the region would be extremely difficult given that the Trans-Siberian railway was not completed. Russia’s weaknesses were compounded by the vigorous and unremitting strengthening of the Japanese armed forces. In particular, it was expected that the Japanese shipbuilding programme would be completed no later than 1902. In view of the above, Russia was entirely unprepared for defending its borders and interests in the Far East. Under the circumstances, the only viable option for Russia would be to assemble a Pacific Ocean squadron capable of obtaining command of the sea after destroying the Japanese battle fleet. This would decisively obstruct Japan’s ability to disembark and supply land forces on the Asian mainland. Moreover, a strong Pacific Ocean squadron would also pose a threat to British maritime communications. The reinforcement of the Pacific Ocean squadron should be complemented by the existence of a reliable naval base. However, Rosen advised

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that the acquisition of a Korean port should only be pursued with Japanese acquiescence.70 The War Ministry’s perception regarding the strategic situation in the Far East was shaped by Rosen’s and Chagin’s reports and also by the similar assessment of the Russian military attaché in Tokyo, Major General N. I. Ianzhul.71 Ianzhul believed that the navy would play a decisive role in a future conflict between Russia and Japan, at least until the completion of the Trans-Siberian railway. The ongoing increase of Russian land forces in the Far East would in two years guarantee the security of Vladivostok and the Priamur province. Nevertheless, if the Japanese army landed in Korea, then the Russian land forces would have to be reinforced by 50,000– 75,000 troops in order to successfully expel the former from the peninsula. Given that such a landing operation was conditional upon command of the sea, Russia should maintain a Pacific Ocean squadron which should not at any time be weaker than the Japanese battle fleet and have at its disposal reliable ports. In October 1897, with the exclusion of coastal defence vessels, Japan had a battle squadron consisting of 22 contemporary vessels. The squadron could be repaired and supplied by several well-equipped ports. The total gun-power of the squadron was estimated at 515 guns, of which 141 were of large calibre. In contrast, the effective fighting force of the Russian Pacific Ocean squadron, which did not include a single battleship, was calculated to add up to 13 ships, several of which were in need of repairs and modernization. The Russian ships carried 150 large-calibre guns out of a total of 307. Reference was also made to Vladivostok’s perennial deficiencies as a naval base. This comparison led Ianzhul to conclude that the Japanese squadron was currently manifestly stronger than its Russian counterpart. He also cautioned that Japanese naval superiority would swell even further after the completion of the shipbuilding programme in 1902. He thus recommended that Russia should respond by deploying in the Pacific Ocean up to 15 capital vessels.72 By the autumn of 1897, despite substantial economic presence in China and involvement in the Dreibund, Germany had gained few material advantages. The major German ambition in the region was to acquire a naval station and a base for further penetrating the

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Chinese market. Since 1896 Germany had set its sights on Kiaochow, but was reluctant to act considering Russia’s link with the port. However, by October 1897 the German government was convinced that Russia would not contest the occupation of the port. On 2 November Germany seized Kiaochow, using as a pretext the murder of two of its missionaries in China. Even though Russia initially toyed with the idea of opposing the German move, the thought was subsequently dropped. First of all, Tyrtov pointed out to Muravev that Kiaochow was unsuitable for the creation of a naval base, being too far from Vladivostok and because it was completely cut off from Russia. As demonstrated by Dubasov’s activities, the navy was set on getting hold of a naval base in Korea. However, Muravev and Witte believed that Russia was overextending itself in Korea, where it faced growing opposition from Japan and Britain. Instead, they thought that it would be preferable to concentrate on northern China, where Russia’s position was stronger. On 4 November Muravev informed the Tsar that Russia should take advantage of the German seizure of Kiaochow in order to obtain a base for the squadron in China.73 On 11 November Muravev reported to the Tsar that the Russian navy had not exercised the right to use Kiaochow thus far. He then mentioned Tyrtov’s view on the port and the navy’s desire to acquire a Korean port. Muravev rejected such a course of action as it would lead to complications with Japan. Yet, acknowledging the need to furnish the squadron with a base, he advocated the acquisition of the Liaotung peninsula for this purpose. The peninsula had ice-free ports and good anchorages for large vessels, namely Port Arthur and Talienwan. Furthermore, in contrast to Korean ports they were much easier to link with the Manchurian section of the Trans-Siberian railway and by extension with Russia’s Far Eastern possessions. He added that the occupation of a port in Liaotung could also be exploited as a means of exerting pressure on China with the aim of lifting objections to Russian demands for additional concessions, including the expansion of the Trans-Siberian railway in southern Manchuria.74 Russia was offered the perfect excuse, since it could justify the seizure of a port behind the mantle of desiring to assist China in case of conflict with Germany.75 On 14 November Nicholas II chaired a special commission which was held with the participation of Muravev, Witte, Vannovskii and

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Tyrtov. Muravev repeated his argument but received only lukewarm support from Vannovskii. Witte opposed the seizure of the ports on the grounds that this would run against the spirit of the defensive alliance with China. For Witte, maintaining the confidence of Peking was a crucial component for the successful conduct of Russian policy in the Far East. In this context, the acquisition of a maritime outlet in the Pacific Ocean had to be achieved through peaceful means. Tyrtov questioned the naval strategic value of Liaotung and said that he and all the admirals believed that it was better not to occupy the peninsula. He added that instead it would be better to wait for two to three years in order to acquire a port on the Korean coastline, while continuing to employ Vladivostok as a base. In the end, Witte and Tyrtov won the argument and Nicholas II decided against the occupation of the ports.76 Following the conference, reports from the Far East created the false impression that Britain aimed to occupy the ports of the Liaotung peninsula. On 23 November Peking, which was seeking to expel the Germans from Kiaochow, agreed to place Chinese ports at the disposal of the Russian navy for the duration of the crisis. Muravev urged the Tsar that Russia should proceed with the occupation of Port Arthur and Talienwan in order to forestall their acquisition by Britain, but also because it was a unique opportunity to get hold of a naval base in the region, which should not be wasted. The General Admiral agreed with Muravev’s view and on 28 November advised the Tsar to that effect. Nicholas II was convinced and consented to the dispatch of Russian warships to Port Arthur.77 On 29 November Tyrtov instructed Dubasov to send vessels to Port Arthur and Talienwan. In the first days of December Russian warships arrived at Port Arthur. As indicated by Dubasov’s communications with Tyrtov and Rosen, in November and December 1897 the Commander of the Pacific Ocean squadron fervently objected to the occupation of the Liaotung peninsula, even if Britain captured Port Arthur, and counselled that Russia should seize the strategically important port of Mosampo instead. He was of the opinion that politically Russia had the upper hand in Korea and that the Japanese fleet was only marginally stronger than the Russian Pacific Ocean squadron. He thought that following the arrival of reinforcements

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the Russian squadron would be in a position to attack and defeat the Japanese fleet.78 Dubasov called for immediate action, since from 1898 onwards, as a consequence of the strengthening of the Japanese fleet, the Pacific Ocean squadron would become inferior both numerically and qualitatively, even if substantially reinforced by the dispatch of vessels from European waters. However, St Petersburg dismissed the option of pursuing an active policy in Korea on the grounds that this would infuriate Japan.79 On 14 January 1898 the Navy Ministry asked Dubasov to conduct a study of Port Arthur and Talienwan. After completing his examination of Port Arthur, on 2 March Dubasov telegraphed his findings to Tyrtov. Dubasov accepted that Port Arthur’s geographical position was important for the defence of Peking, but argued that it was disadvantageous in other respects. First of all, Port Arthur was situated 550 nautical miles from the Korean Straits and at an even greater distance from the Russian coastline in the Sea of Japan. Consequently, if the Russian squadron was stationed at Port Arthur it would be unable to threaten a Japanese landing on the southern and eastern coasts of Korea and the Priamur. Since Port Arthur was 350 miles away from the entrance to the Yellow Sea the enemy could also operate with impunity along the coastline of southwest Korea. Port Arthur was located 1080 miles away from Vladivostok and there was no intermediate support point linking the two bases. Vitally, the line of communications between the two ports would be at the mercy of the Japanese fleet. The value of Port Arthur as a naval base was also lessened by other factors. The port had only one narrow and shallow exit, which would impede the quick movement of warships in and out of the harbour. Part of the internal basin required dredging for accommodating large vessels. Another point raised was that during the summer strong winds made the anchoring of vessels in the external roadstead almost impossible and the use of the narrow exit dangerous. The existing port and arsenal facilities could only allow the carrying out of minor repairs and were too small for the needs of the squadron. Finally, the land and coastal fortifications were very unsatisfactory. Dubasov thought that Port Arthur could not be held without Talienwan, which was suitable for an enemy landing. He suggested the extensive fortification of both Port Arthur and Talienwan.80

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Despite Dubasov’s damning evaluation of Port Arthur as a naval base the Russian government did not waver. On 24 February 1898 an interministerial commission under the General Admiral had already come to the decision to proceed with the occupation of the Liaotung peninsula. On 15 March China signed the lease of the ports of Port Arthur and Talienwan and their surrounding territory to Russia for 25 years. Civil and military administration in the leased territories was placed in the hands of Russian officials. Port Arthur was designated a naval arsenal for exclusive use by Russian and, theoretically, Chinese warships, whereas Talienwan was an open commercial port. The area was separated from China by a neutral zone. Russia and China also agreed to link the leased territories with the TransSiberian railway through the laying of a railway branch in southern Manchuria. On 25 April an additional accord set the boundaries of the leased territories and the neutral zone.81 The British government replied to Russian and German actions by leasing the Chinese port of Weihaiwei at the end of May 1898. However, Weihaiwei was never developed into a genuine naval base. Instead, in 1902 the Admiralty decided to make use of the port only as a sanatorium and coaling station in peacetime. Although London did not expect a military showdown with St Petersburg over Weihaiwei, in the spring of 1898 the Admiralty felt confident that it could assemble in Chinese waters a superior force to the Russian Pacific Ocean squadron.82 Parallel with the acquisition of an ice-free port, the Russian Navy Ministry decided to proceed with the extensive reinforcement of the Pacific Ocean squadron. On 24 November, drawing upon the work of von Nidermiller, the GMSh produced a report discussing the future development of the Russian navy in Far Eastern waters. The report, rather diplomatically, pointed out that even though the necessity to buttress the Pacific Ocean squadron had emerged in 1895 it had met financial obstacles. The report argued that recent events had greatly strengthened the case for Russia’s naval expansion in the Far East. Specifically, although the completion of the Japanese shipbuilding programme was officially set for 1906, the placement of orders with efficient European firms, large expenditure in the past two years and the fact that the funds allocated to construction for

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1904 and 1905 were minimal signified that the programme would most likely be almost fully completed by the summer of 1903. As a result, the Japanese fleet would comprise six contemporary battleships, one old battleship, six armoured cruisers, 19 cruisers of various types and 74 torpedo vessels. Despite the simultaneous construction of the Trans-Siberian railway, the reinforcement of the Japanese fleet would be accomplished before the completion of the railway line. Therefore, Russia should respond by counteracting the increase of the Japanese fleet. One solution consisted of moving all the vessels completed and under construction from the Baltic to the Far East. However, such a measure would leave the Baltic theatre defenceless. It would also be inadequate since the Russian squadron in the Far East would still be inferior to the Japanese fleet. Hence, it was necessary to reinforce the Pacific Ocean squadron with additional newlyconstructed ships. In doing so, it was important to take into account financial limitations and the difficulty of concurrently and quickly building a large number of vessels.83 The report was circulated to a number of senior admirals. On 12 December several of them discussed the issue in a special commission chaired by Tyrtov. The admirals considered that the simultaneous pursuit of two shipbuilding programmes, which would permit Russia to have sufficient forces in the Baltic Sea and a superior squadron over Japan in the Far East, was impossible. Given the principle that one’s main forces should be disposed in the key theatre of operations, the commission decided to attribute priority to the Far East. The decision was underpinned by the perception that Berlin had also turned its attention to the Far East, and that the German naval presence in the region had increased and was expected to continue to do so in the future. To an extent this would relieve some pressure from the Baltic theatre. Furthermore, the commission finally accepted that the spirit of naval policy in the Baltic was defensive and in this sense all future shipbuilding for the theatre should be geared towards the construction of coastal defence-type vessels. Overall, the commission decided that at present all efforts should be directed to the strengthening of the Far Eastern theatre.84 For the commission the tasks of the Pacific Ocean squadron consisted of protecting the Priamur and serving as a deterrent force exerting moral

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influence over Japan. The foremost operational task of the squadron would be to obstruct a Japanese landing on the Asian mainland. For this it was important that by the completion of the Japanese shipbuilding programme in 1903, the Russian squadron should be at least equal to the Japanese fleet, not counting coastal defence vessels. Even equality was seen as insufficient, however, due to the limited Russian port facilities in the region and given the need for offensive action. The commission concluded that by the summer of 1903 the Pacific Ocean squadron should comprise ten battleships, seven armoured cruisers, ten medium-size protected cruisers, ten small scout cruisers, at least one torpedo craft carrier, two minelayers, 36 destroyers and 11 torpedo boats which were already stationed in Vladivostok.85 In the following days several admirals presented their individual recommendations. Overall, they considered that the Pacific Ocean squadron should consist of seven to nine battleships supported by cruisers and torpedo craft. Moreover, the admirals also raised some other points. For example, Alekseev suggested that apart from Japan, Britain should also be viewed as a potential opponent in Asian waters and that the defences of Vladivostok should be strengthened through the creation of a strong coastal defence flotilla of gunboats and torpedo craft. Rear Admiral N. I. Skrydlov and Vice Admiral Kaznakov, highlighting the weakness of the Russian shipbuilding industry and the slow tempo of construction, recommended that some of the new vessels be ordered abroad if they were to be completed on time.86 The final decision was taken by a special commission convened on 27 December, which was chaired by the General Admiral and held with the participation of both Tyrtovs, Avelan and Vice Admirals Alekseev, Kazankov, Makarov, Verkhovskii and I. M. Dikov. Makarov argued that the Japanese fleet had the great strategic advantage of operating from numerous fortified bases surrounding the flanks of the Russian coastline in the Far East. Therefore, if the Russian fleet was only slightly superior then it could not attain command of the sea. An alternative option would be to abstain from striving to gain command of the sea and instead resist Japanese landings on specific points, such as Port Arthur, with torpedo vessels.87 However, the other members of the commission dismissed Makarov’s views by

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taking the stance that the squadron should in any case be capable of undertaking any type of operation and that this could only be fulfilled by a battleship fleet.88 The recommendations of the previous commission regarding the composition of the squadron were approved but with several minor alternations. To achieve the required strength, the squadron should include the five battleships of the 1895 programme, two of which were already being built, and the armoured cruisers existing or under construction. By 1903 it would also be necessary to construct another five battleships, six medium-size protected cruisers, ten small scout cruisers, a couple of minelayers and 30 destroyers. Since all of the St Petersburg yards were engaged in manufacturing vessels for the 1895 programme, many of the new ships would have to be ordered abroad. The commission also acknowledged that the reinforcement of the Far Eastern theatre would leave the Baltic undefended. No concrete suggestions were made, apart from vaguely stating that this matter should be discussed by another commission.89 On 18 January 1898 Tyrtov set out to Witte the financial requirements for the new shipbuilding programme. Tyrtov calculated that the construction costs stood at 163.4 million roubles. Nevertheless, the necessity to complete the programme by 1903, the placement of orders abroad, the rising prices of auxiliary equipment and armaments, as well as the anticipated growth of expenses incurred by the expansion of the fleet, demanded an additional 38 million. Consequently, the total amount requested stood at 201 million. Furthermore, Tyrtov took the opportunity to point out that the budget of the 1895 programme had a deficit of 43.1 million roubles.90 Shortly afterwards Witte replied to Tyrtov. First of all, he argued that the treasury was already under considerable pressure because of the significant funds absorbed by the construction of the TransSiberian railway and the reinforcement of land forces for the Far East. Secondly, he stated that Russia was a continental power and ‘the vast means demanded for the support and development of our colossal land forces can hardly leave sufficient financial resources for the parallel creation of a similar naval capability’. Witte also argued that the Russian Far East was not an overseas colony which could only be protected by the navy and that ‘for the protection of our interests and

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upkeep of military prestige we have already stationed there significant land forces and every 100 versts of the Siberian railway completed brings assistance closer to these forces by our vast army’.91 According to Witte the railway would be completed by 1903 and therefore the reinforcement of the navy would not even offer short-term security. In any event, Japan was likely to face difficulties in completing the shipbuilding programme. Witte stated that: The financial situation of the country [Japan] cannot be taken as favourable for such vast expenses and even if Japan was successful in materializing its programme, then she would still be liable to big uncertainties, such as, whether she would be able to sustain annual expenses connected with so great a reinforcement. In any case it is scarcely conceivable to suggest that the Japanese shipbuilding programme would be completed in 1903, i.e. two years earlier than the appointed terms. Witte thought that even ‘if Japan succeeded in completely executing its suggested programme for the reinforcement of the fleet it could not be carried out earlier than the designated term [1906]’. Nevertheless, despite all this, Witte was prepared to subsidize the shipbuilding programme with an additional allocation of 159 million up to 1908, out of which 123 million would be assigned by 1905.92 Nicholas II was officially informed by the General Admiral and Avelan about the proposed shipbuilding programme.93 Meanwhile, in December Alexander Mikhailovich had given Nicholas II a report compiled by Prince A. Volkonskii who had recently returned from the Far East.94 Alexander Mikhailovich urged the Tsar to take immediate measures along the lines of Volkonskii’s report. Volkonskii essentially believed a war between Russia and Japan over Korea was unavoidable and predicted that armed conflict would break out within the next two to four years. He advised that Russia should be prepared by establishing a strong naval presence in Far Eastern waters which should at least equal the Japanese battle fleet. The Russian squadron should also be sustained by the acquisition of an ice-free base either in southern Korea or in the Yellow Sea.95 Meanwhile, although during these years Morskoi Sbornik housed Makarov’s views

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and included some articles illustrating the merits of guerre de course and coastal defence, nevertheless it published a stream of other articles expounding Blue Water and Mahanian strategic theories.96 It was against this background that Nicholas II demonstrated a personal interest in resolving the impasse between the Navy and Finance Ministries. On 20 February 1898 the Tsar chaired a special commission attended by the General Admiral, Tyrtov and Witte. The commission members arrived at a compromise. The navy would be allocated 194 million roubles, but the duration of the programme would be extended to 1905 and a reduction in the number of vessels would also have to be accepted. However, 90 million were placed at the immediate disposal of the Navy Ministry, which, combined with the funds assigned in March 1897, could accelerate the construction process and even allow for the completion of vessels earlier than 1905.97 On 7 February, after having read the General Admiral and Avelan’s report, Alexander Mikhailovich wrote to the Tsar that it had taken a long time to understand something simple and that much time had been wasted, but he approvingly commented that the government had at last looked the danger in the eye. Content with his vindication, he remarked that the report reminded him of his own work from two years ago.98 According to Witte, Nicholas II was very pleased with the settlement of the issue.99 This can be interpreted as an indication of his navalist persuasions, particularly when contrasted with the fact that when in 1897 Vannovskii had asked for an extra-budgetary allocation of 560 million roubles for the army’s needs, the Tsar did not intervene and Witte provided only 160 million to the War Ministry.100 The new shipbuilding programme was formally sanctioned on 23 and 24 February 1898, when Nicholas II ratified both the General Admiral’s report and the journal of the special commission from four days earlier. In retrospect, Witte’s insistence on the extension of the programme’s duration to 1905 was fatal as it resulted in the inferiority of the Russian Pacific Ocean squadron in January 1904. To a degree, the leadership of the Navy Ministry can also be blamed for not persisting more in setting the completion date for 1903. While bargaining with Witte, the Navy Ministry was certainly aware,

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through attaché reports from abroad, of the advanced state of the Japanese programme, as two battleships had already arrived in the Far East and most of the other large vessels were under construction.101 However, the accomplishment of acquiring nearly all of the required funds and the possibility of accelerating the tempo of construction must have imbued the General Admiral and Tyrtov with optimism about the possibility of successfully strengthening the Pacific Ocean squadron by 1903. In the first half of 1898 the British Admiralty, having just finished responding to the challenge posed by French armoured cruisers, received a number of reports revealing the introduction of the new Russian shipbuilding programme. The British naval leadership did not react immediately, wanting first to establish a clear picture of the fresh Russian shipbuilding effort. Having done so, towards the end of May the First Lord of the Admiralty, G. J. Goschen, submitted to the Cabinet a memorandum starkly warning that Russia had inaugurated a new ‘gigantic programme of shipbuilding’ geared towards creating a large Far Eastern fleet destined to be stationed at Port Arthur. In order to meet the challenge and adhere to the general policy of maintaining equality with the combined navies of the Dual Alliance, Goschen called for the urgent revision of the RN’s existing estimates. Indeed, in July Goschen presented to Parliament a new programme aimed at counteracting Russia’s new shipbuilding effort. It was thus evident that Britain was caught up in an expensive naval construction race with France and Russia.102 Given that the Russian programme was essentially directed against Japan and not Britain, this is a good example of a regional arms race turning into one of global dimensions.

6 The Practicalities of Reinforcing the Pacific Ocean Squadron, 1898–1900

Early in 1898 Muravev believed that the epicentre of Russian foreign policy had moved to the Far East. He thought that now that an ice-free port in the region had been acquired, all energies should be channelled into consolidating Russian influence in Manchuria. Specifically, he took the view that in order for this to be accomplished it was essential to maintain peace in Europe and friendly relations with rivals in the Far East. The occupation of the Liaotung peninsula had certainly aggrieved Japan, but Tokyo was not prepared to act militarily partly because of domestic political complications. In any case, Muravev thought that it was important to appease Japan by offering concessions in Korea. In the spring of 1898 Russian military and financial advisors in Korea were unilaterally withdrawn. In April 1898 Tokyo and St Petersburg signed a treaty according to which both signatories recognized the political independence of Korea, though Russia acknowledged the primacy of Japanese financial and commercial interests in the country. This was very skilfully capitalized on by Japan, which by 1904 was financially dominant in the Korean peninsula. Nonetheless, Russia’s retrenchment in Korea did not extinguish St Petersburg’s anxiety over Japan’s plans in the region. Indeed, by 1900 the Russian government had become quite concerned about the growing understanding between Tokyo and Peking. In 1899 Russia reached an agreement with Britain, which addressed issues of railway concessions and spheres of influence in China. The agreement did

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not eradicate Anglo-Russian imperialist antagonism in the Far East and other parts of Asia. Furthermore, Russia’s effort to entrench her position in Manchuria became an important source of friction in relations with the United States, which was advocating an open door policy with respect to the region’s commerce.1 By the spring of 1900 the accumulated resentment against the activities of western missionaries and the unsettling effects of social and economic dislocation resulted in severe outbreaks of violence against foreigners in parts of China, which are collectively known as the Boxer Rebellion. In response the western powers called for a multinational military intervention in China. Initially, Russia objected to this in the hope of regaining Peking’s trust, which had evaporated since the occupation of Liaotung. In the summer of 1900 the crisis deepened, not least because all foreign legations in Peking were under siege. Russia’s stance now changed and it participated militarily in an international effort to relieve the legations. Even though by August the Boxers were crushed in most parts of China, the rebellion belatedly spread to Manchuria in July. The necessity to protect the colossal railway and commercial investments prompted Russia to dispatch a large contingent of troops to Manchuria. Although Manchuria was pacified by September, continuing minor disturbances as well as transportation and demobilization difficulties meant that by the spring of 1901 substantial numbers of Russian troops remained in this part of China. During that time, Kuropatkin and the War Ministry, concerned with effectively defending Russian interests in foreign territory, supported the prolongation of the military occupation of Manchuria in various guises. In contrast, Witte and Muravev’s successor, Count V. N. Lambsdorff, took the line that Russia should evacuate Manchuria as soon as possible in order to restore relations with China and avoid friction with other powers. Nevertheless, even Witte was convinced that Manchuria should only be evacuated after safeguarding Russia’s political and economic interests against foreign competition.2 In 1898–1900 the Navy Ministry concentrated attention and most resources on the Far Eastern theatre. On 2 March a commission of senior admirals chaired by Tyrtov discussed the newly approved shipbuilding programme. The commission thought that it was

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possible to reinforce the Pacific Ocean squadron by 1904 through the construction of eight battleships (three of which were part of the 1895 programme), six cruisers of 5,000–6,000 tons, ten cruisers of 2,000–2,500 tons, two torpedo boat carriers, two minelayers and 30 destroyers. The commission decided that two or three battleships and all of the cruisers were to be constructed abroad.3 In the spring and summer of 1898 the Navy Ministry worked on various details of the programme. Because of technical and other considerations the numbers and types of vessels were modified.4 By the end of 1898 financial difficulties led the Navy Ministry to introduce further alterations to the programme. On 28 January 1899 Tyrtov wrote to Witte that the 1898 programme now prescribed the construction of five battleships, four cruisers of 6,000 tons, four cruisers of 3,000 tons, 20 destroyers, ten torpedo boats and two minelayers.5 The implementation of the shipbuilding programme was marred by significant delays. The shortcomings of the Russian shipbuilding industry meant that in most cases vessels manufactured domestically took longer to be completed than initially envisaged and were plagued by technical defects. In addition, because the Navy Ministry put forward only general guidelines in relation to technical characteristics, their design lacked a firm direction. Consequently, the construction process was characterized by frequent alterations, which led to delays and increased costs beyond the programme’s original estimates. Crucially, the design of the programme’s battleships was haphazard and vital time was lost while attempting to introduce improvements.6 At the same time, despite Witte’s predictions, the Japanese shipbuilding programme ran its course smoothly. Highly efficient British firms undertook the construction of most vessels and the programme did not experience any funding difficulties. In December 1898 Chagin reported that in the preceding two years Japan’s naval outlays had risen by one-and-a-half times and that further growth was expected in 1899. In February 1899 Chagin informed the Navy Ministry that although the overall Japanese budget was in deficit, the armed forces of the country were adequately funded.7 Even though in 1897– 1900 the Japanese economy was in depression, between 1896 and 1903 the Japanese government had placed emphasis on armaments

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expenditure. This policy was funded by increasing taxation, domestic and foreign loans but, mainly, through the Chinese war indemnity of which, ironically, Russia had paid a substantial part. In fact, during the period of economic depression Japanese arms-related expenditure peaked. Critically, most funds were directed towards sustaining Japan’s naval build-up, the greater portion of which was disposed for the construction of new vessels in 1897–1900.8 In stark contrast the financial difficulties faced by the Russian Navy Ministry increased. Even in the autumn of 1898 the growth of maintenance expenses for the Pacific Ocean squadron made it impossible to finance its cruising throughout the year. The navy thus debated whether to keep part of the squadron in a state of armed reserve for several months. In 1899 this idea was once again examined.9 By the summer of 1900 the financial woes of the Navy Ministry had become critical. On 7 August Tyrtov and Witte discussed the issue in a specially convened commission. Tyrtov argued that because of unforeseen expenses, primarily related to shipbuilding and the large number of vessels travelling to the Far East, the navy required an additional 105 million roubles for 1901–1904. Tyrtov warned that without these funds, out of which 35.5 million would be pumped into shipbuilding, it would be impossible to equal the strength of the Japanese navy by 1904. Witte at first rejected the demand by continuing to insist that the Japanese shipbuilding effort would be financially encumbered. He added that even if the programme was completed according to schedule, the overall terrible state of Japanese finances would prohibit unleashing war against Russia. Nevertheless, in the end Witte agreed to make available 40 million roubles to the Navy Ministry. The Tsar gave his approval on 14 August. Tyrtov was thus forced to put into place a policy of economizing to cover the deficit. On 15 August Tyrtov set out several guidelines for cutting expense. These included the exclusion of a number of vessels from the 1895 and 1898 shipbuilding programmes, limiting the Pacific Ocean squadron’s time at sea and keeping the repair of all vessels to an absolute minimum. Even so, Tyrtov hoped that despite such measures it would still be possible to assemble a strong Pacific Ocean squadron.10 In the autumn of 1900 the Chief of the VMUO, Captain A. A. Virenius, examined the problem in detail. He suggested the removal

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of certain vessels from the construction list and reductions in the cruising of ships. Virenius considered that it was impractical to curtail the cruising of training detachments, auxiliary port vessels and the Black Sea Fleet. Therefore, he recommended that the measure was to apply exclusively to the Pacific Ocean squadron, which was to operate under an armed reserve regime for eight months annually.11 This would effectively restrict the cruising and training of the squadron to only four months. Virenius believed that four months would be sufficient, as climatic conditions allowed for the training of the crews while the ships were anchored in a state of armed reserve. He also deemed that these measures would allow the expansion of a Pacific Ocean squadron, the strength of which would be numerically close to the one visualized by the 1898 programme. Up to this point, the naval leadership thought that in 1905 the squadron would be composed of ten battleships, five armoured cruisers, nine firstclass cruisers, six second-class cruisers, seven gunboats, two minelayers and 57 torpedo craft, whereas in 1904 the squadron would be weaker by one first-class and one second-class cruiser. Following the implementation of Virenius’s proposals, the squadron’s strength for 1905 would only be reduced by two first-class and one second-class cruisers. However, in 1904 in addition to these three cruisers the squadron would also be weaker by two battleships.12 On 22 November Tyrtov informed Witte that in the context of reducing the deficit of the Navy Ministry it had been decided to exclude from construction one coastal defence battleship, one cruiser of 6,000 tons and two minelayers, and that further cuts were under review. The time of cruising for the Pacific Ocean squadron would also be limited. Despite all this, Tyrtov noted that there was still an outstanding deficit of 9 million. On 16 December Witte refused to supply the Navy Ministry with these funds.13 In order to place naval strategy in the overall context of Russian security planning it is necessary to examine the strategic outlook of the War Ministry. On 1 January 1898 the ageing Vannovskii was replaced by General A. N. Kuropatkin and shortly afterwards the Chief of Staff of the Odessa Military District, Sakharov, replaced Obruchev as Chief of the GSh. Nicholas II welcomed his new War Minister by expressing the view that troops and resources should

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be diverted from the western borders to the Far East. Nevertheless, Kuropatkin was fervently opposed to this, as he believed that Russia’s vital security interests lay in defending the empire’s western frontiers from Germany and Austria-Hungary. By the spring of 1900 Kuropatkin was quite alarmed by Russia’s inferior military potential in comparison to the Germanic core of the Triple Alliance. On 14 March 1900, in a long report to the Tsar, he analyzed the security challenges that Russia was likely to confront in the twentieth century.14 The War Minister acknowledged that in the new century Russia would participate in the struggle for world markets. He believed that this would require gradually improving Russia’s position in Manchuria and Korea and obtaining access to the Mediterranean Sea and Indian Ocean, albeit at some unspecified time in the future. However, at the same time he envisaged Russia’s strategic orientation in the new century as primarily defensive. Unfortunately, the Russian military was obliged to defend the vast and disconnected frontiers of the empire against multiple adversaries. This entailed substantial difficulties that could become even greater if France, through internal weaknesses, opted out of the alliance. Although he recognized the importance of defending the Far Eastern frontier, Kuropatkin stressed that Russia’s western borders were of pivotal importance for the survival of the empire. Hence he stressed that it was imperative to permanently maintain strong land forces on the empire’s European borderlands, even at the expense of other theatres. Russian military weakness in Europe could tempt Germany and Austria-Hungary to launch a pre-emptive strike.15 The Germanic powers posed the gravest threat to Russian security in Kuropatkin’s view. Germany was economically, industrially and militarily powerful, whilst an excellent railway network permitted the swift deployment and concentration of its army. Austria-Hungary, which would almost certainly act in unison with Germany, could also concentrate a large army more quickly than Russia. Both countries were in the process of strengthening their armies further. Moreover, Russian fortresses and field equipment were in desperate need of modernization. Given all this, Kuropatkin informed the Tsar that never before was the western frontier in so much danger and he urged

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the reinforcement of the Russian army there with additional troops, the rearmament of the field artillery, upgrading of the fortresses and further development of the railway network in the region.16 Kuropatkin largely attributed the deterioration of Russia’s strategic position on the western frontiers to the policy of expansion in the Far East and the assignment of large funds to the fleet. He substantiated this by saying that the occupation of Port Arthur and the cost of its subsequent protection not only weakened the Russian army in Europe but also resulted in spending an extra 100 million roubles on the construction of warships for the Far East. He added that naval expenses also entailed further outlays for the development of fortified naval bases. In the meantime, the War Ministry had only received on top of the normal budget 160 out of the initially requested 560 million for 1898–1903. Kuropatkin wrote to the Tsar that ‘by giving significant means to the fleet, Your Imperial Majesty deemed it necessary to temporarily limit expenses for the further strengthening of our position on the western border’. The War Minister warned that if the reinforcement of land forces in the Far East and, above all, naval expansion continued, then Russia’s position on the western frontiers would decline even further. Advocating the curtailment of future naval expansion, Kuropatkin pointed out that Russia was a continental power and as such the ‘fleet always played a secondary role’.17 In 1898 Dukhovskoi, the Governor General of the Priamur, had called for the reinforcement of Russian land forces in the Far East. The Japanese army significantly outnumbered Russia’s Far Eastern army, the supply line of the Trans-Siberian railway was not yet completed and the strengthening of the garrison of the Liaotung peninsula demanded the dispatch of additional forces.18 Dukhovskoi’s proposal was initially approved, but by the end of 1898 inadequate financial resources forced the War Ministry to reverse the decision. From late 1898 the new Governor General of the Priamur, General N. I. Grodekov, like his predecessor, continued to call for the strengthening of Russian land forces in the region. Nevertheless, the War Ministry objected, once again, because of the lack of funds and Kuropatkin’s preoccupation with the western frontiers. It was only in the first months of 1900 that Kuropatkin was finally resigned to the augmentation of the Russian army in the Far East. This partly

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stemmed from his anxiety over the danger presented to Russia’s underpopulated Far Eastern possessions by ‘hordes of uncivilized Orientals’. From 1899 onwards Kuropatkin feared confronting the combined might of China and Japan. Moreover, by 1900 relations with Japan were tense because of the Russian navy’s effort to acquire a base in Mosampo. In any event, Kuropatkin wanted to commence the reinforcement of the Far Eastern theatre from 1902 onwards with the aim of mustering a force of 100,000 troops by 1906.19 The longterm and relatively moderate nature of the project testifies to the fact that the mission of defending the western frontiers was still of overriding importance for Kuropatkin. During these years the Russian military was engaged in organizing the administration of the Liaotung peninsula and planning the development of Port Arthur as a fortress and naval base. The Russian government officially christened the newly leased territories on the Liaotung peninsula Kwangtung. On 18 September 1898 the position of Chief of the Kwangtung Peninsula was created and General D. I. Subbotich was the first to occupy the post; his responsibilities included the running of civilian affairs and the command of land forces stationed in Kwangtung. The Commander of the Pacific Ocean squadron retained his independence. However, in the following year, inspired by Dubasov’s recommendation that the effective naval defence of Russia’s Far Eastern territories required administrative centralization, the overall command of Russian naval forces in the area was passed on to the Chief of the Kwangtung Peninsula. Nicholas II replaced Subbotich with Vice Admiral Alekseev, who assumed his post in July 1899. According to Witte, the General Admiral, to whom Alekseev was a close friend, influenced the latter’s appointment.20 Alekseev was a moody, despotic, arrogant and ambitious character. These characteristics bred negligence and inertia. Alekseev tended to ignore problems, so that he could report that the fleet under his command was in good condition and capable of standing up to the enemy.21 The possession of Port Arthur meant that the choice of bases for the Russian navy in the Far East had expanded. Nevertheless, despite the acquisition of Port Arthur, in 1898 the naval leadership was of the opinion that the main depots and infrastructure for capital

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repairs should remain in Vladivostok, which was thought to be safer. Therefore, the Navy Ministry decided to continue with the erection of a naval arsenal in Vladivostok, on which 2.1 million roubles had already been expended since 1895. However, pressurized by Witte to reduce the expenses of the project, in October 1898 the Navy Ministry put forward a revised plan which required 9.1 million in total and was to be completed by 1902. Yet, Witte, complaining about the lack of planning details and accurate financial estimates, was reluctant to dispense all of the required funds. Moreover, the Navy Ministry, plagued by financial difficulties and assigning priority to shipbuilding, diverted funds from the development of Vladivostok’s port. In addition, even though Witte gave the Navy Ministry 500,000 roubles for a second dry dock capable of accommodating large vessels, because of disagreements over location and cost the construction project was put on hold.22 In the meantime the drawing up of plans for the improvement of Port Arthur’s naval infrastructure was delayed for about a year.23 On 8 March 1899 a report by the General Admiral and Avelan noted that currently Port Arthur was unsatisfactory as a naval base. The dimensions of the port were small for accommodating a sizeable squadron and parts of the internal basin were shallow for the anchoring of large vessels. Port Arthur also had a single shallow and narrow exit, which allowed the passage of the whole squadron only during high tide. The capabilities of the existing workshops were limited and the port’s dock could only carry out repairs to small vessels. The report concluded that the creation of a reliable naval base in Port Arthur required the enlargement of the harbour, the dredging of the internal basin, the improvement of the exit and the expansion of the various repair facilities including the construction of a large dry dock. It was calculated that these measures would be completed in a period of six to eight years at a cost of 13.4 million roubles. The report also stated that in order to turn Port Arthur into a genuine naval arsenal it would be necessary to build barracks, a second dry dock and slips for torpedo craft. In March Nicholas II gave his approval to commence with the execution of the first part of the project.24 Claiming that the navy’s construction estimates were inflated, Witte offered only 11.2 million to support the base’s development.

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Although Tyrtov initially resisted, on 21 May he finally accepted 11 million roubles over the ensuing eight years. Despite this, the technical details of the plan had not yet been finalized. On 1 July Tyrtov informed Witte that this was not expected to happen before the end of 1900, but added that since certain facilities were indispensable for ensuring the normal operation of the squadron, it was important to fund their construction. Witte agreed to do so.25 In the following months a commission, under the Chief of GUKiS, discussed the project, on which it consulted Alekseev and Port Arthur’s Port Commander, Rear Admiral O. K. Stark. When the commission reported back, however, its demands added up to 33 million roubles, in other words three times the sum Witte was prepared to grant. In reality, it was only in May 1900 that Witte agreed to provide 3 million for beginning the sustained construction of Port Arthur as a naval base.26 The port’s separation from Russia’s Far Eastern territories meant that in case of war this newly acquired possession would be militarily isolated. As already demonstrated, Dubasov considered that the state of Port Arthur’s fortifications was abysmal. In March 1898 these factors prompted the Russian government to acknowledge that Port Arthur had to be fortified. The first effort to compose a plan to this effect was undertaken by Dubasov himself and local army personnel. However, the project was halted due to disagreements between the two services. In October 1898 Lieutenant General Konovich-Gorbachkii arrived in Port Arthur to examine the issue anew. He concluded that since Port Arthur would most likely be isolated, its fate rested on its ability to withstand a long siege. Therefore, he recommended the creation of an extended system of fortifications manned by a large garrison. In April 1898 Kuropatkin recognized the validity of the assessment, but supported the adoption of a smaller fortification project, in an effort to curtail costs, since it was the responsibility of the War Ministry to pick up the bill. Kuropatkin was unwilling to part with scarce funds for the protection of a distant naval base in a secondary theatre of operations. As a result, in the summer of 1899 Colonel K. I. Velichko was sent to Port Arthur to draw up a cheaper plan. Velichko reported back in October of the same year. He believed that not only Port Arthur but also the entire Liaotung peninsula had

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to be extensively fortified with the inclusion of the nearby port of Taliewan, which was renamed Dalnii by the Russians.27 Velichko prophesied that if the Russian fleet was defeated or blockaded, the enemy could disembark troops, heavy guns and other means at Dalnii for investing Port Arthur. Nevertheless, Velichko’s views were ignored and it was decided to proceed only with the fortification of Port Arthur. Moreover, with Kuropatkin’s active interference, his project was modified and for reasons of economy the guns of both coastal and land defensive lines were kept at the absolute minimum. Additionally, the types of armaments selected for the latter were insufficient for protecting the fortress from a siege. Furthermore, the length and quality of fortifications were also minimized. Finally, the projected garrison was almost halved from 20,000 to 11,300 troops. The completion deadline of this imperfect scheme was set at 1909. In January 1900 it received the Tsar’s seal of approval.28 The long-drawn-out process of putting together the construction plans significantly delayed the development of Port Arthur as a fortress and naval base. Further delays also occurred, particularly in the case of the fortifications, because of the need to be in constant communication with distant St Petersburg over difficulties arising during their construction and the long-haul dispatch of materials from Europe. Significantly, during the Boxer Rebellion construction was halted because the attention of the local Russian authorities was distracted by military operations against the Boxers and because of problems recruiting Chinese workers.29 Despite the acquisition of Port Arthur, many within the Navy Ministry considered that it was still imperative to get hold of a naval base in the Korean Straits. This view was certainly shared by Tyrtov who, although he thought that Port Arthur was strategically important for exerting influence in northern China, nevertheless doubted the port’s value in a war against Japan. He held the view that if the squadron was stationed in Port Arthur it would encounter difficulties in foiling a Japanese landing in Korea. Besides, the line of communications between Port Arthur and Vladivostok, which traversed the Korean Straits, could be easily disrupted by Japan. Hence, for Tyrtov it was essential to secure a naval base in the Korean Straits, namely Mosampo and Kargodo. In 1898–1899 Dubasov energetically

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pursued the issue, during his tenure as commander of the Pacific Ocean squadron. Time and time again he referred to the importance of Mosampo and Kargodo. For instance, in June 1898 he urged the occupation of Mosampo, but his call encountered the resistance of Muravev. The Minister of Foreign Affairs opposed it on the basis that such action would run counter to the existing agreement with Japan over Korea and could result in serious complications. Kuropatkin concurred with Muravev, as he was of the opinion that such complications should be avoided until the Trans-Siberian railway and the fortification of Port Arthur were completed. Dubasov was not discouraged. In the following month, now aware of the intention of the Korean government to open several of its ports to foreign commerce and offer land concessions, Dubasov argued that Russia should use the opportunity to buy an allotment of land in Mosampo, but the proposal was once again blocked. In November he repeated it. This time it met Muravev’s willingness to purchase a land allotment in Mosampo for the establishment of a coal depot. In March 1899 several Korean ports, including Mosampo, were indeed opened to foreigners. Russia tried to obtain a land concession in Mosampo and even dispatched a gunboat in support of the claim. The Japanese, recognizing the strategic importance of Mosampo, had already bought part of the concession and by sending two cruisers to the locality imposed their will. In the aftermath of the incident Russia and Japan engaged in negotiations over the issue of the concession.30 In August 1899 Rear Admiral Ia. A. Hiltebrandt replaced Dubasov. In September Hiltebrandt, in a report to the Navy Ministry, highlighted the weakness of his squadron, and argued that Russia should acquiesce to Japanese control over the whole of the Korean peninsula in return for a naval base in Mosampo and Kargodo. In the same month Tyrtov informed the Ministry of Foreign Affairs of the value of a naval base in this location. For Tyrtov the base would serve as an intermediate support point between Port Arthur and Vladivostok and also give the squadron the freedom to counter the enemy in any direction. The demand was once again resisted because of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs’ persistent insistence on avoiding complications with Japan. In October the issue resurfaced as the whole of the land allotment chosen by Russia had fallen into Japanese hands.31

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Because of this, in October and November Russo-Japanese relations deteriorated but eventually Russia backed down. In December a conference held in Port Arthur reviewed the situation. Hiltebrandt was in favour of acquiring a plot in Kargodo, but in the end the conference decided to request from the Korean government land in one of the bays close to Mosampo and the neutralization of Kargodo and the outlying waters. After consultations with Japan, on 22 March 1900 Korea conceded to the non-alienation of Kargodo to any foreign power and also granted Russia a land allotment at some distance from Mosampo. Nonetheless, because of the Foreign and War Ministries’ continuing desire not to upset Japan, until 1904 the concession remained totally undeveloped and was not used by the Pacific Ocean squadron.32 In order to make sense of Russian naval operational planning for the Far East one must first examine the country’s geopolitical position in the region since 1898, the fundamental parameters of which remained essentially unchanged until 1904. Russia’s Far Eastern territories were separated by a vast distance from the empire’s European powerbase. Overland communications depended on the single-track Trans-Siberian railway, while the maritime route lacked any intermediate support points. Crucially, Russian land forces in the region remained throughout numerically inferior to the Japanese army. In turn this signified that they relied heavily on the arrival of reinforcements from Siberia and Europe. Following the seizure of Port Arthur in 1898 the Russian military was burdened with the defence of an additional point, separated from Vladivostok by over 1,000 miles. Russia’s difficulties were compounded by the proximity and the central position of the Japanese metropolitan islands to the theatre of operations. Taking advantage of the geographic realities and disposing of a large merchant marine, Japan could disembark land forces anywhere in the theatre. Given that Japan was waterlocked, the safe landing and continuous supply of the expeditionary force depended on having command of the sea. Consequently, despite deploying a weaker army in the Far East, Russia could still win a war against Japan by denying it command of the sea. Failure to do so meant that the Russian army could eventually win the war only with great difficulty, given that reinforcements and supplies

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would move upon a single-track railway line. Hence Russian military success ideally required a strong naval presence in the Far East.33 However, this on its own would not be enough. The two naval bases of Port Arthur and Vladivostok were separated by a large distance and the narrow passage of the Korean Straits. Since Japan effectively controlled the straits, Russian naval communications were in enemy hands. In addition, the facilities of both Russian naval bases were underdeveloped. In stark contrast, the Japanese home islands, upon which was located a network of well-furnished naval bases and fortified points, were situated at a central position. This permitted the easy deployment of the Japanese fleet either against Port Arthur or Vladivostok. In light of this situation, the most effective countermeasure for Russia was the establishment of a naval base in the Korean Straits. Such a base would link Port Arthur and Vladivostok and also allow the Russians to screen and resist Japanese landing operations in any direction. However, such a base did not materialize.34 Russian admirals were aware of these strategic parameters, but until the autumn of 1899 a detailed naval operational plan had not been composed either in St Petersburg or in the Far East. When Hiltebrandt assumed command of the squadron, the General Admiral and Avelan informed him that the primary task of the squadron was to oppose a Japanese landing in the Russian Far Eastern possessions and Korea. He was vaguely instructed that the squadron could utilize both Port Arthur and Vladivostok as support points. They also stated their expectation that the Japanese fleet would be superior and that it might act in unison with the RN. They added that in case of war with Britain alone, the squadron’s mission consisted in disrupting the maritime communications of the adversary’s Far Eastern possessions.35 In September 1899 Hiltebrandt argued that Russia’s interests in the region clashed with those of both Britain and Japan. In fact, he believed that these two powers could come together and present Russia with an impossible challenge. Although Hiltebrandt vowed that the Russian squadron would not go down without a fight, he foresaw the prospect of annihilation even when confronted by the Japanese and British fleets separately. In addition to the numerical disadvantage, the admiral also pointed to the separation of the

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two Russian naval bases and their inadequate port facilities and supplies.36 In any event, Hiltebrandt did not develop an operational plan, but it is possible that he would have engaged the Japanese fleet in the Korean Straits. In the autumn of 1899 he wanted to take the squadron from Vladivostok to Mosampo for the winter period on the basis that the crews should be trained in waters where they were most likely to fight. However, as during that time relations with Japan deteriorated over Mosampo, in order to avoid inflaming an already tense situation Tyrtov instructed Hiltebrandt to move to Port Arthur. It does not seem that Hiltebrandt ever put forward an operational plan after his arrival at Port Arthur.37 In the winter of 1900 the Naval Academy conducted a war game examining the scenario of armed conflict with Japan in the spring of 1900, brought about by Russia’s efforts to obtain a land concession in Mosampo. Naval personnel and representatives of the GSh played out the game under the supervision of Rear Admiral Skrydlov. The participants remarked that the reinforcement of the Pacific Ocean squadron with newly-constructed vessels had commenced with considerable delay. As a result, the relative strength of the squadron in comparison to that of the Japanese fleet was the same as in the mid-1890s. The Japanese navy was still substantially stronger both in terms of artillery-armed vessels and torpedo craft. Even with the exclusion of torpedo craft, Japan could deploy three battleships, 14 cruisers and 16 other ships with a force indicator of 913.38 The Pacific Ocean squadron was composed of three battleships, four cruisers and five other vessels, the force indicator of which stood at 483. Moreover, the participants thought that even if the Russian squadron was reinforced from European waters during the course of the war, this would only give questionable superiority over the Japanese fleet.39 In any event, given the weakness of the squadron in the opening stages of the conflict it would be impossible immediately to engage the Japanese fleet. It was thus necessary to wait for the arrival of reinforcements. One option examined was to move the squadron to the Molucca Islands and to entrust the naval defence of Vladivostok and Port Arthur to torpedo and auxiliary vessels.40 Simultaneously Russian cruisers would conduct guerre de course in the vicinity of the Japanese coastline. However, this plan was judged

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to be unsatisfactory since deploying the squadron in the distant Moluccas would effectively abandon the maritime theatre of operations into the hands of Japan. Consequently, the Japanese could land anywhere on the Asian mainland. In addition, the stationing of the squadron in the unfortified Moluccas was also dangerous given the Japanese fleet’s superior strength.41 Instead the game’s participants drew up a different plan, which also incorporated the views of the GSh. Taking into account the small number of Russian troops in the Far East and the possibility of unopposed Japanese landings owing to the inferiority of the Russian squadron, the army would have to fight a defensive war until the arrival of reinforcements from Siberia and European Russia. After the outbreak of the war the Japanese would have their hands free for at least four months before the concentration of considerable Russian land forces in the region. The GSh representatives thought that, given that Japan could conduct unchallenged landings, the most secure areas for staging the concentration of the Russian army were in northern Manchuria and the Priamur. They also argued that the vastness of the theatre in combination with the weak presence of the Russian army only permitted the defence of the most important points. Moreover, they did not consider that the fate of Kwangtung was militarily critical for the outcome of the war, not least since they were of the opinion that the chief Japanese objective would be to occupy Korea. Kwangtung was seen as a secondary point of defence, the role of which was to assist Russian land operations by impeding those of the adversary. The game’s participants took the view that Kwangtung’s defence should be based on a strong system of fortifications manned by a large garrison. In this context, the contribution of the Russian field army in the defence of the fortress was not considered essential. Furthermore, Port Arthur was not thought to be a reliable naval base for the squadron. The significantly stronger Japanese fleet would paralyze the actions of the Russian squadron, if the latter was stationed in Port Arthur. It was therefore concluded that the only naval assets worth committing for the defence of Kwangtung should take the form of a torpedo flotilla. Instead, the core forces of the Russian squadron should be deployed in Vladivostok. The existence of two exits at the Vladivostok harbour, in contrast to

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the single and narrow one of Port Arthur, would make it difficult for the Japanese to blockade the Russian squadron. The mission of the squadron should be to interfere with enemy landing operations against the port itself and the Priamur coastline. The presence of the squadron in Vladivostok would also allow Russia to disengage troops from the garrison and prop up the initially weak field army. This plan also raised the option of impeding Japanese landing operations in the Yellow Sea by placing the cruisers in Port Arthur. Nevertheless, the participants believed that their naval operational plan was undermined by the fact that any Russian naval reinforcements arriving from Europe would have to traverse the Korean Straits and confront the entire might of the Japanese fleet. It was thus strongly recommended to have a sufficiently strong squadron in the Far East from the beginning of the conflict.42 The conclusions of the game were tested in April 1900 when the Pacific Ocean squadron conducted combined manoeuvres with the Port Arthur garrison. The scenario played out envisaged that the enemy had naval superiority and would attempt to blockade Port Arthur and land troops at Kwangtung. It was assumed that the main forces of the Pacific Ocean squadron were absent from the area and that Port Arthur’s naval element consisted only of several coastal defence vessels and torpedo boats. This naval detachment in conjunction with the garrison would have to resist enemy operations. However, the manoeuvres indicated that the adversary would succeed both in disembarking troops and blockading Port Arthur.43 While the Naval Academy, Sakharov and the GSh visualized the foundations of an operational plan against Japan as described above, other senior military figures held an alternative view. Between the autumn of 1898 and January 1900 General Grodekov and the Staff of the Primaur Military District formulated a different plan. Like the GSh and Sakharov, Grodekov believed that the initially weak Russian army in the Far East would have to fight a defensive campaign until the arrival of reinforcements. Then an offensive would be launched to dislodge the Japanese from Korea. Nevertheless, Grodekov took the view that apart from protecting Vladivostok and the Priamur it was essential to defend Port Arthur, since the Japanese would not stop in Korea but would certainly advance in south Manchuria as well.

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According to Grodekov, the need to defend Port Arthur was absolute because its loss would be a tremendous blow for Russian prestige in Asia. In order to guarantee the safety of Port Arthur it was imperative to ensure its continuous reinforcement and supply by railway. Consequently the protection of the railway lines dictated the deployment of the bulk of the field army in southern Manchuria. Moreover, because of the topography of eastern Korea, it would be easier for the Russian army in the later stages of the war to strike against the Japanese in the western part of the peninsula, which in turn also demanded the concentration of troops in south Manchuria. By the end of 1900, despite persistent opposition by the GSh, Grodekov’s views started to take hold and received Kuropatkin’s endorsement. Kuropatkin’s support for this plan was influenced by the presence of large numbers of Russian troops in Manchuria as a result of the Boxer Rebellion.44 When Grodekov and his staff worked out the various considerations of the operational plan, founded upon the aforementioned parameters, they certainly recognized that the navy could play a crucial part. In January 1900 the Staff of the Priamur Military District reported to the GSh that if, at the outset of the war, the Japanese managed to land forces either on the western coastline of Korea or in south Manchuria then the weak Russian army would face a superior opponent. However, if the Pacific Ocean squadron did not allow this to happen, the Japanese would be forced to land in south Korea, thus giving the Russian army time to augment its strength through the arrival of reinforcements. The Priamur Staff conceded that at present the Pacific Ocean squadron was much inferior to the Japanese fleet and called for the immediate reinforcement of the squadron.45 It appears that by 1900 some senior naval officers assigned priority to Port Arthur over Vladivostok as the squadron’s main base. In February and March 1899 Makarov believed that it was impossible for the Pacific Ocean squadron to resist a Japanese landing in Korea, owing to the proximity of the Japanese metropolitan islands with their numerous arsenals and the lack of a Russian naval base in the Korean Straits. For Makarov, the Japanese, having occupied Korea, would advance in the direction of Kwangtung and try to capture Port Arthur. The fall of Port Arthur would be a tremendous blow to the

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Russian position in the Far East in general. From a naval perspective, he supported the use of Port Arthur as the key base for the squadron, in view of the fact that deploying in distant Vladivostok would not allow it to play an active part in the war. He therefore argued that it was necessary to employ the squadron in support of the Port Arthur fortress. Even so, Makarov was sceptical whether the squadron was strong enough to oppose a direct enemy attack on Kwangtung. Tyrtov thought that Makarov underestimated the strength of the Russian squadron and instead argued that the squadron’s presence in the Yellow Sea would serve as an adequate barrier against an enemy landing in Kwangtung.46 By January 1900 Alekseev and his chief of naval staff, Rear Admiral V. K. Vitgeft, believed that the centre of gravity had moved from Vladivostok to Port Arthur. They highlighted the need to equip the latter with adequate naval repair facilities.47 From the spring of 1900 onwards the attention of the naval authorities, particularly in the Far East, was focused on the military campaign against the Boxers. During the rebellion the Pacific Ocean squadron provided the maritime communications of the Russian army in China and helped its operations on the ground.48 In the aftermath of the rebellion, Hiltebrandt reported to the General Admiral that several vessels of the squadron required the repair of mostly engine-related problems. He added that the facilities of both Port Arthur and Vladivostok were incapable of satisfying such needs.49 In December 1900 Alekseev informed Tyrtov that because of the squadron’s commitments during the Boxer Rebellion, repairs and training had been neglected. He also noted that repairs could not be performed in Port Arthur, in the absence of a large dock and other equipment. Stating his belief that the focus for the Russian navy in the Far East had shifted from Vladivostok to Port Arthur, Alekseev requested that the funds designated for Vladivostok’s second dock should instead be channelled into the construction of a large dry dock in Port Arthur. However, Tyrtov rebuffed the request on the grounds that this was administratively impossible. Alekseev was not discouraged and persisted in pressing for the erection of a large dry dock in Port Arthur.50 Meanwhile, in 1898–1900 important political and military developments led to the emergence of new challenges for Russia in the

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Baltic and the Black Sea theatres. The Near Eastern crises of the previous years had increased the anxiety of Russia’s governmental elite about the fate of the Straits. During these years the Ministry of Foreign Affairs supported the long-term project of opening the Straits to Russian warships for the protection of maritime trade. Nevertheless, it accepted that the realization of this policy had to be postponed as currently Russia had diverted its resources to the Far East, but also because of the weakness of the Black Sea Fleet and of the means at the disposal of the Bosphorus expedition. Until Russia was prepared to alter the regime of the Straits, it was politically imperative to maintain the status quo in the region and protect the territorial integrity of the Ottoman empire. Militarily, it was important to ensure that the Straits remained closed to the warships of other powers and, above all, those of Britain. However, from 1898 Russian statesmen became increasingly worried by Germany’s unrelenting political, military and financial penetration into the Ottoman empire.51 St Petersburg reacted by negotiating with Berlin, hoping to delineate respective spheres of influence in Ottoman territories and secure recognition of the principle that Russia should have the right to seize the Bosphorus in time of crisis. However, Berlin refused and St Petersburg was now faced with the gloomy prospect that rivalry with Germany had spread to the Near East.52 Following the occupation of Port Arthur, means and supplies designated for the Bosphorus expedition were used to quickly improve the defences of the new fortress in the Far East. Concurrently, the Navy Ministry channelled most resources to the Far Eastern theatre at the expense of the Black Sea Fleet. For instance, one battleship and two cruisers prescribed by the 1895 programme for the Black Sea Fleet were only launched in 1900. Moreover, nothing had been done to increase the transport means at the disposal of the expeditionary forces. The Commander of the Odessa Military District took the view that the operation had become unworkable because of this.53 At least until August 1899 the plan of the expedition was based upon the following principles. According to Musin-Pushkin, in case of internal political changes in the Ottoman empire and direct intervention by other Great Powers, Russia should immediately occupy both sides of the Bosphorus and defend them in order to

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block the foray of an enemy fleet into the Black Sea basin. This was to be achieved by dispatching an initial landing echelon of 23,000 troops with the task of suddenly capturing the Bosphorus batteries. Following this, the straits should be blocked through the immediate placing of minefields, which would be protected by the deployment of a special artillery detachment of 164 large-calibre guns. However, Musin-Pushkin highlighted a number of key problems that would hinder the success of the expedition. Firstly, taking into account the strength of the Turkish garrison of Constantinople and the prospect of reinforcement from other areas, he considered that the current expeditionary force was now insufficient. Moreover, the number of available transports was far from sufficient for the quick and simultaneous transportation of the whole of the first landing echelon. MusinPushkin believed that this could compromise the entire operation. Landing means, such as caterers, were also in short supply. Another problem was the reliable defence of the minefields, which would be chiefly protected by the special artillery detachment. However, the detachment was currently composed of only 70 guns, not all of which were capable of piercing the armour of modern battleships. Crucially, the lack of specially-designed military transports would result in delaying the deployment of the detachment. Musin-Pushkin stressed the need to construct such transports for the expedition and was critical of the fact that, although it was decided to do so a couple of years earlier, nothing had been done.54 In January and February 1900 the course of Russian foreign and defence policy in Asia and in the Ottoman empire was the subject of interministerial consultation. Muravev believed that Russia was militarily unprepared and it was important to avoid confrontation with Japan. For this reason, as already demonstrated, he opposed the establishment of a naval base in Mosampo and Kargodo. However, he believed that a strong naval presence was instrumental for the conduct of Russian foreign policy in the Far East and thus proposed the further reinforcement of the squadron in these waters. In relation to the Ottoman empire, Muravev argued that Russia should be prepared to capture the Straits. Tyrtov agreed with the latter, but pointed out that the success of the expedition depended on constructing special military transports and a large number of

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torpedo craft. For the Far East, Tyrtov advocated the acquisition of Mosampo and Kargodo and also urged that the squadron should be further reinforced. Kuropatkin, who did not dwell on Far Eastern questions, concurred with his colleagues that Russia should be militarily prepared to seize the Turkish Straits. In contrast to Muravev and Tyrtov, Witte opposed both the capture of the Straits and the further reinforcement of the Pacific Ocean squadron.55 The Ministry of Foreign Affairs, summarizing the above views, concluded that there was overwhelming consensus that Russia should be militarily ready to occupy the Bosphorus sometime in the future and that it was thus important to reinforce the Black Sea Fleet.56 In his March report to the Tsar, Kuropatkin had also examined the strategic situation in the Black Sea. He believed that the security of Russia’s southern and Caucasian coastline depended to a large extent on commanding the waters of the Black Sea, not least since the Ottoman army on the Caucasus front was improving quantitatively and qualitatively. Thus, Russian maritime command of the Black Sea would protect the flank of land forces in the Caucasus and allow for their secure provisioning. Moreover, Russia would also have the option of carrying out a landing in the rear of the Turkish army in Constantinople, though he objected to the occupation of the Dardanelles on the grounds that this could lead to a European war. He added that, given the possibility of British intervention and the unquestionable superiority of the RN, Russia could only attain command of the Black Sea by seizing the Bosphorus. Kuropatkin justified this further by arguing that Germany’s penetration in the Ottoman empire signified the appearance of a new adversary in the region. He took the view that, preferably, the occupation of the Bosphorus should be achieved peacefully through an agreement with Turkey, but cautioned that it was still imperative to be militarily prepared for an opposed operation. Firstly, this demanded that Russia should be ready for war on the western frontiers in case of German opposition. Secondly, given that the success of the operation depended on a sudden and swift descent on the Bosphorus, it was vital for all the necessary means to be sufficiently prepared. However, he argued that currently this was not the case, as for example the existing transport ships could not convey the whole expeditionary

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corps simultaneously. Kuropatkin thought that this should be rectified by prioritizing, above all, ‘the quick reinforcement of the Black Sea Fleet’, which was the key to Russia’s position in the Black Sea and, in particular, for the success of the Bosphorus expedition.57 In October 1900 Musin-Pushkin’s assistant, General Dokhturov, addressed a report to the War Ministry. Dokhturov noted that, as the plan for the expedition stood in July 1900, the seizure of both sides of the Bosphorus would have to be carried out with the dispatch of a first landing echelon of 16,000 troops.58 However, he argued that the strength of the initial echelon was ‘completely insufficient’, since it would have to capture and hold a relatively large territory and also because it would be divided between the European and Asiatic sides of the Bosphorus channel. He advised that the strengthening of the expeditionary forces with additional troops and field artillery pieces was indispensable. In addition, the successful protection of the minefields depended on reinforcing the coastal artillery detachment. Dokhturov sounded the alarm bell, particularly as regards the transport and landing means of the expedition. Apart from noting the great inadequacy of landing means, the report critically stressed that the number of transport vessels was not always sufficient even for conveying the first echelon in its entirety, and it highlighted the lack of specialized carriers for horses and the guns of the special artillery detachment. Dokhturov explicitly stated that the enemy fleet was expected to arrive at the Bosphorus on the fourth day, but that the special artillery detachment would only be fully deployed on the seventh. This delay would compromise the inviolability of the minefields.59 After reading Dokhturov’s report, Kuropatkin informed MusinPushkin that it was necessary to settle these and other issues related to the expedition.60 On 11 November 1900 a commission convened in Yalta under Kuropatkin with the participation of Musin-Pushkin, Dokhturov and the Chief of Staff of the Odessa Military District, Major General A. P. Protopopov. The War Minister argued that Russia’s preoccupation with the Far East had diverted attention from the Bosphorus. However, he thought that it was now necessary to concentrate once again on the requirements of the expedition. Renewed volatility in the Balkans and the threat of European

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and especially German penetration of the Ottoman empire made this imperative. In fact, Kuropatkin voiced the view that Germany posed a more serious menace in the Near East than Britain and in this sense the expedition should not just be focused on countering the RN. Protopopov stated that in 1896 the expedition had been planned on the foundation that the Turks would not put up any serious resistance, but that this no longer held true, largely owing to the military assistance that the Ottoman army received from Germany. Hence, it was mandatory to substantially increase the expeditionary corps. Kuropatkin concurred and added that the army should now bear the main responsibility for planning the operation. Musin-Pushkin also suggested that apart from increasing the land forces, it would also be necessary to reinforce the special artillery detachment and construct six transports. He also noted that the preparedness of the Black Sea Fleet had improved and that it currently contained seven battleships, whilst another battleship and two new cruisers had already been launched. Nevertheless, the commission concluded that ‘with the numerical increase of the landing detachment it would also be desirable to increase the means of the Black Sea Fleet’.61 In 1898–1900 important developments also affected the naval situation in the Baltic theatre. In 1894 the German naval leadership believed that in case of conflict with Russia and France, the combined enemy naval forces would be significantly superior to the German navy. Therefore it was thought that Germany could lose command of the sea, which would halt the flow of vital strategic resources from overseas. This constituted the original impetus behind the idea of creating a strong German battleship-centred fleet. However, by the summer of 1897, under the influence of the State Secretary of the Naval Office, Rear Admiral A. von Tirpitz, the aim had shifted to exerting political influence over Britain in support of Germany’s ambitious bid to become a global power. In March 1898, benefiting from the backing of Kaiser Wilhelm II and exploiting a conducive domestic political environment, the German navy succeeded in having the First Naval Law ratified by the Reichstag. The law envisaged the creation of a German fleet composed of 19 battleships, eight coastal defence battleships, 12 large and 30 small cruisers by the spring of 1904.62 In June 1900 the Second Naval Law enlarged the previous programme

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by sanctioning the increase of the German navy to a force of 38 battleships, 20 armoured cruisers and 38 cruisers of other types by 1920. In the meantime, German naval operational planning against Russia continued upon the same premises as in previous years.63 Despite the enactment of the First Naval Law, the Russian Navy Ministry started seriously to examine the naval strategic situation in the Baltic only from 1899 onwards. In February 1899 a joint services commission, held with the participation of Tyrtov, Avelan, Kuropatkin and Sakharov, reaffirmed the view that the principal duty of the navy in the Baltic was to oppose a German landing on the flanks of the Russian army. However, the leadership of the army doubted whether the Baltic Fleet was capable of fulfilling this mission.64 Indeed, this assertion seems to have been justified. Most of the up-to-date capital vessels had been sent to the Far East. This was reflected in the composition of the Baltic training squadron, which included only a small number of large ships and a ragtag collection of insufficiently manned torpedo boats.65 In 1900 a conference of the senior naval command of the Baltic Fleet also cast doubts on the value of the torpedo flotillas situated in the theatre. Many of the torpedo vessels required essential repairs, were undermanned and operated by ill-trained crews.66 In March 1899 the GMSh produced a report that pointed out that it was important not to leave the Baltic theatre undefended. It calculated that, following the reinforcement of the Pacific Ocean squadron, by 1905 the Baltic Fleet would consist of eight old battleships. Moreover, the existing coastal defence battleships, gunboats and most torpedo craft were already antiquated and there was also a complete lack of minelayers. Obviously this illustrated the necessity to reinforce the Baltic Fleet. In practice this could only materialize through the existing framework of the 1895 programme. Specifically, the report drew attention to the fact that four coastal defence battleships and three gunboats designated for service in the theatre had not yet begun construction and that the available funds for this stood only at 30 million roubles.67 On 14 April 1899 a commission of senior admirals, headed by Tyrtov, discussed the issue. The participants agreed that the central task of the Baltic Fleet was to contest an enemy landing on the rear

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of the Russian army in the Riga and Finnish Gulfs. Some of the officers, for example Vice Admirals Kaznakov and Dikov, argued that the defence of the Baltic littoral should be carried out by battleships undertaking offensive operations in open waters. Others, like Vice Admiral Alekseev, believed that owing to the overwhelming superiority of the German and British navies it was impossible for Russia to have a sufficiently strong battleship fleet in the Baltic Sea. Instead the theatre should be defended by a strong torpedo flotilla. Tyrtov, taking the middle ground, argued that the successful employment of a coastal defence force, even when including a large number of torpedo vessels, could not be guaranteed without the support of battleships. In the end, the commission sanctioned the construction of at least one battleship, one coastal defence battleship, one cruiser, several destroyers and transport vessels for the Baltic Fleet, as well as six torpedo vessels for the Black Sea.68 However, a long consultation process between the MTK and GUKiS stalled the building of these vessels.69 Their construction was also impeded by the policy of economizing and the Navy Ministry’s preoccupation with the Far Eastern theatre. For example, as mentioned earlier, the construction of the coastal defence battleship was cancelled in the autumn of 1900. As regards the Baltic theatre’s naval facilities, in 1899 the project for the development of Libau was cut in half and funds were significantly reduced. Libau was now designated only as a winter station and auxiliary to Kronstadt.70 However, in June 1898 Kronstadt’s commander presented a damning report about the defensive capabilities of the island base. Although the construction of new fortresses was under way and some older ones were being reconstructed, the majority of the fortifications were considered to be antiquated. Moreover, their ordnance consisted of many old guns that were to a large extent unsuitable for coastal warfare, while the ammunition supplies were far from complete. In addition, the existing communications means did not allow for coordinated action by the forts. On top of all this, the defence of minefields and offensive operations against the adversary’s fleet were seriously weakened by the fact that the fortress’s torpedo flotilla was almost non-existent. Consequently, an enemy fleet would be in a position to bombard several of the fortresses and batteries.71

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While Russia’s naval leaders were weighing strategic options and limited financial resources, a lively debate continued in Morskoi Sbornik, which illustrates many of the navy’s strategic assumptions and priorities in these years. Navalist propaganda intensified through the publication of articles unequivocally expounding the importance of naval power for Russia. For instance, V. F. Golovachov asserted that historical examples illustrated the importance of the fleet in the creation and expansion of the modern Russian state and empire, and that naval power had contemporary significance in the pursuit of national interests, principally against Britain.72 Another author took the view that the navy was more significant than the army in all spheres of state activity. He advocated that a strong offensivelyminded fleet was vital for any state aspiring to play a powerful role in international relations, particularly in supporting political and commercial interests in distant parts of the globe.73 Such views were strengthened by the very positive review of Mahan’s first two books, which the reviewer recommended should be read by Russian service personnel in order for them to realize the importance of sea power in Russia’s policy of expansion in search of new markets.74 In the interim, the Spanish–American War of 1898 had attracted the attention of naval strategists. Mahan examined the conflict’s naval actions in a new book, where he reiterated his previous views on naval warfare, such as the importance of offensive action and of gaining command of the sea through the destruction of the adversary’s fleet. As regards landing operations and the transportation of supplies by sea, he argued that they were impossible in the presence of a superior enemy navy. In the event that the fleets of the two rivals were roughly equal and command of the sea was in doubt, he perceived amphibious landings as a foolish undertaking. Looking into the question of possessing an inferior fleet, Mahan, in the footsteps of Colomb, recommended that the best possible use for such a fleet would be to lock it up in an impregnable base and impose upon the opponent the onus of preventing its escape. The continuing presence of an inferior fleet in being on, or near, the theatre of war would constitute a perpetual menace and could delay and restrict the enemy’s operations. For Mahan, the value of a fleet in being would be even greater if it contained mobile armoured cruisers capable of

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striking at the adversary’s lines of maritime communications and coastline. During the Spanish–American War the threat posed by Spanish cruisers led the Americans to delay their landing operations and to detach their own cruisers to protect their coastline from Spanish raids. Nevertheless, in contrast to Colomb, Mahan stressed that the value of a fleet in being should not be exaggerated and that in due course it would be annihilated by a superior enemy fleet.75 Mahan’s views became known in Russia in 1899, at first through the publication of a series of articles by Klado and later by the Russian edition of the book produced under the auspices of the GMSh, which quickly turned it into a classic example of naval strategic analysis for the students of the Naval Academy.76 The advantages of maintaining an inferior fleet in being were positively evaluated in the pages of Morskoi Sbornik, particularly in the context of defending against amphibious landings, a subject of great practical bearing to the security threats that the Russian navy had to confront in the Baltic and the Far East. According to one author, the essential prerequisites for a successful amphibious landing were the destruction of the opponent’s fleet and attaining command of the sea. The continuous existence of an enemy fleet in the operational theatre would substantially jeopardize an amphibious landing. Carrying out such an operation under these conditions entailed many risks and went against the proper application of the rules of war at sea.77 Another author noted that the risks posed by the presence of the weaker Spanish fleet delayed the transportation of the American expeditionary force to Cuba and conceived this to be a clear illustration of Colomb’s principle of preserving a fleet in being.78 Finally, in order to obtain a comprehensive picture of the general strategic environment within which the Russian navy operated in 1898–1900 it is important to look at developments related to the Franco-Russian alliance. Like the previous years, in the spring of 1898 the EMGM did not count on the assistance of the Russian navy in case of war against the Triple Alliance. In the northern theatre the French fleet was considerably inferior to the German navy. Crucially, the Germans could block any attempt to unite the weak French forces with Russia’s small Baltic Fleet. In the south the Black Sea Fleet was restricted within the confines of this basin, while Russia only had

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two battleships in the Mediterranean Sea, where the French navy was already strong enough even against the combined forces of Italy and Austria-Hungary.79 Equally, Russian misgivings about the French navy were still very much alive. For example, in April 1898 Klado argued that the development of the French navy in comparison to fleets of the Triple Alliance powers had been hampered by the frequent changes of ministers, which had resulted in the construction of a heterogeneous fleet and in the squandering of time and funds. Many French warships did not correspond to contemporary demands, were of doubtful quality and plagued by design problems. Moreover, he thought that the French navy lacked cruisers. Overall, Klado believed that Russia could not count on obtaining effective assistance from the French navy.80 Although such views probably hindered the establishment of close naval cooperation and combined planning, in practice Russia indirectly benefited from the alliance, particularly as regards the Baltic theatre. It seems that the Russian naval authorities considered that in the event of war against Britain the Baltic coastline would hardly be under threat since the whole might of the RN would fall upon the French fleet. Likewise, the French Northern squadron would distract the German fleet in the initial stages of war against the Triple Alliance. Consequently, the Russian navy would have the time to take the necessary defensive measures to render a German landing operation on Russia’s Baltic coastline impossible.81 The option of FrancoRussian guerre de course operations against Britain was discussed in the pages of Morskoi Sbornik in the summer of 1898. In June an article suggested that such operations could be successful if carried out in colonial waters.82 However, this view was rebutted in August when another article pointed out that the British would be able easily to blockade the two allied fleets in European waters and have the upper hand in the Mediterranean. Furthermore, the RN would also be in a position to cope with Franco-Russian cruisers in Far Eastern waters and in the open oceans, because in their great majority these ships had a limited radius of action.83 In the second half of 1898 Anglo-French antagonism in the upper Nile escalated to a full-blown crisis. By the autumn of 1898 the so-called Fashoda crisis brought the two powers to the verge of

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war. The Chief of the EMGM took the dim view that the country was not prepared to wage war against Britain. The RN was numerically and qualitatively superior both in terms of battleships and cruisers. Furthermore, the numerous French torpedo flotillas were very dispersed and isolated. The absolute incapacity of the navy to confront Britain and protect France’s overseas colonies forced Paris to step down. Another factor that contributed to this decision was Russia’s unwillingness to support France militarily. However, even if Russia was prepared to do so, it is doubtful whether it could have offered any effective military assistance. According to Kuropatkin, the absence of a railway line linking Orenburg and Tashkent in Central Asia did not allow for the swift concentration of a large number of troops capable of threatening Britain in India. Besides, the Russian navy was not in a position to effectively help the French in a struggle against the RN. The British Admiralty intended to screen the Baltic Fleet with a small detachment positioned in the North Sea, considering that none of the Russian battleships in the Baltic were ready for wartime service. In the Mediterranean theatre the Admiralty felt confident that it could simultaneously take on both the French Toulon squadron and the Russian Black Sea Fleet, in the event that the latter emerged from the Straits and attempted to convoy an expeditionary force to Egypt. In relation to the Far East, the Admiralty was of the opinion its warships in the northern section of the station were sufficient to deal with the scattered Russian units and that the French squadron in the south was far inferior to British forces located in Hong Kong.84 In November 1898 the French naval attaché in St Petersburg examined the question whether France could rely on the Russian Pacific Ocean squadron for the protection of French Indochina in case of war with Britain. The attaché stated that the existing military convention did not oblige Russia to support France against Britain. He also noted that until this point, the two allies had not pursued the goal of a naval convention. According to the attaché the Russian Pacific Ocean squadron was not in a position to protect Russia’s possessions in the region from Japanese landing operations and stand up to the RN. Hence he doubted whether Russia would leave its Far Eastern borders undefended and move the squadron

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to Indochina. He therefore concluded that the Russian government would refuse to commit the Pacific Ocean squadron for the defence of French Indochina. Based on all of the above, the attaché was also pessimistic about the possibility of reaching a naval agreement with Russia concerning the Far East, even in the future.85 A few days later, the EMGM analyzed the strength and position of the Russian navy in European waters. The Baltic Fleet was seen as very weak and only capable of conducting coastal defence missions. The Black Sea Fleet did not have access to the Mediterranean and an attempt to capture the Bosphorus would certainly be blocked by the RN. Finally, the French effectively perceived Russian naval forces in the Mediterranean to be feeble and unable to participate in combat.86 In the aftermath of Fashoda, French enthusiasm for the alliance with Russia reached a low ebb, since St Petersburg had not actively supported Paris during the crisis. Meanwhile, Anglo-French colonial antagonism continued unabated. The French government, fearful of a British pre-emptive strike, was determined to obtain Russian assistance in the event of a future crisis. In 1898 and 1899 the Russian-inspired Hague disarmament conference also fuelled French disillusionment with the alliance. The French government feared that this initiative would further reduce Russia’s military potential, which was already trailing far behind that of Germany. It also thought that the conference could lead to the permanent delineation of the existing boundaries in Europe and thus dispel any hope of regaining the German-occupied provinces of Alsace and Lorraine. The French were also becoming increasingly worried over the possibility that Austria-Hungary could collapse due to internal problems. They thought that in this case Russia and Germany would reach an agreement, according to which they would both annex Austro-Hungarian territories. More importantly, France felt the necessity of ensuring that the alliance with Russia would remain in place even if the Triple Alliance ceased to exist. All these factors made it imperative for France to reaffirm the alliance. At the same time, Russian statesmen were also keen on doing so because of growing German involvement in the Ottoman empire and the continuing antagonism with Britain in Asia. In fact, both Russia and France were concerned with the possibility of Britain joining the Triple Alliance. Furthermore, for

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his own purposes, Witte wanted to strengthen Russia’s financial ties with France. It was against this background that in August 1899 the French Minister of Foreign Affairs, Théophile Delcassé, visited St Petersburg. During his visit the two governments confirmed their commitment to the alliance, but also consented to the introduction of two new clauses. Firstly, it was agreed that the military convention would remain in force, even if the Triple Alliance disintegrated. Secondly, the two allied army chiefs of staff would consult regularly through yearly conferences.87 In June 1900 the Chief of Staff of the French army met Sakharov in Russia. The two chiefs mainly discussed the details of an operational plan against Germany. According to the plan, Russia had to assist France by attacking Germany in the initial stages of the war. Even though the two generals were preoccupied with planning against Germany, they also put forward a number of measures in the event of conflict with Britain. Russia would launch an offensive in the direction of British India with the aim of diverting troops that could otherwise be employed against France’s Asian colonies. The success of this operation depended on the laying of a railway line between Tashkent and Orenburg, which would permit the quick deployment of a large number of Russian troops in Central Asia. France was to station 100,000–150,000 men at the coastline adjacent to the Channel. The presence of this force would raise the spectre of an invasion and induce Britain to keep substantial ground forces for the defence of the metropolitan islands, which could otherwise be dispatched to India.88 After the Fashoda crisis, the British NID continued to carefully gauge Russian naval developments. In the last months of 1898 the British naval attaché in St Petersburg scrutinized Russia’s construction effort and correctly remarked that the programme had denuded resources from the Black Sea shipbuilding establishments.89 In the autumn of 1899 the NID expressed the view that although the Russian government strived to be independent of imported naval materiel, nevertheless strict adherence to this policy resulted in the dearth of a reserve of modern naval guns, which in turn led to considerable delays in equipping vessels with their designated armaments.90 Towards the end of November it became evident to the NID that the

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rate of increase of the Russian naval budget was inadequate to meet the fleet’s overall requirements, including the funding of the ongoing shipbuilding programme. Nevertheless, the NID still expected the substantial reinforcement of the Russian Pacific Ocean squadron in the course of 1900.91 In the summer of 1900 the NID produced another general evaluation of the Russian navy, based upon the reports of the naval attaché in St Petersburg. Once again doubts were raised as to whether the Russian shipbuilding programme would be executed as intended. Some of the vessels had already exceeded their original estimates and the construction process was marred by delays attributed to several factors, including the frequent alteration of the original design features, the slow domestic procurement of armaments and failures in the hardening of armour plate. The reports were also critical of the quality and effectiveness of Russian naval officers on the grounds that they spent very little time at sea, their limited actual command experience and the absence of esprit de corps. Significantly, the attaché presented to the Admiralty a realistic appraisal of the true capabilities of the Black Sea Fleet. He thought that several of the battleships were fitted with antiquated guns and worn out boilers, whilst he also noted they were very poorly complemented by scouts and destroyers. Taking all this into account, in conjunction with the absence of a Russian naval base in the Mediterranean, he correctly predicted that the Black Sea Fleet was not intended to go farther than Constantinople and that ‘there is no idea at present of opening the way to the Mediterranean, all the energies of the Admiralty being at present absorbed by the Far East’. Having read the above intelligence assessment, the new DNI, Rear Admiral R. Custance, believed that in the absence of extensive shipbuilding yards, their indifferent management, the low quality of personnel and the lack of reserves ‘the Russian Navy is an artificial production incapable of standing up against a prolonged struggle at sea’ and added that ‘the Czar probably is ignorant of the real value of his navy’. With regard to the perpetual menace of the Black Sea Fleet, a relieved Custance expressed the view that just the mere threat of an equal number of RN ships was likely to prevent a Russian force from issuing into the Mediterranean.92

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In 1900 the British Admiralty, for a number of reasons, decided to concentrate assets on engaging the French Toulon squadron and to maintain only a small forward detachment for masking the Black Sea Fleet in the event that it descended into the Mediterranean. Nevertheless, the Commander-in-Chief of the Mediterranean Fleet, in the context of Anglo-Russian antagonism in Asia, had become increasingly fixated on the perceived threat posed by the Black Sea Fleet to Constantinople and to Egypt, and suggested a series of measures for neutralizing it. Custance and his superiors refused to concede to his demands on the grounds that he unduly magnified the menace of the Black Sea Fleet. Although they recognized that Constantinople was at Russia’s mercy, they nevertheless dismissed the idea that the Black Sea Fleet would descend upon Egypt.93 However, in the spring of 1900 Custance warned that in the Far East the RN was now numerically slightly weaker than the joint Franco-Russian squadrons. He thought that this situation could endanger Britain’s considerable regional maritime commerce and local bases. The DNI recommended that the squadron should abandon the northern section of the station to the Russians and concentrate against the French in the south. He counselled that, ideally, in peacetime the British squadron in Chinese waters should equal those of France and Russia combined and after the outbreak of hostilities attain superiority following the arrival of reinforcements from the Pacific and Europe.94

7 Alekseev’s Operational Plan and Future Challenges, 1901–1902

In January 1901 St Petersburg presented Peking with a list of demands for the evacuation of Manchuria, which if accepted would have provided Russia with administrative and exclusive economic control over this part of China. In February and the spring of 1901 Russia applied pressure to this effect, but China stood firm, encouraged by Britain, the United States and Japan. Japan, dissatisfied with Russian actions over Manchuria, adopted a belligerent attitude. Although in the end Japan refrained from pursuing a military solution because of internal political strife and the guarded advice of the military leadership, nevertheless to many observers war seemed imminent.1 On 20 February Chagin’s replacement, Captain A. I. Rusin, reported that the Japanese fleet had stockpiled supplies for six months and concentrated in two ports to conduct manoeuvres. In March he warned that Tokyo could initiate hostilities.2 On 23 February Kuropatkin informed Alekseev that the question of the evacuation of Manchuria could lead to conflict with Japan and that the Tsar had requested that measures should be taken for this eventuality.3 On the same day Alekseev sent a telegram to Vice Admiral Skrydlov, the Commander of the Pacific Ocean squadron from the summer of 1900. Alekseev instructed Skrydlov to place the squadron in a state of readiness and immediately to draw up an operational plan.4 Skrydlov riposted in March by dispatching a report to Alekseev. Skrydlov’s views largely echoed the conclusions of the

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war game conducted in the previous year under his supervision. He believed that Japan would most likely occupy Korea with substantial land forces, long before an equivalent number of Russian troops could assemble in the Far East. Having occupied Korea, the Japanese army would then dig in and wait to defend the peninsula against an onslaught launched by the gradually reinforced Russian army. From a naval perspective, he was of the opinion that the Russian squadron was inferior to the Japanese fleet numerically but also qualitatively as the latter had several new and powerful vessels. For Skrydlov, the readiness and efficiency of the Russian squadron was impaired by the lack of manoeuvres, training, repair-related problems and personnel shortages. In addition, the Japanese fleet had at its disposal several well-equipped and fortified ports, whilst in contrast Port Arthur was inadequately defended and equipped but also easy to blockade because of the single and narrow exit. Skrydlov thought that Vladivostok was better fortified and equipped than Port Arthur. Therefore, he recommended that under the circumstances the best option was to station and preserve the whole squadron in Vladivostok, since in any event the fleet would not effectively contribute to Port Arthur’s defence. However, he toyed with the idea of using cruisers for guerre de course operations and raids on the Japanese coastline.5 After receiving Skrydlov’s report, Alekseev and Vitgeft examined the issue. Contrary to Skrydlov, they thought that Japan was not only interested in Korea but that it was also seeking to establish itself in Manchuria and expel Russia from Kwangtung. Consequently, a potential Japanese advance into Manchuria meant that the major theatre of operations would be the western coast of Korea. For several reasons western Korea was the most advantageous staging platform for a Japanese move into Manchuria. Alekseev attributed great value to the strategic importance of Manchuria. In March 1901 he wrote to Kuropatkin calling for the permanent occupation of Manchuria, by highlighting its importance as a railway passage and potential use as a staging area for assembling the troops required for a future move against China or Korea. His argument was that it would take a significantly longer time to amass the same number of troops if they were instead dispatched from the Priamur. Therefore, it is no surprise that he concurred with Grodekov on concentrating Russian

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ground forces in south Manchuria. In order to provide sufficient time for the secure deployment of the army in south Manchuria, Alekseev took the view that the navy should resist a Japanese landing on the south Manchurian coastline and north-western Korea. On this premise, Vladivostok was too far away to serve as a base for the squadron. Instead, the core of the Russian squadron should be stationed in Port Arthur. This would place the squadron at the flank of the enemy transports convoying troops to the western coast of Korea, and additionally permit it to engage the Japanese fleet away from its well-equipped ports. In this sense, the strategic advantages of Port Arthur counterbalanced its tactical drawbacks. According to Vitgeft, a comparison of the two fleets indicated that the Japanese superiority in battleships and first-class cruisers was not substantial.6 Crucially, Alekseev deemed that the superiority of the Japanese fleet was not that significant, since he erroneously considered that modern warships in general, including the Japanese vessels, were often marred by technical weaknesses.7 Furthermore, according to Vitgeft, if four Russian cruisers based in Vladivostok carried out guerre de course and raids on the Japanese coastline, then it would be possible to distract five first-class Japanese cruisers and even one battleship from the principal theatre of operations and thus weaken the Japanese fleet. Vitgeft acknowledged that ideally the squadron should destroy the Japanese fleet, but accepted that this could not be done given its current strength. Instead, he argued that the squadron should attempt to foil Japanese landing operations and, if unsuccessful in this, then it should disrupt enemy communications between the Japanese islands and the Asian mainland. Because of the almost equal strength of the two fleets, these tasks had to be achieved with the smallest possible risk and by avoiding losses for as long as possible. Alekseev agreed with Vitgeft’s views.8 Operational planning was discussed by the entire Far Eastern naval command in a conference held in Port Arthur on 29 March and in the end, with Vitgeft’s support, Alekseev ignored Skrydlov’s views. On the following day, Alekseev issued a decree stating that in the event of war with Japan the main part of the squadron would be based in Port Arthur. Its mission consisted of blocking the access of the opponent’s fleet to the Yellow Sea and opposing Japanese landing operations on

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the western coast of Korea, specifically in, or north of, Chemulpo, or at the Yalu estuary at the borders between Korea and south Manchuria. Simultaneously, a cruiser detachment based in Vladivostok, through guerre de course and raids on the Japanese coastline, should divert segments of the adversary’s fleet from the Yellow Sea.9 Skrydlov passionately disagreed with the above plan. On 12 April he sent a report to Alekseev, in which he put forward an analysis of the naval situation that retrospectively proved to be prophetic. He argued that an evaluation of the strengths of the two adversaries suggested that the Russian squadron, stationed in Port Arthur, would not be able to oppose Japanese landing operations. Enemy transport vessels and landings would either be directly screened by the Japanese fleet or, alternatively, the Russian squadron would be blockaded in Port Arthur at the outbreak of the war. In both cases the squadron would be compelled to engage the Japanese fleet and, taking into account Russian inferiority, it would most likely be defeated. He also stated that: As regards the defence of Port Arthur, our fleet, because of the topographical particularities of this port cannot render it any significant assistance corresponding to the fleet’s actual strength. If on account of the accidents of war we are presented even with the temporary necessity to abandon Port Arthur, our fleet will be blockaded, probably subjected to the fate of the Black Sea [Fleet] in Sevastopol.10 Therefore, taking into account the inferiority of the squadron and the inadequacies of Port Arthur as a naval base, Skrydlov once again urged that, with the exception of coastal defence vessels, it would be safer to deploy the squadron in Vladivostok, from where it could operate with greater freedom of action. Skrydlov concluded that the only possible recourse to offensive action came down to undertaking secondary operations such as guerre de course.11 Shortly afterwards Alekseev replied by letter. Even though Alekseev admitted that the squadron would be safer in Vladivostok, he nevertheless stressed that the safety of the fleet was subordinated to overall state policies. Alluding to the need to take risks, he argued that since its inception the Russian navy had always fought from a position of

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inferiority and disregard for safety. He added that, in any case, Japan should not be allowed to have an easy victory. Alekseev, in somewhat contradictory fashion, once again repeated that the strength of the squadron was adequate to deter enemy action.12 The letter indicates Alekseev’s dynamic and ambitious nature, which in turn spurred his willingness to take risks. It also demonstrates his desire to justify the usefulness of the navy in Russian defence planning, not least since immense funds had been expended for the expansion of the Pacific Ocean squadron. Parallel with the formulation of the naval operational plan, the army’s Far Eastern command, in consultation with Alekseev, also engaged in war planning. It thought that Japan would take the initiative and act offensively. It acknowledged beyond doubt that Japan would occupy Korea, in which case Russia would not respond militarily. However, if the Japanese advanced towards Kwangtung and Manchuria then Russia should react. Vladivostok was not deemed to be the primary object of a Japanese attack. It was estimated that in the initial stages of the war Russia would muster roughly 64,000 men scattered between Vladivostok, Manchuria and Port Arthur. These forces would have to face a Japanese army of at least 100,000 troops in the first three months of the war. Because of Japan’s evident superiority, Russia’s land campaign initially had to be defensive. Russian troops should fight rearguard actions and avoid engaging the enemy in decisive battle until the arrival of reinforcements from Siberia and Europe. Russian troops should be deployed for protecting both Vladivostok and Port Arthur, but – and this was the crucial point – a large force was to be positioned in central and south Manchuria. This deployment was considered safe only upon the fundamental assumption that the fleet could block enemy landings in, or close to, south Manchuria and thereby delay the concentration of superior Japanese troop formations during the initial stage of the conflict. On 23 and 25 July 1901 Alekseev telegraphed to Kuropatkin that it was vital to block an enemy landing on the western coast of Korea, in order to allow for the safe concentration and reinforcement of Russian troops in Manchuria. Alekseev assured Kuropatkin that he considered ‘impossible’ the landing of a significant enemy force on the Liaotung peninsula. Moreover, he also asserted that the Pacific

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Ocean squadron could counteract a Japanese landing on the western coast of Korea. Alekseev wrote that: For this it is necessary for our naval forces to be concentrated in Port Arthur, although it still does not meet all the requirements of a main naval base. Unfortunately the numerical superiority of the Japanese fleet does not allow us to take the initiative and strike boldly. On 14 August 1901 the Tsar sanctioned an operational plan against Japan founded upon the above parameters, which largely reflected Grodekov’s and Alekseev’s views.13 From a theoretical viewpoint, the naval operational plan recognized the inability of the Russian squadron to obtain general command of the sea. Still, it considered that it was strong enough to dispute command of the Yellow Sea by acting defensively. Because of the risks, delays and dangers of an uncommanded sea the Japanese would have to land away from north-western Korea and Kwangtung, thus giving sufficient time for the concentration of Russian land forces in Manchuria. In short, this constituted a fleet in being strategy. Given the delicate balance between the Japanese and Russian naval forces in the region, Russia was prepared to risk the Pacific Ocean squadron to secure the safe concentration of its land forces in Manchuria.14 In the autumn of 1901 the Pacific Ocean squadron under Alekseev’s supervision conducted manoeuvres in the vicinity of Port Arthur and the western seaboard of Korea. In December 1901 Alekseev communicated to the General Admiral that the manoeuvres confirmed that the squadron was strong enough to oppose a Japanese landing in the Yalu estuary and north-western Korea.15 (When a commander wants manoeuvres to back his conceptions they will in most cases do so.) However, in a report addressed to the General Admiral in November, Skrydlov had painted a different picture of the strength of the squadron. He thought that the effective strength of the squadron stood at three battleships and one armoured cruiser, as other vessels of the same types were either antiquated or in need of capital repairs. He added that the Japanese fleet would have at its disposal six new battleships and six contemporary armoured cruisers.16 Evidently, the

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pronounced differences between Alekseev and Skrydlov were not resolved and most likely persisted until the replacement of Skrydlov by Vice Admiral Stark in the autumn of 1902. Although the spring crisis passed peacefully, by the autumn of 1901 Russian statesmen were convinced of the need to avoid conflict with Japan, as they felt that Russia’s strategic position in the Far East was weak. Lambsdorff, Witte and Kuropatkin believed that Russia should settle differences with Japan by extending the latter’s economic and commercial domination of Korea into political control in return for a free hand in Manchuria, though the War Minister wanted a restriction on the permanent stationing of Japanese ground forces in the peninsula. However, the Tsar and the navy were opposed to providing Japan with absolute control over Korea. Nicholas II certainly believed that this would create a ‘new Bosphorus’ for Russia in Asia. Alekseev and Tyrtov, although supporting an agreement, concurred that unimpeded navigation through the Korean Straits was essential, particularly when considering the separation of Port Arthur from Vladivostok. For both admirals the only practical guarantee for free navigation was the acquisition of a port in the southern Korean coastline. In November and December 1901 informal talks were held in St Petersburg with the former Japanese Prime Minister Ito Hirobumi. Ito promised that Japan would not fortify the coastline of southern Korea nor impede Russian navigation through the Korean Straits. Nevertheless, Tyrtov still continued to insist on having a base in south Korea, on the grounds that the non-fortification of the Korean Straits was irrelevant since Japan already effectively controlled the passage by merit of its own naval bases. Although Lambsdorff, with the backing of Witte and Kuropatkin, was prepared to disregard the navy’s view and to seek an agreement with Japan, this proved to be impossible since by that time Tokyo was secretly negotiating an alliance with London.17 From the spring of 1901 onwards the British Admiralty was alarmed by the ever-increasing naval power of Russia in Far Eastern waters. In 1902 the combined Franco-Russian fleet in Far Eastern waters of seven modern and two older battleships and 20 cruisers would greatly outnumber the RN’s China squadron of four battleships and 16 cruisers. The Admiralty was under pressure to curtail its exponentially spiralling estimates whilst roughly clinging onto

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numerical battleship equality with the Dual Alliance, at a time when the unrelenting expansion of the German navy was a source of concern. In August 1901 the First Lord of the Admiralty, the Earl of Selborne, put forward a memorandum to the Cabinet. Although he acknowledged the necessity to protect Britain’s Far Eastern colonies and lucrative maritime trade, Selborne argued against the dispersion of precious assets to the peripheral Far Eastern theatre, because in a struggle against France and Russia ‘the decisive battles would certainly be fought in European waters’. Selborne advocated an alliance with Japan, since the navy of that country could decisively tilt the balance in favour of the RN, by making it possible to field a combined AngloJapanese fleet of 11 battleships and numerous cruisers. The Japanese naval leadership, calculating that it would be unable to continue matching Russia’s growing naval power in the Far East, welcomed the prospect. In January 1902 Britain and Japan concluded an alliance driven by these naval considerations and the clash of their political and economic interests with those of Russia in Asia. The treaty terms stipulated their commitment to support their interests in China and that if one of the signatories was at war with a third power the other would remain neutral, unless the enemy was joined by an ally. The alliance also included the general but not binding principle of maintaining regional naval superiority over a third power. By the autumn of 1902 London and Tokyo decided that their navies would share coaling and docking facilities in peacetime and also put into place several practical provisions for waging combined operations in wartime. Moreover, at the end of June 1902 the two allies agreed to concentrate their fleets against the main body of the Franco-Russian forces with the object of destroying the enemy fleet and obtaining command of the sea, upon which depended the dispatch of ground forces to the Asian mainland. The option of sending British army units to fight alongside the Japanese in Manchuria remained open.18 Following the establishment of the Anglo-Japanese alliance, St Petersburg proposed a similar treaty to Paris. France was unwilling to bind itself to the whims of St Petersburg’s Far Eastern policy. Eventually, in March 1902 Russia and a reluctant France agreed that they would safeguard each other’s interests in China and the Far East. In reality the expansion of the alliance in the Far East did

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not commit France to anything concrete.19 From a military perspective, France did not perceive the Anglo-Japanese alliance as a direct threat to its security interests in the region. Moreover, it thought that supporting Russia would create unnecessary security risks. By 1899 France’s naval position in the Far East had deteriorated sharply and the local naval commander was of the opinion that both the Russian and British squadrons were superior to his. In the spring of 1902 French naval forces in the Far East consisted of two old battleships, four cruisers, some gunboats and torpedo vessels. In addition, a vast distance separated French naval bases in Indochina from Port Arthur and Vladivostok. Crucially, the combined Franco-Russian fleet would be so inferior to its Anglo-Japanese counterpart that the latter would have command of the sea. In any case, the French Indochina garrison could not resist an invasion by the numerically superior Japanese army.20 Shortly after the conclusion of the Anglo-Japanese alliance, Rusin reported to Alekseev that Japan, with the assistance and cover of the British navy, could now land at Kwangtung and blockade the squadron in Port Arthur. Alekseev seems to have shared these concerns. On 2 March 1902 Alekseev and his army chief of staff, Lieutenant Colonel V. E. Flug, reported to the War Minister that even if Britain did not declare war on Russia, the RN could nonetheless assist the Japanese navy either by keeping tabs on the Russian squadron or by deciding to attack it at any time. This was highly advantageous for the Japanese fleet, which was currently stronger than the Pacific Ocean squadron. In practice this meant that the Japanese could now land troops in Manchuria and even in Kwangtung. Therefore, Alekseev and Flug argued that it was necessary to improve the fortification of Port Arthur and reinforce the garrison of Kwangtung. Recognizing the weakness of the Pacific Ocean squadron, they asserted that its main mission consisted in opposing enemy landings in the Yellow Sea and Kwangtung and also assisting ground forces in defending the Kwangtung peninsula. Moreover, they envisaged that simultaneously a cruiser detachment would undertake guerre de course on the enemy’s lines of communications in order to distract part of the opponent’s fleet. Nevertheless, despite the danger of a Japanese landing near Kwangtung, Alekseev and Flug insisted on maintaining the

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deployment of the field forces in south Manchuria and coordinating their actions with the Kwangtung garrison. On the same day, the Far Eastern army and naval command considered organizing the naval defence of Port Arthur through the utilization of a coastal defence system and mine-laying.21 On 27 May 1902 Kuropatkin presented Alekseev’s and Flug’s recommendations regarding the improvement of Kwangtung’s defences to the Tsar, which Nicholas II approved.22 In 1902 the commander of the cruiser detachment, Rear Admiral K. P. Kuzmich, formulated a plan for his ships. He thought that the threat presented by the detachment should be serious enough to distract a significant part of the adversary’s fleet from the Yellow Sea. In order to do so, the cruisers should leave Vladivostok and the Sea of Japan and operate on Japan’s southern coastline. All of the country’s important commercial ports from where Japanese troops would be dispatched to the Asian mainland were situated there. Therefore, the cruiser detachment should prowl the area targeting commercial vessels and military transports, as well as sabotage Japan’s coastal railway lines upon which army units would travel from their bases to the ports.23 In terms of naval support infrastructure, since the spring of 1901 Alekseev, worried about the prospect of war with Japan, was constantly pressing for accelerating the completion of Port Arthur’s fortifications. Not much was achieved. In addition to the existing construction difficulties, work was delayed further by a cholera epidemic, the small number of engineer officers present and the lack of funds. By 1903 Port Arthur could only be defended to some extent from the coastal side, while land defences constituted no more than a temporary fortified position.24 Until late in 1902 the development of Port Arthur’s naval facilities was delayed by an ongoing debate between various commissions and organizations, such as GUKiS and MTK, over construction details. Even until the spring of 1903 the Finance and War Ministries were at loggerheads over the costs of the project. This situation had serious implications, above all in relation to the absence of a large dock, mainly because Port Arthur was now designated as the squadron’s principal base in wartime. In 1901 Alekseev bombarded St Petersburg with requests for a large dock since vessels were still being dispatched to Vladivostok for repairs. The assignment of funds for a large dock was only approved in August 1902

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and the project was scheduled to commence in the autumn of the same year.25 Meanwhile, the squadron continued to suffer from a large deficit of personnel as well as from insufficient supplies and ammunition.26 The application of the state of armed reserve for the squadron was another blow in terms of preparedness. In July 1901 Alekseev complained to Avelan that this would be dangerous as the squadron should be as prepared as the Japanese navy, which conducted training and manoeuvring regularly throughout the year.27 Alekseev’s protests did not stop the introduction of the measure. The Anglo-Japanese alliance and the lame agreement with France demonstrated Russia’s diplomatic isolation in the Far East. Concerns over serious diplomatic complications and the growing costs involved in the military occupation of Manchuria left no alternative for Russia but to come to an understanding with China. On 26 March 1902 Russia and China signed the Peking agreement, according to which the former would evacuate Manchuria by the autumn of 1903, while the latter confirmed Russia’s special interests in Manchuria but with fewer powers than originally demanded. However, disagreements between Witte and Kuropatkin over the desirability of evacuating Manchuria created uncertainty over the practical implementation of the policy. At the same time, a group of courtiers, with Bezobrazov acting as the frontman, appealed to the Tsar, castigating the evacuation as a sign of weakness and instead arguing in favour of pursuing a sturdy and uncompromising policy in the Far East.28 During these years the Russian navy also paid close attention to the situation in the Baltic theatre. In June 1900 the GMSh and Avelan, on behalf of Tyrtov, instructed the Chief of the Naval Academy that the war game for the forthcoming winter should examine the scenario of defending the Baltic littoral against Germany, following the completion of the reinforcement of the Pacific Ocean squadron in 1905.29 The war game was played out with the participation of naval and army personnel and was concluded in April 1901. The representative of the Nicholas Army General Staff Academy, Major General N. P. Mikhnevich, looked at the strategic importance of the Baltic littoral in case of war with Germany. He argued that despite the intrinsic importance of St Petersburg as the empire’s capital

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and the presence of irreplaceable military factories, the city was far away from the main population centres. He believed that Germany’s foremost task would be to capture Moscow, the loss of which would significantly weaken Russia’s power to resist. He therefore expected that the central axis and thrust of a German offensive would be directed towards the city. In this respect the fall of St Petersburg would not be militarily decisive for the overall outcome of the war. According to Mikhnevich, the same applied to other points on the Baltic seaboard, such as Riga, because they were situated at a distance from the route of a potential German advance to Moscow. Furthermore, German landing operations in the Baltic would require large forces, which in turn would weaken the strength of the thrust towards Moscow. Hence Mikhnevich concluded that ‘the coast of the Baltic Sea and its gulfs are a secondary theatre of operations’.30 Army officers representing the GSh concurred that the main axis of the enemy offensive would be directed towards Moscow and that German success in the Baltic theatre would not significantly influence the outcome of the war. They thus asserted that Germany would not initiate any landing operations before achieving a decisive victory in the main theatre, something unlikely to happen until the third week of the war. Therefore, they concluded that although St Petersburg had to be protected, nevertheless the overall importance of the Baltic theatre was only secondary.31 Rear Admiral D. G. von Felkerzam, possibly partly motivated by the desire to defend the navy’s institutional interests, disagreed. He was of the opinion that if Germany had command of the Baltic Sea it could capture St Petersburg and conduct a landing in the rear of the Russian army’s mobilization and communication routes. So the defence of the Baltic littoral demanded the diversion of three badly-needed army corps from the main theatre of operations, whilst Germany would most likely spare only one corps for a landing operation. For that reason, a German landing constituted a serious threat and the most effective countermeasure was the presence of a strong Baltic Fleet.32 In the end, the participants of the war game deliberated that the enemy would most likely advance towards Moscow, in which case the Baltic Fleet would have a limited use. Nonetheless, they also accepted that the threat to St Petersburg and other coastal points necessitated

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the existence of a Baltic Fleet, which if not strong enough to obtain command of the sea should at least be capable of denying this advantage to Germany.33 In other words, this constituted a politically convenient compromise between the two services. The game’s report also compared the strengths of the Baltic Fleet and of the German navy for 1905, upon the premise that no allies were involved on either side. The core forces of the Russian squadron consisted of four up-to-date and four antiquated battleships, three coastal defence battleships and seven cruisers. Germany could dispose of 12 battleships, eight coastal defence battleships and 22 cruisers. According to the report, the considerable inferiority of the Baltic Fleet did not permit performing either offensive or major defensive naval operations. Germany would thus have the opportunity to capture St Petersburg, Libau or Riga through an amphibious landing. Under the circumstances the weak Baltic Fleet should attempt to delay the German operation, without however risking destruction. Moreover, in its current feeble state the Baltic Fleet should not be stationed in Libau, where it could be easily blockaded. Instead it should be entirely concentrated at the Gulf of Riga, supported by the parallel deployment of torpedo forces in Moonzund and the Finnish Gulf.34 In 1902 a report of the Staff of the Vilna Military District confirmed the views of the game’s army participants by pointing out that it was unlikely that Germany would detail large forces for a landing operation. Even if a German landing materialized, it would not affect the overall outcome of the war. Nevertheless the report admitted that the loss of Libau or Riga would create difficulties for the Russian army on the western frontier.35 In September 1901 Avelan acknowledged that the fleet had very limited means for the defence of the Baltic coastline.36 The Baltic Fleet’s support infrastructure was not in good condition either. In 1901 the defensive line of Kronstadt was weak and could not guarantee the inviolability of the Finnish Gulf. Moreover, the existing coastal artillery was antiquated, a small garrison manned the defensive line and mine-laying was marred by shortages of both vessels and personnel.37 As far as Libau was concerned, by December 1902 the port could accommodate 16 large warships and satisfy basic repair needs but was far from being adequately defended, equipped and supplied.38

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In 1901–1902 the concerns of the Russian army over the Straits intensified. On 27 February 1901 a commission of high-ranking army personnel, chaired by Sakharov, looked into the preparations for the Bosphorus expedition. Following on from the conclusions of the Yalta conference, the commission decided that it was necessary to augment the size of the expeditionary corps. Given the proposed strengthening of the landing echelon, the commission concluded that the number of transport vessels was completely insufficient and also called for the construction of four specialized transports designed for carrying horses and the guns of the special artillery detachment. Furthermore, the commission recommended improving the landing resources, increasing the number of guns of the special artillery detachment and setting coastal torpedo batteries as an additional means of protecting the minefields.39 Meanwhile, two days before the commission convened, Musin-Pushkin had met the Director of the Navy Ministry. Musin-Pushkin told Tyrtov that the Bosphorus expedition had recently acquired greater importance than before and that the War and Navy Ministries should now cooperate more closely. He added that the navy’s tasks were to build transports and maintain the fleet in a good state of preparedness. Tyrtov’s riposte was that owing to financial restrictions the Navy Ministry had its hands tied until 1904.40 In March Musin-Pushkin pursued the issue and addressed a letter to Tyrtov. He warned that while Russia had focused attention, expended funds and shifted military assets to the Far East, Germany’s penetration of the Ottoman empire had become a threat. He thus expressed the view that in addition to Britain, Germany should now also be counted as a serious potential adversary in the region. MusinPushkin believed that the best way of protecting Russia’s Black Sea coastline continued to be the Bosphorus expedition, which would block the entrance of an enemy fleet into the basin. However, he pointed out that three out of the seven completed battleships of the Black Sea Fleet were antiquated and required substantial repairs. Out of six gunboats only one had new boilers and half of the 26 destroyers needed to be replaced with up-to-date vessels. In addition, he argued that the available transports were insufficient for hauling all of the troops of the first echelon. Additionally, he highlighted the need for specialized horse and artillery transports. Tyrtov replied in the same

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month. He conceded that the construction of new transports was essential and also admitted that three of the battleships were indeed antiquated and had to undergo capital reconstruction, but repeated his point that this would have to wait for four years because of financial constraints. Nevertheless, injecting a glimmer of optimism, he pointed to the pending reinforcement of the Black Sea Fleet with one battleship, two cruisers and several torpedo boats that were already under construction.41 In May 1901 the Commander of the Black Sea Fleet requested that the Naval Academy should conduct a war game dealing with this theatre, the conclusions of which would assist in the formulation of operational plans. In September this was approved by the GMSh, which specifically instructed that the game should test the scenario of the Bosphorus expedition.42 In the winter of 1902 the Naval Academy obliged and in the spring presented the materials of the war game to the GMSh. The game was played out on the scenario of undertaking the Bosphorus expedition against British opposition. To this effect a detailed comparison of the strength of the Black Sea Fleet with both the British Mediterranean Fleet and the Turkish fleet was compiled. The Black Sea Fleet comprised eight battleships with a force indicator of 399.4, two old coastal defence battleships, one first-class cruiser, six gunboats, 33 torpedo craft and two minelayers.43 In contrast, the Mediterranean Fleet was composed of 11 battleships with a force indicator of 842.9, two old coastal defence battleships, three first-class cruisers, five second-class cruisers, five third-class cruisers, one gunboat and 45 torpedo craft. The force of the Turkish fleet stood at two battleships, 15 antiquated coastal defence battleships and 27 torpedo vessels.44 Therefore the Russian fleet was numerically and qualitatively superior to its Turkish counterpart but significantly inferior to the British Mediterranean Fleet.45 Consequently, the participants of the game concluded that in case of a fleet engagement the British squadron would annihilate the whole of the Black Sea Fleet with minimum losses.46 The game also highlighted a number of vital problems that would inevitably compromise the success of the expedition. The vessels of the Black Sea Fleet as well as regional depots suffered from shortage of ammunition. Doubts were also expressed as to whether the

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Russian land forces designated for the operation were strong enough. Operational planning for the expedition, particularly by the navy, was not detailed enough, nor was there sufficient coordination between the two services. Moreover, despite the need for secrecy and speed for ensuring that the Black Sea Fleet and expeditionary forces would arrive earlier than the British squadron, the participants of the game noted that this was extremely difficult to achieve. Crucially, the bad state of preparedness and the existing means of transport would not permit quick conveying of the landing echelon to the Bosphorus. Questions were also raised over mine-laying and over whether the coastal artillery at hand would be effective against enemy battleships.47 The game examined the possible assistance that the Russian Mediterranean detachment could provide to the operation. The officers involved in the game expressed the view that at present the small Mediterranean detachment could indirectly help by crossing the Dardanelles. Specifically, the detachment could place minefields within the Straits, attack the Turkish fleet and bombard its arsenal. Such actions could distract Turkish forces from the Bosphorus, stop the RN from obtaining supplies within the Straits and even hinder the British squadron from combining with the Turkish fleet. The game report suggested that if the Mediterranean detachment was stronger it could contribute even more substantially towards the success of the expedition. Furthermore, the utilization of a Mediterranean detachment in conjunction with a strong expeditionary force could allow Russia to seize the Dardanelles.48 In fact, it seems that by the autumn of 1902 many within the Navy Ministry were seriously contemplating the idea of capturing the Dardanelles sometime in the future. In November 1902 the GSh’s Quartermaster General, Major General Ia. G. Zhilinskii, forwarded to Musin-Pushkin a plan drawn up by Klado that envisaged the seizure of the Dardanelles and the eventual establishment of Russia as a Mediterranean power.49 Finally, another development linked to the strategic situation in the Near East was that in 1900 Austria-Hungary and Romania signed a secret military convention, which included the use of their combined forces in the Danube against Russia. In May 1902 Russia responded by concluding a similar agreement with Bulgaria, the terms of which included placing the Bulgarian navy, transport vessels

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and ports at the disposal of Russia.50 Nevertheless, it does not seem that these options were integrated into the planning for the Black Sea Fleet in 1902. At the same time as the naval command was facing the problem of inadequate resources in the three key theatres of operations, the Navy Ministry was also forced to confront the need for its military resources to be deployed elsewhere. A report from 1901 pointed out that currently the Mediterranean detachment was made up of one old battleship, two gunboats and three torpedo craft and did not represent a serious military force. The report proposed the reinforcement of the detachment and even the maintenance of a squadron capable of serving as a reserve for the Pacific Ocean squadron, at least until the latter equalled the Japanese battle fleet. Additionally, a Mediterranean squadron would be useful in war against Britain and the Ottoman empire but also against the Triple Alliance by either threatening Germany’s North Sea coastline or combining with the French fleet to face the Italian and AustroHungarian navies. The presence of a squadron in the Mediterranean would require the acquisition of a well-equipped base, preferably in the Aegean. However, if this proved difficult, then an agreement should be reached with France over the North African port of Bizerta.51 By 1903 Russia’s attention was also turning to the Persian Gulf. This was instigated by Russia’s highly successful economic, commercial and political penetration of Persia in the face of British opposition. From the turn of the century onwards, Witte wanted to establish permanent commercial shipping links between Black Sea and Persian Gulf ports in an attempt to break Britain’s monopoly in this field. By that time, the Persian Gulf was also perceived as geostrategically important. Russia saw the Arab leaders of the Persian Gulf as potential allies against the Ottoman empire. Moreover, Russia was also worried about the strategic and political repercussions of the potential German infiltration of the region through the proposed construction of the Baghdad railway linking the Persian Gulf with the Mediterranean. Russian statesmen believed that dispatching warships to the Gulf to show the flag would enhance the empire’s political influence in Persia and among the local Arab populations. In 1899 and 1901 a Russian gunboat and cruiser respectively visited the Persian Gulf.52

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Naval operations in the Mediterranean and the Persian Gulf were relatively minor issues, though they do illustrate how the navy’s ambitions far overstretched its resources. Far more serious was the impact of naval expansion on the empire’s overall balance between the needs of defence and the resources available to provide it. Early in the twentieth century, Kuropatkin and the War Ministry believed that Russia’s military resources were overstretched and that the security of the western frontier was compromised as the empire’s military capabilities against the Germanic powers were deteriorating. The War Ministry’s concerns were intensified by the lack of intelligence over German war planning and the simultaneous development of defensive works on Germany’s western and eastern borders, which, in conjunction with the existence of an efficient transportation network, made it impossible to determine whether Berlin would strike against France or Russia. In addition, Russian planners thought that as a result of left-wing military reforms the efficiency of the French army had been reduced and that this would induce Germany to strike against Russia first. In the worst case scenario, France would opt out of the alliance and abandon Russia to face the combined might of the Triple Alliance. The Russian army was also under pressure to have a serious offensive capability on the western borders. This was dictated by the necessity to bring the conflict to a victorious close and the logistical difficulties in feeding an army deployed on the western frontiers. Under these circumstances, the best solution would be to cross the borders and feed the army off the resources of enemy territory. Amidst these worries, in February 1901 the French and Russian army chiefs of staff met again. They reaffirmed the agreement of the previous year but also elaborated further on details, particularly in relation to Russia’s role of attacking Germany from the outset of the war. The agreements were ratified in April by the Tsar and in May by the French President. This did not end the anxieties of the War Ministry over the security of the western frontier. On the contrary, the military aspects of the alliance became more concrete and diminished Russia’s freedom of manoeuvre. Russia was now obliged to launch an offensive in order to undermine a German onslaught against France. At the same time, strategic and political deliberations dictated that Russia could not abandon an offensive against Austria-Hungary.

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Although the Tsar continued to press for the reinforcement of land forces in the Far East at the expense of the western frontier, in 1902 Kuropatkin resisted successfully.53 Despite the fact that the agreement with France also included military measures against Britain, these were less substantial than planning regarding Germany. On the one hand, even if Russia was prepared to attack British India, the fact remained that this could not effectively materialize before the completion of the Tashkent– Orenburg railway, which was scheduled for 1904. On the other hand, the French army was consumed by planning against Germany rather than Britain. The deployment of troops on the Channel coastline received superficial attention. The idea of a French expedition in the eastern Mediterranean was also vaguely raised. Therefore, according to Walser, the anti-British measures were essentially an ‘elaborate set of ruses designed to confuse the British rather than actual commitment to make war at the ally’s side’.54 Even though the French army was not particularly enthusiastic about instituting anti-British measures, nevertheless it seems that the French navy was now becoming interested in establishing a naval convention with Russia in line with the army agreements. In November 1901 the French Navy Ministry sent a report to the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, which examined French and Russian naval strategy in case of conflict with the Triple Alliance and Britain. In the northern theatre, torpedo vessels and second-class battleships operating in the framework of mobile coastal defence would protect France’s coastline. The report stipulated that the threat of an invasion of the British Isles would force the RN to maintain significant forces for the defence of the homeland and thereby immobilize troops, which would otherwise reinforce the Indian garrison. The Russian Baltic Fleet, essentially composed of torpedo and other coastal defence vessels, was to assume a defensive posture. The core forces of the French navy would be deployed in the Mediterranean, where it was expected that Russia would maintain three battleships. Simultaneously, the Russian Black Sea Fleet would possibly operate against the Bosphorus. The idea of a French invasion of Egypt was also mentioned. The expedition would be greatly assisted if the Black Sea Fleet broke through the Turkish Straits and diverted parts

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of the British Mediterranean Fleet. The report anticipated that in the Far East Russia would maintain a gigantic fleet of 16 battleships and 32 cruisers, which should be allowed to use the French naval base of Saigon. In this context, the report recommended the wholesale evacuation of French naval assets from Far Eastern waters to the Indian Ocean, where they should try to impede the reinforcement of the British army in India. This, in combination with the invasion threat of the British Isles, would facilitate a Russian advance against India. Evidently, the proposed naval convention would not respond to a specific situation or involve combined operations. Instead it would be founded upon the deployment of French and Russian warships in complementary positions.55 In practice the proposal was corresponding to the anti-British measures already in place.56 In December Delcassé was requested by his cabinet director to authorize the conclusion of a naval convention with Russia, based upon the above para­ meters, but the archives do not indicate whether Delcassé did so.57 In February and March 1902 France was also interested in using the naval forces of the alliance for political purposes. The French ambassador in St Petersburg suggested to Lambsdorff the combined appearance of allied vessels in the waters of the Persian Gulf and in North African ports including Tangier in Morocco. Lambsdorff replied affirmatively, but the whole affair was bogged down in a lengthy and complex correspondence. Eventually, in late March Russian warships returning from the Far East visited Tangier together with French cruisers. However, the Persian Gulf project was postponed until the autumn because of the lack of available Russian vessels. Conversely, in the autumn it was France that was unable to find an available ship. In the end, a lone Russian cruiser visited the waters of the Persian Gulf late in 1902.58 It does not seem that the Russian navy ever came to an official, collective view on the advantages of a Franco-Russian naval convention at this time, though some admirals advocated joint naval planning. On 13 April 1902, in a report submitted to the GMSh, Vice Admiral Birilev advocated the conclusion of a naval convention with France. Brilev supported a comprehensive convention of global reach directed both against Germany and Britain. The convention should include the joint formulation of operational plans for each theatre,

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combined signalling and communications, as well as the use of allied port facilities and supplies. Birilev even went so far as to suggest that both countries should coordinate their shipbuilding programmes. In terms of strategy, Birilev proposed that the French and Russian fleets should unite in the vicinity of the British Isles, so as to evoke fears of invasion and compel the Admiralty to recall warships from the Mediterranean. This would imperil Britain’s maritime communications with Egypt and India. In the Mediterranean, Russia should maintain a strong squadron, which in unison with the French fleet should equal the British naval presence. In addition, France should also allow the Russian navy to make use of Toulon or Bizerta. Finally, Birilev proposed the creation of a strong combined allied fleet in the Far East. Birilev urged that an agreement based upon these considerations should be pursued during the French presidential visit scheduled for the coming month.59 In the same month, the Chief of the EMGM asked Delcassé to propose to the Russians the establishment of a naval convention against Britain.60 Following the visit of the French President, on 21 May Lambsdorff informed Tyrtov that no plans or institutionalized mechanisms yet existed for organizing the combined cruising of Russian and French warships. In turn this limited the political influence of the alliance. In fact, Lambsdorff argued that during his recent visit to St Petersburg Delcassé had on several occasions proposed that the two countries should streamline and facilitate communications between their naval staffs.61 Thus, Delcassé had raised the issue of naval talks but without any direct reference to a naval convention. However, archival sources remain silent on the reception of the idea by the Navy Ministry. The notion of maritime cooperation and a naval convention reappeared in July 1902. The EMGM informed the Russian naval attaché in Paris that it desired to strengthen its relationship with its Russian counterpart. Each country should nominate one officer for liaison duties and two others for service in each other’s fleet. More importantly, the two staffs should agree on operational plans specifically addressing a war against Britain and Japan. The plans would only apply to the waters of the Pacific and Indian Ocean. Moreover, even though the two chiefs of staff should set the general principles of the plan, these were to be developed separately.62 The proposal demonstrates

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that the French had revised their previous views of a naval convention of global reach. However, the French desire to abstain from combined operations with the Russian fleet remained. In July 1902 French perceptions of a naval war against the Anglo-Japanese alliance centred on the idea of French cruisers raiding enemy transports moving to Indochina. In case of war against Britain alone, French cruisers were to deploy in the Indian Ocean for guerre de course, while an old battleship, in combination with torpedo craft and submarines, would defend Indochina.63 Once again, archival sources do not clarify the fate of the initiative but it is certain that a convention was not signed, which shows that allied cooperation was far from a top priority for the Russian navy. The key point is that military cooperation against Germany was the core and the raison d’être of the alliance. Naval collaboration against Germany was far less important, and a combined naval and military effort in a war against Britain in general was never the alliance’s real focus. By the first months of 1902, after examining at length the military needs of the empire in a war against the Dual Alliance, the War Office had concluded that the metropolitan islands and the overwhelming majority of overseas possessions were safe from invasion. However, India was judged to be particularly vulnerable to a Russian advance from Central Asia.64 In contrast, Russia offered little by way of susceptible coastal targets, the capitulation of which would bring the war to a victorious end. Initially, the War Office thought that the occupation of French overseas possessions would compel Paris to sue for peace, leaving Russia stranded without any financial backing to sustain the war effort. British hopes soon faded as the French buttressed their colonial garrisons.65 Yet, the Admiralty was certainly confident about the prospects of the war at sea. In February 1901 Custance was positive that Britain was in a position to assemble superior forces over France and Russia both in the Channel and in the Mediterranean, even though he admitted that the margin of superiority was small. The DNI also thought that differences between the two allies and the separation of their fleets in both theatres would prevent them from effectively undertaking combined operations. The leadership of the Admiralty shared these views, with Selborne remarking ‘we are at this present

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moment in such a position that we ought certainly to defeat France & Russia’.66 Even so, the DNI and his superiors continued to believe that Britain alone and with France actively hostile could not prevent the Russian occupation of Constantinople. The Admiralty continued to consider the French Toulon squadron as the RN’s primary target in the Mediterranean, whilst it simultaneously held a low opinion of the Black Sea Fleet. In June 1901 Custance argued that it would be to Britain’s advantage if the Russian ships crossed the Dardanelles into the Mediterranean, where they could be annihilated. This view was further strengthened by the reports of the naval attaché in Russia from November and December 1901. The attaché argued that much remained to be done before the Black Sea Fleet could give battle to a squadron of modern ships of equal numerical strength, adding that Russian naval officers had realized that it would be very imprudent to confront the British Mediterranean Fleet. However, on the broader subject of Russian naval development, in December 1901 the attaché remarked that Russia’s despotic system of government was an advantage in inaugurating ‘to a great extent secretly, gigantic “programmes” of naval preparation’.67 In 1901 and 1902 the Russian Navy Ministry was indeed preoccupied with setting the foundations for a new long-term shipbuilding programme. On 29 January 1901 the General Admiral and Avelan addressed a report to Nicholas II. They stated that the Navy Ministry was implementing a policy of economizing and outlined the various measures enacted. The report essentially repeated Virenius’s points from the autumn of 1900 and pointed out that it was decided to exclude from construction one battleship, one coastal defence battleship, one cruiser of 6,000 tons and one minelayer. The report noted that despite the slower tempo of reinforcing the Pacific Ocean squadron, when the process was finally completed Russia would be superior to Japan at sea. Specifically, the report stated that: The presence of these powerful forces in the theatre serves as the best security for peace, removing any possibility that Japan could suddenly attack at the very beginning of a war and thereby achieve successes which the subsequent arrival of reinforcements could not reverse.

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However, the naval leadership also warned that the Baltic theatre was undefended because since 1896 Russia’s best warships had been dispatched or were designated to serve in the Far East.68 The report gave Nicholas II food for thought. On 19 February the Tsar expressed his ideas concerning the future development of the Russian navy. He ordered that ‘to decrease our shipbuilding is unacceptable’. He added that: In view of the enormous strengthening of the German fleet up to 1920, examine the issue of the completion of the programmes of 1895 and 1898 in connection with the necessary increase of the Baltic Fleet by 1920. Present to me considerations about what composition our fleet must have in the next 20 years, paying attention to the political tasks in Europe, the Near and Far East but also the growth of the fleets of our neighbours. He added that the navy should undertake a 20-year shipbuilding programme commencing in 1902 and that all construction should be exclusively carried out domestically.69 The Navy Ministry responded slowly. It was only on 27 July 1901 that the GMSh produced a report laying out the possible options for the future shipbuilding programme. According to the report: Having in view that Russia is washed by four independent seas, the fleet too is also confronted with carrying out four different tasks; given geographical conditions each of those must be viewed separately since one can hardly expect in wartime to unite the fleets of the various seas and reinforce one fleet by the vessels of another. Hence the required naval assets for each theatre should be calculated separately. The GMSh then put forward a brief summary of the potential choices for each of the theatres. Firstly, the GMSh took the view that the Arctic Ocean and the White Sea were a secondary theatre, which should preferably be protected by a flotilla of vessels for police duties. Yet, the report also raised the option of stationing an autonomous battleship or cruiser squadron for guerre de course with the

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object of undertaking offensive operations beyond the geographical boundaries of the given theatre, provided that a naval base was established in the White Sea. Secondly, the report suggested that the main task of the Black Sea Fleet was to block the entrance of enemy fleets into the namesake basin, although the option of breaking through to the Mediterranean was also mentioned. As regards the Far East, the GMSh was unambiguous, considering that any reinforcement of the squadron should be guided by the strategy of obtaining command of the sea through the destruction of the Japanese fleet. The GMSh also examined various strategic choices for the Baltic theatre. One option entailed forming a Baltic Fleet with an exclusively defensive orientation, namely deterring or counteracting a German landing on the flank of the Russian army. Another option consisted of creating a fleet capable of obtaining command of the Baltic Sea through offensive operations. The GMSh also discussed the possibility of dispatching a strong contingent of warships outside the confines of the Baltic Sea, but questioned whether a coastal defence fleet would be able to protect the coastline in the absence of battleships from the theatre. Finally, taking into account the growth of the German fleet, the report raised the question of whether the Pacific Ocean squadron could be utilized against Germany either in Asian waters or even in European waters.70 Several days later Tyrtov put forward a report in which he expressed his own opinions in relation to setting the foundations of a new shipbuilding programme. Tyrtov argued that the principles underpinning the future development of the Russian navy should be set out in cooperation with the Ministries of War, Foreign Affairs and Finance. Tyrtov also expressed the view that naval forces in the Arctic Ocean and the White Sea should only be composed of auxiliary vessels charged with carrying out police duties. In addition, he objected to making use of the theatre as a platform for guerre de course and even stated that he personally had no faith in commerce raiding tactics in general.71 In November 1901, Virenius also looked into several issues affecting the establishment of a new shipbuilding programme. From a strategic perspective, Virenius noted that the German shipbuilding programme attributed a secondary role to coastal defence forces and instead strongly emphasized the creation of a battle fleet. Moreover,

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Virenius believed that guerre de course in general had lost the importance it had in the past and that cruiser operations depended on first obtaining command of the sea. He acknowledged that they could be of some value, but only in the event that it was impossible to gain command of the sea.72 These views reflect the culmination of a wider and decisive shift in theoretical thinking within the ranks of the Russian navy. In 1901 a commission examining issues related to squadron organization and composition had declared in Mahanian style that it was now impossible to wage guerre de course before obtaining command of the sea through a battleship fleet. Nevertheless, the commission specifically acknowledged that if the Pacific Ocean squadron could not acquire command of the sea and provided that the separation of cruisers did not weaken it, then guerre de course operations could be pursued.73 However, the guerre de course option in the Far East would be a strategy driven by weakness and the lack of alternatives rather than by confidence in its merits. Klado had also analyzed in depth the question of guerre de course in his book Osnovy sovremennago voenno-morskogo dela published in 1901. He wrote that historical examples amply demonstrated that guerre de course could only be successfully performed after attaining command of the sea. Looking at the present-day practicalities of undertaking commerce raiding in the event an Anglo-Russian confrontation, Klado asserted that Britain would have command of the sea. Consequently, the RN could seal off the Baltic Sea and blockade ports outside this basin, where the comparatively small number of cruisers that Russia possessed would be stationed.74 Even if some Russian cruisers managed to escape to the open ocean, they would still encounter substantial difficulties. The RN would patrol the key maritime commercial arteries and protect convoys of merchant ships conveying essential items. Moreover, Russia did not have naval bases that offered unfettered access to the open oceans nor a single intermediate coaling station between the Baltic and the Far East. Therefore, Russian cruisers would be impeded from repairing their engines and obtaining provisions and supplies.75 Furthermore, he maintained that Britain could easily store an adequate supply of bread for feeding its population for six months to a year. Besides, since

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a large part of British grain was imported from the United States, the activities of Russian cruisers could lead to war between Washington and St Petersburg. In addition, the British commercial fleet transported the mass of neutral goods, while it was also possible that many merchantmen in time of war would switch from the British to neutral flags. In this context, attacks by Russian cruisers would break international law and enrage a host of neutral countries. Given all of the above, Klado opposed the use of guerre de course if Russia was fighting a war single-handedly against Britain or Germany. However, although Klado did not change his general evaluation of guerre de course, nevertheless he did suggest that if Russia acted in tandem with France the situation would be more advantageous. The combined strength of the Franco-Russian navies would not permit the RN to have unconditional command of the sea. French ships would increase the number of available cruisers, whose supply would be facilitated by the existence of several French metropolitan and colonial naval stations.76 Despite Tyrtov’s pronouncement that the new long-term shipbuilding programme should be drawn up in consultation with other departments, there is no evidence that this actually took place. Instead, the issue was discussed within the confines of the Navy Ministry. In this context, a noteworthy development is the reinstatement in the navy of Alexander Mikhailovich, who was, however, given a position away from the capital in the Black Sea Fleet. The Grand Duke did not lose any time and immediately recommenced his active involvement in naval affairs. By November 1901 he had already dispatched a report to the General Admiral and the GMSh on the subject of future shipbuilding.77 The industrious Grand Duke compared the combined strength of the German and Japanese fleets with Russia’s Baltic Fleet and Pacific Ocean squadron. He argued that the Baltic Fleet should be augmented in order to match the strength of the German navy. By 1905 the designated strength of the Pacific Ocean squadron would be satisfactory, unless Japan initiated a new shipbuilding programme. In the spring of 1902 these considerations, along with other relevant information, were presented to the Tsar.78 Crucially, it seems that by that time Nicholas II had already expressed the desire that priority should be given to strengthening the Black Sea Fleet.79

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It was against this background that on 1 April 1902 the Tsar put forward another set of directives. Nicholas II instructed that the composition of the Black Sea Fleet should be brought up to 12 battleships supported by cruisers and torpedo craft. Reflecting the calls for an active policy in the Straits, he remarked that the ships of the Black Sea Fleet should be capable of cruising in distant seas. In relation to the strength of the Baltic Fleet, he thought that it should match the composition of the German fleet but should include the vessels of the Pacific Ocean squadron. The Tsar stated that ‘the Pacific squadron must according to circumstances separate itself from the composition of the Baltic Fleet, from which it will also be reinforced in case of need’.80 This notion was a complete break from the existing policy of creating an independent Pacific Ocean squadron at the expense of the Baltic Fleet and contradicted the spirit of the GMSh’s July report. The Tsar probably put forward this instruction because he was aware of the financial obstacles standing in the way of creating strong autonomous fleets in each theatre. The majority of admirals were favourably disposed towards strengthening the Black Sea Fleet. Rear Admiral A. M. Abaza believed that the reinforcement of the Black Sea Fleet should receive priority and be completed by 1913. In that year Russia should break through to the Mediterranean since the Black Sea Fleet should by then be capable of seizing and holding both the Bosphorus and the Dardanelles, for which Abaza presented a detailed plan. In fact, he advocated that after Russia had gained access to the Mediterranean, the battleships of the Black Sea Fleet could contribute to the defence of the Baltic theatre, leaving the defence of the Dardanelles in the hands of a torpedo flotilla. By 1913 the defence of the Baltic seaboard should be provided by an extensive coastal defence system, including fortifications, minefields and 30 stations spread throughout the length of the entire coastline for sustaining a 300-strong torpedo flotilla. For Abaza, the shipbuilding programme should be completed in the decade up to 1923 with the construction of battleships for both the Baltic and the Far Eastern theatres. Similarly, Dikov and Verkhovskii called for the major reinforcement of the Black Sea Fleet. Notably, Verkhovskii agreed with the idea of capturing the Bosphorus and the Dardanelles. Vice Admiral Dubasov was of the opinion that, first and

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foremost, the Black Sea Fleet should be strong enough to undertake the Bosphorus expedition. Nonetheless, he also looked favourably at the idea of Russia gaining access to the Mediterranean Sea through the occupation of the Dardanelles. Given that both tasks would encounter substantial difficulties because of British opposition, he recommended assembling a strong Black Sea Fleet equal in composition to the RN’s Mediterranean Fleet.81 As far as the Baltic theatre was concerned, some admirals, either directly or indirectly, approved the strategy of fusing the Baltic and Pacific Ocean fleets and competing with Germany. For example, Makarov expressed the view that in peacetime the Baltic Fleet and the Pacific Ocean squadron could be concentrated according to circumstances in one or the other theatre. He believed that though a Scandinavian state might join Germany, it was likely that the Baltic Fleet would have to fight against the German fleet alone, since the Austro-Hungarian and Italian navies would be engaged by the French. Makarov thought that equality between the Baltic and German fleets would serve as a sufficient deterrent against an enemy landing attempt. Rear Admiral Rozhestvenskii recommended the gigantic increase of the Baltic Fleet, which should be 20 per cent stronger than the German fleet and equal to the combined strength of the latter and the Swedish navy. Nonetheless, he also supported the creation of a coastal defence force in case the battleships were sent to the Far East. Rear Admiral Pilkin did not consider that a coastal defence system was reliable and supported building a strong battleship fleet for the Baltic.82 Many senior officers, including Alexander Mikhailovich, Alekseev, Birilev, Dubasov and Vitgeft, opposed the merger of the Baltic and Pacific Ocean fleets. Collectively their views can be summarized as follows. The existence of separate and distant theatres made intertheatre movements difficult to carry out in time of crisis. As the outcome of war with Germany overwhelmingly hinged on the land campaign, a Russian naval victory in the Baltic Sea would not be decisive. Besides, Russia could not hope to successfully compete in a naval race with Germany in the Baltic Sea. Even if this was accomplished, the dispatch of vessels from Europe to the Far East was bound to render the Baltic Fleet weaker than the German navy.

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Instead, the defence of the Baltic littoral from German amphibious landings should be achieved through the development of a coastal defence system relying on an extensive torpedo flotilla. This was also desirable taking into account the supremacy of the RN in case of war with Britain. At the same time, Russian interests in the Far East clashed with those of Japan to such an extent that war was almost inevitable. Despite differences of opinion over the possibility of British involvement in the theatre, there was consensus on the perception of Japan as a serious threat. In case of armed conflict with Japan, victory would greatly depend on the employment of Russian naval power. The Russian navy’s task should not just be restricted to opposing enemy landings on the Asian mainland, but should ultimately aim at obtaining command of the sea through the destruction of the Japanese fleet. Therefore, it was indispensable to maintain a Russian Pacific Ocean squadron of at least equal strength and ideally superior to the Japanese battle fleet.83 Initially, the GMSh put forward a blueprint for a grandiose future shipbuilding programme drawn up in accordance with Nicholas II’s directives. Firstly, the strength of the Black Sea Fleet was calculated on the premise that it should be both capable of assisting in seizing the Bosphorus and of gaining access to the Mediterranean Sea. The GMSh concluded that the core of the Black Sea Fleet should increase to 12 modern battleships (with four older vessels remaining in reserve), six coastal defence battleships, a couple of armoured cruisers, and a host of other vessels including gunboats and a large number of torpedo craft. Secondly, the combined might of the Baltic and Pacific Ocean battle fleets should match the strength of their German and Japanese counterparts respectively. This would entail the construction of 35 battleships, 18 armoured cruisers and a very large number of other vessels. In both theatres the high-seas elements would be complemented by coastal defence forces. In particular the defence of the Baltic coastline would be provided by an awesome force of torpedo craft and submarines. Overall, for all theatres, the programme required the construction of 47 battleships, six coastal defence battleships, 20 armoured and 48 light cruisers, 16 gunboats, 567 torpedo craft, over 100 submarines and a large number of other auxiliary vessels between 1903 and 1923 at a cost of 1.4 billion

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roubles.84 However, Rear Admiral Rozhestvenskii estimated that, in reality, construction-related expenses would run to more than 1.5 billion and that with the inclusion of repair costs, the rearmament of older vessels, the expansion of port facilities and the growth of naval personnel the total funds demanded could escalate up to the astonishing amount of 5.2 billion. In other words, the Navy Ministry’s budget for the next 20 years would rise to 260 million roubles per annum.85 Considering that at the end of the nineteenth century Russia’s state debt alone stood at 3.5 billion roubles, it was inconceivable for the Ministry of Finance to accept the funding of such a colossal programme.86 Evidently, the programme’s astronomical financial requirements were prohibitive and the leadership of the Navy Ministry had to redesign the project. In August 1902 the GMSh circulated to senior naval personnel a long report discussing various issues regarding the shipbuilding programme. According to the report, the Black Sea Fleet’s central mission consisted of assisting in seizing and defending the upper Bosphorus in order to block the entry of the British or any other hostile fleet into Russia’s southern littoral. The Black Sea Fleet should secure the transportation of 25,000 men, actively support the troops during the landing and then oppose the breakthrough of the enemy fleet. For these operations the Black Sea Fleet should comprise 12 battleships, six small coastal defence battleships, several cruisers, torpedo craft and minelayers. The GMSh defined the key task of the Baltic Fleet to be the defence of the seaboard from a German landing. In the absence of battleships, the naval defence of the theatre could be provided for by a mobile coastal defence flotilla of 230 torpedo craft and 48 submarines, positioned at a number of locations running from Libau to the Finnish Gulf and Kronstadt. Despite confidently endorsing this scheme, the GMSh raised the question whether the inclusion of coastal defence battleships and gunboats would be required. The GMSh also recommended improving the coastal defence means of Port Arthur, but above all of Vladivostok, by torpedo craft and submarines. Finally, the GMSh proposed to construct 12 gunboats for service in Chinese rivers and another two for the Persian Gulf.87 Clearly, there is a conspicuous absence of any mention of battleships

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for both the Baltic Fleet and the Pacific Ocean squadron. Perhaps the necessity to reduce the programme’s costs, together with the controversy over the proposed union of the battleship forces for the two theatres, caused indecisiveness. Meanwhile, in May 1902 Rusin reported the near-completion of the Japanese shipbuilding programme. He also mentioned that according to rumours the Japanese navy was already contemplating several schemes for further expansion. The most ambitious of these designs called for the construction of four large battleships, six cruisers and 75 torpedo craft in the ensuing six years. Rusin doubted that the programme would be approved as it was too expensive. Nevertheless, by November 1902 the Russian Navy Ministry was informed that Japan had decided to introduce a new shipbuilding programme envisaging the construction of three battleships, five cruisers and several torpedo vessels within the next decade.88 In December 1902 Virenius reported to Tyrtov that the Black Sea Fleet, comprising 12 battleships and other types of vessels in line with the previous recommendations, should be primarily geared towards participating in the Bosphorus operation and be capable of cruising in the high seas. Crucially the report addressed the question of battleships for the Baltic and the Far East. In the Far East, in addition to the torpedo craft and submarines assigned to Port Arthur and Vladivostok, Virenius proposed concentrating an equal or slightly superior battle fleet to the one of Japan. Taking into account the new Japanese programme, the strength of the squadron should be brought up to 14 battleships, seven armoured cruisers, 14 first-class and second-class cruisers and 28 destroyers. Similarly in the Baltic, coastal defence forces should be supplemented within 18 years by a newly-constructed squadron of eight battleships, four armoured cruisers, four first-class cruisers, eight second-class cruisers and 16 destroyers, which would progressively replace all antiquated ships in the theatre. If in due time the Navy Ministry deemed that one squadron was insufficient and additional funds were made available then an additional squadron should be constructed. Finally, Virenius also introduced anew the proposition of deploying from the Baltic to the Mediterranean a detachment with a core force of four battleships.89 Drawing upon

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these ideas, Tyrtov put forward a smaller shipbuilding programme, according to which in the following two decades the Russian navy would construct 20 battleships, six coastal defence battleships, over 20 armoured and non-armoured cruisers, several gunboats, 328 torpedo craft, 52 submarines and other auxiliary vessels at a cost of 728 million roubles.90 Some admirals, like Lomen, objected to the creation of a large Mediterranean detachment as Russia lacked a well-equipped base in the region. Lomen also doubted the usefulness of the detachment as a reserve for the Pacific Ocean squadron because of the distances involved and the difficulties of resupplying en route. His doubts also extended to the practicalities of combined operations with the French navy, in the absence of knowledge on French planning and tactics. Overall, he concluded that a Mediterranean detachment of increased strength would weaken both the Baltic and Pacific Ocean fleets. Instead, Russia should only deploy in the Mediterranean cruisers, which in case of war with Germany or Britain should move to the high seas and, using French ports, engage in guerre de course operations.91 The debate over the new Russian shipbuilding programme had not been completed by the end of 1902. Nevertheless, since June 1902 the need to arrive at a decision acquired urgency. The Chief Engineer of the St Petersburg Port warned that from the spring of 1903 many shipbuilding yards would be left without any new orders, following the completion of many of the vessels of the current programme. In October GUKiS and Tyrtov reported to the Tsar that it would be a mistake to delay the placing of contracts until the final and official approval of the new programme. This could lead to a crisis in the shipbuilding industry and even the closure of certain yards. Therefore, they requested the immediate allocation of 50 million roubles to begin the construction of vessels which would be part of the new programme. The request elicited a sympathetic reaction from Nicholas II, who wrote on the margins of the report that ‘shipbuilding cannot slow down without the most harmful consequences for the state’ and instructed that the matter should be taken up with Witte. However, in a commission held in December, Witte agreed to provide only 12 million roubles.92

8 The End of the Game, 1903–1904

In 1903, the year preceding the Russo-Japanese War, the Russian governmental apparatus was in crisis. By 1903 the autocracy was confronted with pent-up internal pressure accumulated since the reign of Alexander II. Calls for social and political change appeared in various guises, which in their most extreme manifestations took the form of peasant revolts, student demonstrations and even the assassination of the Minister of the Interior. Bezobrazov and a group of aristocratic and landowning courtiers believed that the upheaval was caused by the effects of Witte’s policy of industrialization upon society in general and the agricultural sector in particular. Moreover, members of this group also thought that the Tsar had become hostage to bureaucratic policies. It was against this background that Bezobrazov and others continued to disagree with the ministers’ choices over the course of Russia’s foreign policy in the Far East and to advocate the adoption of a firm stance towards Japan. Collectively, the opinions expressed by Bezobrazov and his peers seemed to echo the personal views of Nicholas II, who had grown to be distrustful and disillusioned with the behaviour and policies of his highest bureaucratic servitors on all of the above issues. In 1903 Nicholas II became more assertive with his ministers and pressed for the adoption of his personal policy choices. In fact, in August 1903 he removed Witte from the Ministry of Finance. However, Nicholas II’s efforts to run domestic and foreign affairs were unsuccessful and they resulted in a situation where government was paralyzed and fell into disarray.1

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In the spring of 1903 two of the leading posts in the Navy Ministry were filled by new occupants. In March 1903 the chronically ill Tyrtov died, following his brother who passed away while in command of the Black Sea Fleet. Although Alekseev was seen by many as the most likely candidate to replace the deceased minister, in the end Vice Admiral Avelan was appointed Director of the Navy Ministry in the spring of 1903. The now vacant position of Chief of the GMSh was filled by Rozhestvenskii, who was the Tsar’s personal choice.2 The British naval attaché commented that Alekseev rejected the post because he wanted the power to communicate his views on all official business directly to the Tsar, bypassing the General Admiral. Moreover, Alekseev’s emoluments as commander-in-chief in the Far East were substantially more than the salary of the Director of the Navy Ministry. The attaché also took the view that Avelan was not likely to inaugurate great reforms and that he was seen as a minister who would try to run the administration as smoothly as possible, without bringing to light any defects liable to cause friction or discussion.3 Indeed, despite the change of naval leadership, the debate over a long-term shipbuilding programme continued unabated. In January 1903 a report discussed the technical details of the vessels to be constructed with the 12 million assigned in the previous month.4 Although a final decision on the shipbuilding programme was still pending, in the following months the Navy Ministry laid down two battleships and three torpedo craft in the Black Sea, two battleships designated for the Baltic Fleet, one gunboat for the Persian Gulf and three torpedo craft which would be dispatched to the Far East.5 In the same month Kuropatkin presented to Nicholas II a report outlining the needs of the War Ministry for the ensuing five years. The War Minister warned the Tsar that Russian defences on the western frontiers had been seriously weakened due to the diversion of funds to the Far East, at a time when the political situation in Europe and the Near East could result in a European war. He thus urged that the attention of the Russian military should be focused on the western frontiers. Nicholas II agreed, but stated that Russia should remain vigilant in the Far East.6

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Given the competition between the two services over scarce financial resources, Kuropatkin was alarmed by the intention of the Navy Ministry to initiate a new shipbuilding plan. Moreover, in December 1902 Alexander Mikhailovich had told Kuropatkin that in the first eight years the new programme would assign priority to the Far Eastern and Black Sea theatres and that the threat of Germany in the Baltic would only be faced afterwards. On 1 February 1903 Kuropatkin had a long discussion with the Tsar about the navy. The War Minister argued that ground forces were the key for Russian military success in general and, above all, for the defence of the western frontiers. He thus counselled that the army should not be weakened by the provision of large disbursements for the navy. Kuropatkin expressed his belief that from 1903 onwards Port Arthur would be capable of withstanding a lengthy siege and that the army could reliably defend Russia’s Far Eastern possessions. He also stated that it was important to have a strong fleet in the Baltic Sea, the northern flank of the western frontier. Kuropatkin thought that this could be achieved if part of the Pacific Ocean squadron was stationed in the Baltic. He added that even in wartime there was sufficient time to dispatch the Baltic Fleet to the Far East. Nicholas II was sympathetic to Kuropatkin’s view and ordered that Witte must be consulted on the armed services budgets.7 Two days later Kuropatkin discussed with Tyrtov the financial demands of the two services. Tyrtov said that the grandiose programme which had been drawn up required the allocation of vast sums that could not be provided for, but admitted that it was necessary to reduce the budget of the Navy Ministry. Although the financial estimates of the Navy Ministry were not worked out yet, Tyrtov stated that he would be satisfied with an annual budget of 115 million roubles.8 On 10 February Witte informed Kuropatkin in a letter that the Tsar had put forward specific instructions with regard to setting up the new budgets of the War and Navy Ministries. The instructions included the provision that their estimates were to be established after Witte had conferred with the two ministers and the reminder that the funds would be coming out of the same pot.9 The War Minister immediately reacted to the letter by issuing a list of guidelines for drafting a comprehensive report demonstrating that the vast majority of state funds to be expended on the Russian armed

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forces should be allocated to the War Ministry. On 14 February Sakharov instructed Zhilinskii to this effect.10 In the following month the Quartermaster General’s section of the GSh had completed the task. The report stressed that Russia was a continental and not a maritime power. The Russian merchant marine was small and the importance of seaborne commerce for the country was limited. The territories of the empire formed a compact landmass and did not encompass any overseas possessions. The separation of the three main naval theatres meant that potential opponents could assemble superior forces against the divided Russian fleets. Besides, it was beyond Russia’s financial means to compete with first-class naval powers. Decisively, the gravest threat to Russia’s national security emanated from the Germanic powers of the Triple Alliance, which could strike against the centre of Russian power by attacking through the empire’s western land frontiers. Germany and Austria-Hungary, which could also count on Romanian assistance, had increased the strength and quality of their armies in recent years. Moreover, their railway network enabled them to concentrate superior forces against Russia in the initial critical stages of a war. At the same time, Russian planners feared that a number of factors would decrease the effectiveness of French military assistance to Russia. Consequently, the report emphasized that in the ensuing five years it was imperative to enhance the land defences of Russia’s western frontiers.11 The report conceded that in the Baltic Sea, which constituted the northern flank of the western frontier, the Germans could attempt to obtain command of the sea, attack Russian ports and carry out landing operations. Nonetheless, the army believed that the value of the Baltic Fleet in a confrontation with Germany would be limited. Attaining command of the Baltic Sea would not contribute to achieving success in the land campaign. Consequently, the role of the navy would revolve around the purely defensive task of defending the Baltic seaboard and St Petersburg in conjunction with army units. As regards the Near Eastern theatre, the report stated that the task of the Black Sea Fleet consisted in capturing the upper Bosphorus with the assistance of land forces. However, despite German political and economic penetration in the Ottoman empire, Berlin did not have the naval resources to oppose the Russian operation or to gain

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command of the Black Sea. More importantly, the report considered that the RN might not oppose a Bosphorus expedition at all. The RN firmly controlled the eastern Mediterranean route leading to India, whilst Russia would soon be in a better position to threaten the prime possession of the British empire through the construction of the Tashkent railway. The report also was against the idea of Russia seizing the Dardanelles and advancing into the Mediterranean, on the grounds that such moves would definitely encounter stern British opposition and that the RN would uphold its predominance in the eastern part of the basin. Therefore, the War Ministry opposed dramatic increases in the composition of the Black Sea Fleet. Finally, the report downgraded the future value of the Pacific Ocean squadron, arguing that it could not obtain unconditional command of the sea and prevent the landing of the Japanese troops on the Korean peninsula. As soon as Port Arthur was capable of withstanding a long siege and the Trans-Siberian railway could sustain the uninterrupted flow of reinforcements from Europe, Russia’s ground forces would be able to destroy the Japanese army on the Asian mainland.12 Having established the subordinate role of the navy in Russian national security requirements, the report drew attention to the fact that in the past 25 years the naval budget had nevertheless increased exponentially and out of proportion. According to the report, in 1903 the funds allocated to the navy amounted to 35 per cent of the army’s budget. From an international perspective, the increase of the Russian naval budget was only surpassed by the growth of the German naval budget. Moreover, during the same period Japan was the only power that had spent more on shipbuilding than Russia. The War Ministry also castigated the Navy Ministry for the absence of a concrete and comprehensive vision guiding the development of the fleet. Given all of the above, the report called for the limitation of naval-related expenditure to a level that corresponded with the secondary significance of the navy in Russian imperial defence planning arrangements.13 In March 1903 Kuropatkin and Witte paired up against the navy and agreed that expenses for the expansion of the fleet should be curtailed. On 21 March both ministers appealed to the Tsar, who concurred, possibly having being partly swayed by the arguments of

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the War Ministry’s report.14 On the same day Nicholas II approved the Navy Ministry’s budget, which was set at 115.6 million annually for the decade 1904–1914. The total available funds for shipbuilding purposes stood at 276 million with the inclusion of 12 million placed at the navy’s disposal in December 1902.15 It should, however, be pointed out that the new naval budget closely corresponded to the minimum requirements articulated by Tyrtov in the previous month. In the meantime, between February and May 1903 a commission of senior admirals held a series of meetings.16 The admirals debated in detail the technical characteristics of the vessels to be constructed under the future programme. Despite the predominantly technical nature of the discussions, the commission members also debated points of strategic and tactical interest. For example, although many admirals viewed favourably the reinforcement of the Pacific Ocean squadron and the maintenance of only a defensive force in the Baltic, they disagreed over the exact composition of the latter. For example, Dubasov and Makarov argued that a torpedo flotilla should be supported by coastal defence battleships. This was because torpedo craft would not be sufficiently protected by the cover of darkness, since summer nights in the Baltic were quite light. Others, like Dikov, Virenius and Verkhovskii, believed that channelling the limited financial means at the disposal of the Navy Ministry to fund the construction of expensive coastal defence battleships would only allow the building of an insignificant number of torpedo craft. According to Virenius, the cost of 180 torpedo vessels and 40 submarines equalled that for five coastal defence battleships, 60 torpedo craft and 20 submarines. In addition, they thought that coastal defence battleships would be weaker than enemy ocean-going battleships. However, in the end the majority of the commission members voted in favour of incorporating coastal defence battleships into the Baltic Fleet.17 On 8 May Virenius analyzed the options for the future shipbuilding programme. After excluding 12 million already allocated to subsidize the construction of new vessels and another 14 million to cover costs for the expansion of port infrastructure, the maintenance of the fleet and the increase of personnel, Virenius concluded that, in reality, the available funds for shipbuilding in the decade

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1904–1914 amounted to 249 million. He then suggested two variants that could serve as the basis of the future shipbuilding effort. The first variant put great emphasis on the Black Sea and the Far East at the expense of the Baltic and also recommended the construction of two gunboats for the Persian Gulf. In fact, these gunboats were also incorporated in the second variant. The second variant somewhat reduced new construction in the Black Sea in order to increase the strength of light forces in the Baltic.18 In July the General Admiral and Rozhestvenskii, in a report to the Tsar, put forward their proposal for the new shipbuilding programme, which was founded upon Virenius’ second variant. The types and numbers of vessels to be constructed for the Black Sea exactly matched those prescribed by Virenius: five battleships, three cruisers, three gunboats, 46 torpedo vessels and ten submarines. For the Baltic Sea the report proposed the construction of 76 torpedo craft and 18 submarines, since the main mission of the navy in the theatre had a defensive orientation, namely to impede an enemy landing. However, the report warned that this would mean that in the Baltic Sea there would not be any modern battleships that could compose a squadron in European waters. The report stated that it was important for the Russian navy in the Far East to equal the Japanese. In this respect, it was necessary to build two battleships, three armoured cruisers, two protected cruisers, three gunboats, 36 torpedo craft and two transports. The programme also included two gunboats for the Persian Gulf. Even though Nicholas II was asked to approve the programme, the report pointed out that the available funds did not permit modernizing the high-seas element of the Baltic Fleet, for which the General Admiral and Rozhestvenskii wanted the creation of a squadron of eight contemporary battleships. In addition, more means were needed for the expansion of port infrastructure, the maintenance of the fleet and the increase of personnel. The report stressed that the available funds for shipbuilding were ‘so insignificant’ that they did not sustain what had been achieved by the previous multimillion expenditure and did not correspond to the tasks that the navy had to perform. The General Admiral and Rozhestvenskii, hence, appealed to the Tsar and solicited an increase of the naval budget from 1909 onwards by 27 million annually.19 Nicholas II reacted

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to the report by refusing to sanction the programme. Breaking his agreement with Kuropatkin about limiting the budget of the Navy Ministry, Nicholas II personally intervened and increased shipbuilding funds to 371 million roubles. However, he also insisted that the Navy Ministry should not disregard his directives in drafting the new shipbuilding programme.20 In December 1903 the General Admiral and Rozhestvenskii presented to Nicholas II a final revised proposal for a shipbuilding programme for 1904–1914. First of all, they stated that the Black Sea Fleet was currently emphatically superior to the Ottoman navy. Nevertheless, they added that the need to replace three antiquated battleships and have a strong Black Sea Fleet to carry out its designated tasks necessitated the reinforcement of naval forces in the theatre.21 To this effect, they suggested building seven battleships, two mediumsize cruisers and 28 destroyers. Secondly, the proposal stated that the main mission of Russian naval forces in the Far East was to disrupt Japanese maritime communications with mainland Asia. The General Admiral and Rozhestvenskii considered that despite the planned future reinforcement of the Japanese fleet, following the completion of the 1898 programme the Russian Pacific Ocean squadron would equal its rival. Therefore, it would only be necessary to bolster the defence of the Priamur coastline by constructing gunboats, torpedo craft and submarines. Thirdly, they pointed out that the main mission of the Baltic Fleet was to oppose a German landing at the rear of the army, which would threaten St Petersburg and impede Russian land operations on the western frontier. Since the creation of a strong fleet capable of acquiring command of the Baltic Sea was beyond Russia’s financial means, the only alternative was to deploy a defensive force. However, the advantageous geography of the littoral for landing operations and the extremely light summer nights made it impossible to rely solely on torpedo forces. Given that the construction of a sufficient number of supporting battleships exclusively for the Baltic Fleet could not be financed with the resources at the disposal of the Navy Ministry, the solution lay in shifting ships to the theatre according to needs. The report noted that in time of crisis Germany would block the movement of Russian warships from the Far East to the Baltic. Therefore the report stated that:

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It would be far more reasonable to rely on the possibility and on the success of dispatching all of our Baltic Fleet from the Finnish Gulf to the Pacific Ocean even in the middle of a war with Japan, even if we keep only a weak squadron in the Pacific Ocean and a fleet significantly stronger than the Japanese in the Baltic Sea. The option of uniting the Black Sea and Baltic Fleets in the Mediterranean was also raised. In any event, according to the report a squadron of 14 contemporary and two antiquated battleships, three coastal defence battleships and five cruisers could effectively support the actions of the torpedo craft flotilla.22 This required building for the Baltic Fleet nine large battleships, two armoured cruisers, 18 destroyers and ten submarines. Finally, the report recommended the construction of a gunboat for service in the Persian Gulf, which had already been laid down. On 12 January Nicholas II approved the programme.23 In the same month the French naval attaché in Russia informed his government about the new Russian plans for future shipbuilding. Considering that by 1914 the Black Sea Fleet would almost double whereas the Far Eastern theatre would only receive meagre reinforcements, he concluded that this reflected a shift of gravity from the Far East to the Near East.24 The new programme did indeed signify a change in Russian naval strategy. A large part of the Pacific Ocean squadron was now to be incorporated into the Baltic Fleet, which would be deployed either in the Baltic or in the Mediterranean. In time of crisis it would move to the Far East or unite with the Black Sea Fleet in the Mediterranean if Russia decided to break through the Straits. Therefore, on the eve of the Russo-Japanese War the Russian government was actually unable to sustain its naval build-up in the Far East and had convinced itself that it had done enough. This really illustrates the basic problem of Russian naval strategists. They could not afford adequate fleets in all three theatres and opted to reinforce the Far East from the Baltic in time of war. Given the vast distance separating the two theatres and several other related problems, this option was very dangerous but it was the only even remotely conceivable one. Between 1903 and January 1904 the Russian Navy Ministry developed operational planning considerations for the various theatres. The

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damning conclusions of the 1902 war game prompted the Navy and War Ministries in January 1903 to form a joint commission under Protopopov, the Chief of Staff for the Odessa Military District. The membership of the commission included Rozhestvenskii, Virenius and Alexander Mikhailovich. In March and April the commission examined several facets of the Bosphorus expedition. It recommended that the first landing echelon should comprise 31,000 troops and that Russia should concentrate 160,000 troops in the Straits within two weeks of the initial landing. The first echelon was to be carried to the Bosphorus by a combination of private and Volunteer Fleet steamers as well as military transports. After seizing both sides of the Bosphorus, the commission suggested obstructing the channel with 1,000 mines. The minefields were to be protected by a special artillery detachment and coastal torpedo launchers. However, the commission anticipated that the artillery detachment could not be deployed before the arrival of the British Mediterranean Fleet. Alexander Mikhailovich put forward the idea of employing small coastal defence battleships for protecting the minefields at the early stages of the operation. Overall, the commission concluded that the realization of this plan demanded the construction of six small battleships, two minelayers, eight military transports and the stockpiling of ammunitions and mines. These and several other improvements were estimated to cost 41.7 million roubles, which would have to be expended in the ensuing five years.25 Following the death of S. P. Tyrtov, Vice Admiral Skrydlov was given command of the Black Sea Fleet. Skrydlov disagreed with some of the commission’s recommendations. In December 1903, in a report to Avelan, Skrydlov argued that the coastal artillery detachment could not be deployed in time to protect the minefields before the appearance of the British fleet, adding that the guns would in any case be ineffective against contemporary battleships. He also objected to the construction of small battleships, since they would be overwhelmed by the British battleships and would be useless for the defence of Russia’s Black Sea ports in the event that the expedition was not carried out. For Skrydlov, the success of the expedition rested upon the creation of a strong fleet containing high-seas battleships and a corresponding number of cruisers and torpedo craft.26

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This viewpoint was eventually incorporated into the shipbuilding programme of January 1904. For most of 1903 the Russian government feared that a revolt in the Ottoman province of Macedonia and the conflicting claims of several Balkan states could lead to serious complications in the Near East.27 Against this background, the Russian military tested its capacity to execute the Bosphorus expedition and defend the Black Sea littoral if the RN broke through the Straits. Late in August 1903 the Black Sea Fleet and 6,900 troops from the Odessa Military District engaged in combined manoeuvres in the locality of the fortress of Ochakov. The fleet was supposed to bombard the fortress’s batteries, assist in the landing of troops and repulse an attack by the ‘British fleet’. However, the Russian navy did not manage to silence the batteries and there were also severe problems in the transportation and disembarkation of troops despite their limited number. Above all, the Black Sea Fleet was annihilated by the ‘British fleet’, which only suffered light casualties. Skrydlov had asked for the postponement of the manoeuvres. He believed that it would be impossible to undertake the expedition in the face of British opposition and that it would be futile to sacrifice the fleet in defending the fortress of Ochakov if the RN made its way into the Black Sea. He was of the opinion that, currently, the only realistic choice was to station the fleet in the fortified port of Sevastopol, from where it should attempt to interfere with the enemy’s lines of communications.28 In the context of the joint commission, Protopopov also examined an operational plan against the Triple Alliance, based on the premise that Romania would most likely join Austria-Hungary. In this case the Russian army would be inferior to the enemy on the Bessarabian front. Although enemy success would not be detrimental to the overall Russian war effort, it would nevertheless make the option of attacking Austria-Hungary farther north less attractive. Therefore, Russia should react by attempting to distract enemy forces from an offensive in Bessarabia. This could be accomplished if Bulgaria attacked Romania, through the bombardment of points on the Romanian coastline by the Black Sea Fleet and through Russian operations in the River Danube carried out by small battleships in conjunction with the special artillery detachment. In the event that

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a strong German fleet appeared in the Black Sea, Russian territories would be defended through coastal defence tactics.29 Protopopov communicated several of these considerations to the War Ministry, noting that the Staff of the Black Sea Fleet should develop plans for combined operations with the army. On 2 May 1903 Zhilinskii replied to Protopopov that Sakharov acknowledged the naval threat emanating from the Triple Alliance in the Black Sea and suggested that the Commander of the Black Sea Fleet should be asked to draw up corresponding strategic considerations.30 In the same month Skrydlov looked into the issue and proposed the bombardment of Romanian ports and coastal fortresses as well as amphibious operations in the Danube. When confronted with a strong enemy fleet in the Black Sea, he suggested that the Russian fleet should seek refuge in the Ochakov and Sevastopol fortresses, and recommended the employment of torpedo vessels for paralyzing enemy operations.31 Early in 1903, drawing upon the intelligence supplied by the naval attaché in Russia, the British NID continued to evaluate negatively the overall efficiency of the Black Sea Fleet both in terms of personnel and materiel. The NID also questioned whether the Black Sea Fleet would endeavour to come out to the Mediterranean, since its ships were too weak and slow to face the RN. The subject of naval strategy in relation to the Straits was discussed in the first months of 1903 by the Committee of Imperial Defence (hereafter CID). British defence planners and statesmen perceived that Russia could still relatively easily effect a coup de main in the Straits. However, the Admiralty did not believe that this would make any marked difference in the RN’s strategic position in the Mediterranean. Russia could not seriously damage Britain in the basin, unless the Black Sea Fleet had beaten the British Mediterranean Fleet. Moreover, given the weakness of the Black Sea Fleet it was taken for granted that Russia would only act in conjunction with France, in which case the prime objective of the RN, as before, would remain the Toulon squadron. Thus, on the advice of the Admiralty, the CID decided not to oppose a Russian attempt to seize the Straits. On top of all this, in the summer of 1903 the new DNI and the senior leadership of the Admiralty were certain that they could effectively deal with the French naval threat in the Mediterranean.32

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In 1903 the position of the Russian navy in the Baltic was also difficult. In February 1903 Avelan informed Sakharov, in the context of the new shipbuilding programme, that due to the limited financial means available for developing Russia’s battleship forces in all the major theatres, the Navy Ministry had decided to defend the Baltic coastline against an enemy amphibious landing mainly with torpedo craft and submarines. Avelan wrote to Sakharov that because of this, the Navy and War Ministries should regularly consult over issues regarding the defence of the Baltic littoral.33 In the following month the GMSh produced a report which stated that the most likely target of a German landing would be the Gulf of Riga. The capture of Riga was reckoned to be of great importance since it would threaten the rear of the northern Russian defensive line in the western frontier, disrupt railway communications in the region and give the enemy the opportunity to move overland to St Petersburg.34 On 31 March 1903 a commission, under the auspices of the War Ministry, discussed the armament of fortresses and acknowledged the strategic importance of Riga and of the adjacent defensive line on the estuary of the East Dvina River. The members of the commission recognized that since the attention of the navy was focused on the Far East it would be impossible to attain command of the Baltic Sea.35 On 25 April 1903 Captain L. A. Brusilov, who was leading the embryonic operational planning section of the VMUO, forwarded his considerations for the maritime defence of the Baltic theatre to Avelan. Brusilov argued that the main naval security threat in the Baltic Sea was a German landing on the flank of the Russian army, which would distract badly-needed troops from participating in the land campaign. Although Brusilov thought that Libau, Vindau and the Finnish Gulf could be the object of enemy landings, he nevertheless concurred with the GMSh that the most likely target would be Riga. Looking at the current strength of the Baltic Fleet, Brusilov concluded that it was impossible to engage the German fleet in the open sea and recommended the adoption of a defensive plan of action. Specifically, he proposed the deployment of the few available ocean-going battleships, coastal defence battleships and cruisers as well as torpedo craft in the Gulf of Riga. These forces would be entrusted with the task of defending the minefields laid at the

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entrances of the gulf. The combination of minefields and of narrow passages with sandbanks should offer adequate protection to the Baltic Fleet, as the German vessels would not be able to simultaneously utilize their superior firepower. Brusilov also recommended the stationing of torpedo craft at Moonzund, not only for assisting in the defence of the Gulf of Riga but also for attacking the enemy’s lines of communications. Finally, he advocated that the defence of the Finnish Gulf and Kronstadt should be based on minefields guarded by a large torpedo flotilla, which could also attack the rear of the adversary’s fleet operating against the Gulf of Riga.36 On 28 May an army commission was held with the participation of Sakharov, senior officers of the GSh, the Chief of Staff of the Finnish Military District and the Quartermaster General of the Petersburg Military District. The commission, which examined issues related to coastal defence, concluded that although St Petersburg was strongly fortified and unapproachable directly from the sea, nevertheless the enemy could threaten the capital and also isolate Finland from the empire by capturing with an amphibious landing the weakly defended coastal fortress of Vyborg situated in the Gulf of Finland. The members of the commission highlighted the fact that until the third week of the war the Russian army would lack a strong general reserve which could be dispatched at any minute to counter an enemy landing. Consequently, they argued that during the crucial initial period of the conflict the assistance of the Baltic Fleet would be desirable. Given that the best ships of the fleet were at that time located in the Far East, the naval defence of the Baltic seaboard should be provided for by a torpedo flotilla, which, if adequately developed, should be able to protect the entrance of the Finnish Gulf by operating from Sveaborg and Moonzund.37 On 2 June the defence of the Baltic littoral was studied by a joint services commission. The commission was chaired by Sakharov and its members included the participants of the previous conference but also Rozhestvenskii, Virenius and Brusilov. The army representatives believed that in the event of war against a western power the opponent could threaten several points such as St Petersburg, Libau, Riga and Finland with a landing, but that it was difficult to predict the exact target. Due to the length of the coastline and the slow

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mobilization of reserve forces for the defence of coastal points on the Baltic littoral, which would only be completed in the third week of the conflict, the army required the assistance of the navy during this critical initial period. The main task of the navy would be to impede an enemy landing by occupying a central position for defending the entrances of the Finnish and Riga Gulfs. Rozhestvenskii pointed out that given its current weakness, the Baltic Fleet could only act defensively and play for time until the concentration of sufficient troops. He explained that at present the only combat-effective naval assets were torpedo vessels. He took the view that torpedo craft could not defend Libau without the support of the battle fleet, but that if deployed in a central position they could simultaneously defend the entrances of the two gulfs. Rozhestvenskii asserted that although the torpedo flotilla might eventually be destroyed, it could in the meantime be a source of many dangers for the enemy. The commission concluded that it was necessary to create telegraphically-linked coastal observation points. The participants decided that the bulk of the torpedo flotilla should occupy a position from where it could concurrently defend the entrances of the Finnish and Riga Gulfs, and agreed to deploy some vessels in the Finnish coastline for scouting purposes.38 Eight days later a joint services commission inspecting the armament of fortresses, discussed issues related to the naval defence of Kronstadt. It seems that the members of the commission generally agreed that a direct frontal assault against the fortress would be a difficult undertaking fraught with many risks. Rozhestvenskii maintained that an enemy could not contemplate such an attack before the Baltic Fleet had first retreated into the Finnish Gulf. Both he and Virenius asserted that the strong artillery defences of Kronstadt made an attack by capital vessels difficult. If the foe employed shallow draught vessels, they would be countered through the use of torpedo craft.39 In July, following up the resolution to station torpedo craft on the Finnish coastline for scouting purposes, Rozhestvenskii and Brusilov informed the GSh that there was only a limited number of vessels which could be used for such a task. Consequently, a scouting contingent could only be dispatched to a single location and not to several as requested by the GSh.40

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In the summer of 1903 the torpedo flotilla of the Baltic Fleet conducted manoeuvres under Rear Admiral Birilev. The instructions of the Navy Ministry stipulated that the aims of the manoeuvres were to study the passages of the Gulf of Riga, practise combined signalling with coastal observation points on the southern Baltic coastline and test the scenario of holding off a hostile fleet from breaking through to the Gulf of Riga.41 After the completion of the manoeuvres, in November 1903 Birilev composed a report examining in detail the current state of the Baltic Fleet. He argued that because of the diversion of ships to the Far East the Baltic Fleet was insufficiently strong to defend Russia’s coastline. Birilev stated that ‘at present the Baltic Fleet is a depot of the Pacific Ocean Fleet’. Russia’s core naval assets in the Baltic were either antiquated artillery vessels or ships in need of repairs after returning from the Far East. Furthermore, the existing torpedo flotilla was incapable of undertaking combat operations since the majority of the craft required major repairs. Birilev concluded that the Baltic Fleet was at a very low level of preparedness. In addition, he pointed out that coastal fortresses were in a bad state of repair and armed with antiquated guns. He also highlighted the absence of a naval operational plan for the defence of the Baltic coastline. For Birilev, the southern Baltic littoral could be effectively defended by establishing an integrated coastal defence system consisting of several support bases for 60 destroyers and six submarines.42 In the autumn of 1903, aiming at assisting the small operational section of the VMUO to develop a detailed operational plan for the near future, the GMSh decided that the Naval Academy should examine the hypothetical scenario of war with Germany in the spring of 1904. The game was to be carried out under the auspices of the GMSh and with the participation of experienced officers. Given that the deployment and role of the Baltic Fleet constituted an integral part of the overall strategic planning for the defence of the western frontiers, Rozhestvenskii obtained the cooperation of the War Ministry.43 The Academy obliged and in the winter of 1903– 1904 produced a study with the participation of GSh officers, which is a testament to the position of the Baltic Fleet at the outbreak of the Russo-Japanese War.

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The study pointed out that victory against Germany would depend on the outcome of the land campaign. In an effort to assist their land operations, it was possible that the Germans would disembark troops on the flank of the Russian army on the Baltic coastline with the aim of creating difficulties for the Russian land forces during the crucial initial period of mobilization. Riga was designated as the most likely objective of a German amphibious landing.44 Although the whole length of the coastline would eventually be protected by a sufficient number of Russian troops, these would only become available three weeks after the beginning of the war. This necessitated the participation of the navy in the defence of the littoral at the beginning of the war.45 The study considered that even if part of the German fleet remained in the west facing the French, Berlin could still dispatch to the Baltic Sea ten battleships, four coastal defence battleships, six first-class and 16 second-class cruisers, with a total force indicator of 468.46 On the opposite side, the Baltic Fleet numbered 146 vessels of various types, out of which 88 were torpedo craft.47 However, not all of these vessels were combat-worthy, either because they were antiquated or required capital repairs.48 All in all, Russia could muster in the Baltic a battle squadron made up from the old battleships Imperator Nikolai I and Imperator Aleksandr II, five first-class cruisers, five gunboats and four torpedo cruisers with a collective force indicator of 30.7. Therefore, with the exclusion of torpedo craft, the Baltic Fleet would be twelve times weaker than the force that Germany could assemble in the basin. It was thought that the Russian torpedo flotilla could only inflict damage to the enemy if luck went their way. Furthermore, the state of Libau and Kronstadt left a lot to be desired in terms of servicing and protecting the fleet. Last, but not least, the Baltic Fleet was plagued by shortages in supplies, ammunition and personnel. The study concluded that ‘under such conditions the participation of the fleet in battle was impossible’.49 In any case, the study assumed that the German navy, enjoying undisputed superiority, would attempt to destroy or blockade the Baltic Fleet in order to obtain command of the sea and subsequently carry out a landing. The study concluded that as long as the Baltic Fleet disputed command of the sea, Germany would not risk an amphibious operation. To dispute command of the sea, the weak

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Baltic battle squadron should be preserved from destruction and blockade. Vitally, Russia should take advantage of the difficulty the Germans would face if they tried to blockade the existing torpedo flotilla. The flotilla could disrupt the adversary’s communications, menace enemy landings and even under certain conditions attack the opponent’s capital ships. Specifically, the battle squadron element of the Baltic Fleet and torpedo vessels should be placed in the Gulf of Riga. Taking advantage of this naturally strong position and through the use of minefields, the study considered that these forces could substantially delay a German breakthrough. In tandem, Moonzund should be defended by coastal batteries and torpedo vessels, whilst a flying detachment of torpedo boats should be deployed at several points along the Baltic littoral.50 In reality, Russian fears of German landings in the Baltic coast were exaggerated. From 1899 onwards German naval planning revolved around the concept of fighting against the combined fleets of the Franco-Russian alliance. Specifically, the weakness of the Russian Baltic Fleet had prompted the German navy to focus on taking the offensive against France in the North Sea. In the Baltic Sea the German navy intended to maintain only a small contingent of ships for defending the Prussian coastline against a Russian seaborne invasion, protecting maritime communications between ports, and creating the impression of an imminent landing on the Russian littoral with the aim of distracting troops from the western frontier.51 Evidently Russian fears regarding Germany’s actions were unfounded. At one level this was a failure of Russian intelligence, though perhaps it is fair to say that the Russians could not know Germany’s plans and inevitably guarded against all eventualities. In order to complete the overview of the Baltic theatre, it is necessary to address the question of Libau. In August 1903 the Commander of the Libau Fortress thought that the existing coastal defences were incapable of stopping the enemy from bombarding the port and destroying the docks and workshops. Furthermore, he drew attention to the fact that the fortress garrison was small.52 Kuropatkin, who inspected the fortress in the same month, concluded that despite colossal expenditure Libau was a weak coastal fortress; most of the guns were antiquated, some coastal batteries were not completed,

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existing batteries were insufficiently protected and the garrison was small. In his diary Kuropatkin implied that the whole project was a vain undertaking given that the port was of no use to the currently weak Baltic Fleet.53 In October 1903 Libau’s port commander reported that the expensively developed infrastructure of the port was undefended from a naval bombardment and that the fortress’s land defensive line could be breached. He thus remarked that Libau was a ‘cheap prize’ for the enemy and a suitable base for a hostile fleet.54 However, by December 1903 the GMSh was bent on utilizing Libau as a station for concentrating the Baltic Fleet from 1904 onwards. The GMSh acknowledged that Libau’s naval facilities were inadequately protected. Nevertheless, given that tens of millions had already been expended on equipping the port and anticipating the reinforcement of the Baltic Fleet through the new shipbuilding programme, the GMSh insisted that it was necessary to defend Libau.55 In the first months of 1903 Witte and Kuropatkin agreed on the necessity of securing guarantees for the protection of Russian commercial and strategic interests in Manchuria. They also concurred that this should be achieved without any military complications, even if that involved a disadvantageous understanding with Japan over Korea. However, from the spring of 1903 the Tsar, influenced by the Bezobrazov group, disagreed with his ministers and was inclined to favour an assertive stance both in Manchuria and Korea. In this context Russia suspended the evacuation of Manchuria. Nevertheless, until the outbreak of the war in January 1904 Nicholas II was indecisive and vacillated on whether to offer concessions to Japan. Russia’s Far Eastern policy was further complicated and confused with the appointment of Alekseev as viceroy for the Far East in August 1903.56 Although Russia and Japan engaged in negotiations from the summer of 1903, they were unable to reach a settlement, mainly because their objectives were incompatible. On the one hand, Japan wanted full control over the whole of Korea and aimed to secure this as well as limiting Russian rights in Manchuria. On the other hand, Russia was not prepared to compromise over Manchuria and sought to guard the southern branch of the Trans-Siberian railway and Port Arthur by restricting Japan’s freedom of action in northern Korea.57 Russia’s continuing military presence in Manchuria, some

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meddling in northern Korea, the inherent confusion in Russia’s Far Eastern policy and a protracted negotiating process exhausted Japan’s patience. Furthermore, by January 1904 domestic pressure and, decisively, the gradual increase of Russia’s military power in the region prompted Japan to act before it was too late.58 France did not approve of Russian policy in the Far East and considered that it was under no obligation to assist St Petersburg in the event of war with Japan. This attitude was also influenced by France’s desire for a rapprochement with Britain. In the summer of 1903 the two countries were engaged in talks for settling their colonial disputes and, in the spring of 1904, the Entente Cordiale was established. The lessening of tensions between Paris and London also signified the death of the anti-British orientation of the Franco-Russian alliance. Characteristically, when the Chief of Staff of the French army met his Russian counterpart in St Petersburg in August 1903 Britain was not mentioned even once. Against this background, the idea of instituting a Franco-Russian naval convention was scrapped.59 Even had France been prepared to support Russia against Japan in case of British involvement, it is doubtful whether this would have changed anything. French naval forces in Far Eastern waters would not have joined with the Russian squadron, but instead would have concentrated in Saigon with the mission of defending Indochina. The only direct assistance France could have theoretically offered would have been the use of one armoured cruiser for harassing British maritime commerce and military convoys.60 In the unlikely scenario that the Russians and French confronted Japan alone, the French squadron would engage enemy forces, wage guerre de course and convoy French troops to attack the Pescadores Islands. However, as the commander of the squadron noted two months after the beginning of the war, the force at his disposal was composed of very diverse units and his armoured cruisers were significantly weaker than their British counterparts. He thus concluded that the squadron would have to remain inactive.61 Given the above, Russian admirals and generals proceeded to draw up war plans for the Far East without counting on French assistance. In February 1903 Alekseev reported to Kuropatkin that the intended evacuation of southern Manchuria meant that the Russian army’s

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area of concentration should be shifted further north. He also argued that although the strength of the Pacific Ocean squadron had been increased, nevertheless the Japanese battle fleet was slightly superior. In the event that the RN assisted the Japanese navy, this margin of superiority would be greatly augmented. This would allow Tokyo to attain command of the sea and quickly disembark and concentrate large forces in southern Manchuria. Alekseev’s worries were multiplied by the fact that Port Arthur was still not a reliably defended and equipped base for the squadron.62 Despite Alekseev’s concerns over the possible assistance that the RN could furnish to the Japanese, Russian naval planning continued to focus on the scenario of war with Japan alone. Specifically, on 6 March 1903 Stark reported to Alekseev that the Vladivostok cruiser detachment was not strong enough to divert the required number of vessels from the Yellow Sea, in order to weaken the Japanese fleet to such an extent as to render it inferior to the Russian squadron based in Port Arthur. Stark argued that while the four Russian cruisers might face six Japanese armoured cruisers, the enemy could simultaneously deploy in the Yellow Sea six battleships against Russia’s four. Therefore, both the Vladivostok cruiser detachment and the main part of the squadron stationed in Port Arthur would be weaker than the forces that the Japanese could pit against them. Stark also believed that the Russian cruisers could be blockaded in Vladivostok and that, even if they managed to exit to the high seas, their actions would be undermined by a number of difficulties. These included the lack of coaling facilities and the danger of being engaged by the faster and stronger Japanese armoured cruisers. Furthermore, the majority of Japan’s large commercial ships employed for the transportation of troops to mainland Asia would be screened by the fleet. Consequently, Japanese maritime commerce would be mainly conveyed by neutral ships, an attack against which would generate serious diplomatic complications for Russia. In addition, raids against Japan’s coastal railway lines would be difficult, since the coastline would be defended by torpedo boats and the lines would be guarded by troops. Stark concluded that under such conditions the cruiser detachment could not fulfil its designated mission. Even though Stark mentioned the option of uniting the cruisers with the squadron, he, nevertheless,

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proposed limiting the cruisers’ radius of operations to the Sea of Japan. Employing Vladivostok as a base, the cruisers could attack weakly defended Japanese convoys transporting troops and materiel in this sea. Two days later Alekseev acknowledged the receipt of the report but did not make any decisions on how to proceed.63 The issue remained unresolved for about a month, when the arrival of significant reinforcements, in the form of two battleships, four first-class cruisers, two second-class cruisers and eight destroyers commanded by Rear Admiral E. A. Stackelberg, led to a re-examination of the operational plan for the Pacific Ocean squadron.64 On 10 April Alekseev chaired a conference of the Far Eastern senior naval command in Port Arthur. Despite the arrival of reinforcements, Alekseev was against amalgamating the cruisers with the Port Arthur forces, presumably because he believed that the Russian squadron in its entirety remained inferior to the Japanese fleet and because the cruisers would draw away from the Yellow Sea more enemy units if they acted independently. The squadron’s Flag Captain, A. A. Ebergard, noted that the narrow exit of the Port Arthur harbour hampered the quick passage of ships. He added that stationing the squadron at Port Arthur’s external roadstead was perilous given the threat of a torpedo attack. Instead, he suggested moving the squadron to Mosampo. His seniors unanimously rejected this. Vitgeft discounted the possibility of a Japanese torpedo attack and added that in any event the ships would be protected by antitorpedo nets. The conference was completed inconclusively without the adoption of an operational plan.65 Two days later Stark sent a memorandum to Alekseev, in which he underlined the numerical and qualitative superiority of the Japanese fleet. This time Stark did advocate uniting the cruiser detachment with the main squadron. The matter was discussed on 17 April by a second conference of the naval command. Vitgeft argued that even if the cruisers moved to Port Arthur and combined with the main forces, the Russian squadron would remain inferior to the Japanese fleet. He supported his argument by pointing out that the cruisers in question were essentially constructed for guerre de course and their usefulness in a fleet engagement would be limited. Moreover, bringing the cruisers to Port Arthur would allow Japan to deploy six

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armoured cruisers in the main theatre of operations. In the end, the conference decided to maintain the existing operational parameters and delegated to Vitgeft the task of drawing up a detailed plan upon this premise.66 By 20 April Vitgeft had indeed composed such a plan. In doing so, he accepted Rusin’s view that the main thrust of a Japanese offensive would be directed towards southern Manchuria. The centrepiece of Vitgeft’s plan was that the chief mission of the Russian squadron was to dispute command of the Yellow Sea in order not to permit a Japanese landing on the western coast of Korea. In this respect, the main forces of the squadron were to be based in Port Arthur. However, since the Russian squadron was weaker than the Japanese fleet it should avoid engaging in a decisive battle. Even if the squadron emerged victorious, this would not bring a substantial advantage, given that Port Arthur was not adequately equipped for repairing the damaged vessels. Hence, it was important to preserve the squadron intact for as long as possible, because its continuing presence would constitute a constant menace to Japanese landing attempts. However, the plan stated that the squadron should initiate battle if the Japanese fleet arrived at Port Arthur, a landing attempt took place at, or north of, Chemulpo, or if Japanese troops had successfully disembarked on the western coast of Korea. Moreover, Vitgeft noted that the odds against the weaker Russian squadron would be improved through the deployment of several cruisers in Vladivostok. The cruisers, operating within the boundaries of the Sea of Japan, were to conduct guerre de course, raid Japanese undefended ports and oppose enemy landings on the eastern coast of Korea. Vitgeft believed that such actions would divert six Japanese armoured cruisers from the Yellow Sea.67 In the following months, efforts were made to establish a detailed operational plan for the cruiser detachment. In June Kuzmich put forward a new plan but it was not approved. Finally, Alekseev confirmed Stark’s suggestion that the detachment should be based in Vladivostok and operate within the boundaries of the Sea of Japan. Specifically, the detachment should undertake guerre de course, raid the Japanese coastline and bombard enemy ports. Alekseev was of the opinion that such actions would distract significant enemy forces from the main theatre of operations. Early in July Stackelberg, now

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in command of the detachment, was instructed to draft a detailed plan conforming to the above outline.68 However, no such plan was produced until September. In September 1903 the squadron and the Kwangtung garrison conducted combined manoeuvres aimed at testing the coastal defences of the peninsula against an amphibious landing and whether the enemy could approach without being detected to the northern part of the Yellow Sea. Following the manoeuvres, it was concluded that the existing coastal defence organization of the Kwangtung peninsula was incoherent, and that the detection of enemy naval forces in the Yellow Sea would be problematic due to the small number of Russian cruisers.69 Meanwhile, on 6 July Alekseev requested from Avelan the reinforcement of the Pacific Ocean squadron with warships from the Baltic Sea. Six days later Avelan replied that it would be possible to send three battleships and one armoured cruiser. Alekseev asked for the exclusion of one of the battleships because it was too old.70 In the end it was decided to reinforce the squadron with the battleships Osliabia and Tsesarevich, the armoured cruiser Baian, three other cruisers and several torpedo craft. The detachment, which contained all the ships that could be dispatched to the Far East until the summer of 1904, was placed under the command of Rear Admiral Virenius.71 However, bad luck struck on 11 August as the Osliabia hit a rock close to Gibraltar. Given the need to repair the battleship, in September Avelan and Rozhestvenskii ordered the separation of the Tsesarevich and the Baian from the detachment. These two vessels departed immediately for the Far East. Simultaneously Virenius was instructed to concentrate his remaining ships in the Mediterranean and wait while the Osliabia was undergoing repairs in Italy. Virenius was instructed to take the detachment to the Far East following the completion of the repairs. However, the battleship commenced repairs only at the beginning of October, as it seems that there was difficulty in finding the vessel’s blueprints in St Petersburg. Further delays occurred as a legal commission arrived from St Petersburg to investigate the accident. By the end of November the detachment was at last ready to move to the Far East but the journey was painfully slow. This time the reason was that the torpedo craft were also

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in need of repairs and had difficulties when cruising in fresh weather conditions. Even though Alekseev urged that the Osliabia should leave behind the torpedo craft and independently progress to the Far East, Rozhestvenskii declined on the basis that the latter constituted the core of the detachment. As a result of all this, by the beginning of the war the detachment had only proceeded as far as the Red Sea.72 In the spring of 1903 the foundations of the operational plan for the land campaign were re-examined both in the Far East and in St Petersburg. Alekseev and his military staff in Kwangtung feared that Japan could gain unconditional command of the sea and consequently disembark troops even in the vicinity of Port Arthur.73 Reckoning that the navy could not impede a large Japanese landing in south Manchuria, the Staff of the Priamur Military District was now in favour of shifting the Russian army’s area of concentration in Manchuria farther north. Although it seems that these considerations were not communicated to the War Ministry, nevertheless Kuropatkin drew up a plan against Japan along similar lines. Anticipating that the Japanese army would enjoy substantial numerical superiority on the battlefield at the beginning of the conflict, he believed that it would be safer to concentrate Russia’s field army in the Far East in central or northern Manchuria, even if this gave the enemy the freedom to besiege Port Arthur. In fact, on 16 May Kuropatkin and Sakharov reported to the Tsar that although Kwangtung would be cut off, it would nevertheless be preferable to concentrate Russian ground forces in north Manchuria. They justified their advice by saying that this deployment would be safer, gave more time for the arrival of reinforcements, would compel the Japanese to operate on longer lines of communications and did not require the dispatch of formations from the empire’s western frontiers to the Far East before the outbreak of the war. However, when Kuropatkin visited Port Arthur in the summer, he agreed with the Far Eastern army’s commanders that the available forces would be strong enough to shift their area of concentration back into southern Manchuria. This decision must also have been influenced by Vitgeft’s reassurance that the navy would not allow a Japanese landing in, or near, southern Manchuria.74 On 12 September the GSh requested that the Far Eastern army staff provide it with an operational plan for a war against Japan.

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Flug, who was in charge of the assignment, did not reply immediately, but first consulted with Vitgeft, since the concentration of the army in southern Manchuria depended on the naval situation. On 25 September Flug asked Vitgeft how long the Russian squadron could delay Japanese landing operations in the Yellow Sea. Vitgeft replied two days later, arguing unequivocally that as long as the fleet was not defeated large-scale landing operations were ‘inconceivable’. He also stated that ‘I personally do not admit the possibility of the defeat of our fleet by the Japanese in the region of the Yellow Sea and the Gulf of Korea even under the present correlation of forces’. On 1 October Alekseev corroborated Vitgeft’s views. Based upon Alekseev’s and Vitgeft’s reassurances, Flug drew up a plan for the Russian land forces in the Far East. According to the plan, the Japanese would not attempt a landing on the north-western coast of Korea, south Manchuria and Kwangtung. By examining the terrain and distances from the areas where the Japanese would be free to land in Korea, the plan assumed that the Russian army would have sufficient time to concentrate safely in south Manchuria. The guidelines of the plan were communicated to St Petersburg in October and in the same month were approved by the Tsar. A detailed version of the plan was approved by Alekseev on 5 November and Kuropatkin went over it in December. Despite the introduction of a number of changes, Kuropatkin did not alter the plan’s fundamental principles. On 10 January Nicholas II approved the plan and four days later Kuropatkin informed Alekseev to this effect.75 In the meantime, on 23 September Stark instructed Stackelberg to produce a plan for the cruiser detachment based upon the parameters set in the summer. On 25 October Stackelberg riposted that there were only two Japanese ports within the boundaries of the Sea of Japan and that they were of small importance. Moreover, climatic conditions did not permit the detachment to carry out raids on the Japanese coastline during the winter. Furthermore, regional Japanese shipping activities in the winter months were too insignificant to justify guerre de course. Instead Stackelberg believed that the detachment should attempt to disrupt maritime communications between the Japanese metropolitan islands and the Asian mainland but also attack cabotage vessels and coastal towns with the purpose of creating panic.

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He thought that such actions could divert the Japanese armoured cruisers to the Sea of Japan. He added that his cruisers should also challenge enemy landing operations on the eastern seaboard of Korea and the Priamur. However, apart from these general recommendations, Stackelberg deferred composing a more detailed plan, since he argued that much depended on the weather and the opponent’s movements.76 On 19 November the arrival of the Tsesarevich and the Baian in the Far East prompted Alekseev to convene a new conference of the naval command in order to discuss possible changes in the operational plan. The conference took place on 18 December and was chaired by Alekseev. Alekseev now believed that the combined force of the main squadron and the Vladivostok cruisers equalled the Japanese battle fleet. Nevertheless, he was still against the idea of combining the cruisers with the squadron and initiating offensive operations. He was prepared to approve such a plan only after the arrival of the Virenius detachment. When this materialized, Aleskeev considered advancing to the Japanese coastline with the aim of annihilating the Japanese fleet. Stark agreed with Alekseev, but Vitgeft objected on the grounds that it was important to draw out and engage the Japanese away from their bases. The always audacious Ebergard claimed that the squadron was already strong enough to give battle to the Japanese fleet. However, in the end, it was decided to maintain the existing plan. Given this, the conference expressed worries about the absence of a plan for the cruiser detachment. Alekseev argued that the detachment should not be committed to the defence of Vladivostok, but that it should instead focus on generating panic by attacking Japan’s maritime commerce and coastal population.77 On the following day, Stark informed Stackelberg of the decisions of the conference. He also instructed him to draw up a detailed plan for cruiser operations within the boundaries of the Sea of Japan. Stackelberg refrained from doing so and until the outbreak of the war continued to report on various problems which would compromise the operations of his detachment. In fact, the actions of the cruisers in the initial stages of the conflict were defined by a plan drafted by Stark and Ebergard on 27 December. According to this plan, the mission of the cruisers was to create panic and divert part

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of the adversary’s fleet from the Yellow Sea by attacking Japanese civilian vessels and unfortified ports within the boundaries of the Sea of Japan.78 Russian operational planning against Japan was conducted by the Far Eastern army and naval staffs under the supervision and leadership of Alekseev. However, whilst the plan for the land campaign was approved by Kuropatkin and the GSh, the details of the naval plan were never even communicated to the Navy Ministry in St Petersburg. The GMSh on a few occasions asked Alekseev to dispatch this information, but he either ignored the request or vaguely assured the central naval authorities that an operational plan was in existence. It seems that the Navy Ministry was not really prepared to press for the information in question, considering that such issues lay in Alekseev’s sphere of administrative responsibility.79 Nevertheless, in the last year before the war various naval institutions and officers in St Petersburg also studied the strategic situation in the Far East. Acting upon the instructions of the Director of the Navy Ministry, in the winter of 1902–1903 the Naval Academy played out a war game which tested the scenario of a Russo-Japanese confrontation in 1905.80 The game, played out with the participation of several senior naval officers including Rozhestvenskii, was completed in the spring of 1903. From the war game it transpired that the task of defending the empire’s Far Eastern territories and Manchuria was difficult because the Japanese army enjoyed vast superiority over the Russian land forces initially deployed in the theatre. Therefore, it was essential to buy time and await the arrival of reinforcements. Given that the Japanese would have time to land troops on the Asian mainland, it was crucial to contest the disembarkation of enemy troops close to the Russian army’s areas of concentration, especially during the opening stages of the campaign. Ideally, the Russian squadron should have undisputed superiority over its Japanese counterpart by maintaining a force at least one-and-a-half times stronger than the opponent. Moreover, it was also necessary to acquire a naval base in southern Korea, namely in Mosampo, from where it would be possible to block the maritime movement of Japanese troops in any direction towards the Asian mainland.81

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It was calculated during the course of the war game that in 1905 the Russian Pacific Ocean squadron would be composed of ten battleships and 15 cruisers with a total force indicator of 680.9. The squadron would also include seven gunboats, 33 destroyers and 29 torpedo boats. At the same time, Japan would have six battleships and 26 cruisers with a force indicator of 675.5, as well as 16 gunboats, 19 destroyers and 95 torpedo boats. Although the force indicator figures suggested that the Russian squadron would be slightly stronger in terms of battleships and cruisers, nevertheless, in practice, the two opposing fleets should be considered equal. This was because four of the Russian cruisers based in Vladivostok would be separated from the squadron, but also due to the technical heterogeneity of the Russian vessels and the low level of personnel training. Besides, Russia’s superiority in battleships and destroyers was balanced by the large numbers of relatively modern Japanese torpedo vessels and cruisers, which included armoured cruisers of new construction.82 The officers playing the Russian side during the game, though agreeing on designating the Yellow Sea as the main theatre of operations, disagreed over the choice of Port Arthur for stationing the squadron due to the fact that it was relatively easy to blockade. In the end the squadron was deployed in Dalnii from where it would move to the Korean Straits with the aim of opposing a Japanese landing. The officers in charge of the Japanese side believed that a successful landing on the Asian mainland depended on destroying or blockading the Russian squadron. Their first move was to attack suddenly the Russian squadron in Dalnii by torpedo craft at night. The attack was foiled and after a series of naval engagements, which resulted in the destruction of both fleets, Japanese landings were limited to south Korea. This gave sufficient time for the Russian army to concentrate in Manchuria. However, the game indicated that if the Russian squadron was weaker, as it was in 1903, then the Japanese would be able to disembark large forces in north-western Korea and impose impossible odds on the Russian troops in Manchuria during the initial stages of the war.83 The main conclusion of the game was that in the winter of 1902–1903 the Pacific Ocean squadron was insufficiently strong and the placement of the cruiser detachment in Vladivostok made the situation worse.

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Furthermore, the squadron suffered from badly-trained personnel and a considerable shortage of officers, lower rank specialists, ammunition and coal supplies. The participants also highlighted the lack of a dry dock for large vessels in Port Arthur and the danger of stationing the squadron in the internal roadstead of this port as it could be easily blockaded there. They also voiced the warning that the squadron, if anchored in Port Arthur’s external roadstead or in the unfortified port of Dalnii, should be ready to repulse a surprise attack.84 On 4 October 1903 Brusilov, who had taken part in the war game, reported to Rozhestvenskii that even after the completion of the Trans-Siberian railway, Russia should strive towards naval supremacy over Japan. He argued that if the railway line was damaged the arrival of supplies and reinforcements from European Russia would be significantly delayed. Brusilov believed that Russia’s position in the Far East could only be guaranteed after the annihilation of the Japanese navy. He stated that the Japanese fleet was still numerically and qualitatively superior to the Russian squadron, which was also handicapped by the lack of supplies, reliable port facilities, shortages of personnel and inadequate training. Therefore, he argued that ‘it is advantageous to avoid war for now, even paying with significant concessions’. On 6 November the former Flag Captain of the Pacific Ocean squadron, K. V. Stetsenko, submitted to the GMSh a report, which substantiated Brusilov’s view. According to the report, a comparison of the Russian and Japanese squadrons demonstrated that ‘for every warship of the Russian force in the Pacific Ocean the Japanese have a corresponding but stronger one’. Moreover, the Japanese navy was much superior in terms of cruisers and torpedo craft and could also utilize numerous well-equipped bases. Therefore, Stetsenko concluded that: The Japanese fleet is stronger than the Russian naval forces in the Pacific Ocean, is significantly better located in the theatre of war, and has at its disposal overwhelming superiority over the Russian force in every kind of material resources.85 However, the airing of such views in St Petersburg did not have any practical consequences. Virenius’s appointment as commander

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of the reinforcement detachment meant that one of the key central administrative organs, responsible for the examination of operational considerations, became leaderless. After Virenius’s departure and until the outbreak of the war the VMUO was headed by an ineffective army officer, Colonel V. A. Stenger.86 Hence the onus for evaluating the merit of these reports fell completely on the shoulders of Rozhestvenskii. Even though Rozhestvenskii had participated in the war game and read Brusilov’s report he was optimistic about the naval situation in the Far East. For example, after reading Brusilov’s report, on 5 November Rozhestvenskii wrote that Russia’s war aim against Japan was the occupation of Korea and that in this respect the destruction of the Japanese fleet was not important. He thus believed that it was not necessary to possess a significantly superior force to that of Japan and that equality was adequate. In relation to the current situation he thought that ‘now more than ever we are ready for war with Japan’. Consequently, Brusilov’s report was buried in the files of the GMSh and was not presented to the General Admiral, Avelan and Alekseev.87 On 1 January 1904, in a conversation with Kuropatkin, Rozhestvenskii expressed some reservations regarding the naval situation in the Far East. He believed that Alekseev was an untrustworthy individual who always gave the highest priority to his personal interests. He also characterized Stark as a ‘stupid Finn’ unsuitable for commanding a large fleet. From a purely naval perspective, he was critical of the situation in Port Arthur, due to the lack of training, repairs and ammunition. Nevertheless, on 24 January, just two days before the outbreak of the war, Rozhestvenskii told Kuropatkin that the Russian squadron was certainly in a position to resist a Japanese landing in north-western Korea.88 It seems that Avelan shared Rozhestvenskii’s ideas. He also spoke to Kuropatkin on 24 January and expressed the view that he was unsure about Stark’s ability to lead a large naval operation, and thought that it would be better if Alekseev assumed command of the squadron. When Kuropatkin asked him why Stark was not then replaced by a better admiral, Avelan replied that Birilev, Dubasov and Rozhestvenskii had declined because of Alekseev’s difficult character. Nonetheless, Avelan assured Kuropatkin that Russian naval forces in the Far East were strong enough to contest an enemy landing on the

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whole of the western Korean littoral and even put up some resistance in the Korean Straits.89 The confidence of the naval leadership regarding the situation in the Far East is also, to an extent, demonstrated by its refusal to reinforce the squadron with foreign-built warships. Since the first months of 1903 the Navy Ministry received a steady flow of information about the possibility of obtaining warships from abroad. In 1902 Chile and Argentina had signed a naval disarmament agreement, as a result of which a number of vessels under construction for the two countries were now up for sale. Although it is unlikely that the Russians could have bought two battleships ordered by Chile in Britain, nonetheless, towards the end of 1903 the RN acquired the ships, driven by the anxiety to stop St Petersburg from disturbing the balance of naval power in the Far East to the detriment of Japan. More importantly, Russia was given the option of buying two armoured cruisers originally constructed for Argentina. In the end both cruisers were bought by Japan in December 1903 at a cost of 7.2 million roubles each. Despite knowledge of Japan’s intentions, the Navy Ministry categorically refused to buy the ships. In explaining the attitude of the ministry one should keep in mind the impression of senior Russian admirals that the Pacific Ocean squadron was not significantly weaker than the Japanese battle fleet, and their belief that reinforcements from the Mediterranean would eventually make their way to the Far East. In addition, both Avelan and Rozhestvenskii believed that the two cruisers were technically weak and untried for Russia’s needs. Nevertheless, even had the ministry taken a different view, it is still unlikely that the Russian navy could have purchased the cruisers because the financially hard-pressed navy had no available funds to spare. It was only during the war that the Russian government demonstrated an interest in procuring warships from abroad.90 In the second half of 1903 Kuropatkin was also publicly optimistic about the military situation in the Far East. After his return from the region, in the summer of 1903, possibly in order to obviate the diversion of additional precious resources from the western frontiers to the Far East, Kuropatkin assured the Tsar that he should now be much calmer about the outcome of a war against Japan. According to Kuropatkin, Russia’s strategic position had improved

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with the Trans-Siberian railway approaching completion, the presence of significant Russian ground forces in the region and the steady development of Port Arthur’s fortifications. Moreover, he was of the opinion that the Pacific Ocean squadron was now strong enough and had a good chance of success against the Japanese fleet. In November Kuropatkin reiterated these assertions to the Tsar, underlining that Port Arthur was secure.91 Shortly after Kuropatkin’s summer report to the Tsar, Alexander Mikhailovich told Nicholas II that the recent Naval Academy war game had concluded that the Russian navy in the Far East was unprepared for war. However, Nicholas II riposted that he was not prepared to dispute the advice of his ministers.92 Presented with optimistic strategic evaluations, it is not surprising that the Tsar believed that Japan would not dare to declare war and that, if necessary, the Pacific Ocean squadron ‘would teach the Japanese a lesson’.93 When evaluating the realism or otherwise of Russian calculations in the winter of 1903–1904, it is useful to compare them with the opinions of informed foreign observers. In December 1903 the British government, observing the ongoing negotiations between Russia and Japan, concluded that it was very likely that the two countries would resort to arms in order to support their interests. Some ministers believed that the Japanese navy was currently stronger than Russia’s Pacific Ocean squadron. However, Selborne, representing the views of the Admiralty, took the view that by 1907 the Russian navy would have a decisive advantage over the Japanese fleet. He thought that currently Russia and Japan had rough naval numerical equality in Far Eastern waters, although the arrival of Russian reinforcements from the Mediterranean would upset this balance. He thus urged that Japan, despite the risks, should grasp this window of opportunity and fight now when it had a chance of winning the naval war, given the superior efficiency of its fleet. Similarly, the War Office considered that the two opponents were numerically approximately equal, with the Japanese having a slight advantage in efficiency. The War Office calculated that Russia stood a good chance of preventing Japan from obtaining command of the sea, although the latter could take the risk of landing their troops on the mainland before this was achieved. The British government decided to remain neutral but not to allow Russia

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to disturb the naval balance of power in the Far East by dispatching the Black Sea Fleet to the region. Senior British statesmen and the leadership of the Admiralty doubted that Russia would contemplate sending out the Black Sea Fleet. Nevertheless, following consultation between members of the Cabinet and the Admiralty, the CID, as a precaution, warned St Petersburg that if vessels of the Black Sea Fleet crossed the Dardanelles, Britain would adopt whatever measures it saw fit to prevent them from taking part in the war. In the event that Russia ignored the warning, the RN could easily stop their progress to the Far East.94 What in retrospect was the true relative strength of the Russian and Japanese naval forces in the Far Eastern theatre on the eve of the war? In January 1904 the Russian Pacific Ocean squadron consisted of the battleships Poltava, Peresvet, Pobeda, Petropavlosk, Retvizan, Sevastopol and Tsesarevich, four armoured cruisers, seven protected cruisers, six gunboats, 27 destroyers, ten torpedo boats and two minelayers. The Japanese battle fleet consisted of the battleships Asahi, Fuji, Hatuse, Mikasa, Shikishima and Yashima, eight armoured cruisers, 12 protected cruisers, eight gunboats, 27 destroyers and 19 torpedo boats.95 Therefore, Japan had a slight numerical edge in terms of battleships and armoured cruisers combined. The Japanese battleships and armoured cruisers were modern vessels with homogeneous technical characteristics. In contrast, their Russian counterparts were an assortment of older and modern ships with diverse technical elements, which greatly impeded the tactical coordination and efficient employment of the squadron. In addition, three of the Russian armoured cruisers were not up to engaging the enemy battleships and armoured cruisers, since they were mainly designed for guerre de course. Furthermore, the technical characteristics of the Russian vessels were not only varied but in some cases were also inferior to those of their Japanese counterparts. Collectively, the Japanese battleships and armoured cruisers were faster and better protected. Moreover, some of the Russian battleships and armoured cruisers, such as the Sevastopol, Tsesarevich and the Riurik, were in need of repairs. The Japanese destroyers were also more up to date and faster than their Russian equivalents. Some of the Russian protected cruisers were possibly technically superior to those of Japan but were numerically inferior.96

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The two Russian naval bases in the Far East, Port Arthur and Vladivostok, were isolated from one another and plagued by a series of important defects. Construction work in Port Arthur, the squadron’s main base, finally speeded up in 1903 after constant pressure was applied by Alekseev, who was concerned about the possible repercussions of a Russian evacuation of Manchuria. However, by the beginning of the war Port Arthur’s coastal and land defensive lines were two-thirds and one-third complete respectively, while twothirds of the designated artillery ordnance was in place. The fortification lines were weak, badly designed and manned by a relatively small garrison. The port infrastructure was also unsatisfactory. First of all, the internal harbour was too small to comfortably accommodate the large squadron and had one narrow exit suitable for the passage of large vessels only at high tide. Despite the intention to construct a second exit, work on the project was postponed and was only expected to be completed in 1910. The external roadstead was open and undefended. The existing dock was in the process of being enlarged and the construction of one new dock had only started in the second half of 1903. Therefore, there was no dock for servicing battleships and armoured cruisers. Port facilities and repair means were also unsatisfactory. Vladivostok’s port infrastructure also left a lot to be desired. Even though Vladivostok had a vast harbour with two exits and a dry dock capable of holding large vessels, nevertheless two other docks were still under construction, the port’s workforce was small and repair means were insufficient. In addition, Vladivostok’s land defensive line was incomplete and most of the guns were obsolescent and inferior to Japanese artillery. Similarly, the coastal batteries were incapable of duelling with contemporary naval guns. Consequently, it was impossible to protect the city and port from bombardment. Finally, Vladivostok’s stocks were short on ammunition and fuel supplies.97 The policy of armed reserve meant that for most of the past year the Russian squadron had not engaged in training. For reasons of economy, even during the training period manoeuvring and gunnery practice were of short duration and irregular. The imposition of the policy of economizing by the Navy Ministry was largely responsible for this state of affairs, but Alekseev and Stark can also be blamed for

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not taking any measures to address the situation. In addition, the combat effectiveness of the squadron was significantly compromised by the shortage of officers and experienced sailors. The lack of experienced personnel was further exacerbated since in January 1904 many veteran officers and sailors were replaced by raw recruits.98 Following the last prewar manoeuvres of the squadron, which were conducted just a few days before the outbreak of the war, Stark was quite gloomy about the combat effectiveness of his ships.99 In January 1904 Japan was not only able to field a numerically and technically superior fleet, but also possessed a network of well-fortified and equipped naval bases, which permitted the safe and simultaneous repair of several ships. Besides, Japanese naval personnel were of higher quality than their Russian counterparts. In general, the officers were well-educated professionals, many of whom had amassed valuable combat experience during the Sino-Japanese War. In addition, lower rank positions were often filled by competent volunteers. Both officers and sailors were adequately and regularly trained. For example, the Japanese navy had a permanent training squadron which was at sea throughout the year.100 By the beginning of 1904 the Japanese military authorities had concluded that it was strategically imperative to fight Russia without delay. They estimated that after the completion of the Trans-Siberian railway the Japanese army could not cope with Russia’s ground forces in the Far East. The Japanese believed that although in terms of quantity the fleets were roughly equal, nevertheless geographical conditions and logistic capabilities gave them the advantage in the naval balance of power. However, they realized that this advantage was ephemeral given the expected completion of the Russian shipbuilding programme in 1905 which would give Russia naval supremacy. These considerations made it imperative to strike against Russia without delay. The Japanese operational plan was drawn up in December 1903 and January 1904. According to the plan, the Japanese army would first occupy Korea and subsequently advance against Russian forces in south Manchuria. Obviously the safe arrival of the troops in Korea depended upon the naval protection of the transport ships. Right down to the outbreak of the war the Japanese army expected that landings would take place on the coastline of southern Korea,

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since amphibious operations on the north-western seaboard of the country were only possible after the navy had obtained command of the sea. However, Japanese naval planners considered that in addition to geographical and logistical factors, the Russian squadron’s weakness was compounded by the deployment of four cruisers at Vladivostok. Moreover, Japanese intelligence reports indicated that several of the Russian vessels were outmoded and that even up-to-date ships were plagued by technical deficiencies. The commander of the Japanese fleet, Admiral Heihachiro Togo, who had observed the Russian navy during the Boxer rebellion, thought that Tsarist naval personnel lacked discipline and training. The Japanese naval leadership correctly guessed that the Russian Port Arthur squadron would act as a fleet in being and not risk a decisive engagement, and that the Vladivostok cruisers would attempt to divert part of the Japanese fleet away from the Yellow Sea. Togo believed that his fleet could safeguard a Japanese landing operation on the western coast of Korea even in the initial stages of the war. He and the naval staff thought that the fleet should first of all launch a surprise torpedo attack against the Port Arthur squadron and cripple it before the arrival of reinforcements from Europe. Since the Russian squadron was too weak to risk a decisive engagement, it would suffice to shadow it whilst the Japanese landed their troops. The Japanese were also prepared to engage the Russian squadron in a decisive battle by luring it away from the cover of Port Arthur’s fortifications. The Japanese decided to pit their battle fleet against the Port Arthur squadron without diverting any modern ships to deal with the Russian cruisers. Instead they would only employ old vessels to cover the Korean Straits and entrust the defence of the metropolitan islands to torpedo craft and coastal means.101 From the summer of 1903 onwards Russo-Japanese relations gradually deteriorated. Between the summer of 1903 and the beginning of the war in January 1904 the Russian naval attaché, Rusin, addressed a series of reports from Tokyo to both Alekseev and the Navy Ministry. Rusin, who was closely supervised by the police, did not manage to ascertain the precise Japanese naval operational plan. Nonetheless, his reports contained sombre information indicating that the Japanese navy was gearing up for war. Rusin reported the mobilization of naval personnel, the stockpiling of supplies and

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coal, the concentration of the fleet in the naval base of Sasebo, the conduct of frequent training exercises and the commandeering of many commercial steamers capable of transporting a large number of troops. On 24 January, in his last report, he announced that Japan was in a state of general mobilization. Overall, the Russian naval attaché interpreted these measures as a sign that Japan was prepared to back diplomatic efforts with armed force. He thought that the Japanese had set their mind on occupying Korea. However, he believed that the Japanese armed forces would only be prepared to launch military operations in the spring of 1904. He cautioned that Japan would land troops at Chemulpo and engage the Russian fleet with the aim of gaining command of the sea.102 In December 1903 and January 1904 Alekseev, spurred by intelligence reporting Japan’s naval preparations, repeatedly appealed to St Petersburg to authorize the partial mobilization of Russian military forces in the Far East. His requests encountered the resistance of the Tsar and the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, which were anxious to maintain peace and did not desire to offer Japan pretexts for war. Nicholas II was prepared to allow the Japanese occupation of Korea, but thought that it would be diplomatically beneficial if the Japanese fired the first shot in the event that war could not be avoided. These considerations prompted him to instruct Alekseev that the Russian navy should not stand in the way of a Japanese landing on the eastern, southern and western coast of Korea up to and including Chemulpo. It was only towards the middle of January that the Tsar sanctioned placing Vladivostok and Port Arthur in a state of readiness and moving troops to the Manchurian and Korean border.103 General mobilization for the Russian Far Eastern possessions and Siberia was only approved just before the war and Alekseev received the relevant order just after the beginning of the conflict.104 In terms of naval preparations, since November most of the squadron was placed in a state of armed reserve. On 24 December Alekseev called for the mobilization of the squadron, but his request was rebuffed by St Petersburg so as to avoid giving Japan the excuse to mobilize too. The GMSh, for financial reasons, was also opposed to the mobilization of the squadron. The squadron was only mobilized on 17 January and four days later it carried out training exercises to

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the west of Port Arthur. On 22 January it returned to Port Arthur and anchored in the external roadstead, due to the fear that a sudden Japanese attack could block the single narrow entrance of the port and consequently trap the squadron in the internal basin. The squadron’s manoeuvres, in conjunction with the accelerated deployment of Russian troops in Manchuria, contributed to convincing the Japanese that Russia would not back down and that armed conflict was unavoidable. On the night of 22 January the Japanese government decided in favour of war. Diplomatic relations with Russia were severed on 24 January. Alekseev became aware of this on the following day, but Lambsdorff believed that this would not lead to war and that it only signified Japan’s intention to occupy Korea. On the same day Lambsdorff asked Alekseev to avoid any actions which could be perceived as provocative, such as moving the squadron to the Korean coastline.105 The restrictions imposed upon the squadron caused anxiety to Alekseev and the leadership of the Navy and War Ministries. A few days before the commencement of the war Alekseev pointed out that it was important to resist Japanese landing attempts in north-western Korea and particularly in Chemulpo. The issue was discussed on the morning of 26 January by a special interministerial conference chaired by Nicholas II. Kuropatkin supported Alekseev’s request on the basis that such an enemy landing could endanger the concentration of Russian land forces in south Manchuria. Kuropatkin presented a note written by Sakharov, arguing that, despite the risks involved, it would be a sign of weakness not to forcefully oppose a Japanese landing anywhere in Korea. For Sakharov this was also tactically imperative in order to buy time for the concentration of Russian land forces. The General Admiral agreed with Kuropatkin, but stated that allowing the Japanese to land at Chemulpo would not be detrimental. However, Nicholas II stuck to his previous resolution and instructed that the squadron should not initiate combat if the Japanese attempted a landing in Chemulpo or south of the 38 parallel. In the event that the Japanese fleet moved north of the 38 parallel, he instructed Alekseev to attack.106 Nicholas II’s instructions were unfortunate to say the least. The unimpeded access to Chemulpo given to the Japanese military would undoubtedly

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endanger the Kwangtung peninsula and the safety of the Russian squadron. More importantly, the Tsar’s orders allowed Japan the initiative for her opening move by condemning the Pacific Ocean squadron to debilitating passivity.107 From 22 January the squadron was located in Port Arthur’s external roadstead. On 19 January, concerned with the threat of a Japanese surprise torpedo attack at night, Alekseev approved the adoption of measures for the protection of the squadron. These included ceasing communications between ships and shore after dark; all vessels were to switch off their main lights with only some having their projectors on. Moreover, quick-firing guns were to be loaded with crews sleeping at their posts. Furthermore, two destroyers and one gunboat were to perform sentry duty at a radius of ten and 20 miles respectively. In addition, two cruisers were to be kept under steam in order to be ready to respond to any eventuality. Following the severance of diplomatic relations, Alekseev wanted to introduce a number of supplementary security measures. On the morning of 26 January, in a report to Alekseev, Stark conceded that the threat of a torpedo attack was serious, but was against the employment of anti-torpedo nets as they would slow down the movement of the squadron in case of an emergency. Stark also requested the dispatch of two cruisers to the Yellow Sea with the intention of looking out for the Japanese fleet. Alekseev replied on the same day. He approved sending only one cruiser for scout duty on the grounds that he wanted to keep the squadron united.108 Alekseev overrode Stark’s advice on anti-torpedo nets and prescribed their use. Alekseev, in line with the Tsar’s orders, had also prohibited the destroyers from opening fire without a direct and authorized order. However, Alekseev’s resolutions were never implemented and the defence of the squadron continued to rest on the existing measures. It seems that Stark did not order the use of anti-torpedo nets and none of the vessels deployed them.109 Just before the outbreak of the war, Makarov, who was Kronstadt’s port commander, was extremely anxious about the situation in the Far East. On 22 January he wrote a letter to the General Admiral, in which he pointed out that war with Japan was unavoidable in the immediate future and warned that the Russian fleet was weak as well as materially unprepared. On 26 January, in a letter to Avelan,

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Makarov argued that stationing the fleet at Port Arthur’s external roadstead provided the enemy with the perfect opportunity to carry out a surprise attack with a large number of torpedo craft at night. The result of such an attack would deal a heavy blow to Russia. In fact he believed that the opportunity to weaken the squadron in this way would be one of the reasons prompting Japan to initiate military action. Makarov was of the opinion that, in practice, no measures could be taken to repulse a determined attack by a large number of torpedo craft. Although he recognized that the squadron could be easily blockaded in Port Arthur’s internal basin, he nevertheless suggested that it should be stationed there. He cautioned that otherwise Russia would pay a heavy price. The naval leadership criticized Makarov as an alarmist and asserted that no such attack would take place.110 On the night of 26–27 January Japanese destroyers suddenly attacked the Pacific Ocean squadron anchored at Port Arthur’s external roadstead. Japanese torpedoes damaged two battleships and one cruiser. This blow further weakened the squadron and made it impossible to interfere with Japanese landings on the Asian mainland. The squadron remained blockaded in Port Arthur and within three months Japanese troops had disembarked on the Korean coastline north of Chemulpo and in south Manchuria close to Kwangtung. After a series of catastrophic defeats both on land and at sea the Japanese annihilated all of the Tsar’s naval forces in the Far East as well as strong reinforcements dispatched from the Baltic, captured Port Arthur and pushed the Russian army into northern Manchuria. In August 1905 Russia’s defeat was sealed with the signing of a peace treaty in Portsmouth, New Hampshire.111

Conclusion

The period between 1894 and 1904 is an integral part of the era of imperialism, which was characterized by intense rivalries between several Great Powers. Their struggles assumed the form of a drive for territorial aggrandizement and expansion of political and economic influence on a worldwide scale. The majority of statesmen perceived that expansion was compulsory since failure in the imperialist competition would inevitably lead to the loss of Great-Power status for their countries. Expansion and the need to protect influence and prestige, often in far-flung corners of the globe in the face of stiff competition by adversaries, magnified the importance of military power. From the early 1890s the overwhelming majority of Great Powers chose to provide for their national security and support their imperial ambitions by augmenting their naval forces. Even though the Jeune École stratagems of cruiser warfare and coastal defence undertaken by torpedo craft continued to exert some influence on naval thinking, starting from the first half of the 1890s they were relegated to second place. Most powers adopted the strategic and operational theories of the Blue Water School advocated by the Colomb brothers and Mahan concerning the use of naval power and proceeded to construct strong and expensive fleets of battleships. The Russian empire, albeit territorially vast and populous, was illequipped to keep up with the pace of these developments. Russia was poor and industrially underdeveloped in comparison to most other powers. The threats to Russia’s national security were many and dire. The most important of these, which could even threaten the survival of the empire, emanated from an industrially and militarily powerful

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Germany with which Russia shared contiguous land borders in Europe. This, in conjunction with tradition and other geopolitical factors, made Russia predominantly a land power. Therefore, in the overall context of Russian imperial defence the navy was a junior partner to the army. Given the governmental set-up of imperial Russia and the fact that the two services were independent entities, joint planning was difficult. The army and navy found themselves competing over the allocation of scarce financial resources, at a time when the Ministry of Finance was extremely frugal with regard to military expenditure. Evidently, these structural factors greatly affected Russian naval strategy. Besides, this strategy developed within the confines of the Navy Ministry’s problem-ridden environment. During this period the professional quality of individuals in the navy’s highest echelons as well as the organization of naval administration left a lot to be desired. In particular, the absence of a naval general staff, which resulted in haphazard strategic and operational planning, was a major problem. In addition, Russian naval officers and men were often inadequately trained. In terms of materiel, the navy had to rely on Russia’s small and generally ill-equipped shipbuilding infrastructure. Crucially, naval strategy also had to be drawn up against the backdrop of a difficult geopolitical framework, which essentially meant that every one of Russia’s main operational theatres had to be regarded as completely separate from the others. In the reign of Alexander III the attention of the Russian navy was concentrated on developing the Baltic and Black Sea Fleets. The task of the former revolved around protecting St Petersburg and Russia’s Baltic coastline, mainly against a German amphibious landing that could distract badly-needed troops from fighting in the land campaign. Since the land campaign would determine the outcome of a war, the role of the Baltic Fleet was secondary to that of the army. In the Black Sea the mission of the navy was to cooperate with the army in seizing and defending the Bosphorus Straits as a means of obstructing Britain’s threat to Russia’s southern shores. Even though the participation of the Black Sea Fleet in the operation was of great importance, nevertheless the defence of the theatre depended on working together with the army. In the Far East the significance of

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naval power for Russia was greater than in any other theatre, but the strategic importance assigned to the region remained small until the mid-1890s. During Alexander III’s reign the Russian navy pursued a mixed strategy that encompassed elements of both the Jeune École and Blue Water School. However, by 1894 Russian naval forces in all theatres were relatively weak and doubts existed whether they would be in a position to successfully fulfil their designated missions. The conclusion of the Franco-Russian alliance did not affect the formulation of Russian naval strategy for several reasons, including the absence of a naval convention. The Russian navy did not gain any great advantages from the alliance, although the Germans henceforth did in fact prioritize defeating the French navy. The British Admiralty essentially viewed the Tsar’s navy as France’s junior partner at sea, except in the Far East. Consequently, like the Germans, the RN assigned priority to confronting the French. To an extent, this influenced the decision not to resist a Russian coup de main in the Straits. Nevertheless, since the Russians did not know this, their anxieties over possible British intervention in the Straits remained very much alive. Leaving aside possible political complications, from a purely military perspective the Russians in the autumn of 1896 and the early months of 1897 actually had a unique window of opportunity to seize the Straits, had they known of British calculations and been prepared to throw caution to the wind. In 1895, stimulated by ideological, political and economic motives, Russia embarked upon a policy of imperial expansion in the Far East. From the beginning it was clear that Russia’s imperial aspirations in the area could lead to armed conflict with Japan. St Petersburg therefore had to bolster its expansionist policy with military power. Russia’s sparsely populated and industrially underdeveloped Far Eastern territories were separated by a vast distance from the European powerbase of the empire, to which they were connected by tenuous communication links. Mainly because of the Russian army’s commitments in Europe, ground forces in the region remained inferior to those of Japan even as late as 1904. Despite the construction of the Trans-Siberian railway, on the outbreak of the war the railway’s transit capacities were still plagued by serious shortcomings. Thus the massive and swift reinforcement of Russian

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land forces from Europe was impossible. Another key factor was that Japan was an island state, which implied that the landing and supplying of troops on the Asian mainland depended on possessing command of the sea. If Russia denied this to Japan it could win the war, even without using its army. Alternatively, in order to buy time for the Russian army eventually to deploy adequate reinforcements, the navy could delay or at least restrict Japanese landings to certain locales. Consequently, naval power was a powerful tool to support Russia’s Far Eastern diplomacy. Furthermore, Nicholas II’s strong navalist persuasions and the growing appeal of the Blue Water School in Russia strengthened the idea of giving the navy the pivotal role in defending Russia’s interests in the Far East. In 1895–1896 the Russian naval authorities concluded that the ideal naval operational plan against Japan would be to assemble a strong battleship squadron and deploy it in a centrally located base in the Korean Straits, from where it could destroy or at least weaken the Japanese fleet and contest enemy landings in any direction. However, the implementation of this strategy encountered serious difficulties, not least because until 1895 the Russian Pacific Ocean squadron was weak. Therefore, it would first be necessary to reinforce it so that it could neutralize the Japanese fleet. This became urgent after 1896, when Japan carried out a shipbuilding programme that resulted in the significant reinforcement of its fleet by 1903. Even though the Russian Navy Ministry was aware of Japan’s intention even from 1895 and a number of voices called for immediately augmenting the Pacific Ocean squadron, this happened only with considerable delay. Witte refused to pay for a shipbuilding programme for the Far East. Given the limited resources at the disposal of the Navy Ministry, the reinforcement of the Pacific Ocean squadron could only ultimately be achieved if ships and funds were diverted from another theatre, namely the Baltic. However, the General Admiral and Chikhachev attributed great importance to the Baltic theatre and objected to any weakening of the Baltic Fleet. Despite Chikhachev’s replacement by Tyrtov, who was well-disposed towards strengthening Russia’s naval position in the Far East, the preoccupation of the Russian government and military with the ongoing crisis in the Near East initially blinded St Petersburg to the full implications of the growth of the Japanese fleet.

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It was only late in the winter of 1897–1898 that Russia acquired a base for the Pacific Ocean squadron. This happened despite the objections of the Navy Ministry, which desired a base in the Korean Straits. Port Arthur was strategically unsuitable and suffered from a number of tactical disadvantages. In addition, even by the beginning of the war its infrastructure remained inadequate. The acquisition of Port Arthur coincided with the decision to finally set in motion, through the intervention of Nicholas II, an expensive shipbuilding programme aimed at creating a Pacific Ocean squadron at least equal to Japan’s battle fleet. Nevertheless, despite knowledge that the Japanese fleet would be almost fully reinforced by 1903, the completion of the Russian programme was extended to 1905. This was mainly the result of Witte’s attempt to block the diversion of funds from the construction of the Trans-Siberian railway and of his mistaken assumption that the Japanese shipbuilding programme would encounter financial obstacles. Together with the slow construction process and severe financial difficulties faced by the Russian Navy Ministry, this meant that at the outbreak of the war the Pacific Ocean squadron was weaker than the Japanese battle fleet. The decision to create a strong battleship squadron in the Far East sharply shifted the focus of Russian naval strategy and led to the diversion of the majority of the navy’s meagre resources from Europe to Asia. By 1904 Russia’s fleets in the Black Sea and particularly in the Baltic were left in a fragile position despite the growth of threats in Europe. From 1901 onwards the Russian navy embarked on a rather long-drawn-out debate concerning the direction of its future development. Although there was an overwhelming consensus that it would be essential to strengthen significantly the Black Sea Fleet with a view to pursuing a more active policy in the Straits, opinions were divided over the Baltic theatre. Many admirals thought that the navy should continue with reinforcing the Pacific Ocean squadron at the expense of the Baltic seaboard, which should be defended by coastal defence forces only. This serves as an indication that aspects of Jeune École thinking were still perceived as viable strategic alternatives for Russian naval strategy in some theatres. In the middle of January 1904 the Tsar finally sanctioned the new shipbuilding programme which envisaged the significant augmentation of the Black Sea Fleet

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and the construction of an ocean-going battleship element for the Baltic Sea. In sharp contrast to the strategic orientation established in 1898, the Baltic Fleet would be reinforced at the expense of the Far Eastern squadron. Thus, on the eve of the war with Japan, Russia was on the point of shifting its naval priorities back to Europe. However, the realization of the programme was cut short by the outbreak of the Russo-Japanese War shortly after its approval. By 1904, through a series of diplomatic and geopolitical miscalculations, Russia had been drawn into an overextended position in the Far East and was confronted by Japan. Concessions sufficient to appease Tokyo would lead to loss of prestige and could even generate long-term security risks to Russia’s Far Eastern territories. Therefore the pivotal question became whether Russia was militarily prepared to risk a war with Japan. In the years immediately prior to the war, the Chief of the GSh, some senior admirals and the Naval Academy recognized the empire’s military weakness in the Far East. Specifically, in 1901 they considered that Russian land forces were weak and that the Pacific Ocean squadron was numerically and qualitatively inferior to the Japanese fleet and lacked a strategically and tactically suitable base. They proposed that the best course of action under the circumstances was for Russia to concentrate its army securely in northern Manchuria and to station the squadron in Vladivostok, where it would be safe, albeit unable effectively to contribute to the campaign. However, the main drawback of this plan was that Russia, at least in the initial stages of the war, would abandon Korea, most of Manchuria and Port Arthur to the Japanese. Unfortunately, to abandon Port Arthur was politically and morally unacceptable. Encouraged by the optimistic evaluations of the military situation by the leadership of the War and Navy Ministries and of Admiral Alekseev, Nicholas II must have thought that the loss of Port Arthur could be avoided. This conviction ultimately depended upon Alekseev’s assessments of the state of affairs in the Far East. Alekseev thought that Russia’s battle fleet in the region was only slightly numerically inferior to its Japanese counterpart. Alekseev’s perception of a small margin of inferiority, his proud and ambitious nature and his desire to demonstrate the value of the navy, not least since vast funds had been expended for the construction

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of the Pacific Ocean squadron, tempted him to accept the need to take risks. He was convinced that the navy could provide the army with enough time to assemble sufficient forces in order to guarantee the security of Port Arthur. He intended to achieve this through a fleet in being strategy, which entailed stationing the squadron in Port Arthur and employing a cruiser detachment deployed in Vladivostok for diversionary operations. His views formed the foundation of the strategic rationale and operational plan with which Russia started the war. Even though during the pre-war period Alekseev’s optimistic analysis was sometimes questioned both in the Far East and in St Petersburg, nonetheless it remained the basis for Russian strategic thinking. Most of the officers in Alekseev’s naval staff bowed to his strong character and authority, no doubt also preferring to retain his favour as a means of promoting their careers. More importantly, the absence of a naval general staff with the authority to present an exhaustive study of the situation and to influence the naval leadership was decisive in allowing Alekseev’s perceptions to prevail.1 Subsequently, the Navy Ministry has often been criticized for not having taken opportunities to bolster the strength of the Pacific Ocean squadron before the outbreak of the war. First of all, it has been argued that the Navy Ministry should have speeded up the construction of the five battleships of the 1898 programme. Secondly, the Navy Ministry failed to take advantage of the fact that Russian naval forces in all theatres significantly exceeded the Japanese fleet. In this respect, it would have been possible to obtain naval superiority over Japan by reinforcing the Pacific Ocean squadron with ships from both the Baltic and Black Sea Fleets. The critics suggest that anxiety over the German threat unnecessarily immobilized a number of warships in the Baltic and that the difficulties surrounding the passage of the Black Sea Fleet through the Straits were not insurmountable. Thirdly, the Navy Ministry could have quickly reinforced the squadron by purchasing battleships and armoured cruisers from the international market. In particular, it should have acquired the two armoured cruisers which were eventually bought by Japan in December 1903. Fourthly, Rozhestvenskii should have ordered Virenius to abandon his torpedo vessels and quickly move to the Far

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East with his battleship and one of his best cruisers. Finally, the very poor funding for Port Arthur’s naval facilities stood in stark contrast to the considerable financial resources expended during the period at Libau.2 Some of these criticisms are more compelling than others. Given the limited financial resources of the Navy Ministry, but also the restricted capacity and entrenched structural deficiencies of the Russian shipbuilding industry, there was not much that could have been done to accelerate the construction of the battleships. It is possibly more valid to chastise the leadership of the Navy Ministry, as Klado did, for chronically mismanaging the sums at its disposal, particularly in relation to neglecting the proper training and professional development of personnel, which inevitably lowered the fighting efficiency of the fleet.3 The dispatch of forces from other theatres was also impossible. As demonstrated, by 1904 all of the available battle-worthy vessels of the Baltic Fleet had already been dispatched to the Far East. The reinforcement of the squadron with warships from the Black Sea was impossible. The Ministry of Foreign Affairs was of the opinion that the Sultan would not allow the peaceful passage of the fleet through the Straits and that attempting to break through by force would lead Britain either to declare war or to blockade the Dardanelles and the Suez Canal.4 Certainly the RN would have had little difficulty in intercepting the Black Sea Fleet before arriving at the Far East. As far as the Virenius detachment is concerned, however, the criticism holds true. The same applies in the case of Libau, since the port was useless and the Navy Ministry could have attempted to divert funds to equip Port Arthur. On the question of purchasing ships from abroad, even if the naval leadership had not adopted an erroneously confident attitude about the situation in the Far East, the fact remains it had no funds to spare. Another contentious issue during the post-war period was Alekseev’s operational plan. The majority of commentators agree that the judgements upon which the plan rested were erroneous and that it would have been preferable to pursue different options, such as deploying the whole squadron in Vladivostok. Nevertheless, even after the war a minority believed that the foundations of the plan were correct and that it could have worked if implemented more aggressively and

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vigorously. In reality, the Russian naval pre-war operational plan was inherently flawed. It involved a high element of risk. It was overoptimistic and exaggerated the real strength of the Russian Pacific Ocean squadron, whilst the choice of Port Arthur as a base was highly problematic given its grave tactical disadvantages. Crucially, Alekseev grossly underestimated the quality of the Japanese navy as well as the resolve of its leadership to contain the Russian squadron at the beginning of the conflict and disembark troops despite the presence of a fleet in being. Additionally, Alekseev’s plan did not set out precise operational guidelines for the main fleet, and the faith it placed on the operations of the Vladivostok cruiser detachment proved mistaken. Although the cruisers were partly successful, their impact on the overall course of the war was not decisive. Furthermore, the intrinsically reactive nature of the plan, together with the desire of the Tsar and of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs to preserve the peace, imposed the adoption of a passive and defensive posture, which from the outset handed over to the Japanese the initiative and the opportunity to carry out a surprise attack. As a result of the attack the morale of Russian crews plummeted, but more importantly it weakened the squadron and significantly decreased its capacity to counter Japanese amphibious landings in north-western Korea and southern Manchuria.5 The failure of the Pacific Ocean squadron to foil both enemy landings close to the Russian army’s areas of concentration and the swift reinforcement and resupplying of the Japanese army on the mainland seriously affected the outcome of the war. The navy’s pre-war planning and wartime performance were far from being the only causes of Russia’s defeat. The Russian army was equally culpable. Many of the army’s pre-war strategic and operational considerations were flawed and incomplete. For example, the operational plan underestimated the numerical strength and quality of the Japanese army. Moreover, army planners had overestimated the transport capabilities of the single-track Trans-Siberian railway, upon which depended the reinforcement of the Russian army in the battlefields of the Far East. In addition, Russian wartime land strategy and combat operations were compromised both by divisions and disagreements amongst the highest echelons of the military hierarchy and also by the personal and professional shortcomings of Kuropatkin

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and other senior commanders. Furthermore, overwhelming reliance on defensive and antiquated tactics, a cumbersome command structure, problematic mobilization, the use of undertrained and poor quality reserve units, inefficient communications and field intelligence also contributed to multiple defeats for the Russian army, even on occasions when it was superior in numbers.6 Ultimately however, the main responsibility for Russia’s debacle in the Far East lay with the government as a whole and, above all, with Nicholas II. Although Russia’s overall policy in the region was at times not just rational but also temporarily successful in seizing opportunities, in the final analysis it was unsustainable. Russia pursued a very ambitious policy that created too many enemies, whilst lacking the military resources to back it up. No doubt if St Petersburg had concentrated most of its military potential in the Far East, Japan might have been overawed in peacetime or defeated in war. The basic point, however, was that Russia could not do this. Vital strategic interests in Europe had to be defended. Critics of the Far Eastern strategy were correct in saying that these were much more important than what was at stake in the Far East. The attempt to stretch Russia’s armed forces between multiple possible theatres of operations entailed many inevitable risks. Defeat against Japan in 1904–1905 was not inevitable. At key moments the war could have gone differently. But the level of risks accepted by the Russian government was excessive. This was much more a failure of Russia’s overall political leadership than specifically of the navy.

Map 1   The Russian Empire at the Turn of the Twentieth Century

Map 2  The Far East

Map 3  The Black Sea and theTurkish Straits

Map 4  The Baltic Sea and the Arctic Ocean

Notes

Introduction 1

2 3

4

5

6 7 8 9

Williamson Murray and Mark Grimsley, ‘Introduction: On Strategy,’ in The Making of Strategy: Rulers, States and War, ed. Williamson Murray, John M. Knox, and Alvin Bernstein (Cambridge, 1999), 1–22. For the practical interrelation of these factors consult: Paul M. Kennedy, ‘Grand Strategies and less-than Grand Strategies: A Twentieth Century Critique,’ in War, Strategy and International Politics, ed. Lawrence Freedman, Paul Hayes, and Robert O’Neil (Oxford, 1992), 227–42. Basil H. Liddell Hart, Strategy (New York, 1991), 321. William C. Fuller, Jr., Strategy and Power in Russia, 1600–1914 (New York, 1992); John P. Le Donne, The Russian Empire and the World, 1700–1917: The Geopolitics of Expansion and Containment (New York, 1997); Bruce W. Menning, Bayonets before Bullets: The Imperial Russian Army, 1861–1914 (Bloomington, 1992). The most important publications in the English language on the theme are in alphabetical order according to the author’s surname: William L. Langer, ‘The Origins of the Russo-Japanese War,’ in Explorations in Crisis: Papers in International History, ed. Charles E. and Elizabeth Schorske (Cambridge, Mass., 1969), 3–45; Andrew Malozemoff, Russian Far Eastern Policy, 1881–1904: With Special Emphasis on the Causes of the RussoJapanese War (Berkeley, 1958); David M. McDonald, United Government and Foreign Policy in Russia, 1900–1914 (Cambridge, Mass., 1992); Ian Nish, The Origins of the Russo-Japanese War (London, 1998); Boris A. Romanov, Russia in Manchuria, 1892– 1906 (Ann Arbor, 1952); David H. Schimmelpenninck van der Oye, Towards the Rising Sun: Russian Ideologies of Empire and the Path to War with Japan (DeKalb, 2001). On the 1880s consult: R. V. Kondratenko, Morskaia politika Rossii 80-kh godov XIX veka (St Petersburg, 2006). On 1906–1914 see: M. A. Petrov, Podgotovka Rossii k mirovoi voine na more (Leningrad, 1926); Kornelii F. Shatsillo, Russkii imperializm i razvitie flota nakanune pervoi mirovoi voiny (1906–1914 gg.) (Moscow, 1968). Istoricheskaia kommissiia po opisaniiu deistvii flota v voinu 1904-1905 gg. pri Morskom Generalnom Shtabe (hereafter IKpriMGSh), Russko-iaponskaia voina 1904–1905 gg., 7 vols. (St Petersburg/Petrograd, 1912–1918). Julian S. Corbett, Maritime Operations in the Russo-Japanese War, 1904–1905, 2 vols. (Annapolis, 1994). Aleksandr Nemitts, Russko-iaponskaia voina 1904–1905 gg., 3 vols. (St Petersburg, 1911). Vladimir A. Zolotarev and Ivan A. Kozlov, Russko-iaponskaia voina 1904–1905 gg.: Borba na more (Moscow, 1990).

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10 For example see: Choi Dokkiu, ‘Morskoe ministerstvo i politika Rossii na Dalnem Vostoke (1895–1903 gg.),’ Ezhegodnik Sankt-Peterburskogo nauchnogo obshchestva istorikov i arkhivistov 1 (1996): 149–76; but also the relevant articles in: Oleg R. Airapetov, ed., Russko-iaponskaia voina 1904–1905 gg.: Vzgliad cherez stoletie (Moscow, 2004); John W. Steinberg et al., eds., The Russo-Japanese War in Global Perspective: World War Zero, Vol. 1 (Leiden, 2005). 11 L. G. Beskrovnyi, The Russian Army and Fleet in the Nineteenth Century: Handbook of Personnel and Policy (Gulf Breeze, 1996); Vitalii D. Dotsenko, Russian Armoured Fleet, 1863–1917 (St Petersburg, 1994); F. N. Gromov et al., Tri veka rossiiskogo flota 1696–1996 gg., Vol. 1 (St Petersburg, 1996); Donald W. Mitchell, A History of Russian and Soviet Sea Power (London, 1974); M. S. Monakov and B. I. Rodionov, Istoriia rossiiskogo flota v svete mirovoi politiki i ekonomiki (X–XIX vv.) (Moscow, 2006); Vladimir A. Zolotarev and Ivan A. Kozlov, Tri stoletiia rossiiskogo flota XIX– nachalo XX veka (Moscow, 2004). 12 Petrov, Podgotovka. 13 Irina S. Rybachenok, Soiuz s Frantsiei vo vneshnei politike Rossii v kontse XIX v. (Moscow, 1993). 14 Vitalii D. Dotsenko, A. A. Dotsenko, and V. F. Mironov, Voenno-morskaia strategiia Rossii (Moscow, 2005). 15 Versions of paragraphs in this book have also appeared in two articles written by the present author. These are: Nicholas Papastratigakis with Dominic Lieven, ‘The Russian Far Eastern Squadron’s Operational Plans,’ in World War Zero, 1: 203–27; and Nicholas Papastratigakis, ‘British Naval Strategy: The Russian Black Sea Fleet and the Turkish Straits, 1890–1904,’ International History Review 32, 4 (2010): 643–59.

Chapter 1   1 Paul M. Kennedy, The Rise and Fall of Great Powers: Economic Change and Military Conflict from 1550 to 2000 (London, 1989), 183–84, 189–93, 204–5; Paul M. Kennedy, The Rise and Fall of British Naval Mastery (London, 2001), 149–64.   2 Eric J. Hobsbawm, The Age of Empire, 1875–1914 (London, 1987), 34–39, 46–49, 317; Kennedy, Great Powers, 247–48.   3 M. S. Anderson, The Ascendancy of Europe, 1815–1914 (Harlow, 2003), 216–34; C. J. Bartlett, The Global Conflict: The International Rivalry of Great Powers, 1880–1990 (London, 1994), 6–10; Kennedy, Great Powers, 251–52.   4 Martin L. van Creveld, Technology and War from 2000 bc to the Present (London, 1991), 153–232; William H. McNeil, The Pursuit of Power: Technology, Armed Force and Society since A.D. 1000 (Chicago, 1982), 223–61.   5 Rolf Hobson, Imperialism at Sea: Naval Strategic Thought, the Ideology of Sea Power and the Tirpitz Plan, 1875–1914 (Boston, 2002), 12, 39–44; David Stevenson, Armaments and the Coming of War: Europe, 1904–1914 (Oxford, 1996), 9–13.   6 Kennedy, Naval Mastery, 186–96, 205–16.   7 Andrew D. Lambert, ‘The Royal Navy 1856–1914: Deterrence and the Strategy of World Power,’ in Navies and Global Defence: Theories and Strategy, ed. Keith Neilson and Elizabeth J. Errington (Westport, 1995), 69–73; Gordon Martel, ‘The Meaning of Power: Rethinking the Decline and Fall of Great Britain,’ International History Review 13, 4 (1991): 662–94; Keith Neilson, ‘Greatly Exaggerated: The Myth of the Decline of Great Britain before 1914,’ International History Review 13, 4 (1991): 695–725.

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  8 Francis R. Bridge and Roger Bullen, The Great Powers and the European States System, 1815–1914 (London, 1980), 112–54; Felix Gilbert and David C. Large, The End of the European Era: 1890 to the Present (New York, 2002), 95.   9 Bartlett, Global Conflict, 24, 30, 35–55; Hobsbawm, Age of Empire, 57–58; William L. Langer, The Diplomacy of Imperialism, Vol. 1 (New York, 1956), 67. 10 For a solid and synoptic overview of the various explanations regarding imperialism consult: Andrew Porter, European Imperialism, 1860–1914 (London, 2000). 11 Bartlett, Global Conflict, 15; Hobsbawm, Age of Empire, 67–68; Porter, European Imperialism, 1–38, 69–71. 12 Hobsbawm, Age of Empire, 61–67; Porter, European Imperialism, 38–58. 13 Azar A. Gat, History of Military Thought: From the Enlightenment to the Cold War (Oxford, 2001), 441–42; C. I. Hamilton, ‘Naval Power and Diplomacy in the Nineteenth Century,’ Journal of Strategic Studies 3, 1 (1980): 81–87; Richard Hill, War at Sea in the Ironclad Age (London, 2002), 30, 148–74; Hobson, Imperialism at Sea, 163–64, 301, 303–4; Clark G. Reynolds, Command of the Sea: The History and Strategy of Maritime Empires (New York, 1974), 416; Jan Rüger, The Great Naval Game: Britain and Germany in the Age of Empire (Cambridge, 2007), 15, 205–8, 211–14; Lawrence Sondhaus, Naval Warfare, 1815–1914 (London, 2001), 162–64; Geoffrey Till et al., Maritime Strategy and the Nuclear Age (London, 1982), 2–3. 14 Robert Gardiner, ed., The Sailing Warship, 1650–1840 (London, 1992); Andrew D. Lambert, War at Sea in the Age of Sail, 1650–1850 (London, 2000), 27–29. On the role of sea power in the age of sail see: Richard Harding, Seapower and Naval Warfare, 1650–1830 (London, 2006). 15 Andrew D. Lambert, Battleships in Transition: The Creation of the Steam Battlefleet, 1815–1860 (London, 1984), 117; Andrew D. Lambert, ‘The Introduction of Steam,’ ‘The Screw Propeller Battleship,’ ‘Iron Hulls and Armour Plate,’ all chapters in Steam, Steel and Shellfire: The Steam Warship, 1815–1905, ed. Robert Gardiner (London, 1992), 14–60; Oscar Parkes, British Battleships: ‘Warrior’ 1860 to ‘Vanguard’ 1950: A History of Design, Construction and Armament (London, 1990), 2–33; J. G. Wells, ‘Birth of the Ironclad: Gloire and Warrior,’ in Marine et technique au XIX siècle: Actes du colloque international: Paris, École militaire, les 10, 11, 12 juin 1987, ed. Service Historique de la Marine (Paris, 1988), 377–78. 16 Bernard Brodie, Sea Power in the Machine Age (Princeton, 1941), 3, 261; Hill, Ironclad Age, 22, 26, 30, 178. 17 D. K. Brown, ‘The Era of Uncertainty, 1863–1878,’ in Steam, Steel and Shellfire, 75, 81, 93; Andrew D. Lambert, ‘Introduction,’ in ibid., 8; John, Roberts, ‘Warships of Steel, 1879–1889,’ in ibid., 95–96, 105; Holger H. Herwig, ‘The Battlefleet Revolution, 1885–1914,’ in The Dynamics of Military Revolution, 1300–2050, ed. John M. Knox and Williamson Murray (Cambridge, 2001), 116. 18 Brown, ‘Uncertainty,’ 75, 93; Parkes, British Battleships, 281, 325–26, 342; Roberts, ‘Warships,’ 95–96. 19 On French and British coastal defence battleships see: P. de Geoffroy, ‘La guerre de la Crimée et la France: Des batteries flottantes aux garde-côtes,’ in Marine et technique, 313–37; Parkes, British Battleships, 68–81, 166–74, 212–15. 20 Donald G. Macintyre and Basil W. Bathe, Man-of-War: A History of the Combat Vessel (New York, 1969), 147–50; Roberts, ‘Warships,’ 103, 105–10. Smaller types of warships, such as gunboats, had also come into being. They were designated for colonial duties or as coastal defence vessels. 21 D. C. Allard, ‘Naval Technology during the American Civil War,’ in Marine et technique, 397–401; Brodie, Sea Power, 270–79; Harald Fock, Fast Fighting Boats,

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Russian Imperialism and Naval Power 1870–1945: Their Design, Construction and Use (Lymington, 1978), 11; Edwyn Grey, The Devil’s Device: The Story of Robert Whitehead Inventor of the Torpedo (London, 1975), 77–80, 91–104, 141–43; D. Lyon, ‘Underwater Warfare and the Torpedo Boat,’ in Steam, Steel and Shellfire, 134–41; Jon T. Sumida, ‘The Royal Navy and Technological Change, 1815–1945,’ in Men and Machines and War, ed. Ronald Haycock and Keith Neilson (Waterloo, 1988), 81–82. Karl Lautenschläger, ‘Technology and the Evolution of Naval Warfare,’ International Security 8, 2 (1983): 12–16; Hill, Ironclad Age, 32–62; John Roberts, ‘The Pre-Dreadnought Age, 1890–1905,’ in Steam, Steel and Shellfire, 112–14; Roberts,‘Warships,’ in ibid., 95–97. J. Labayle-Couhat, ‘Le torpilleur des origines à 1900,’ in Marine et technique, 446–48; Roberts, ‘Pre-Dreadnought,’ 112; Sumida, ‘Technological Change,’ 82. Geoffroy, ‘Crimée,’ 338. R. A. Burt, British Battleships, 1889–1904 (London, 1988), 59–78, 111–21; Lambert, ‘Introduction,’ 8; Macintyre and Bathe, Man-of-War, 115–16; Parkes, British Battleships, 354–65, 381–87; Roberts, ‘Pre-Dreadnought,’ 116–17. Macintyre and Bathe, Man-of-War, 151, 154; Parkes, British Battleships, 441; John Roberts, Battlecruisers (London, 1997), 13, 15; Roberts, ‘Pre-Dreadnought,’ 113, 126–32. D. J. Lyon, ‘The Royal Navy and the Torpedo,’ in Marine et technique, 530–31; Lyon, ‘Underwater Warfare,’ 141–45; Roberts, ‘Pre-Dreadnought,’ 112. Brodie, Sea Power, 238–94; Arthur Hezlet, The Submarine and Sea Power (London, 1967), 1–18. Sidney Pollard and Paul Robertson, The British Shipbuilding Industry, 1870–1914 (Cambridge, Mass., 1979), 86, 108–30, 202, 207; Robert J. Winklareth, Naval Shipbuilders of the World: From the Age of Sail to the Present Day (London, 2000), 16–18, 20–21, 25–27. Stevenson, Armaments, 19–22, 26–27, 29–31. On the related topic of the international arms trade during the period consult: Jonathan A. Grant, Rulers, Guns and Money: The Global Arms Trade in the Age of Imperialism (Cambridge, Mass., 2007) Brodie, Sea Power, 116; Jon T. Sumida, In Defence of Naval Supremacy: Finance, Technology and British Naval Policy, 1889–1914 (London, 1989), 18–20. Brodie, Sea Power, 110–13, 249–50. Hill, Ironclad Age, 111–12; Peter Padfield, The Battleship Era (London, 1972), 122–26, 130. John, Gooch, ‘Maritime Command: Mahan and Corbett,’ in Seapower and Strategy, ed. Colin S. Gray and Roger W. Barnett (Annapolis, 1989), 28; Hobson, Imperialism at Sea, 79–84. Arthur J. Marder, British Naval Policy, 1880–1905: The Anatomy of British Sea Power (London, 1940), 65–67, 84–86. Donald M. Schurman, The Education of a Navy: The Development of British Naval Strategic Thought, 1867–1914 (London, 1965), 16, 20–24. Philip H. Colomb, Naval Warfare: Its Ruling Principles and Practice Historically Treated, 2 vols. (Annapolis, 1990), 1: 138; Ibid., 2: 487; Andrew D. Lambert, ‘History, Strategy and Doctrine: Sir John Knox Laughton and the Education of the Royal Navy,’ in New Interpretations in Naval History: Selected Papers from the Twelfth Naval History Symposium held at the U.S. Naval Academy 26–27 October 1995, ed. William B. Cogar (Annapolis, 1997), 173–85; Schurman, Education, 39–45. Colomb, Naval Warfare, 1: 47, 57, 69, 71–72, 75, 109, 122–24, 130, 139, 163, 168, 184, 242; Ibid., 2: 245, 362–63, 372–75, 396, 403, 410, 416–17, 427.

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39 Ibid., 1: 146–47, 154; Ibid., 2: 286–87, 367, 371–72, 550. 40 Marder, Anatomy, 119–43; Lambert, ‘Royal Navy,’ 70–71, 73, 76–79; Nicholas A. Lambert, Sir John Fisher’s Naval Revolution (Columbia, 1999), 38–39; James J. Tritten and Louigi A. Donolo, Doctrine Reader: The Navies of the United States, Great Britain, France, Italy and Spain (Newport, 1995), 19. 41 Gooch, ‘Maritime Command,’ 29. 42 Philippe Masson, Histoire de la marine, Vol. 2 (Paris, 1983), 136, 140; Etienne Taillemite, ‘Cuirassés ou torpilleurs: La stratégie maritime de la France à la fin du XIX siècle,’ in Le Transmanche et les relations maritime XVIII–XX, ed. P. Villers and C. Pfister-Laganay (Lille, 1995), 103; R. Walser, ‘France’s Search for a Battlefleet: French Naval Policy, 1898–1914’ (Ph.D. diss., North Carolina University/published in book format by the North Carolina University Press, 1976), 2–3. 43 Theodore Ropp, The Development of a Modern Navy: French Naval Policy, 1871– 1904 (Annapolis, 1987), 19–21; Etienne Taillemite, ‘L’ amiral Richild Grivel théoricien méconnu de la guerre maritime,’ in L’ évolution de la pensée navale, ed. Hervé Coutau-Bégarie et al., Vols. 1–3 (Paris, 1990–1993), 2: 89–111. 44 Gat, Military Thought, 469–70; Till et al., Maritime Strategy, 35–36. 45 Theodore Ropp, ‘Continental Doctrines of Seapower,’ in Makers of Modern Strategy: Military Strategy from Machiavelli to Hitler, ed. Edward M. Earle (Princeton, 1971), 446; Ropp, Modern Navy, 141–42, 156. 46 Hervé Coutau-Bégarie, ‘Reflexions sur l’ école française de stratégie navale,’ in L’ évolution, 1: 44–46; Hobson, Imperialism at Sea, 101–3; Ernest H. Jenkins, A History of the French Navy: From its Beginnings to the Present Day (London, 1973), 304; Philippe Masson, ‘La politique navale française de 1850 à 1914,’ Revue Maritime 251 (February 1968): 189–90; Ropp, ‘Continental Doctrines,’ 446–47; Taillemite, ‘Cuirassés ou torpilleurs,’ 103; Walser, ‘France’s Search,’ 12–14, 17. 47 Ropp, Modern Navy, 23; Taillemite, ‘Cuirassés ou torpilleurs,’ 104; Walser, ‘France’s Search,’ 11–12. 48 Ropp, Modern Navy, 28–29, 157; David H. Olivier, German Naval Strategy, 1856– 1888: Forerunners of Tirpitz (London, 2004), 103. 49 Arne Røksund, ‘The Jeune Ecole: The Strategy of the Weak,’ in Navies in Northern Waters, 1721–2000, ed. Rolf Hobson and Tom Kristiansen (London, 2004), 119–25; Ropp, Modern Navy, 162–65; Ropp, ‘Continental Doctrines,’ 448–49. 50 Masson, ‘Politique navale,’ 191; Masson, Histoire, 2: 160; Røksund, ‘Strategy of the Weak,’ 128–30; Taillemite, ‘Cuirassés ou torpilleurs,’ 104, 107. 51 P. Ausser, ‘La Jeune École,’ in Marine et technique, 453–58, 462–71; George W. Baer, One Hundred Years of Sea Power: The U.S. Navy, 1890–1990 (Stanford, 1994), 9–10; J. Dülffer, ‘The German Reich and the Jeune École,’ in Marine et technique, 501–6; David C. Evans and Mark R. Peattie, Kaigun: Strategy, Tactics and Technology in the Imperial Japanese Navy, 1887–1941 (Annapolis, 1997), 7–9, 15–18; E. Ferrante, ‘The impact of the Jeune École on the way of thinking of the Italian navy,’ in Marine et technique, 517–22; E. Ferrante, ‘La pensée navale italienne II: De Lissa à la Grande Guerre,’ in L’ evolution, 3: 108–13; Masson, Histoire, 2: 167; Olivier, Forerunners, 74–94, 98–106, 130–32, 153–77, 184–87; Ropp, Modern Navy, 171–78, 324–26, 329–34; Lawrence Sondhaus, The Naval Policy of Austria-Hungary, 1867–1918: Navalism, Industrial Development and the Politics of Dualism (West Lafayette, 1994), 95–100; Lawrence Sondhaus, Preparing for Weltpolitik: German Sea Power before the Tirpitz Era (Annapolis, 1997), 158–68; Sondhaus, Naval Warfare, 139, 141–42, 145–54, 184; Walser, ‘France’s Search,’ 27, 48, 86, 101–7, 199–200.

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52 Gooch, ‘Maritime Command,’ 29; Hobson, Imperialism at Sea, 80. 53 Schurman, Education, 64–65. 54 B. Colson, ‘Jomini, Mahan et les origines de la stratégie maritime americaine,’ in L’ evolution, 1: 135–37, 139; Peter Karsten, The Naval Aristocracy: The Golden Age of Annapolis and the Emergence of Modern American Navalism (New York, 1972), 326; Robert L. O’ Connell, Sacred Vessels: The Cult of the Battleship and the Rise of the U.S. Navy (Oxford, 1991), 57, 60–64; Jon T. Sumida, Inventing Grand Strategy and Teaching Command: The Classic Works of Alfred Thayer Mahan Reconsidered (Washington, 1997), 25, 102–3. 55 Gat, Military Thought, 451; B. M. Gough, ‘The Influence of History on Mahan,’ in The Influence of History on Mahan: The Proceedings of a Conference Marking the Centenary of Alfred Thayer Mahan’s ‘The Influence of Sea Power upon History, 1660– 1783,’ ed. John B. Hattendorf (Newport, 1991), 19, 30–31; William E. Livezey, Mahan on Sea Power (Norman, 1981), 45–50, 52–53; Sumida, Grand Strategy, 6, 27, 45, 101–2. 56 Colson, ‘Stratégie americaine,’ 137–41, 138–44; Philip A. Crowl, ‘Alfred Thayer Mahan: The Naval Historian,’ in Makers of Modern Strategy from Machiavelli to the Nuclear Age, ed. Peter Paret (Oxford, 1986), 455–57; W. P. Hughes, Jr., ‘Mahan: Tactics and Principles of Strategy,’ in History on Mahan, 28–29; M. T. Sprout, ‘Mahan: Evangelist of Sea Power,’ in Machiavelli to Hitler, 429–30; Sumida, Grand Strategy, 42–43, 68–71. 57 Crowl, ‘Mahan,’ 455, 458–59; Gat, Military Thought, 348; Gooch, ‘Maritime Command,’ 34–35; Sprout, ‘Evangelist,’ 434; Sumida, Grand Strategy, 44–45, 48, 72–73; A. Westcott, ed., Mahan on Naval Warfare: Selections from the Writings of Rear Admiral Alfred T. Mahan (Minneola, 1999), 92–95, 98. 58 Crowl, ‘Mahan,’ 460; Sprout, ‘Evangelist,’ 434; Sumida, Grand Strategy, 48, 73. 59 Crowl, ‘Mahan,’ 457–58, 460; Sprout, ‘Evangelist,’ 430–31; Westcott, Mahan, 50–51, 61. 60 Sprout, ‘Evangelist,’ 434; Westcott, Mahan, 242–44. 61 Gough, ‘History on Mahan,’ 8, 15–16, 20–21, 30; Livezey, Mahan, 55, 76–77, 79–82; Sumida, Grand Strategy, 2-3. 62 Baer, Hundred Years, 10–11; R. Dingman, ‘Japan and Mahan,’ in History on Mahan, 49–61; Evans and Peattie, Kaigun, 18–24, 49–50, 65; Ferrante, ‘Pensée navale italienne,’ 113–18; K. J. Hagan, ‘The Apotheosis of Mahan: American Naval Strategy, 1899–1922,’ in Global Defence, 94–104; Holger H. Herwig, ‘Luxury Fleet’: The Imperial German Navy, 1888–1918 (London, 1980), 17–21, 34–43; Holger H. Herwig, ‘The influence of A. T. Mahan upon German Sea Power,’ in History on Mahan, 67–80; Hobson, Imperialism at Sea, 120–31, 178–246, 296–300, 313–24; J. C. Schenking, Making Waves: Politics, Propaganda and the Emergence of the Imperial Japanese Navy, 1868–1922 (Stanford, 2005), 26–106; Sondhaus, AustriaHungary, 101–3, 123–63. 63 Sondhaus, Naval Warfare, 160. 64 Lambert, Fisher, 28–29, 65–67, 77–83, 89–94, 116–17.

Chapter 2   1 Anatolii V. Ignatev et al., Istoriia vneshnei politiki Rossii: Konets XIX–nachalo XX veka (Moscow, 1997), 14. For general surveys of the Russian empire see: Geoffrey Hosking, Russia: People and Empire, 1552–1817 (London, 1997); Dominic Lieven, The Russian Empire and Its Rivals from the Sixteenth Century to the Present (London,

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2003), 201–87; Dominic Lieven, ed., The Cambridge History of Russia, Vol. 2 (Cambridge, 2006); Hugh Seton Watson, The Decline of Imperial Russia, 1855– 1914 (London, 1964). Dominic Lieven, Russia’s Rulers under the Old Regime (New Haven, 1990), 288; Dominic Lieven, Nicholas II: Emperor of All the Russias (London, 1994), 105–6, 115–16; Z. P. Shakibi, ‘Central Government,’ in Cambridge History, 2: 432, 434, 437–41, 443–45; Andrew M. Verner, The Crisis of the Russian Autocracy: Nicholas II and the 1905 Revolution (Princeton, 1990), 46, 52–55. Lieven, Nicholas, 28–31, 39–40, 42; Lieven, Russia’s Rulers, 283, 287–88; Verner, Crisis of Authority, 45, 55–56. McDonald, United Government, 6–11, 30–32, 45; Shakibi, ‘Government,’ 433, 442–43, 445–46. William L. Blackwell, The Industrialization of Russia: A Historical Perspective (Arlington Heights, 1994), 24–32, 49–50; Dietrich Geyer, Russian Imperialism: The Interaction of Domestic and Foreign Policy, 1860–1914 (Leamington Spa, 1987), 18–19, 33–48, 102, 121, 130–41, 145–46, 204; Anatolii V. Ignatev et al., Istoriia vneshnei politiki Rossii: Vtoraia polovina XIX veka (Moscow, 1997), 8–9, 23–34; Theodore H. von Laue, Sergei Witte and the Industrialization of Russia (New York, 1963); Dominic Lieven, ‘Russia as Empire and Periphery,’ in Cambridge History, 2: 11–12; Martin McCauley and Peter Waldron, The Emergence of the Modern Russian State, 1855–1881 (London, 1988), 1–58; Werner E. Mosse, An Economic History of Russia, 1856–1914 (London, 1996), 4–8, 12–13, 25, 62, 88–91, 95–103, 107. Monakov and Rodionov, Istoriia rossiiskogo flota, 759–60. Frederick W. Kagan, ‘Russia’s Geopolitical Dilemma and the Question of Backwardness,’ in The Military History of Tsarist Russia, ed. Frederick W. Kagan and Robin Higham (New York, 2002), 250–52, 256; Lieven, Empire, 221–22; Lieven, ‘Empire,’ 10–11, 14; Menning, Bayonets, 19. Geyer, Russian Imperialism, 102–5, 150–85; Pertti Luntinen, French Information on the Russian War Plans, 1880–1914 (Helsinki, 1984), 11–19, 65–81, 89–90; Irina S. Rybachenok, ‘Soiuz s Frantsiei vo vneshnei politike Rossii 1894–1904,’ in Rossiia i Frantsiia XVIII-XX veka, Vols. 1–2, ed. Petr P. Cherkasov (Moscow, 1995–1998), 2: 149–56; Notwithstanding the above overview, the historiography of the FrancoRussian alliance is fraught with controversy. For a different interpretation see: George F. Kennan, The Fateful Alliance: France, Russia and the Coming of the First World War (Manchester, 1984); William L. Langer, The Franco-Russian Alliance, 1890–1894 (New York, 1967), 393–401, 416–17. For a general historiographical survey of the alliance consult: Irina S. Rybachenok, ‘Russko-frantsuzskii soiuz: Sto let izucheniia,’in Rossiia i Frantsiia, 1: 128–51. In wartime permission for the passage of foreign warships was in the hands of the Ottoman Sultan. N. Afonin, ‘The Navy in 1900: Imperialism and Class Struggle,’ in Cambridge History, 2: 575–76; A. Bodger, ‘Russia and the End of the Ottoman Empire,’ in The Great Powers and the End of the Ottoman Empire, ed. Marian Kent (London, 1984), 76–78, 82–83; Barbara Jelavich, The Ottoman Empire, the Great Powers and the Straits Question, 1870–1887 (Bloomington, 1973), 14–19; V. M. Khevrolina and E. A. Chirkova, ‘Prolivy vo vneshnei politike Rossii v 80–90-e gg. XIX v.,’ in Rossiia i Chernomorskie prolivy (XVIII–XX stoletiia), ed. L. N. Nezhinskii and Anatolii V. Ignatev (Moscow, 1999), 244–52; Nina S. Kiniapina, Balkany i prolivy vo vneshnei politike Rossii v kontse XIX veka (1878–1898) (Moscow, 1994), 17–20, 130, 172–97, 201–2.

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11 Geyer, Russian Imperialism, 86–98, 113–14; Ignatev et al., Vneshnei politiki: Konets– nachalo, 99, 121–31; Barbara Jelavich, A Century of Russian Foreign Policy, 1814– 1914 (Philadelphia, 1964), 168–72; David MacKenzie, Imperial Dreams, Harsh Realities: Tsarist Russian Foreign Policy, 1815–1917 (Fort Worth, 1994), 62, 89–99, 124, 128–33. 12 Anatolii V. Ignatev, ‘The Foreign Policy of Russia in the Far East at the turn of the Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries,’ in Imperial Russian Foreign Policy, ed. Hugh Ragsdale (Cambridge, 1993), 247, 251; Ignatev et al., Vneshnei politiki: Vtoraia, 165–73; MacKenzie, Imperial Dreams, 100–8, 136; Malozemoff, Far Eastern Policy, 1–24, 27, 36–40, 84–85. 13 China’s weakness was unambiguously demonstrated by its military defeat at the hands of Japan in 1894–1895. 14 Fuller, Strategy and Power, 369–70, 372; Geyer, Russian Imperialism, 146–47, 186–219; Ignatev, ‘Foreign Policy,’ 247–66; Lieven, Nicholas, 94; Schimmelpenninck, Rising Sun, 15–23, 28–39, 43–44, 50–60, 74–76, 79–80, 82–86, 94–98, 124–25. 15 L. G. Beskrovnyi, Armiia i flot Rossii v nachale XX v.: Ocherki voenno-ekonomicheskogo potentsiala (Moscow, 1986), 64; Ignatev et al., Vneshnei politiki: Konets–nachalo, 76; Evgenii F. Podsoblyaev, ‘The Russian Naval General Staff and the Evolution of Naval Policy, 1905–1914,’ Journal of Military History 66, 1 (2002): 55–56. For the squabbles over coastal defence look at: RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 1597; RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 2798; RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 2799. These files contain various documents related to the organization of coastal defence. 16 Blackwell Industrialization, 47–48; Fuller, Strategy and Power, 296–99; Kagan, ‘Dilemma,’ 250, 252, 254–55; Jacob W. Kipp, ‘The Imperial Russian Navy, 1696– 1900: The Ambiguous Legacy of Peter’s “Second Arm”,’ in Military History of Tsarist Russia, 156–57; Menning, Bayonets, 91, 108–9, 115–17, 120, 123–24; David A. Rich, The Tsar’s Colonels: Professionalism, Strategy and Subversion in Late Imperial Russia (Cambridge, Mass., 1998), 78–85, 91, 101. 17 Sergei G. Gorshkov, The Sea Power of the State (Oxford, 1979), 69; Till et al., Maritime Strategy, 81, 83. 18 Petrov, Podgotovka, 7–8. As will be demonstrated in later chapters, in 1898 the occupation of Port Arthur furnished Russia with an ice-free naval base and direct access to the Pacific Ocean. 19 Gorshkov, Sea Power, 70, 91–92; Monakov and Rodionov, Istoriia rossiiskogo flota, 758–59; Petrov, Podgotovka, 8–9. 20 William C. Fuller, Jr., Civil–Military Conflict in Late Imperial Russia, 1881– 1914 (Princeton, 1985), 37, 59–66, 68–69; Laue, Witte, 100–2; Menning, Bayonets, 89–91; Mosse, Economic History, 110; Hans Rogger, Russia in the Age of Modernization and Revolution, 1881–1917 (London, 1983), 104. 21 Fuller, Civil–Military, 47–49, 59; Peter Gatrell, Government, Industry and Rearmament in Russia, 1900–1914: The Last Argument of Tsarism (Cambridge, 1994), 20–22; Pavel A. Khromov, Ekonomicheskoe razvitie Rossii v XIX-XX v. (1800-1917) (Moscow, 1950), 518–19, 522–25; Walter M. Pinter, ‘The Burden of Defense in Imperial Russia, 1725–1914,’ Russian Review 43, 3 (1984): 249–50; P. Waldron, ‘State Finances,’ in Cambridge History, 2: 471–73, 481–82. 22 Gatrell, Rearmament, 19–20, 22, 24. 23 Stephen McLaughlin, Russian and Soviet Battleships (Annapolis, 2003), 142, 443–44. 24 Report presented to the State Controller regarding the shipbuilding activities of the Navy Ministry, n.d., RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 2660, ll. 61, 63. According

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to the report, in 1896–1902 the construction and armament of vessels absorbed 280,398,406 roubles, out of the 642 million roubles assigned to the Navy Ministry. Dingman, ‘Japan and Mahan,’ 54. Oleg R. Airapetov, Zabytaia karera ‘russkogo Moltke’: Nikolai Nikolaevich Obruchev (1830–1904) (St Petersburg, 1998), 270–71; Afonin, ‘Navy,’ 586; Shatsillo, Russkii imperializm, 59–61; Petr A. Zaionchkovskii, Samoderzhavie i russkaia armiia na rubezhe XIX–XX stoletii (Moscow, 1973), 47–50. Nicholas II to Grand Duke Alexei Alexandrovich (who at the time was the nominal leader of the Navy Ministry), letter, n.d., GARF, f. 681, op. 1, d. 45, ll. 14–15. Boris V. Ananich et al., eds., Iz arkhiva S.Iu. Vitte: Vospominaniia, 2 vols. (St Petersburg, 2003), 2: 97; Kipp, ‘Imperial Russian Navy,’ 157; Iu. L. Korshunov, General-admiraly rossiiskogo imperatorskogo flota (St Petersburg, 2003), 275–76. Keith Neilson, Britain and the Last Tsar: British Policy and Russia, 1894–1917 (Oxford, 1995), 59–60. Alexander Mikhailovich, Kniga vospominanii (Moscow, 1991), 128, 145. Alexander Mikhailovich, Kniga, 178; Ananich et al., Vitte, book 1, 1: 252, 378; Ibid., book 2, 1: 607; Ibid., 2: 97; Kipp, ‘Imperial Russian Navy,’ 161–62. Oleg R. Airapetov, ‘Miliutin contra Moltke: Russia’s Refusal to Adopt a PrussianStyle General Staff,’ in Reforming the Tsar’s Army: Military Innovation in Imperial Russia from Peter the Great to the Revolution, ed. David H. Schimmelpenninck van der Oye and Bruce W. Menning (Cambridge, 2004), 292; Beskrovnyi, Army and Fleet, 364; Gromov et al., Tri veka, 1: 261–62; A. N. Shcheglov, Znachenie i rabota shtaba na osnovanii opyta russko-iaponskoi voiny, Vol. 1 (St Petersburg, 1905), 31–32; A. G. von Vitte, Ocherk ustroistva flotom v Rossii i inostrannykh gosudarstvakh (St Petersburg, 1907), 62–102. Dotsenko, Dotsenko, and Mironov, Strategiia, 113–14. In 1888 the retired Vice Admiral I. F. Likhachev wrote an article where he argued for the creation of a naval general staff. The article was reprinted in 1912. I. Likhachev, ‘Sluzhba generalnogo shtaba vo flote,’ Morskoi Sbornik (hereafter MS) 373, 11 (1912): 47–93. Various documents on the creation of an operational section within the GMSh, 1902–1903, RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 2655, ll. l–137; Beskrovnyi, Armiia i flot, 221; Vladimir Iu. Gribovskii and V. P. Poznakhirev, Vitse-admiral Z. P. Rozhestvenskii (St Petersburg, 1999), 133–37; Shcheglov, Znachenie, 1: 24–25. Virenius to Avelan, report, 20 November 1902, RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 2655, ll. 6–7; M. Kazimirov, ‘Morskoi generalnyi shtab,’ MS 372, 9 (1912): 56–60; Shcheglov, Znachenie, 1: 44; I. D. Spaskii et al., Istoriia otechestvennogo sudostroeniia, Vol. 2 (St Petersburg, 1996), 169. Beskrovnyi, Armiia i flot, 218, 220; Fred T. Jane, The Imperial Russian Navy (London, 1983), 572–75. V. A. Petrov, ‘Iz predystorii russko-iaponskoi voiny: Doneseniia morskogo agenta v Iaponii A. I. Rusina (1902–1904 gg.),’ Russkoe proshloe 6 (1996): 53–54. Beskrovnyi, Armiia i flot, 218; Beskrovnyi, Army and Fleet, 340–41; Vitalii D. Dotsenko, Istoriia voenno-morskogo iskusstva, Vol. 1 (St Petersburg, 1999), 16; N. A. Mashkin, Vysshaia voennaia shkola rossiiskoi imperii XIX–nachala XX veka (Moscow, 1997), 74–80; N. D. Zakorin, V. P. Kobzev, and N. V. Makhrov, ‘Stanovlenie i razvitie voenno-morskogo obrazovanie v Rossii,’ in Nauka Sankt-Peterburga i morskaia moshch Rossii, ed. Aleksandr Rodionov (St Petersburg, 2001), 449. For a history of Morskoi Sbornik see: D. V. Liventsev, Morskoi uchenyi komitet 1874– 1891 gg. (Voronezh, 2002), 71–76; S. Ogorodnikov, ‘50-letie Zhurnala “Morskoi

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46 47

48 49 50 51 52 53 54

Russian Imperialism and Naval Power Sbornik” (1848–1898 gg.),’ MS 283, 1 (1898): 119–66; Ibid. 283, 2 (1898): 125–42. Evans and Peattie, Kaigun, 22–27, 48–50; John B. Hattendorf, B. M. Simpson, and John R. Wadleigh, Sailors and Scholars: The Centennial History of the U.S. Naval War College (Newport, 1984), 43–60; M. Kazimirov, ‘Morskoi generalnyi shtab,’ MS 372, 8 (1912): 1–22; Ivo N. Lambi, The Navy and German Power Politics, 1862–1914 (London, 1984), 167, 191–93; K. B. Nazarenko, ‘Mozg’ flota Rossii: Ot Tsusimy do pervoi mirovoi voiny (St Petersburg, 2006), 37–44; Walser, ‘France’s Search,’ 53. Airapetov, ‘Miliutin contra Moltke,’ 292–303; Fuller, Strategy and Power, 284–94; Menning, Bayonets, 97–98; Nazarenko, ‘Mozg’, 34–35. Dotsenko, Dotsenko, and Mironov, Strategiia, 50–51, 72; Monakov and Rodionov, Istoriia rossiiskogo flota, 778–79; Podsoblyaev, ‘Naval General Staff,’ 41. Robert W. Herrick, Soviet Naval Theory and Policy: Gorshkov’s Inheritance (Annapolis, 1989), xiii; Shatsillo, Russkii imperializm, 49–63. Nikolai L. Klado, Osnovy sovremennago voenno-morskogo dela (St Petersburg, 1901), 153–60, 166–67, 170–71, 195–96; Nikolai L. Klado, Ocherk voennykh deistvii na more vo vremiia russko-iaponskoi voina (St Petersburg, n.d.), 110–13; I. P. Rusanov, ‘Klassik teorii voenno-morskogo iskustva,’ in Klado Nikolai Lavrentevich: Voenno-teoreticheskoe nasledie Klado N.L. i ego znachenie dlia sovremennosti: Po materialiam nauchno-prakticheskoi konferentsii v voennoi akademii GSH VC PF, 29 Marta 2000 g., ed. I. S. Danilenko (Moscow, 2000), 25–27, 30, 32–33. For further analysis of Klado’s ideas and importance refer to the other relevant articles of this collection. Mitchell, Russian and Soviet Sea Power, 198; Norman E. Saul, Sailors in Revolt: The Russian Baltic Fleet in 1917 (Lawrence, 1978), 7. D. R. Jones, ‘Les principes de la guerre navale de l’amiral S. O. Makarov,’ in L’ evolution, 3: 150–56, 158, 161–67; Stepan O. Makarov, ‘Razsuzhdeniia po voprosam morskoi taktiki,’ MS 280, 7 (1897): 1–6; Stepan O. Makarov, ‘Bronenostsi ili bezbronnyia suda?,’ MS 315, 4 (1903): 59–118; Stepan O. Makarov, Discussion of Questions in Naval Tactics (Annapolis, 1990), ix, xi, 237, 242, 262–63, 265–68; Sergei N. Semanov and Vladimir Iu. Gribovskii, Poslednie admiraly: Admiral Makarov – Vitse admiral Rozhestvenskii (Moscow, 2002), 184–86; Vladimir A. Zolotarev and Ivan A. Kozlov. Flotovodtsy Rossii (Moscow, 1998), 353–57. A short overview of Orlov’s views and course structure can be found in: Dotsenko, Dotsenko, and Mironov, Strategiia, 51–56. V. A. Moshin, Oborona poberzhiia s drevneishikh vremen do nashikh dnei (St Petersburg, 1901). Podsoblyaev, ‘Naval General Staff,’ 40. Dotsenko, Voenno-morskogo iskusstva, 1: 103–19; Gromov et al., Tri veka, 1: 300–3, 336–38; Makarov, Discussion. Afonin, ‘Navy,’ 584–85; Gromov et al., Tri veka, 1: 287–90, 336; Kipp, ‘Imperial Russian Navy,’ 171, 174; Nazarenko, ‘Mozg’, 22–24. According to some sources the terms of service were seven years in active duty and three years in first-line reserve. Afonin, ‘Navy,’ 582–84; Beskrovnyi, Armiia i flot, 209–10; Beskrovnyi, Army and Fleet, 334–35; P. Burachek, ‘Zametki o flote,’ MS 365, 7 (1911): 19–50; S. S. Fabritskii, Iz proshlago: Vospominaniia fligel-adiutanta gosudaria Imperatora Nikolaia II (Berlin, 1926), 49; Gromov et al., Tri veka, 1: 286–87, 334; Saul, Sailors, 15–21; Robert Zebrowski, ‘The Battleship Potemkin and its Discontents,’ in Naval Mutinies

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56

57

58

59

60

61 62

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of the Twentieth Century: An International Perspective, ed. Christopher M. Bell and Bruce A. Elleman (London, 2003), 10–13. Report on the Baltic Fleet’s training squadron, 1898, RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 1773, ll. 204–8; A. N., ‘Beglyi ocherk: Morskikh operatsii russko-iaponskoi voiny,’ MS 369, 4 (1912): 159, 161–62; Beskrovnyi, Army and Fleet, 345; Gribovskii and Poznakhirev, Rozhestvenskii, 87–88, 105–6, 150–52; Gromov et al., Tri veka, 1: 335, 341–42; J. N. Westwood, Witnesses of Tsusima (Tokyo, 1970), 5, 7. Beskrovnyi, Army and Fleet, 293–94, 326; Robert Gardiner, ed., Conway’s All the World’s Fighting Ships, 1860–1905 (London, 2002), 182, 184, 190, 193–97, 206–7, 214–15; Gatrell, Rearmament, 26, 30, 43–44, 63–64; Gromov et al., Tri veka, 1: 257, 266–67, 324; Jacob W. Kipp, ‘The Russian Navy and the Problem of Technological Transfer: Technological Backwardness and Military Industrial Development, 1853– 1876,’ in Russia’s Great Reforms, 1855–1881, ed. Ben Eklof, John Bushnell, and Larissa Zakharova (Bloomington, 1994), 119–31; McLauglin, Battleships, 25, 96, 118, 138, 441; C. de Saint Hubert and B. V. Drasphil, ‘Main Shipyards, Engine Builders and Manufacturers of Guns and Armour Plate in the Saint Petersburg Area up to 1917,’ Warship International 4 (1985): 333–59; Kornelii F. Shatsillo, Gosudarstvo i monopolii v voennoi promyshlennosti Rossii konets XIX v. –1914 g. (Moscow, 1992), 24, 31–32, 74–76, 99–102; Zolotarev and Kozlov, Tri stoletiia, 421. Gardiner, All the World’s, 34–39, 182–84, 247–49, 295–97, 343–44; Gatrell, Rearmament, 30–31, 34, 36; Gromov et al., Tri veka, 1: 265–67, 323; Nikolai L. Klado, Sila i sostav sovremennago flota (St Petersburg, 1903), 59–60; McLauglin, Battleships, 434–35, 443–44; Shatsillo, Gosudarstvo i monopolii, 34–44, 47–48, 52–53, 62–65; Peter Waldron, The End of Imperial Russia, 1855–1917 (Basingstoke, 1997), 63; Zolotarev and Kozlov, Tri stoletiia, 415–16. For an overview of the technical details of Russian warships constructed during the era see: Iu. I. Aleskandrov, A. M. Vasilev, and O. P. Maidanov, ‘Lineinyie korably Peterburskoi razrabotki i postroiki,’ in Nauka, 57–71; Norman Polmar and Jurrien Noot, Submarines of the Russian and Soviet Navies, 1718–1990 (Annapolis, 1991), 1–18; Spaskii et al., Istoriia, 2: 23–460; Anthony J. Watts, The Imperial Russian Navy (London, 1990). Afonin, ‘Navy,’ 578–79; Gribovskii and Poznakhirev, Rozhestvenskii, 108, 110; Gromov et al., Tri veka, 1: 325–26, 280, 284–85, 333; McLauglin, Battleships, 160, 178, 434–40, 448–49; Spaskii et al., Istoriia, 2: 277, 285; Westwood, Tsusima, 22, 24–25. Study of the Volunteer Fleet for 1878–1888 in GMSh files, RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 456, ll. 415–16; Chief of MGSh (L. A. Brusilov), report, June 1908, RGAVMF, f. 418, op. 1, d. 993, ll. 25–26; Monakov and Rodionov, Istoriia rossiiskogo flota, 643–47, 755, 761–63. Volunteer Fleet Committee to Director of the Navy Ministry, report, 15 December 1899, RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 2218, ll. 1–2, 4. Commission journal, 15 May 1900, RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 2218, ll. 9–11; Conclusions of the commission, RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 2218, ll. 26–27.

Chapter 3   1 D. K. Brown, ‘The Royal Navy in the Crimean War,’ in Marine et technique, 269–91; Fuller, Strategy and Power, 286–89; Jacob W. Kipp, ‘Consequences of Defeat: Modernizing the Russian Navy, 1856–1863,’ Jahrbücher für Geschichte Osteuropas 20, 2 (1972): 210–21; Jacob W. Kipp, ‘Tsarist Politics and the Naval Ministry,

292

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3

4

5 6 7

8

9

Russian Imperialism and Naval Power 1867–1881,’ Canadian-American Slavic Studies 17, 2 (1983): 154–55; Kipp, ‘Imperial Russian Navy,’ 151–53; Kipp, ‘Technological Transfer,’ 115–21; Andrew D. Lambert, The Crimean War: British Grand Strategy, 1853–56 (Manchester, 1990); Aleksandr P. Shevyrev, Russkii flot posle krymskoi voiny: Liberalnaia biurokratiia i morskie reformy (Moscow, 1990), 117–19. Beskrovnyi, Army and Fleet, 302–9; Dotsenko, Armoured Fleet, 52–55, 58–63; Gromov et al., Tri veka, 1: 217–18; Kipp, ‘Technological Transfer,’ 128–29; Petrov, Podgotovka, 34; Anatolii A. Razdolgin and Iurii A. Skorikov. Kronshtadtskaia krepost (Leningrad, 1988), 297–302; Shevyrev, Russkii flot, 121–28. As already discussed, the effective naval utilization of Russia’s European littoral in the extreme north was extremely complicated. In addition, Russia’s strategic interests in the region were almost inexistent, while the introduction of ironclads meant that the remote and industrially underdeveloped port of Arkhangelsk had lost its importance as a shipbuilding centre. By the end of the 1880s Arkhangelsk’s military port had been abolished and the navy’s presence consisted of a single auxiliary cruiser. In the 1890s the defence of Russia’s Arctic shores was provided only for some months of the year by second-class cruisers dispatched from the Baltic. Gromov et al., Tri veka, 1: 315. John E. Jessup, ‘Alliance or Deterrence: The Case of the Russian Fleet Visit to America,’ in New Aspects of Naval History: Selected Papers Presented at the Fourth Naval History Symposium, United States Naval Academy, 25–26 October 1979, ed. Graig L. Symonds (Annapolis, 1981), 238–52; Kipp, ‘Consequences,’ 200–25. Vladivostok and a large part of Russia’s coastline on the Pacific Ocean were administratively part of the Priamur province. The flotilla consisted of gunboats and torpedo craft. S. A. Gladkikh, ‘Problema priobreteniia Rossiei nezamerzaiushchego voennogo porta na Dalnem Vostoke,’ Gangut 16 (1998): 4–7; IKpriMGSh, Russko-iaponskaia voina, Vvedenie: 14–16, 18; Monakov and Rodionov, Istoriia rossiiskogo flota, 606–9, 623. Dotsenko, Armoured Fleet, 56–57; Barbara Jelavich, Russia’s Balkan Entanglements, 1806–1914 (Cambridge, 1993), 147–54; Jelavich, Ottoman Empire, 9–10, 25–83; Kipp, ‘Tsarist Politics,’ 157–60; Werner E. Mosse, ‘The End of the Crimean System: England, Russia and the Neutrality of the Black Sea, 1870–1,’ Historical Journal 4, 2 (1961): 164–90; S. V. Ogorodnikov, Istoricheskii obzor: Razvitiia i deiatelnosti morskogo ministerstva za sto let ego sushestvovaniia (St Petersburg, 1902), 209–11; Zolotarev and Kozlov, Tri stoletiia, 432–34. Airapetov, Zabytaia karera, 190–95; M. S. Anderson, The Eastern Question, 1774–1923: A Study in International Relations (London, 1966), 178–219; Fuller, Strategy and Power, 326; Gromov et al., Tri veka, 1: 253–55; Jelavich, Balkan Entanglements, 157–65; Khevrolina and Chirkova, ‘Prolivy,’ 224–25; Vladimir M. Khvostov, Problemy istorii vneshnei politiki Rosssii i mezhdunarodnykh otnoshenii v kontse XIX–nachale XX v. (Moscow, 1977), 174–78; Kondratenko, Morskaia politika, 23–24, 26; E. P. Kudriavtseva and V. N. Ponomarev, ‘Zakrytie prolivov dlia voennykh sudov: Ot Londonskikh konventsii do Berlinskogo traktata 1840–1878 gg.,’ in Chernomorskie prolivy, 212–13; Irina S. Rybachenok, ‘Diplomaticheskoe vedomstvo i rossiiskaia diplomatiia ot Berlinskogo kongressa do Portmuskogo mira 1878-1905 gg.,’ in Ocherki istorii Ministerstva Inostrannykh Del Rossii 1802–2002, Vol. 1, ed. I. S. Ivanov et al. (Moscow, 2002), 438–39; Irina S. Rybachenok,‘N. N. Obruchev o geopoliticheskikh interesakh Rossii: “Pervaia nasha zabota-stoiat tverdo v Evrope”,’ in Rossiia: Mezhdunarodnoe

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14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25

26 27

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polozhenie i voennyi potentsial v seredine XIX–nachale XX veka: Ocherki, ed. Irina S. Rybachenok et al. (Moscow, 2003), 94–96; Aleksandr B. Shirokorad, Russko-turetskie voiny 1676–1918 gg. (Minsk, 2000), 531–52; Aleksandr B. Shirokorad, Rossiia-Angliia: Neizvestnaia voina 1857–1907 (Moscow, 2003), 278–84, 287–300, 370; Benedict H. Sumner, Russia and the Balkans, 1870– 1880 (Oxford, 1937), 389–90; Vladimir A. Zolotarev, Rossiia i Turtsiia: Voina 1877–1878 gg.: Osnovnye problemy voiny v russkom istochnikovedenii i istoriografii (Moscow, 1983), 159–64; Vladimir A. Zolotarev and Ivan A. Kozlov Rossiiskii voennyi flot na Chernom more i vostochnom Sredizemnomore (Moscow, 1988), 80–100; Zolotarev and Kozlov, Tri stoletiia, 449–66. Russia was not enthusiastic about the inclusion of Austria-Hungary, since the interests of the two empires in the Balkans continued to clash. However, this was the price that Russia paid for obtaining Germany’s goodwill. Barbara Jelavich, St Petersburg and Moscow: Tsarist and Soviet Foreign Policy, 1814– 1974 (Bloomington, 1974), 188; Khvostov, Problemy istorii, 191–205. Airapetov, Zabytaia karera, 219; Fuller, Strategy and Power, 339–50; Herwig, ‘Luxury Fleet’, 12–14; Kondratenko, Morskaia politika, 28–29, 92, 100; Olivier, Forerunners, 98–106, 118–19; A. M. Zaionchkovskii, Podgotovka Rossii k imperialisticheskoi voine: Ocherki voennoi podgotovki i pervonachalnykh planov (Moscow, 1926), 31–46. Jelavich, St Petersburg and Moscow, 167; Kondratenko, Morskaia politika, 33–47, 50–59; Alex Marshall, The Russian General Staff and Asia, 1800–1917 (London, 2006), 69, 71–75; S. M. C. Paine, Imperial Rivals: China, Russia and their Disputed Frontier (Armonk, 1996), 178–79. Kipp, ‘Tsarist Politics,’ 160–73; Kondratenko, Morskaia politika, 18–21, 23. Kondratenko, Morskaia politika, 61–67. Kipp, ‘Tsarist Politics,’ 175–77. Alexei Alexandrovich to Tsarevich Alexander, three letters, two are from October 1876 and the third has n.d., GARF, f. 677, op. 1, d. 678, ll. 30–32, 35–37. Alexei Alexandrovich to Tsarevich Alexander, letter, 4 January 1877, GARF, f. 677, op. 1, d. 678, ll. 38–40. Kondratenko, Morskaia politika, 75–82, 101–4; Monakov and Rodionov, Istoriia rossiiskogo flota, 692–96; Spaskii et al., Istoriia, 2: 161–64. General Admiral, report (historical overview of the navy’s development), 7 May 1890, RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 695, ll. 10–12; Petrov, Podgotovka, 25, 27. Historical overview, RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 695, ll. 9–10; Journal of commission examining the numbers and technical characteristics of vessels to be constructed, 20 November 1881, RGAVMF f. 417, op. 1, d. 2787, ll. 46–47. Historical overview, RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 695, ll. 9, 12. Ibid., l. 11. The financial estimates of the programme were not very well thought out as they had not anticipated the rise in construction costs. Information on the programme’s finances, RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 696, ll. 31; Gromov et al., Tri veka, 1: 259; Kipp, ‘Tsarist Politics,’ 177; Kondratenko, Morskaia politika, 261–64, 267–69, 273; Monakov and Rodionov, Istoriia rossiiskogo flota, 697–98; Petrov, Podgotovka, 29–30, 67. Jelavich, Russian Foreign Policy, 199–200; Jelavich, Ottoman Empire, 132–34, 137–45; Khvostov, Problemy istorii, 205–8. Chikhachev to Shestakov, report, 30 March 1885, RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 71, ll. 17–20.

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28 Likhachev, report, 1885, RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1 d. 71, ll. 267–84; Chikhachev’s riposte to Likhachev, 20 July 1885, RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 71, ll. 287–98. 29 Zolotarev and Kozlov, Flotovodtsy, 342. 30 Commission journal, 21 December 1884–14 March 1885, RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 1174, l. 16; Commission journals, 7 November 1887, 14 April 1888 and 13 May 1888, RGAVMF, f. 418, op. 1, d. 139, ll. 5, 14, 16, 67. 31 Morskaia Khronika section, ‘Samostoiatelnyia minonoski i budushchnost flotov,’ MS 203, 7 (1884): 1–27. 32 For example see: B. Bergel, ‘Preobrazovanie flota i “tak nazyvaemye voprosy morksoi politiki”,’ MS 209, 7 (1885): 47–60; F. Dubasov, ‘Taktika minonosok,’ MS 208, 5 (1885): 79–86; Unknown author, ‘Tiazhelaia artilleriia glavneishchikh evropeiskikh flotov,’ MS 207, 3 (1885): 109–10. 33 See: Morskaia Khronika section, ‘Novyia minonoski vo Frantsii, Germanii i Turtsii,’ MS 202, 6 (1884): 17–18; Unknown author, ‘Voennyia suda budushchago,’ MS 203, 7 (1884): 152–54, 173–74; Unknown author, ‘O dalneishem razvitii germanskogo flota,’ MS 203, 8 (1884): 44–45, 52–55, 57–61. 34 In 1885 German naval strength added up to 14 battleships of a total displacement of 98,000 tons armed with 117 guns, 20 cruisers, 18 gunboats and 92 torpedo craft. The Baltic Fleet consisted of nine battleships of a total displacement of 38,000 tons armed with 60 guns, 18 cruisers, ten gunboats and 90 antiquated torpedo boats. 35 Chikhachev to Shestakov, report, 19 March 1885, RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 67, ll. 35–44; Commission journal, 28 March 1885, RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 696, ll. 33–34; Kondratenko, Morskaia politika, 159–62. 36 Commission journal, 21 December 1884–14 March 1885, RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 1174, ll. 17–19. 37 Chikhachev, report, 16 November 1887, RGAVMF, f. 418, op. 1, d. 139, ll. 35–36; Commission journal, 21 December 1884–14 March 1885, RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 1174, l. 20. 38 Report reviewing the debate on Moonzund in MGSh files, 1907, RGAVMF, f. 418, op. 1, d. 139, l. 2; Major General G. I. Bobrikov, report, 31 October 1887, RGAVMF, f. 418, op. 1, d. 139, ll. 7–11; Lieutenant E. N. Kvashnin-Samarin (MGSh), report (reviewing the debate on Moonzund), 1908, RGAVMF, f. 418, op. 1, d. 5722, ll. 2, 28–40. 39 Report on Moonzund, RGAVMF, f. 418, op. 1, d. 139, ll. 1–3, 87–95; KvashninSamarin report, RGAVMF, f. 418, op. 1, d. 5722, ll. 2–4, 39, 48–59. 40 Aleksandr B. Shirokorad, Russko-iaponskie voiny 1904–1945 gg. (Minsk, 2003), 154. For details on the planning of Libau’s construction look at: RGAVMF, f. 928, op. 1, d. 1201. 41 Gromov et al., Tri veka, 1: 305–6. 42 Study of Kronstadt defences up to 1895 in GMSh files, RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 1597, ll. 14–15. 43 Commission journal, 21 December 1884–14 March 1885, RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 1174, l. 21. 44 Chikhachev to Shestakov, report, 31 March 1885, RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 71, ll. 33–37. 45 Report on the 1885 manoeuvres, RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 95, ll. 13–14; Gromov et al., Tri veka, 1: 308; Petrov, Podgotovka, 43–44. 46 Commission journal, 7 November 1887, RGAVMF, f. 418, op. 1, d. 139, l. 6. 47 Commission journals, 14 April 1888 and 13 May 1888, RGAVMF, f. 418, op. 1, d. 139, ll. 17, 66–68.

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48 Commission journal, 21 March 1889, RGAVMF, f. 418, op. 1, d. 139, ll. 70–72. 49 Joint services commission journal, 28 March 1888, RGAVMF, f. 418, op. 1, d. 139, ll. 73–75; Kremer commission journals, January–April 1890, RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 1597, ll. 17–32; GMSh, report, June 1891, RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 583, ll. 184–85. 50 For example see: N. Beklemishev, ‘Voenno-morskaia takticheskaiia zaniatia,’ MS 220, 5 (1887): 88–89; F. Dubasov, ‘O minonoskoi voine,’ MS 225, 5 (1888): 15–16, 18–21, 24–26; R. Z., ‘Vzgliad na morskoe budushchee,’ MS 220, 6 (1887): 63–66; V. Kraevskii, ‘Znachenie minonosok kak boeyvikh edinits flota,’ MS 228, 12 (1888): 1–17; Unknown author, ‘Vopros o minonostakh,’ MS 216, 9 (1886): 85–88, 100–3, 107–8; Ibid. 216, 10 (1886): 33–36, 41–42, 45–46, 55–56; P. Vedernikov, ‘Minonoski pri zashchite beregov i morskoi voine,’ MS 232, 7 (1899): 47–48, 50–51, 63–64, 69–79; Ibid. 232, 8 (1889): 71–106. 51 In 1882–1890 the Baltic Fleet had been reinforced with two new battleships, four cruisers and 13 torpedo craft. Moreover, two battleships and one gunboat were under construction. Obviously the majority of the torpedo craft designated for construction in 1885 had not materialized. 52 General Admiral to Alexander III, report, 7 May 1890, RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 696, ll. 1–13. On German naval developments consult: Herwig, ‘Luxury Fleet’, 24–25. 53 Commission journal, 6 November 1890, RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 1728, ll. 112–14. 54 Spaskii et al., Istoriia, 2: 266–67. 55 Reports on the manoeuvres in GMSh files, RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 1259, ll. 16, 71–73, 89. 56 Lomen to Kremer, report, 20 February 1893, RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 990, ll. 1–9. 57 Kondratenko, Morskaia politika, 119–22. 58 Monakov and Rodionov, Istoriia rossiiskogo flota, 704. 59 Conclusions of the commission, autumn 1885, RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 2, ll. 30–53. 60 Vannovskii and Shestakov, report, 29 October 1885, RGVIA, f. 400, op. 4, d. 584, ll. 3–4; Letter to Vannovskii containing the conclusions of the commission and the information that the Tsar sanctioned the commission’s resolutions, 8 November 1885, RGVIA, f. 400, op. 4, d. 584, ll. 6–9. 61 The Congress of Berlin had recognized Bulgaria as a Russian satellite state, but as a result of incoherent policies St Petersburg was unsuccessful in imposing overlordship over Sofia. 62 Airapetov, Zabytaia karera, 246–52; Jelavich, Russian Foreign Policy, 201–9; Jelavich, Balkan Entanglements, 178–94; Khvostov, Problemy istorii, 208–17; Rybachenok, ‘Obruchev,’ 100–6. 63 The main idea for a small landing contingent was that the success of the expedition depended on capturing and fortifying the Bosphorus before the arrival of the enemy fleet, which in turn necessitated the operation being carried out suddenly and secretly. 64 The planning for the Bosphorus expedition can be studied in a host of files. For example consult: RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 2; RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 1010; and the numerous dela which can be found in: RGVIA, f. 400, op. 4. Also see: Marshall, General Staff, 114–15. 65 Vannovskii and Shestakov to Alexander III, report, 19 May 1899, RGVIA, f. 400, op. 4, d. 584, ll. 190–92; Conclusions of the special commission which approved the allocation of funds, 15 June 1889, RGVIA, f. 400, op. 4, d. 584, ll. 213–14.

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66 GSh, report, 16 May 1889, RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 2, ll. 181–83; Petrov, Podgotovka, 68. 67 Vladimir M. Khvostov, ‘Problemy zakhvata Bosfora v 90-x godakh XIX veka,’ Istorik Marksist 20 (1930): 107–8; Irina S. Rybachenok, ‘Soiuz s Frantsiei v Blizhnevostochnom krizise 1894–1898 gg.,’ in Rossiia i Frantsiia, 1: 155–57. 68 Various documents by Kopytov and the GMSh, 1891–1892, RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 825, ll. 1–20. 69 Kremer to Chikhachev, report, 4 January 1893, RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 1010, ll. 11–16. 70 Kremer to Obruchev, report, 17 February 1893, RGVIA, f. 400, op. 4, d. 587, ll. 147–48. 71 Commission journal, 26 April 1893, RGAVMF, f. 1318, op. 1, d. 7, ll. 4–7. 72 VMUO to the GMSh, report, 20 December 1893, RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 1010, ll. 91–95. 73 Most troops were deployed on the western frontiers. 74 Commander of the Odessa Military District, report, 16 May 1892, RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 2, ll. 263–68. 75 Monakov and Rodionov, Istoriia rossiiskogo flota, 700. 76 Kondratenko, Morskaia politika, 181–82, 213–14, 260. 77 Gomov et al., Tri veka, 1: 310. 78 Istomin, report, July 1887, RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 343, ll. 1–16. 79 Kondratenko, Morskaia politika, 258–59. 80 Gromov, Tri veka, 1: 305–6, 312–13; Kondratenko, Morskaia politika, 163–74, 191–93. 81 J. E. Hoare, ‘Kommundo-Port Hamilton,’ Asian Affairs 17, 3 (1986): 301, 303, 304–5; Malozemoff, Far Eastern Policy, 20–24, 29–34; Voenno-istoricheskaia Kommissiia po opisaniiu russko-iaponskoi voiny (hereafter VIK), Russko-iaponskaia voina 1904–1905 gg., 9 vols. (St Petersburg, 1910–1913), 1: 272; Richard N. J. Wright, The Chinese Steam Navy, 1862–1945 (London, 2000), 41–57. 82 Commission journal, 30 November 1886, RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 136, ll. 47–48. 83 Commission journal, 18 February 1887, RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 311, ll. 7–37. 84 VIK, Russko-iaponskaia voina, 1: 281–82. 85 GMSh, report and attachments, 4 May 1887, RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 327, ll. 5–12; Commission journal, 15 February–5 May 1892, RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 327, ll. 167–74. 86 Gromov et al., Tri veka, 1: 307, 313; IKpriMGSh, Russko-iaponskaia voina, Vvedenie: 22. 87 Gladkhikh, ‘Problema priobreteniia,’ 8; Malozemoff, Far Eastern Policy, 34. 88 Makarov commission journals, August–October 1888, RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 429, ll. 19–31; Report on the organization of cruiser warfare against Britain, 12 March 1891, RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 429, ll. 65–69. 89 Kondratenko, Morskaia politika, 248–50. 90 Report to Chikhachev, 9 September 1888, RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 429, ll. 5–11. 91 Vice Admiral Kaznakov to Chikhachev, report, 26 January 1892, RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 429, ll. 84–90. 92 V. Stetsenko, Kreisery i Tikhii Okean (St Petersburg, 1893), 2–16. 93 See review of Colomb’s book on naval warfare by R. Zotov in the Bibliography section of MS 245, 9 (1891); and R. Zotov, ‘Strategicheskie uroki morskoi istorii,’ MS 250, 7 (1892): 69–110; Ibid. 250, 8 (1892): 93–124; Ibid. 252, 11 (1892): 127–70; Ibid. 252, 12 (1892): 111–68.

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  94 The wartime effectiveness of the Russian army was affected by insufficient budgetary allocations, technological underdevelopment and a slow mobilization and concentration timetable.   95 Despite the pledge to France, Russia until 1900 maintained the existing plan of attacking Austria-Hungary and holding a defensive posture against Germany. Fuller, Strategy and Power, 352–61; Khvostov, Problemy istorii, 218–58; Langer, Franco-Russian Alliance.   96 Luntinen, French Information, 154–56; Ropp, Modern Navy, 50–59; Walser, ‘France’s Search,’ 49, 50–60, 167–69, 179–83.   97 J.-L. de Lanessan, La marine française au printemps de 1890 (Paris, 1890), 108–12.   98 Notwithstanding the inclusion of the term ‘général’ in the official title the EMGM did not function as a fully-fledged naval general staff.   99 Third Section of the EMGM, report (on the influence of the Russian fleet in naval operations against the Triple Alliance), June 1892 [New Style/N.S.], SHM, BB4–2437; Study on combined action between the Russian and French navies in EMGM files, December 1892 [N.S.], SHM, BB4–2437; Study of French naval operations against Germany in EMGM files, August 1893 [N.S.], SHM, BB4–2437. 100 Report on the Mediterranean detachment in GMSh files, RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 1750, ll. 221–23. 101 Kennan, Fateful Alliance, 130, 146–47, Rybachenok, Soiuz s Frantsiei, 57–58. 102 Navy Ministry to Avelan, instructions, 21 August 1893, RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 1300, ll. 3–6, 10. 103 Dülffer, ‘German Reich,’ 508; Lambi, Power Politics, 15–24, 40–48, 70–73, 79–82. 104 For example, the War Office and several senior admirals considered that amphibious operations both in the Baltic and the Black Sea were difficult to undertake and that they could not yield decisive results. 105 Lord Spencer to the Cabinet, memorandum (on naval estimates for 1894–1895), 13 December 1893 and printed date 1 January 1894 [both dates in N.S.], NA, CAB 37/34/59; D. R. Gillard, ‘Salisbury and the Indian Defence Problem, 1885– 1902,’ in Studies in International History: Essays presented to W. Norton Medlicott, ed. Kenneth Bourne and Donald C. Watt (London, 1967), 238–42; Margaret M. Jefferson, ‘Lord Salisbury and the Eastern Question, 1890–1898,’ Slavonic and East European Review 34 (1960): 45–46; Barbara Jelavich, ‘Great Britain and the Russian Acquisition of Batum, 1814–1886,’ Slavonic and East European Review 48 (1970): 44–66; Barbara Jelavich, ‘British Means of Offense against Russia in the Nineteenth Century,’ Russian History 1, 2 (1974): 119–35; Andrew D. Lambert, ‘Part of a Long Line of Circumvallation to Confine the Future Expansion of Russia,’ in In Quest of Trade and Security: The Baltic in Power Politics, 1500–1890, Vol. 1, ed. G. Rystad, K.-R. Bohme, and W. M. Carlgren (Lund, 1994), 323–27, 329; Lambert, Fisher, 17–21; Cedric J. Lowe, Salisbury and the Mediterranean, 1886– 1896 (London, 1965), 2–89; Cedric J. Lowe, ed., The Reluctant Imperialists: British Foreign Policy 1878–1902: The Documents, Vol. 2 (London, 2003), 77–82, 88–91; Marder, Anatomy, 120–21, 128–32, 152–65, 171-173, 175–76, 189–204, 209–24; Neilson, ‘Greatly Exaggerated,’ 709–12.

Chapter 4    1 Anderson, Eastern Question, 253–55; Kiniapina, Balkany, 128–32; Rybachenok, Soiuz s Frantsiei, 61–65.

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  2 Correspondence between Kremer and Obruchev, four letters and one explanatory note, 17 February 1894, 24 March 1894, 29 March 1894, and one with n.d., RGVIA, f. 400, op. 4, d. 587, ll. 147–51.   3 M. Auslin, ‘Japanese Strategy, Geopolitics and the Origins of the War 1892–1895,’ in World War Zero, 1: 3–21; Peter Duus, The Abacus and the Sword: The Japanese Penetration of Korea, 1895–1910 (Berkeley, 1995), 17–20, 49–50, 64, 66–71; Langer, ‘Origins,’ 4–6; Nish, Origins, 21.   4 Commission journal, 9 August 1894, RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 1465, ll. 1–7; ‘Pervye shagi russkogo imperializma na Dalnem Vostoke, 1888–1903 gg.,’ Krasnyi Arkhiv (hereafter KA), 52 (1932): 62–67. A detailed reproduction of the commission journal.   5 Malozemoff, Far Eastern Policy, 59.   6 IKpriMGSh, Russko-iaponskaia voina, Vvedenie: 28, 42–45; Malozemoff, Far Eastern Policy, 61–62.   7 R. V. Kondratenko, ‘Rossiiskie morskie agenty ob usilenii iaponskogo flota v kontse XIX–nachale XX veka,’ in Vzgliad cherez stoletie, 67.   8 Navy Ministry to Makarov, instructions, 22 November 1894, RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 1300, l. 11.   9 Nish, Origins, 21–22. 10 Commission journal, 20 January 1895, RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 1467, ll. 42–53; KA, 52: 67–74. A detailed reproduction of the commission journal. 11 IKpriMGSh, Russko-iaponskaia voina, Vvedenie, 40-46; V. S. Shchlomin, ed., S. O. Makarov: Dokumenty, 2 vols. (Moscow, 1960), 1: 169–70. 12 Kondratenko, ‘Morskie agenty,’ 64, 69–70. A description of the conditions under which Russian naval and military attachés operated in Japan can be found in: Bruce W. Menning, ‘Miscalculating One’s Enemies: Russian Military Intelligence before the Russo-Japanese War,’ War in History 13, 2 (2006): 145–48. 13 Summary of the journal of the commission held on 19 March 1894 and of the General Admiral’s report from 16 May 1894, RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 1597, ll. 6–7; General Admiral, report, 16 May 1894, RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 1597, l. 5a. 14 Review of the affair from Witte’s archive including his report to the Tsar, GARF, f. 645, op. 1, d. 749, ll. 1-15; Ananich et al., Vitte, book 1, 1: 356–57, 360, 362, 395–97; Shirokorad, Russko-iaponskie voiny, 154–56. For a public endorsement of the advantages to be gained from the construction of the port at Libau see: D. Zharitsov, ‘O sooruzhenii port Imperatora Aleksandra III,’ MS 270, 11 (1895): 12, 15–16. 15 Gromov et al., Tri veka, 1: 309; Petrov, Podgotovka, 42, 44. 16 Reports on the manoeuvres for 1894 and 1895, RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 1259, ll. 102–5; and RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 1411, l. 5. 17 VMUO to Chikhachev, report, 8 January 1895, RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 1319, ll. 43–48. 18 Commission journal, 16–18 December 1894, RGAVMF, f. 1318, op. 1, d. 7, ll. 25–40. 19 Commission journals, 24 February 1894 and 4 March 1894, RGAVMF, f. 1318, op. 1, d. 7, ll. 47–54; Summary of the conclusions of the commissions held on 24 February and 4 March 1895, RGVIA, f. 400, op. 4, d. 587, ll. 205–7. 20 Commission journal, March 1895, RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 695, ll. 9–17. 21 Commission journal, 22 March 1895, RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 695, ll. 27–38. 22 Lomen to the commission, letter, 21 March 1895, RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 1467, ll. 24–25.

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23 Ibid., ll. 24–26. Lomen’s views on the Baltic were quite similar to those of his old institution, the VMUO. 24 Alexander Mikhailovich to Nicholas II, letter, 26 March 1895, GARF, f. 601, op. 1, d. 1142, ll. 151–52. 25 Alexander Mikhailovich to Nicholas II, report, 26 March 1895, GARF, f. 601, op. 1, d. 435, ll. 1–4. 26 Kondratenko, ‘Morskie agenty,’ 72; Petrov, Podgotvka, 45; Rybachenok, Soiuz s Frantsiei, 172. 27 Malozemoff, Far Eastern Policy, 60–61; Schimmelpenninck, Rising Sun, 122–23, 125. 28 V. B. Kashirin, ‘“Russkii Moltke” smotrit na vostok: Dalnevostochnye plany Glavnogo Shtaba rossiiskii imperii vo vremia iaponsko-kitaiskoi voiny 1894–1895 gg.,’ in Vzgliad cherez stoletie, 164–81; Malozemoff, Far Eastern Policy, 62, 64–66; Romanov, Russia in Manchuria, 51–59. 29 Nish, Origins, 24, 26–27; Schimmelpenninck, Rising Sun, 128–31. 30 KA, 52: 80–82; VIK, Russko-iaponskaia voina, 1: 171–74, 284, 381. 31 Gardiner, All the World’s, 219–30; IKpriMGSh, Russko-iaponskaia voina, Vvedenie: 47, 56. 32 Tyrtov, report (post-crisis/non-official version), n.d., RGAVMF, f. 510, op. 1, d. 4, l. 19. The official version can be found in: RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 1469, ll. 255–61; Ministère des Affaires Étrangères, Documents Diplomatiques Français, 1871–1914 (hereafter DDF), 1st Series, 11: 726–27. 33 Tyrtov’s post-crisis report, RGAVMF, f. 510, op. 1, d. 4, l. 19; Gribovskii and Poznakhirev, Rozhestvenskii, 80–82. 34 The fall of the Chinese capital to the Japanese would probably irretrievably compromise an already delicate situation. 35 Tyrtov’s post-crisis report, RGAVMF, f. 510, op. 1, d. 4, ll. 20–22; DDF, 1st Series, 11: 745–46; IKpriMGSh, Russko-iaponskaia voina, Vvedenie: 52–56. 36 Ian Nish, The Anglo-Japanese Alliance: The Diplomacy of Two Island Empires, 1894– 1907 (London, 1985), 29–30, 34; Nish, Origins, 24, 27–28. 37 Dingman, ‘Japan and Mahan,’ 55; Evans and Peattie, Kaigun, 52–53, 57–59; Nish, Anglo-Japanese Alliance, 35–36; Schenking, Making Waves, 84–87. 38 DNI, comparison of the English, French and Russian squadrons in Chinese waters, 30 March 1895 [N.S.], NA, ADM 1/7253; Lord Spencer, minute, 17 April 1895, NA ADM 1/7253; H. Ion, ‘Towards a Naval Alliance: Some Naval Antecedents to the Anglo-Japanese Alliance, 1854–1902,’ in The Anglo-Japanese Alliance, 1902– 1922, ed. Phillips P. O’Brien (London, 2004), 34–35. 39 Staff of the Priamur Military District, report, March 1895, RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 1465, ll. 67–75; IKpriMGSh, Russko-iaponskaia voina, Vvedenie: 61–65, 85, 111; VIK, Russko-iaponskaia voina, 1: 525–26. 40 They obviously counted the two battleships being built in Britain and possibly a third vessel obtained as a war trophy by the Japanese. Clearly the participants of the conferences were unaware of Japan’s plans for a new naval expansion programme. 41 Conference journals, 9 May 1895 and 12 May 1895, RGAVMF, f. 510, op. 1, d. 4, ll. 1–9; GMSh summary of the participants’ proposals in the conferences, RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 1469, l. 261; Gribovskii and Poznakhirev, Rozhestvenskii, 83–85. 42 Alexander Mikhailovich to Nicholas II, letter, 14 May 1895, GARF, f. 601, op. 1, d. 1142, ll. 155–57. 43 Alexander Mikhailovich to Nicholas II, report, 17 June 1895, GARF, f. 601, op. 1, d. 435, ll. 10–13.

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44 Commission journal, 11 April 1895, RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 1467, ll. 1–6; Kondratenko, ‘Morskie agenty,’ 71. 45 General Admiral, report, July 1895, RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 1467, ll. 39–43; General Admiral to Nicholas II, letter, 15 July 1895, RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 1467, l. 45; General Admiral to Nicholas II, letter, 3 July 1895, RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 1477, ll. 1–6; Rybachenok, Soiuz s Frantsiei, 180–81. 46 Spaskii et al., Istoriia, 2: 363. 47 For example see: E. Guliaev, ‘Istoricheskie primery dlia opredeleniia tipa sovremennykh sudov,’ MS 265, 2 (1895): 15–29; Ovchinkov, ‘Voennaia kontraband,’ MS 270, 12 (1895): 25–39; Parfenov, ‘Po voprosam kreiserskoi voiny,’ MS 264, 12 (1894): 49–67; Ibid. 265, 1 (1895): 51–62; Ibid. 265, 2 (1895): 31–57; A. Shtenger, ‘Po voprosam kreiserskoi voiny,’ MS 270, 4 (1895): 11–20; V. Stetsenko, ‘Staroe i novoe: Shrazhenie pri Khaiiange,’ MS 265, 2 (1895): 1–13; A. Varnek, ‘Oborona angliiskikh kolonii i okhrana morskoi torgovli,’ MS 259, 2 (1894): 135–60; A. Varnek, ‘Ob okhrane angliiskoi morskoi torgovli,’ MS 260, 4 (1894): 117–30. 48 Petrov, Podgotovka, 65. 49 Kondratenko, ‘Morskie agenty,’ 73–74. 50 VIK, Russko-iaponskaia voina, 1: 286–95. 51 Kazi to Nicholas II, letter (copy), 27 August 1895, RGAVMF, f. 32, op. 1, d. 434, l. 70. 52 Kazi, report (copy located in the files of the Nicholas Naval Academy), RGAVMF, f. 433, op. 1, d. 92, ll. 7–10, 34–39. 53 Ibid., ll. 3–6, 16–20, 22, 30–33. 54 Kazi defined the inferiority of the Pacific Ocean squadron as numerical and qualitative, since he believed that the Japanese vessels were superior in terms of artillery and speed. 55 Ibid., ll. 22–24, 29. 56 Ibid., ll. 23–28, 33–34. 57 Nicholas II to Lomen, note, 5 September 1895, GARF, f. 601, op. 1, d. 1118, ll. 2–3. 58 General Admiral to Nicholas II, report, 29 October 1895, GARF, f. 601, op. 1, d. 440, ll. 1–15. 59 Ibid., ll. 1, 8–9. 60 Ibid., ll. 10–11. 61 Ibid., l. 4, 7–8. 62 IKpriMGSh, Russko-iaponskaia voina, Vvedenie: 68–75. 63 Ibid., 76–77. 64 Ibid., 81–84. 65 Kiniapina, Balkany, 131–33, 182–83; Rybachenok, ‘Soiuz s Frantsiei,’ 159; Rybachenok, ‘Obruchev,’ 113. 66 Obruchev to Nicholas II, report, 23 June 1895, RGVIA, f. 400, op. 4, d. 587, ll. 210–19. 67 Airapetov, Zabytaia karera, 277–82; Vladimir M. Khvostov, ‘Blizhne-vostochnyi krizis 1895–97 gg.,’ Istorik Marksist 12 (1929): 27; Khvostov, ‘Zakhvata Bosfora,’ 109–10; Vladimir N. Lamzdorf, Dnevnik 1894–1896 (Moscow, 1991), 291, 303; Luntinen, French Information, 39–40; Rybachenok, ‘Soiuz s Frantsiei,’ 159–60. 68 Beaumont, memorandum, 12 November 1895 [N.S.], NA, ADM 116/866B; Jefferson, ‘Lord Salisbury,’ 50–51; Lowe, Salisbury and the Mediterranean, 102–5; Lowe, Reluctant Imperialists, 2: 103–5; Marder, Anatomy, 241–48, 250; Keith M. Wilson, Empire and Continent: Studies in British Foreign Policy from the 1880s to the First World War (London, 1987), 3–4, 7–9.

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69 E. ‘Po povodu sravnenii angliiskago flota s soedinennymi flotami Frantsii i Rossii,’ MS 268, 8 (1895): 1–7, 9–15; K. Iessen, ‘Tulon,’ MS 264, 12 (1894): 37–48; N. L. Klado, ‘Reorganizatsiia frantsuzskago flota,’ MS 270, 11 (1895): 89–94. 70 Commission journal, 19 November 1895, RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 1474, ll. 38–39. 71 Vannovskii and Obruchev must have supported this in the firm knowledge that it was financially impossible. 72 Ibid., l. 39. 73 The increase of Russian land forces in the Far East refers to the War Ministry’s aforementioned reinforcement programme. 74 Ibid., l. 40. 75 Commission journal, 25 November 1895, RGVIA, f. 400, op. 4, d. 584, ll. 356–58.

Chapter 5   1 Romanov, Russia in Manchuria, 62–94; Schimmelpenninck, Rising Sun, 132–48; V. K. and L. A. Shatsillo, Russko-iaponskaia voina 1904–1905 (Moscow, 2004), 59–67.   2 Duus, Abacus, 96–121; Nish, Origins, 32–34; Shatsillo, Russko-iaponskaia voina, 57–63.   3 M. N. Beklemishev, Strategicheskaia zadacha na kursakh voenno-morskikh nauk Nikolaevskoi Morskoi Akademii: Voobrazhenaia voina Rossii s Iaponiei v Dekabr 1895 goda (St Petersburg, 1896), 1, 18–19, 21, 24.   4 Ibid., 2–6, 24–26, 29–31.   5 Makarov, report, spring 1896, RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 1300, ll. 251–99.   6 Ibid., ll. 282–85.   7 Ibid., ll. 264–65.   8 Tyrtov’s post-crisis report, RGAVMF, f. 510, op. 1, d. 4, ll. 22–23. The official version was submitted to the Navy Ministry on 17 April 1896.   9 Chikhachev to Kolokoltsov, instructions, February 1896, RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 1535, ll. 2–6. 10 Gladkikh, ‘Problema priobreteniia,’ 10; IKpriMGSh, Russko-iaponskaia voina, Vvedenie: 120–21, 142–46. 11 IKpriMGSh, Russko-iaponskaia voina, Vvdenie: 180–81. 12 Dokkiu, ‘Morskoe ministerstvo,’ 160. 13 Dubasov, report, 25 November 1897, RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 1680, ll. 72–99. The report arrived in St Petersburg only in the following year. 14 Langer, ‘Origins,’ 7–8. 15 A. K. Belomor, Vitse-admiral Grigorii Pavlovich Chukhin: Po vospominaniiam sosluzhivtsev (St Petersburg, 1909), 66–69. 16 GUKiS, report, 30 October 1898, RGAVMF, f. 467, op. 1, d. 17, l. 17. 17 Kondratenko, ‘Morskie agenty,’ 78–79. 18 Alexander Mikhailovich, Soobrazheniia o neobkhodimosti usilit sostav russkogo flota v Tikhom Okeane (St Petersburg, 1896), 91–92. 19 Ibid., 1–15, 19, 54–69, 72–73. 20 Ibid., 92–93. 21 Lomen, Baron Schilling, Nevakhovich, Adjutant General Pereletin, Lieutenant General Bogoliubov, Vice Admirals Aslanbekov, Dikov and Tyrtov, Rear Admirals Birilev, Iureev, Reunov and Valronde, Lieutenant Beklemishev and others to Alexander Mikhailovich, several letters, April–July 1896, GARF, f. 645, op. 1, d. 19.

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22 Birilev disputed the desirability of constructing a small number of expensive armoured cruisers for guerre de course and successfully employing such a tactic against Britain. 23 Birilev to Alexander Mikhailovich, letter, 8 May 1896, GARF, f. 645, op. 1, d. 19, ll. 85–95. 24 Tyrtov to Alexander Mikhailovich, letter, n.d., GARF, f. 645, op. 1, d. 19, ll. 26–27. 25 Makarov to Alexander Mikhailovich, letter, 29 April 1896, GARF, f. 645, op. 1, d. 19, ll. 28-29. 26 Stetsenko to Alexander Mikhailovich, letter, 18 April 1896, GARF, f. 645, op. 1, d. 19, ll. 11-12. 27 Verkhovskii to Alexander Mikhailovich, letter, 1896, GARF, f. 645, op. 1, d. 19, ll. 64–67, 71–72, 74–75. 28 Kaznakov to Alexander Mikhailovich, letter, n.d., GARF, f. 645, op. 1, d. 19, ll. 106–9, 112–13. 29 Petrov, Podgotovka, 46–47. 30 Witte to Alexander Mikhailovich, letter, 1 July 1896, GARF, f. 645, op. 1, d. 19, ll. 120–25. 31 Alexander Mikhailovich to Nicholas II, letter, 14 April 1896, GARF, f. 645, op. 1, d. 780, ll. 1–3. 32 General Admiral to Nicholas II, letter, n.d., GARF, f. 601, op. 1, d. 1152, ll. 31–32. In the letter the General Admiral stated his intention of resigning unless Alexander Mikhailovich ceased his interventions. Moreover, in the context of Chikhachev’s replacement, Alexei Alexandrovich counselled his nephew that the new Director of the Navy Ministry should be both a good admiral and an efficient financial administrator; Alexander Mikhailovich, Kniga, 166–67; Ananich et al., Vitte, book 1, 1: 398; Ibid., 2: 98; Petrov, Podgotovka, 47. 33 Naval attaché, reports, July and August 1896, SHM, BB7–23. 34 It seems that the negative evaluation was mutual. Klado, who in 1896 had spent time in France in order to organize his lectures for the Naval Academy and sailed for five months aboard a French cruiser in the Mediterranean, argued that the French naval budget did not permit the simultaneous construction of a large number of new vessels and noted that in any event it took four to five years before new large French battleships could be fully incorporated in the fleet. He was of the opinion that French navy was short of officers and that some of the existing ones did not satisfy the full criteria of modern service conditions. N. Klado, ‘Frantsuzskii flot v poslednee piatletie (1891–1896 gg.),’ MS 280, 8 (1897): 66–67, 69–71. 35 Naval attaché, report (on the Russian Fleet in European waters), 1 October 1896, SHM, BB7–23. It is worth pointing out that in the mid-1890s French naval planning was founded on the premise that the Russian navy would not provide any assistance. Against the Triple Alliance, the French would launch a vigorous offensive in the Mediterranean and hold a defensive posture in the North Sea. In the event of conflict with Britain, priority would be assigned to coastal defence operations simultaneously with an attempt to oppose the junction of the British fleets at Gibraltar. On this see: Masson, Histoire, 2: 168. 36 Lambert, Fisher, 21–22; Marder, Anatomy: 261–63, 274–77, 280–87. 37 NID, pamphlet (on the naval estimates of foreign countries), May 1896 [N.S.], NA, ADM 231/26. 38 NID, pamphlet (with information on the Russian navy based upon the evaluation of the naval attaché in Russia from December 1895), July 1896 [N.S.], NA, ADM 1/7256B.

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39 Rybachenok, Soiuz s Frantsiei, 78–85; Rybachenok, ‘Soiuz s Frantsiei,’163–67. 40 The journals of the various commissions and other related material can be found in: RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 1468; RGVIA f. 400, op. 4, d. 587. For a published overview consult: Khevrolina and Chirkova, ‘Prolivy,’ 239–40; Rybachenok, Soiuz s Frantsiei, 119–22. 41 Vannovskii to Musin-Pushkin, letter, 10 November 1897, RGVIA, f. 400, op. 4, d. 587, l. 285. 42 Britain’s perennial superiority was attributed to the fact that the RN closely followed the development of the Black Sea Fleet and accordingly bolstered the strength of the squadron either through the construction of new vessels or the dispatch of powerful battleships to the Mediterranean. 43 The armament of the British squadron would add up to 32 13.5-inch, four 12-inch, two 9-inch and 132 small-calibre guns, while that of the Black Sea Fleet would consist of 30 12-inch, ten 8-inch and 51 small-calibre guns. Apart from the great numerical advantage, the report noted that 12-inch guns were significantly weaker than the 13.5-inch guns. In addition, all but one of the British battleships were protected by thicker armour than their Russian counterparts. 44 Sakharov (Chief of the Odessa Military District), report, 1896, RGVIA, f. 400, op. 4, d. 622, ll. 210–18. 45 General Admiral, report, 9 May 1896, RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 1540, l. 1; Navy Ministry to Andreev, instructions, 1896, RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 1540, ll. 20–29; Information regarding the composition of Mediterranean detachment in 1896–1898, RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 1540, ll. 1151–53; Gromov et al., Tri veka, 1: 311. 46 Commission journal, 23 November 1896, RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 1601, ll. 10–14; ‘Proekt zakhvata Bosfora v 1896 g.,’ KA, 47–48 (1931): 52–69; Kiniapina, Balkany, 187; Khvostov, ‘Zakhvata Bosfora,’ 117–27; Rybachenok, Soiuz s Frantsiei, 85–135. 47 Lobanov-Rostovskii passed away in August 1896. 48 Fuller, Strategy and Power, 370–71; ‘Russko-germanskie otnoshcheniia,’KA, 1 (1922): 153–54; Rybachenok, ‘Soiuz s Frantsiei,’ 168. 49 General Admiral to Kopytov, instructions, 12 January 1897, RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1 d. 1737, ll. 99-105; Vannovskii to Musin-Pushkin, instructions, 11 January 1897, RGAVMF, f. 1318, op. 1, d. 10, ll. 47–48; Conclusions of the special commission from 8 January 1897, RGVIA, f. 400, op. 4, d. 587, ll. 308–10; Vannovskii to Musin-Pushkin, letter, 12 January 1897, RGVIA, f. 400, op. 4, d. 587, ll. 317. 50 Kopytov to the General Admiral, telegram, 20 January 1897, RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 1601, l. 64; Kopytov to Vannovskii, telegram, 20 January 1897, RGVIA, f. 400, op. 4, d. 587, l. 327. 51 Summary of the plan composed by Captain Golikov in 1901 using sources from the files of the Black Sea Fleet staff, RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 1601, ll. 185–91. 52 B. Langensiepen and A. Güleryüz, The Ottoman Steam Navy, 1828–1923 (London, 1995), 8–9. 53 Conclusions of the interministerial commission from 3 February 1897, RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 1601, l. 118; Kopytov to the General Admiral, telegram, 8 February 1897, RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 1601, l. 107; Kopytov to Tyrtov, report, 10 February 1897, RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 1601, l. 112; Vannovskii to Tyrtov, letter, 12 February 1897, RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 1601, l. 106; Tyrtov to Vannovskii, two letters, 12 February 1897 and 16 February 1897, RGVIA, f. 400, op. 4, d. 587, ll. 364–68. Also consult: Petrov, Podgotovka, 84; Rybachenok, Soiuz s Frantsiei, 141.

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57 58 59 60 61 62 63 64 65 66 67 68 69 70 71 72 73 74

75 76 77

Russian Imperialism and Naval Power In October 1896 the French naval attaché in Russia highlighted some of the expedition’s weaknesses. He reported to Paris that the Black Sea Fleet was poorly trained and that its ships were short of men and ammunition. Naval attaché, report (on the Black Sea Fleet), 1 October 1896, SHM, BB7–23. Rybachenok, Soiuz s Frantsiei, 136–44. Khvostov, ‘Blizhne-vostochnyi krizis,’ 39–47; Kiniapina, Balkany, 135–49, 188–97; Petrov, Podgotovka, 84–85; Rybachenok, Soiuz s Frantsiei, 144–62; Rybachenok, ‘Soiuz s Frantsiei,’ 169–76. Chapman, memorandum, 26 February 1896 [N.S.], NA, ADM 116/866B; Ardagh, memorandum, 13 October 1896 [N.S.], NA, ADM 116/866B; Beaumont, two memorandums, 29 February 1896 and 28 October 1896 [both dates in N.S.], NA, ADM 116/866B; Jefferson, ‘Lord Salisbury,’ 52, 55, 57–58; Lowe, Salisbury and the Mediterranean, 91–118; Marder, Anatomy, 248–50, 268–70, 272–73; Wilson, Empire and Continent, 4–5, 9–10. Monakov and Rodionov, Istoriia rossiiskogo flota, 792; Zolotarev and Kozlov, Flotovodtsy, 360–65. Commission journals, 19 and 26 January 1896, RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 1597, ll. 63–65. Commission journal, 21 March 1897, RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 1597, ll. 108–9, 112–18. Razdolgin and Skorikov, Kronshtadtskaia krepost, 312–47. Lambi, Power Politics, 49–52. Evans and Peattie, Kaigun, 60; L. B. Kerber, Nashi morskiia sily na Dalnem Vostoke i iaponskii flot (St Petersburg, 1904), 16–17; Nemitts, Russko-iaponskaia voina, 1: 49–52. Kondratenko, ‘Morskie agenty,’ 83–85. Alexander Mikhailovich to Nicholas II, letter, 2 March 1897, GARF, f. 601, op. 1, d. 1142, ll. 178–80. Unfortunately there is no precise information on the issue of budget reductions. GMSh, report, n.d., RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 1467, ll. 49–50. Commission journal, 18 March 1897, RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 1467, ll. 54–55. Kondratenko, ‘Morskie agenty,’ 85–87. In the aftermath of the Sino-Japanese war the Chinese navy had effectively ceased to exist. On this see: Wright, Chinese Navy, 106–10. Rosen, report, 1 September 1897, RGAVMF f. 763, op. 1, d. 42, ll. 2–49; Chagin, report, 21 August 1897, RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 1545, ll. 500–22. For example, extracts from Chagin’s report can be found in: RGVIA, f. 400, op. 1, d. 329, ll. 62–72. Ianzhul, report, 2 October 1897, RGVIA, f. 400, op. 1, d. 329, ll. 17–29. IKpriMGSh, Russko-iaponskaia voina, Vvedenie: 201; Romanov, Russia in Manchuria, 131–34; Schimmelpenninck, Rising Sun, 149–54. In 1897 China had resisted further commercial concessions to Russia in Manchuria. One of those was the project for extending the railway line into southern Manchuria and linking it with a port which could serve as the commercial terminus of the Trans-Siberian railway. Romanov, Russia in Manchuria, 117–29. Muravev to Nicholas II, report, 11 November 1897, RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 1710, ll. 6–12. IKpriMGSh, Russko-iaponskaia voina, Vvedenie: 215–17; Malozemoff, Far Eastern Policy, 100–1. Schimmelpenninck, Rising Sun, 155–56; Shirokorad, Rossiia-Angliia, 425–27.

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78 Dubasov’s view is somewhat tenuous. In November 1897 he was of the opinion that after the arrival of reinforcements the Pacific Ocean squadron could pit 18 vessels against the 25 ships of the Japanese battle fleet. The Japanese fleet would be superior in artillery pieces, having 541 guns over the Russian squadron’s 453. In addition, he argued that the Japanese navy would benefit from an array of well-equipped and strategically located bases, while at the same time the Russian squadron could only rely on the badly equipped port of Vladivostok. IKpriMGSh, Russko-iaponskaia voina, Deistviia flota: Dokumenty, otdel 1, book 2: 444–48. Furthermore, under Alekseev’s irresponsible command the squadron did not carry out any repairs, discipline aboard vessels deteriorated and commanding officers were not suitably prepared. When Dubasov took over command most of the vessels underwent repairs and for about six months the squadron was effectively paralyzed. Fabritskii, Proshlago, 38–39. 79 Dubasov, letters and telegrams, November–December 1897, RGAVMF, f. 650, op. 1, d. 213, ll. 15–16, 23–26, 28, 37–41, 114–17; IKpriMGSh, Russko-iaponskaia voina, Vvedenie: 217–18, 230–34, 237; Ibid., Deistviia flota: Dokumenty, otdel 1, book 2: 448–50. 80 Dubasov, report, 2 March 1897, RGAVMF, f. 650, op. 1, d. 213, ll. 239–45. 81 IKpriMGSh, Russko-iaponskaia voina, Vvedenie: 242–67; Malozemoff, Far Eastern Policy, 101–4; Romanov, Russia in Manchuria, 140–48; Shatsillo, Russko-iaponskaia voina, 67–71, 143–45. 82 Ian Nish, ‘The Royal Navy and the Taking of Weihaiwei, 1898–1905,’ Mariners Mirror 54 (1968): 42–43, 45–46, 49–52; Marder, Anatomy, 308–10. 83 GMSh, report, 24 November 1897, RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 1728, ll. 3–5. 84 Commission journal, 12 December 1897, RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 1728, l. 53. 85 Ibid., ll. 53–55. The commission accepted that since some of the Russian armoured cruisers were antiquated, Japan would enjoy some superiority in this type of vessel. Taking the view that the role of armoured cruisers in battle had dubious value, the commission decided to increase the number of battleships from seven to ten. The calculation of having 36 destroyers was founded upon the evaluation of the number and qualities of the Japanese torpedo craft capable of escorting the squadron in open waters.   86 Various admirals, reports, December 1897, RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 1728, ll. 26–50; Alekseev, report, 17 December 1897, RGAVMF, f. 467, op. 1, d. 34, ll. 11–16.   87 Makarov used this as an example and did not actually propose the construction of a significant number of torpedo vessels. Shchlomin, Makarov, 1: 280–81.   88 Commission journal, 27 December 1897, RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 1728, ll. 69–72.   89 Ibid., ll. 69–72.   90 Tyrtov to Witte, report, 18 January 1898, RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 1728, ll. 97–100.   91 One verst is approximately equivalent to 1.06 kilometres and 0.66 miles.   92 Witte to Tyrtov, report, January 1898, RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 1728, ll. 116–19.   93 General Admiral and Avelan to Nicholas II, report, 30 January 1898, RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 1477, ll. 7–12.   94 Volkonskii had been a member of the team negotiating with the Chinese government over railway issues.   95 Copy of Volkonskii’s report, RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 1734, ll. 1–4; Rybachenok, Soiuz s Frantsiei, 188–90.

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  96 For example see: N. Andreevskii, ‘Znachenie moria i morskikh sil v istorii gosudarstv,’ MS 280, 8 (1897): 1–24; I. Bostrem, ‘Znachenie moria i morskikh sil v istorii gosudarstv,’ MS 281, 9 (1897): 1–16; M. Bubnov, ‘Po vorposam kreiserskoi voiny,’ MS 276, 12 (1896): 51–61; M. Bubnov, ‘Znachenie moria i morskikh sil v istorii gosudarstv,’ MS 284, 2 (1898): 1–31; D. ‘Po vorposam kreiserskoi voiny,’ MS 276, 11 (1896): 1–27; Engleman, ‘Znachenie i organizatsiia oborontelnago flota,’ MS 282, 12 (1897): 83–105; Stepan O. Makarov, ‘Razsuzhdeniia po voprosam morskoi taktiki,’ MS 277, 1 (1897): 17–87; Ibid. 277, 2 (1897): 1–63; Ibid. 278, 3 (1897): 1–58; Ibid. 278, 4 (1897): 1–58; Ibid. 280, 7 (1897): 1–12; Menshov, ‘Po vorposam kreiserskoi voiny,’ MS 277, 2 (1897): 99–117; A. Shtal, ‘Voprosy morskoi strategii,’ MS 282, 11 (1897): 1–26.   97 Commission journal, 20 February 1898, RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 1728, ll. 155–56.   98 Alexander Mikhailovich to Nicholas II, letter, 7 February 1897, GARF, f. 601, op. 1, d. 1142, l. 184.   99 Ananich et al., Vitte, book 2, 1: 553. 100 Fuller, Civil-Military Conflict, 69–70. 101 Kondratenko, ‘Morskie agenty,’ 90–92; Nemitts, Russko-iaponskaia voina, 1: 56–57. 102 Goschen to the Cabinet, memorandum (on Russian naval construction), 6 June 1898 [N.S.], NA, CAB 37/47/39; Lambert, Fisher, 23–24; Marder, Anatomy, 308, 316; Neilson, Last Tsar, 117–18.

Chapter 6    1 Duus, Abacus, 123–68; Malozemoff, Far Eastern Policy, 112–19; Nish, Origins, 44–60; Pak Chon Ho, Russko-iaponskaia voina 1904–1905 gg. i Koreia (Moscow, 1997), 22–39; Romanov, Russia in Manchuria, 151–77; Rybachenok, Soiuz s Frantsiei, 202.    2 Malozemoff, Far Eastern Policy, 124–44; Paine, Imperial Rivals, 209–17; Romanov, Russia in Manchuria, 177–206; Schimmelpenninck, Rising Sun, 159–82.    3 Commission journal, 2 March 1898, RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 1927, ll. 1–2.    4 The development of the programme can be followed in: RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 2121.    5 Tyrtov to Witte, letter, 28 January 1899, RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 2305, ll. 32–35.    6 Spaskii et al., Istoriia, 2: 277, 322, 343–44.    7 Kondratenko, ‘Morskie agenty,’ 92, 94.    8 Kerber, Morskiia sily, 18; Keishi Ono, ‘Japan’s Financial Mobilization for Military Build-up before the Russo-Japanese War,’ (Unpublished conference paper, Keio University, 2005), 1–11; Keishi Ono, ‘Japan’s Monetary Mobilization for War,’ in The Russo-Japanese War in Global Perspective: World War Zero, Vol. 2, ed. David Wolff et al. (Leiden, 2007), 252–54; ‘Morskoi biduzhet iaponii s obshchei finansovoi podgotovki k voine 1904.’ Rabota ofitserov morskogo shtaba 6 (1908–1909): 16–21.    9 Documents in the files of the GMSh regarding the issue of armed reserve, May and June 1899, RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 2044, ll. 1–6, 93; Kondratenko, ‘Morskie agenty,’ 92–93. Vessels in armed reserve would be anchored in port with part of their crew living aboard. The ships were to be kept prepared for exiting to sea in full operational readiness within 12 hours.   10 Commission journal, 7 August 1900, RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 2305, ll. 5–9; Tyrtov’s view and directives on economizing, 15 August 1900, RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 2305, ll. 5, 17.

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11 Because of the lack of barracks in Port Arthur most of the crews were to reside aboard their ships. 12 Virenius to Avelan, two reports, 15 September 1900 and 18 November 1900, RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 2305, ll. 55–60, 135–38. 13 Tyrtov to Witte, letter, 22 November 1900, RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 2305, ll. 165–68; Witte to Tyrtov, letter, 16 December 1900, RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 2305, ll. 157–63. 14 Fuller, Strategy and Power, 377–82; Bruce Menning, ‘Ni Moltke, ni Mekhen: Strategiia v Russko-iaponskoi voine,’ in Vzgliad cherez stoletie, 19, 24–25; Iu. F. Subbotin, ‘A. N. Kuropatkin i Dalnevostochyi konflikt: “Dela na Dalnem Vostoke mogut privesti nas k konfliktu s Iaponiei”,’ in Mezhdunarodnoe polozhenie, 125, 129–33, 151. 15 Kuropatkin to Nicholas II, report, 14 March 1900, GARF, f. 601, op. 1, d. 445, ll. 20, 22–23, 27–29, 33, 37, 39, 50–51, 53, 62. 16 Ibid., ll. 21, 24, 34-35, 37, 39–40, 53–64. 17 Ibid., ll. 52–53, 61–62, 64–70. 18 In 1898 Russia had roughly 60,000 troops stationed in the Far East, when the strength of the Japanese army was estimated at 217,000 men. 19 Subbotin, ‘Kuropatkin,’ 135, 155–56; VIK, Russko-iaponskaia voina, 1: 297–316. 20 Ananich et al., Vitte, book 2, 1: 644–45; Dokkiu, ‘Morskoe ministerstvo,’ 164–65; IKpriMGSh, Russko-iaponskaia voina, Vvedenie: 311–12. 21 Mitchell, Russian and Soviet Sea Power, 210; W. Semenoff, Rasplata (London, 1910), 43; Denis and Peggy Warner, The Tide at Sunrise: A History of the Russo-Japanese War, 1904–1905 (London, 1974), 222–23; H. W. Wilson, Battleships in Action, Vol. 1 (London, 1995), 173. 22 GUKiS, report, 30 October 1898, RGAVMF, f. 467, op. 1, d. 17, ll. 17–32. 23 Possibly, this could be partly attributed to the hope entertained by many within the Navy Ministry that Russia would also obtain a naval base in the Korean Straits. This will be discussed subsequently. 24 General Admiral and Avelan, report, 8 March 1899, RGAVMF, f. 467, op. 1, d. 10, ll. 4–6; Tyrtov to Witte, letter, 18 March 1899, RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 2119, l. 15. 25 Correspondence between Tyrtov and Witte, four letters, 30 March 1899, 22 April 1899, 10 May 1899 and 12 May 1899, RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 2119, ll. 16, 25, 31, 32; Correspondence between Tyrtov and Witte, two letters and one report, 21 May 1899, 1 July 1899 and 7 July 1899, RGAVMF, f. 467, op. 1, d. 10, ll. 8–14. 26 Various documents in: RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 2119, ll. 39–42; RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 2157, ll. 36–40; and RGAVMF, f. 907, op. 1, d. 7, ll. 4–6. 27 As early as the spring of 1898, at the instigation of Witte, it had been decided to develop Dalnii as a commercial port which would serve as an outlet for the TransSiberian railway. By 1904 the Ministry of Finance had expended 25 million roubles on Dalnii. 28 Oleg R. Airapetov, ‘“Na sopkakh Manchzhurii…”: Politika, strategiia i taktika Rossii,’ in Vzgliad cherez stoletie, 373–74; IKpriMGSh, Russko-iaponskaia voina, 1: 38–39; A. V. fon Shvarts and Iu. Romanovskii, Oborona Port Artura, Vol. 1 (St Petersburg, 1910), 27–59, 93–99, 105–6; VIK, Russko-iaponskaia voina, 1: 468–69, 473–74, 477–80, 516–20. 29 VIK, Russko-iaponskaia voina, 1: 480–81. 30 Muravev to Tyrtov, letter, 10 June 1898, RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 1711, ll. 259–60; Dokkiu, ‘Morskoe ministerstvo,’ 165–66; IKpriMGSh, Russko-iaponskaia voina, Vvedenie: 302–8; Pak, Russko-iaponskaia voina, 54–55.

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31 By that time most other allotments suitable for accommodating port facilities had been bought up by the Japanese and other foreigners. 32 Tyrtov to Muravev, letter, September 1899, RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 2006, ll. 47–48; IKpriMGSh, Russko-iaponskaia voina, Vvedenie: 331–52; Pak, Russkoiaponskaia voina, 56–60. 33 A. N. ‘Beglyi ocherk,’ 127–28; Nemitts, Russko-iaponskaia voina, 1: 31–35; Serge Terestchenko, La guerre navale russo-japonaise 1904–1905 (Paris, 1931), 37–38; VIK, Russko-iaponskaia voina, 1: 176. 34 A. N. ‘Beglyi ocherk,’ 129–34; Terestchenko, Guerre navale, 38–42. 35 General Admiral and Avelan to Hiltebrandt, instructions, August 1899, RGAVMF, f. 467, op. 1, d. 13, ll. 81–83. 36 IKpriMGSh, Russko-iaponskaia voina, Vvedenie: 340–42. 37 Hiltebrandt to the Navy Ministry, report, 1901, RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 2011, ll. 25–35. 38 The term force indicator corresponds to a collective ratio of a vessel’s technical elements and qualities such as armament, armour and speed. 39 In this case, the squadron would have more battleships but would still be inferior to the Japanese navy in terms of cruisers and torpedo craft. 40 The Molucca Islands located south of the Philippines Archipelago were far away from the theatre of operations. 41 Beklemishev, Voina na Dalnem Vostoke: Otchet po stratigicheskim zaniatiam 1900 na kurse voenno-morskikh nauk pri Nikolaevskoi Morskoi Akademii (St Petersburg, 1900), 1–3, 14, 20–21, 34–35, 45–46, 170. 42 Ibid., 2, 14–17, 19, 26, 39–40, 120–22, 163–70. 43 Report on the manoeuvres, RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 2011, ll. 588–616. 44 A summary of the debate and planning process can be found in: VIK, Russkoiaponskaia voina, 1: 177–191. Many of the original documents are located in: RGVIA, f. 400, op. 4, d. 7. 45 Staff of the Priamur Military District to the GSh, report, 14 January 1900, RGVIA, f. 400, op. 4, d. 7. ll. 32–40. 46 Makarov to the commission discussing the fortification of Port Arthur, letter, 22 February 1900, RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 1644, ll. 25–26; Shchlomin, Makarov, 2: 456–60. 47 Alekseev and Vitgeft, report, 14 January 1900, RGAVMF, f. 763, op. 1, d. 52, l. 10. 48 Gromov et al., Tri veka, 1: 344–46. 49 Hiltebrandt to the General Admiral, report, January 1901, RGAVMF, f. 467, op. 1, d. 162, ll. 1–9. 50 Various documents on the construction of Port Arthur, RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 2072, ll. 163–67; and RGAVMF, f. 467, op. 1, d. 49, ll. 1–3. 51 In terms of military involvement, Germany not only assisted in the reorganization and rearmament of the Turkish army but also planned to modernize the fortifications of the Straits. Russia perceived such German activities as dangerous as they were leading to the strengthening of Ottoman military power. In turn this could create a threat to Russia’s southern frontiers ranging from the Straits to the Caucasus. 52 Bodger, ‘End of Ottoman Empire,’ 82–83; Rybachenok, Soiuz s Frantsiei, 229–31, 235, 246, 251, 256–69. 53 Oleg R. Airapetov, ‘Na vostochnom napravlenii: Sudba Bosforskoi ekspeditsii v pravlenie Imperatora Nikolaia II,’ in Posledniaia voina imperatorskoi Rossii, ed. Oleg R. Airapetov (Moscow, 2002), 159; Fuller, Strategy and Power, 382; Petrov, Podgotovka, 69.

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54 Commander of the Odessa Military District, report, 1898, RGVIA, f. 400, op. 4, d. 614, ll. 8–16. The report was presented to Sakharov on 2 August 1899. 55 In relation to the latter, Witte was of the opinion that the further increase of the Pacific Ocean squadron was unnecessary because of the gradual growth of Russian land forces in the region. 56 ‘Tsarskaia diplomatiia o zadachakh Rossii na vostoke v 1900 g.,’KA, 18 (1926): 4–29. 57 Kuropatkin’s March report to Nicholas II, GARF, f. 601, op. 1, d. 445, ll. 25–27, 43–44. 58 The first echelon would be reinforced by another 9,000 troops four days after the landing operation. 59 Dokhturov to the War Ministry, report, October 1900, RGVIA, f. 400, op. 4, d. 588, ll. 4–6, 13–17. 60 Kuropatkin to Musin-Pushkin, letter, October 1900, RGVIA, f. 400, op. 4, d. 588, ll. 21–22. 61 Commission journal, 11 November 1900, RGVIA, f. 400, op. 4, d. 588, l. 24; Musin-Pushkin to the commission, report, 11 November 1901, RGVIA, f. 400, op. 4, d. 588, ll. 34–37; Summary of Kuropatkin’s views expressed in the commission, 27 January 1901, RGVIA, f. 400, op. 4, d. 588, ll. 26–29. 62 Taking into account the existing vessels, the programme essentially sanctioned the construction of nine new battleships and 30 small cruisers. 63 Hobson, Imperialism at Sea, 215–46; Lambi, Power Politics, 106, 108, 113–18, 138–46; Herwig, ‘Luxury Fleet’, 34–42. 64 Commission journal, 10 February 1899, RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 1597, ll. 134–36. 65 Report on the Baltic training squadron, 1898, RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 1773, ll. 204–8. 66 Commission journal, spring 1900, RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 2183, ll. 34–35. 67 GMSh, report, March 1899, RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 2121, ll. 60–65. 68 Commission journal, 14 April 1899, RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 2121, ll. 93–97. 69 Information on this is scattered in: RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 2121. 70 Commander of Libau Port, report, 5 June 1904, RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 96, ll. 183. Although the report does not specify the reasoning behind the decision, nevertheless it can probably be traced to the Navy Ministry’s growing preoccupation with the Far Eastern theatre and the development of Port Arthur as a naval base in conjunction with the ministry’s financial woes. 71 Commander of Kronstadt, report, June 1898, RGVIA, f. 400, op. 4, d. 76, ll. 107–8. 72 V. F. Golovachov, ‘Znachenii flota dlia Rossii na osnovanii istorii,’ MS 287, 9 (1898): 33–38; V. F. Golovachov, ‘Russkii flot,’ MS 290, 1 (1899): 2–3. 73 A. Geiden, ‘Armiia i flot v sovremennoi obstanovke,’ MS 297, 4 (1900): 29–40. 74 Review in the Bibliography section of MS 293, 7 (1900). 75 Alfred T. Mahan, Lessons of the War with Spain and Other Articles (London, 1899), 3–4, 30, 32, 43, 64–65, 75–78, 84, 89–90, 191–94. 76 Dotsenko, Dotsenko, and Mironov, Strategiia, 77; N. Klado, ‘Ispano-amerikanskaia voina,’ MS 290, 1 (1899): 27–48; Ibid. 290, 2 (1899): 81–90; Ibid. 291, 3 (1899): 1–14; Ibid. 291, 4 (1899): 1–10; Ibid. 292, 5 (1899): 1–12; Ibid. 292, 6 (1899): 1–12; Ibid. 293, 7 (1898): 1–15; Ibid. 293, 8 (1899): 1-9; Ibid. 294, 9 (1899): 1–9. 77 N. A. Obruchev, ‘Smeshnyia morskiia ekspeditsii,’ MS 291, 4 (1898): 87–105. 78 A. Liven, ‘Amerikanskaia ekspeditsiia v Sant-Iago de Kuba letom 1898 goda,’ MS 291, 4 (1898): 12–13, 36–37, 67–68.

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79 Third Section of the EMGM, report, 2 April 1898 [N.S.], SHM, BB4–2680. 80 N. Klado, ‘Frantsuzskaia morskiia smety na 1897–98 gg.,’ MS 285, 4 (1898): 64, 82, 87, 93. 81 Sections of printed material, possibly extracted from the Navy Ministry’s 1898 digest of naval information on foreign states, RGVIA, f. 400, op. 4, d. 587, ll. 376, 378. 82 I. Zborskii, ‘Po voprosam kreiserskoi voiny,’ MS 286, 6 (1898): 20–21. 83 A. de L., ‘Po voprosam kreiserskoi voiny,’ MS 287, 8 (1898): 59–73. 84 Christopher Andrew, Théophile Delcassé and the Making of the Entente Cordiale: A Reappraisal of French Foreign Policy 1898–1905 (London, 1968), 102–3; Marder, Anatomy, 320–36; Masson, ‘Politique navale,’ 188; Masson, Histoire, 2: 170–71; Rybachenok, Soiuz s Frantsiei, 225–29; Walser, ‘France’s Search,’ 74–76. On the Admiralty’s evaluation regarding the situation in the Far East consult: Extracts of telegram by the Commander of the China Station from 31 October 1898 [N.S.], and the Admiralty’s reply from 2 November 1898 [N.S.], NA, ADM 1/7595. 85 Naval attaché, report (on Russian naval policy in the Far East), 20 November 1898, SHM, BB7–23. 86 First Section of the EMGM, report, 25 November 1898 [N.S.], SHM, BB8–1903. 87 Andrew, Delcassé, 103–33; D. N. Collins, ‘The Franco-Russian Alliance and Russian Railways, 1891–1914,’ Historical Journal 16, 4 (1973): 780; Pierre Renouvin, ‘Les relations franco-russes à la fin du XIX et au début du XX siècle,’ Cahiers du Monde Russe et Soviétique 1 (1959): 132; Pierre Renouvin, ‘L’orientation de l’alliance franco-russe en 1900–1901,’ Revue d’Histoire Diplomatique (July–September 1966): 195–97; E. Walters, ‘Franco-Russian Discussions on the Partition of AustroHungary in 1899,’ Slavonic and East European Review 28 (1949–1950): 184–92; Rybachenok, Soiuz s Frantsiei, 303–8. 88 DDF, 1st Series, 2: 313–19. 89 NID, pamphlet (on the Russian navy), June 1899 [N.S.], NA, ADM 231/29. 90 NID, pamphlet (on the ships in the navies of France, Germany and Russia), November 1899 [N.S.], NA, ADM 1/7417. 91 Various materials, which include the NID minutes on the reinforcement of the Russian fleet from 6 December 1899 [N.S.] and the minutes of the new DNI Rear Admiral R. Custance from 12 December 1899 [N.S.], NA, ADM 1/7417. 92 NID, pamphlet (on the Russian navy), August 1900 [N.S.], NA, ADM 1/7472; Custance, minute (regarding the assessment), 10 September 1900 [N.S.], NA, ADM 1/7472 93 Custance, memorandum, 20 September 1900 [N.S.], NA, ADM 1/7464C; First Naval Lord (W. Kerr), minute, 20 September 1900 [N.S.], NA, ADM 1/7464C; M. Allen, ‘Rear Admiral Reginald Custance: Director of Naval Intelligence, 1899– 1902,’ Mariner’s Mirror 78 (1992): 63–64; Marder, Anatomy, 396–403. 94 Custance, memorandum, 1 May 1900 [N.S.], NA, ADM 1/7595.

Chapter 7   1   2   3   4

Nish, Origins, 100–6; Romanov, Russia in Manchuria, 207–17. Kondratenko, ‘Morskie agenty,’ 102. Kuropatkin to Alekseev, telegram, 23 February 1901, RGVIA, f. 400, op. 4, d. 481, l. 7. Unpublished draft written by a lieutenant who was a member of the commission that composed the 1912 MGSh study of the Russo-Japanese War, RGAVMF, f. 418, op. 1, d. 5954, ll. 3,16. To my knowledge, the draft is the only source which exposes in detail the initial stages of developing the Russian pre-war naval operational plan.

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  5 Ibid., ll. 3, 16–18.   6 In 1901 Japan had six battleships to Russia’s five and five first-class cruisers to Russia’s four.   7 According to Alekseev the modern ships of the Japanese fleet were not substantially stronger than the older vessels of the Russian squadron. Unfortunately, the existing sources do not permit a detailed analysis of Alekseev’s rationale on this point.   8 Unpublished draft, RGAVMF, f. 418, op. 1, d. 5954, ll. 19–21; Alekseev to Kuropatkin, letter, March 1901, RGAVMF, f. 763, op. 1, d. 53, l. 52.   9 Unpublished draft, RGAVMF, f. 418, op. 1, d. 5954, ll. 21–22. 10 He refers to the tragic fate of the Black Sea Fleet during the Crimean War. 11 Ibid., ll. 22–23. A copy of the report can be found in: GARF, f. 601, op. 1, d. 446. 12 Alekseev to Skrydlov, letter, April 1901, RGAVMF, f. 32, op. 1, d. 109, ll. 1–2. 13 Alekseev to Kuropatkin, two telegrams, 23 July 1901 and 25 July 1901, RGVIA, f. 400, op. 4, d. 481, ll. 197–98, 226; GSh, report (on the operational plan against Japan), 10 August 1901, RGVIA, f. 400, op. 4, d. 65, ll. 1–5; VIK, Russko-iaponskaia voina, 1: 191–96. 14 Corbett, Maritime Operations, 1: 24–25. Aleksandr A. Svechin, La guerre russojaponaise 1904–1905 (Paris, 1913), 54–55. 15 Alekseev and Vitgeft to the General Admiral, report, 15 December 1901, RGAVMF, f. 467, op. 1, d. 49, l. 6. 16 Skrydlov to the General Admiral, report, 24 November 1901, RGAVMF, f. 467, op. 1, d. 162, ll. 130–31. 17 Kuropatkin, Witte and Tyrtov to Lambsdorff, three letters, 27 November 1901, 28 November 1901 and 30 November 1901 (respectively), RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 2303, ll. 22, 28–29, 31; Lambsdorff to Tyrtov, letter, 5 December 1901, RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 2303, ll. 25–27; Dokkiu, ‘Morskoe ministerstvo,’ 168–69; Langer, ‘Origins,’ 24–26, 29; Nish, Origins, 116–24; Romanov, Russia in Manchuria, 221–32. 18 Selborne to the Cabinet, memorandum (on the balance of naval power in the Far East), 4 September 1901 [N.S.], NA, CAB 37/58/81; Joint Anglo-Japanese military conferences journals, 7 July 1902 and 8 July 1902 [both dates in N.S.], NA, WO 106/48; John Gooch, The Plans of War: The General Staff and British Military Strategy, 1900–1916 (New York, 1974), 170–73; Marder, Anatomy, 427–31; Neilson, Last Tsar, 205–23; Ian Nish, ‘Naval Thinking and the Anglo-Japanese Alliance, 1900–1904,’ Hogaku Kenkyu 56, 3 (1983): 5–14; Nish, Anglo-Japanese Alliance, 99-246. Also consult the following pages in the chapters by J. Chapman, C. Inaba, H. Ion, I. Nish and K. Neilson in the edited collection: Anglo-Japanese Alliance, 11–12, 39–41, 50–52, 70–78, 84–87. 19 Andrew, Delcassé: 237–38; DDF, 2nd Series, 2: 177–78; J. F. Parr, ‘Théophile Delcassé and the Practice of the Franco-Russian Alliance, 1898–1905,’ (Ph.D. diss., University of Fribourg, 1951), 131–35. 20 French naval attaché in Japan, report, 15 May 1902 [N.S.], SHM, BB7–63; French War Ministry to French Navy Ministry, report, 18 June 1902 [N.S.], SHM, BB7–63; French War Ministry to French Navy Ministry, report, 24 April 1902 [N.S.], SHM, BB7–157; Various reports from this period by the commander of naval forces in the Far East, SHM, BB4–1533. 21 Alekseev and Flug to Kuropatkin, report, 2 March 1902, RGVIA, f. 400, op. 4, d. 481, ll. 313–17; Petrov, ‘Predystorii,’ 59–61; VIK, Russko-iaponskaia voina, 1: 209–13. 22 Kuropatkin to Nicholas II, report, 27 May 1902, RGVIA, f. 400, op. 4, d. 481, ll. 310–12.

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23 Unpublished draft, RGAVMF, f. 418, op. 1, d. 5954, ll. 5–7. 24 Shvarts and Romanovskii, Oborona Port Artura, 1: 75–76; VIK, Russko-iaponskaia voina, 1: 317–18, 481–85. 25 Various documents on the construction of Port Arthur in: RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 2972, ll. 229–30; RGAVMF, f. 467, op. 1, d. 49, ll. 5, 7; RGAVMF, f. 467, op. 1, d. 162, l. 85; RGAVMF, f. 763, op. 1, d. 52, ll. 11–13a; and RGAVMF, f. 907, op. 1, d. 7. 26 Report on the needs of the squadron, 21 March 1902, RGAVMF, f. 32, op. 1, d. 498, ll. 1–2. 27 Alekseev to Avelan, report, 18 July 1901, RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 2283, l. 46. 28 Langer, ‘Origins,’ 26–31; MacDonald, United Government, 22–25; Romanov, Russia in Manchuria, 239–45; John A. White, The Diplomacy of the Russo-Japanese War (Princeton, 1964), 26–49. 29 Nikolai L. Klado, Voina Rossii s Germanii v 1905: Otchet o prakticheskikh zanitiakh po strategii v Nikolaevskoi Morskoi Akademii v prodolzhenii zimy 1900–1901 gg. (St Petersburg, 1901), 2–3. 30 Ibid., 331–32. 31 Ibid., 4, 10–13, 333. 32 Ibid., 350–54. 33 Ibid., 14–15. 34 Ibid., 5–7, 25, 54, 41–42, 356–59. 35 Staff of the Vilna Military District, report, 1902, RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 2886, l. 250. 36 Avelan to the Staff of the Finnish Military District, letter, 11 September 1901, RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 2461, l. 1. 37 Report on Kronstadt in GMSh files, 1901, RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 2799, ll. 53, 61–62, 66. 38 Commander of Libau Port, report, 13 December 1902, RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 2489, ll. 186–89. 39 Commission journal, 27 February 1901, RGVIA, f. 400, op. 4, d. 588, ll. 57–62. 40 Musin-Pushkin to Kuropatkin, letter, 3 March 1901, RGVIA, f. 400, op. 4, d. 588, l. 73. 41 Correspondence between Musin-Pushkin and Tyrtov, two letters, 3 March 1901 and 12 March 1901, RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 2340, ll. 8–9, 34–36. 42 Correspondence between the Commander of the Black Sea Fleet and the GMSh, letter and one report, 28 May 1901 and 15 September 1901, RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 2513, ll. 1, 7. 43 The as yet uncompleted battleship Kniaz Potemkin Tavricheskii was also included and given a rating of 149.5. This meant that the collective force indicator rating of the seven actually available battleships was 249.9. 44 Strength comparison tables used in the war games of 1901–1902, RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 2499, ll. 1–31. 45 The majority of the British battleships were modern and powerful vessels. 46 War games material, RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 2513, ll. 193–96, 205–6. 47 Ibid., ll. 115–206. 48 Ibid., ll. 181–84. 49 Zhilinskii to Musin-Pushkin, letter (presenting the plan), 19 November 1902, RGVIA, f. 400, op. 4, d. 588, l. 165. The plan can be found in the same file. 50 Airapetov, ‘Vostochnom napravlenii,’ 159–61; Airapetov, ‘Sopkakh Manchzhurii,’ 379–81.

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51 Report on Bizerta and the Mediterranean detachment in GMSh files, 1901, RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 4305, ll. 26–30. 52 Boris V. Ananich, Rossiiskoe samoderzhavie i vyzov kapitalov 1895–1914 gg.: Po materiliam uchetno-ssudnogo banka Persii (Leningrad, 1975), 4–60; Ignatev et al., Vneshnei politiki: Konets–nachalo, 121–27; Efim Rezvan, Russian Ships in the Gulf (Reading, 1993), 1, 2, 3, 11. 53 DDF, 2nd Series, 1: 143–46; Ibid., 3: 601; Fuller, Strategy and Power, 384, 386, 388–92. 54 DDF, 2nd Series, 1: 143; Renouvin, ‘Orientation,’ 200–1; Walser, ‘France’s Search,’ 112–13. 55 DDF, 2nd Series, 3: 603–5. According to Luntinen, the above project was the product of discussion between the chiefs of the EMGM and the GMSh, but this is not clear. Whether or not the project was the result of Russo-French consultations, two facts stand out. Firstly, the two navies’ theatres of strategic deployment were separate, which hindered the possibility of combined operations with the exception of the Mediterranean. Secondly, the proposed project reflects the low esteem that the French navy had for its Russian counterpart and consequently the desire to avoid close cooperation. Still, at least on the surface, the French now seemed to be taking the prospect of naval cooperation more seriously than in the past. Luntinen, French Information, 141–42; Ropp, Modern Navy, 340–41. 56 Walser, ‘France’s Search,’ 112. 57 DDF, 2nd Series, 3: 604–5; Renouvin, ‘Orientation,’ 202. 58 On this consult: RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 2678; and RGAVMF f. 417, op. 1, d. 2548. These files contain various relevant documents including correspondence between the Navy Ministry and the Ministry of Foreign Affairs; DDF, 2nd Series, 2: 91, 112, 168–69, 212, 248–49; Rezvan, Gulf, 17–18. 59 Birilev to the GMSh, report, 13 April 1902, RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 2502, ll. 3–7. 60 Renouvin, ‘Orientation,’ 202. 61 Lambsdorff to Tyrtov, letter, 21 May 1902, RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 2678, ll. 13–14. 62 Note written based upon the information provided by the Russian naval attaché in France, n.d., RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 2460, l. 16. 63 Third Section of the EMGM, report (on the repartition of forces outside Europe), 31 July 1902 [N.S.], SHM, BB24–2721. In December 1902 Delcassé’s cabinet director again expressed his support for the conclusion of a naval convention. He argued that in a struggle against Britain the Russian navy could aid France by breaking through the Straits and uniting with the French fleet at Bizerta. This is discussed in: Renouvin, ‘Orientation,’ 202–3. 64 In fact, the British were unable to find a satisfactory solution for the defence of India even after the beginning of the Russo-Japanese War. 65 Assistant Quartermaster General, memorandum (on the military resources of Russia), 17 January 1902 [N.S.], NA, WO 106/48; Gooch, Plans of War, 177–85; Sneh Mahajan, ‘The Defence of India and the End of Isolation: A Study in the Foreign Policy of the Conservative Government, 1900–1905,’ Journal of Imperial and Commonwealth History 10, 2 (1982): 170–71, 175–79; John McDermott, ‘The Revolution in British Military Thinking from the Boer War to the Moroccan Crisis,’ Canadian Journal of History 9, 2 (1974): 162–64, 167–70. 66 Custance, memorandum, 2 March 1901 [N.S.], NA, ADM 1/7516; Kerr, notes, 19 March 1901 [N.S.], NA, ADM 1/7516; Selborne, minute, 23 March 1901 [N.S.], NA, ADM 1/7516.

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67 Custance, memorandum, 6 July 1901 [N.S.], NA, ADM 1/7504; NID, pamphlet (on the naval progress and estimates of foreign countries in 1901), August 1901 [N.S.], NA, ADM 1/7522. Section of report by the naval attaché, 23 November 1901 [N.S.], NA, ADM 1/7529; Naval attaché, reports, 23 November 1901 and 1 January 1902 [N.S.], NA, ADM 1/7555; Custance, memorandum, 26 March 1901 [N.S.], NA, ADM 116/866B; Marder, Anatomy, 403–7. 68 General Admiral and Avelan to Nicholas II, report, 29 January 1901, RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 695, ll. 2–3. 69 Note with the Tsar’s resolutions on shipbuilding, RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 3047, 1. 6. 70 GMSh, report, 27 July 1901, RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 2496, ll. 3–7. 71 Tyrtov, report, 4–5 August 1901, RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 2480, l. 8. 72 Virenius to Avelan, report, 15 November 1901, RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 2480, ll. 16–24. 73 GMSh, report (on shipbuilding), August 1902, RGAVMF, f. 17, op. 1, d. 138, ll. 47–49. The report addressed issues related to establishing a new shipbuilding programme and was circulated to senior admirals. This is Makarov’s copy. 74 For Klado, Russia could not reverse the deficit of cruisers through the utilization of armed merchantmen as commerce raiders on the grounds that this was prohibited by international law. 75 Klado discounted the employment of commercial steamers in the role of supply vessels as they would limit the cruisers’ radius of action and because of the inherent danger that they could be captured by the enemy. 76 Klado, Osnovy, 191–98, 201–4, 206. 77 Alexander Mikhailovich to Nicholas II, report, 21 November 1901, RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 2496, l. 1. 78 GMSh August report on shipbuilding, RGAVMF, f. 17, op. 1, d. 138, ll. 46–48. 79 Alexander Mikhailovich to Nicholas II, letter, 30 March 1902, GARF, f. 601, op. 1, d. 1143, l. 43. 80 Note with the Tsar’s resolutions on shipbuilding, RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 3047, l. 6. 81 Dubasov, report, 1 February 1903, RGAVMF, f. 32, op. 1, d. 169, ll. 16–17; Report in the files of the GMSh containing a shipbuilding programme proposal and summary of the views of senior admirals, 1902, RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 1, 2681, ll. 21–22, 25–26, 28; Abaza, report, 1902, RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 2682, ll. 1–97. 82 Makarov, report, 1902, RGAVMF, f. 17, op. 1, d. 252, ll. 2, 34; Report with shipbuilding programme proposal and summary of the views of senior admirals, RGAVMF, 417, op. 1, d. 2681, l. 24; Petrov, Podgotovka, 54–55. 83 Dubasov’s February report, RGAVMF, f. 32, op. 1, d. 169, ll. 17–19; Vitgeft, report, RGAVMF, f. 467, op. 1, d. 248, ll. 7–8; Report with shipbuilding programme proposal and summary of the views of senior admirals, RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 2681, ll. 18, 23–24, 27–28; Petrov, Podgotovka, 53–55. 84 The light cruisers are referred to as ‘torpedo cruisers’. 85 Alexander Mikhailovich to the Navy Ministry, report, 6 April 1902, RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 2496, ll. 19–20; Report with shipbuilding programme proposal and summary of the views of senior admirals, RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 2681, ll. 17–20, 25. 86 Rogger, Modernization, 103. 87 GMSh August report on shipbuilding, RGAVMF, f. 17, op. 1, d. 138, ll. 50–55, 61–72.

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88 Rusin, reports, 13 May 1902, 18 October 1902 and 17 November 1902; RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 2673, ll. 44–48, 51–52, 58–59; Navy Ministry, report (outlining information dispatched from the Russian ambassador in Tokyo), 28 October 1902, RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 2496, l. 30; Izvolskii, telegram, 18 October 1902, RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 1801, l. 61; Schenking, Making Waves, 99–102. Consensus on financing the programme was reached in the spring of 1903. 89 Virenius to Tyrtov, report, 19 December 1902, RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d 2480, ll. 194–97. 90 GMSh, report, 15 July 1903, RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 2480, l. 263. 91 Lomen to Avelan, report, 1902, RGAVMF, f. 315, op. 1, d. 1617, l. 2. 92 Tyrtov and GUKiS to Nicholas II, report, October 1902, RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 695, ll. 1–2; Navy Ministry, report, 5 November 1902, RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 2660, l. 14; Commission journal, 9 December 1902, RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 2660, ll. 25–28; Chief Engineer of St Petersburg Port, report, 28 June 1902, RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 2496, l. 38.

Chapter 8   1 McDonald, United Government, 31–43, 64, 69–70.   2 M. N. Pokrovskii, ed., Dnevnik A. N. Kuropatkina (Soviet Union/Russia, 1923), 118–19.   3 Naval attaché, report, 2 April 1903 [N.S.], NA, ADM 1/7621.   4 Report in GMSh files, January 1903, RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 2480, l. 45.   5 Petrov, Podgotovka, 56.   6 Pokrovskii, Dnevnik Kuropatkina, 22–23.   7 Ibid., 16, 32.   8 Ibid., 34.   9 Witte to Kuropatkin, letter, 10 February 1903, RGVIA, f. 400, op. 4, d. 56, ll. 38–39. 10 Sakharov to Zhilinskii, report, 14 February 1903, RGVIA, f. 400, op. 4, d. 56, ll. 33–36. 11 Sakharov and Zhilinskii, report, 19 March 1903, RGVIA, f. 400, op. 4, d. 56, ll. 5–6, 9–23, 31–32. 12 Ibid., ll. 23–27. 13 Ibid., ll. 30–32. 14 Pokrovskii, Dnevnik Kuropatkina, 45–46. Fuller implies that the Sakharov/ Zhilinskii report was passed on to the Tsar. See: Fuller, Strategy and Power, 377 and citation 139. 15 GMSh, report, 17 July 1903, RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 2480, ll. 252–53. 16 The journals of these commissions are in: RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 2826; and RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 2860. 17 Commission journal, 14 April 1903, RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 2826, ll. 134–38. 18 Virenius, report, 8 May 1903, RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 2496, ll. 31–36. 19 General Admiral and Rozhestvenskii to Nicholas II, report, July 1903, RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 3047, ll. 7–9. 20 GMSh, report, n.d., RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 3047, l. 4. 21 The Bosphorus expedition was certainly one of the special tasks. However, the author of the report might also have in mind the seizure of the Dardanelles or the movement of the fleet into the Mediterranean. 22 These ships could also presumably act as a strategic reserve for the Pacific theatre.

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23 General Admiral and Rozhestvenskii to Nicholas II, report, December 1903, RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 3047, ll. 10–18. 24 Naval attaché, report (on the shipbuilding programme), January 1904, SHM, BB7–67. 25 Summary of the commission by the War Ministry, October 1903, RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 2683, ll. 26–32; Protopopov commission journals, 19 March 1903 and 12 April 1903, RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 2870, ll. 1–3, 9–10. Another six coastal defence battleships were also to be constructed following the completion of the first batch. 26 Skrydlov to Avelan, report, December 1903, RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 2870, ll. 11–18. 27 Anderson, Eastern Question, 269–72; Jelavich, Balkan Entanglements, 213–14. 28 Material on the manoeuvres, including reports from Skrydlov to Avelan from 5 August 1903 and 31 October 1903, RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 2879, ll. 32–66; Airapetov, ‘Vostochnom napravlenii,’ 162–65; Airapetov, ‘Sopkakh Manchzhurii,’ 384–85. 29 Protopopov, report, April 1903, RGAVMF f. 417, op. 1, d. 2859, l. 13. 30 Protopopov, report, 1903, RGVIA, f. 400, op. 4, d. 546, ll. 36, 40; Zhilinskii’s riposte to Protopopov, 2 May 1903, RGVIA, f. 400, op. 4, d. 546, ll. 37–38. 31 Skrydlov to the GMSh, report, 27 May 1903, RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 2876, ll. 10–12. 32 NID, report (based on the reports of the naval attaché), January 1903 [N.S.], NA, ADM 1/7621; DNI (Prince Louis of Battenberg) to First Naval Lord (Kerr), memorandum, 8 August 1903 [N.S.], NA, ADM 1/7601; Kerr, memorandum, 5 September 1903 [N.S.], NA, ADM 1/7601; Admiralty, memorandum, 9 February 1903 [N.S.], NA, CAB 4/1/1; Summary of the conclusions of the CID conference from 11 February 1904 [N.S.], NA, CAB 4/1/1; Marder, Anatomy, 437–38. 33 Avelan to Sakharov, letter, 7 February 1903, RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 2461, l. 13. 34 Captain Shvank, report, 13 March 1903, RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 2461, ll. 21–25. 35 Conclusions of commission from 31 March 1903, RGVIA, f. 400, op. 4, d. 554, ll. 6, 9. 36 Brusilov to Avelan, report, 25 April 1903, RGAVMF, f. 418, op. 1, d. 139, ll. 99–113. 37 Commission journal, 28 May 1903, RGVIA, f. 400, op. 4, d. 556, ll. 6–14. 38 Commission journal, 2 June 1903, RGVIA, f. 400, op. 4, d. 556, ll. 18–26. 39 Commission journal, 10 June 1903, RGVIA, f. 400, op. 4, d. 674, ll. 23, 28–31. 40 Rozhestvenskii and Brusilov to the GSh, letter, 11 July 1903, RGVIA, f. 400, op. 4, d. 546, l. 48. 41 Instructions for the manoeuvres, summer 1903, RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 2881, ll. 61, 19. 42 Birilev, report, 23 November 1903, RGAVMF, f. 418, op. 1, d. 145, ll. 1–16. 43 GMSh, report, 25 September 1903, RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 2883, l. 2; Rozhestvenskii to Sakharov, letter, 25 October 1903, RGVIA, f. 400, op. 4, d. 546, ll. 222–23; War Ministry to Rozhestvenskii, letter, 12 November 1903, RGVIA, f. 400, op. 4, d. 546, ll. 223–24; Voina Rossii s Germanii v 1904: Materialy dlia sootvleniia otcheta o prakticheskikh zaniatiakh po strategii v Nikolaevskoi Morskoi Akademii v prodolzhe zimy 1903–1904 gg. (St Petersburg, 1905), 3. 44 Operations against St Petersburg and Finland required a significantly larger number of troops and would not directly influence a German advance against Moscow. 45 Ibid., 1–4, 19–20, 55, 59–60, 193, 513. 46 Ibid., 1-3, 5, 512.

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47 In the Baltic Sea were also located seven contemporary battleships, one first-class and two second-class cruisers, one gunboat and 11 destroyers, which were either under construction or in the final stages of being outfitted with equipment and armament. 48 For example, out of four battleships, three were antiquated. One of those ships and the only contemporary battleship were undergoing lengthy capital repairs. The remaining two were only suitable for service with the training squadron. Still, these two vessels formed the core of the battle squadron. 49 Ibid., 1–2, 15–17, 491–95, 505–7, 511–12. 50 Ibid., 2, 4, 63, 560. 51 Lambi, Power Politics, 193–205. 52 Commander of Libau Fortress, report, 20 August 1903, RGVIA, f. 400, op. 1, d. 657, ll. 33–35. 54 Commander of Libau Port, report, 11 October 1903, RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 2792, ll. 26–27. 55 GMSh to Kuropatkin, report, 8 December 1903, RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 2792, ll. 54–55. 56 Alekseev became supreme commander of land and naval forces in the Far East and was also given the responsibility of handling Russia’s administrative and diplomatic affairs in Kwangtung and the Priamur. Because of this, officials in the Far East were now effectively answerable to Alekseev and not to their ministries in St Petersburg. 57 Nonetheless it seems that Russia was eventually prepared to give Japan a free hand in Korea. 58 Langer, ‘Origins,’ 29–41; McDonald, United Government, 27–32, 46–64, 70–74; Malozemoff, Far Eastern Policy, 201–47; Nish, Origins, 152–257; Pak, Russkoiaponskaia voina, 76–136; White, Diplomacy, 50-131. 59 Andrew, Delcassé, 145–46, 179–225; Renouvin, ‘Orientantion,’ 203; Walser, ‘France’s Search,’ 112; Samuel R. Williamson, Jr., The Politics of Grand Strategy: Britain and France Prepare for War, 1904–1914 (Cambridge, Mass., 1969), 1–14. 60 Although this is true, the use of French bases might have helped the Baltic Fleet to get to the Far East in the unlikely event that it had not been annihilated by the RN on the way. 61 These points are made in several reports from 1903 and 1904 which can be found in: SHM, BB4–2720. 62 Alekseev to Kuropatkin, report, 4 February 1903, RGVIA, f. 400, op. 4, d. 481, ll. 370–72. 63 Stark to Alekseev, report, 6 March 1903, RGAVMF, f. 32, op. 1, d. 499, ll. 2–4; Unpublished draft (on pre-war Far Eastern planning by lieutenant of the historical commission), RGAVMF, f. 418, op. 1, d. 5954, l. 8. 64 IKpriMGSh, Russko-iaponskaia voina, 1: 63. 65 Unpublished draft, RGAVMF, f. 418, op. 1, d. 5954, l. 9; IKpriMGSh, Russkoiaponskaia voina, 1: 63. 66 Unpublished draft, RGAVMF, f. 418, op. 1, d. 5954, l. 9; IKpriMGSh, Russkoiaponskaia voina, 1: 64. 67 Unpublished draft, RGAVMF, f. 418, op. 1, d. 5954, l. 9; IKpriMGSh, Russkoiaponskaia voina, 1: 62–71, 80, 123. 68 Stark to Stackelberg, letter, 6 July 1903, RGAVMF, f. 523, op. 1, d. 4, ll. 114–15. 69 Report on the manoeuvres, autumn 1903, RGAVMF, f. 763, op. 1, d. 63, ll. 2–88. 70 Correspondence between Alekseev and Avelan, two telegrams, 6 July 1903 and 12 July 1903, RGAVMF, f. 32, op. 1, d. 189, l. 1; Alekseev to Rozhestvenskii, telegram, 19 July 1903, RGAVMF, f. 32, op. 1, d. 189, l. 1.

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71 Gribovskii and Poznakhirev, Rozhestvenskii, 139–140. Most of the new battleships constructed under the 1898 programme would only be ready in the summer of 1904. 72 Gribovskii and Poznakhirev, Rozhestvenskii, 142–43, 153; IKpriMGSh, Russkoiaponskaia voina, 1: 142–49; Shcheglov, Znachenie, 1: 1–14. 73 This concern must have stemmed both from the perceived weakness of the Pacific Ocean squadron in relation to the Japanese fleet alone and more importantly from the overwhelming naval preponderance of the Anglo-Japanese alliance. 74 Kuropatkin and Sakharov to Nicholas II, report, 16 May 1903, RGVIA, f. 400, op. 1, d. 499, ll. 30–32; Menning, ‘Miscalculating One’s Enemies,’ 163–64; VIK, Russko-iaponskaia voina, 1: 196–206, 221, 228–30. 75 Flug, report (containing the operational plan), 5 November 1903, RGVIA, f. 400, op. 1, d. 651, ll. 1–31; VIK, Russko-iaponskaia voina, 1: 232–50. 76 Correspondence between Stark and Stackelberg, two letters, 23 September 1903 and 25 October 1903, RGAVMF, f. 418, op. 1, d. 5680, ll. 6–8, 10–11. 77 Unpublished draft, RGAVMF, f. 418, op. 1, d. 5954, l. 11; IKpriMGSh, Russkoiaponskaia voina, 1: 82–84. 78 Unpublished draft, RGAVMF, f. 418, op. 1, d. 5954, ll. 11–13; IKpriMGSh, Russko-iaponskaia voina, 1: 84–89. 79 IKpriMGSh, Russko-iaponskaia voina, 1: 100–1. 80 It was expected that the 1898 shipbuilding programme would be completed in 1905. 81 Nikolai L. Klado and L. B. Kerber, Voina Rossii s Iaponiei: Otchet o prakticheskikh zaniatiiakh po strategii v Nikolaevskoi Morskoi Akademii v prodolzhenii zimy 1902– 1903 gg. (St Petersburg, 1904), 3, 16–18, 21, 23, 25, 125–27, 157–61. 82 Ibid., 18–19, 121–22, 124. 83 Ibid., 14–15, 20–23, 26–70, 179–205. 84 Ibid., 99–110, 122–24, 132–33. 85 Brusilov, report, 4 October 1903, RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 2831, ll. 2–6; Stetsenko, report, 6 November 1903, RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 2661, l. 18. 86 Gribovskii and Poznakhirev, Rozhestvenskii, 140. 87 Gribovskii and Poznakhirev, Rozhestvenskii, 138; IKpriMGSh, Russko-iaponskaia voina, 1: 104–6. 88 Pokrovskii, Dnevnik Kuropatkina, 121, 128. 89 Ibid., 128. 90 Various documents concerning the purchase of vessels from abroad can be found in: RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 2782, ll. 5–6, 13, 17; RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 2810, ll. 2–3, 17–107; and RGAVMF, f. 763, op. 1, d. 4, ll. 1–2, 5, 8–20; Gribovskii and Poznakhirev, Rozhestvenskii: 140–45; C. Inaba, ‘Military Co-operation under the First Anglo-Japanese Alliance, 1902–1905,’ in Anglo-Japanese Alliance, 67–69; Shirokorad, Rossiia-Angliia, 449–51. 91 Menning, ‘Miscalculating One’s Enemies,’ 164; A. I. Sorokin, Oborona Port Artura: Russko-iaponskaia voina 1904–1905 gg. (Moscow, 1954), 20; Sergei Y. Vitte, La guerre avec le Japon: Déclarations nécessaires: Réponse à l’ouvrage du général Kouropatkine (Paris, 1911), 11–12, 32. 92 Alexander Mikhailovich, Kniga, 174–75. 93 Schimmelpenninck, Rising Sun, 106. 94 Assistant Quartermaster General, memorandum (on the subject of British intervention in the Far East) and minutes, 31 December 1903 [N.S.], NA, CAB 4/1/1; Memoranda by British Cabinet members including Selborne, December 1903

Notes

  95

  96

  97   98   99 100 101

102 103 104 105

319

[N.S.] NA, CAB 37/67/92–97; Several memoranda on the subject of the Black Sea Fleet, January 1904 [N.S.], NA, CAB 37/68/11; Deputy Assistant Quartermaster General, memorandum (forecasting the first phase of a Russo-Japanese war), 13 November 1903 [N.S.], NA, CAB 38/3/87; Intelligence Department of the War Office, memorandum (forecasting the first phase of a Russo-Japanese war), 28 December [N.S.], NA, CAB 38/3/87; British Prime Minister (A. J. Balfour), memorandum (on the on the meeting of CID from 27 January), 28 January 1904 [N.S.], NA, CAB 38/4/7; Gooch, Plans of War, 173–76; Marder, Anatomy, 436; B. J. C. McKercher, ‘Diplomatic Equipoise: The Lansdowne Foreign Office: The Russo-Japanese War of 1904–1905, and the Global Balance of Power,’ Canadian Journal of History 24, 3 (1989): 304–12; Neilson, Last Tsar, 238–46. Two of the Japanese armoured cruisers were only purchased in December 1903 and were available for service within a few months after the beginning of the war. These figures are taken from: Vladimir A. Zolotarev and Iu F. Sokolov. Tragediia na Dalnem Vostoke: Russko-iaponskaia voina 1904-1905 gg., 2 vols. (Moscow, 2004), 1: 210. V. E. Egorev, Operatsii vladivostokskikh kreiserov v russko-iaponskuiu voinu 1904– 1905 gg. (Moscow, 1939), 13–15, 266; Klado, Ocherk, 10; Terestchenko, Guerre navale, 47–48, 64–66; Ivan I. Rostunov, ed., Istoriia russko-iaponskoi voiny 1904– 1905 gg. (Moscow, 1977), 82–84; Zolotarev and Kozlov, Borba, 51–57; Zolotarev and Sokolov, Tragediia, 1: 197–201, 210, 211, 215–16, 218–21. Detailed tables with the technical elements of the ships of the opposing fleets can be found in the last source. IKpriMGSh, Russko-iaponskaia voina, 1: 25–26, 44–47, 53–55; Nemitts, Russkoiaponskaia voina, 1: 69–71; VIK, Russko-iaponskaia voina, 1: 485–87, 500–5, 528–29, 571–72. Officers were redeployed, while many sailors had completed their terms of service and were discharged from the navy. Gromov et al., Tri veka, 1: 347–48; IKpriMGSh, Russko-iaponskaia voina, 1: 153–54, 163–64; Rostunov, Istoriia, 84. Evans and Peattie, Kaigun, 9–13, 22; Terestchenko, Guerre navale, 49, 51–52; Zolotarev and Sokolov, Tragediia, 1: 225–26. K. Aizawa, ‘Differences Regarding Togo’s Surprise Attack on Port Arthur,’ in World War Zero, 2: 82–96; Evans and Peattie, Kaigun, 85–92, 95, 97; Edwin P. Hoyt, Three Military Leaders: Heihachiro Togo, Isoruku Yamamoto, Tomoyuki Yamashita (Tokyo, 1993), 10–13; Ian Nish, ‘Japanese Intelligence and the Approach of the Russo-Japanese War,’ in The Missing Dimension: Governments and Intelligence Communities in the Twentieth Century, ed. Christopher Andrew and David Dilks (London, 1984), 21–24; S. Yokote, ‘Between Two Japano-Russian Wars: Strategic Learning Re-appraised,’ in World War Zero, 2: 117–19. IKpriMGSh, Russko-iaponskaia voina, 1: 130–35, Petrov, ‘Predystorii,’ 73–86; H. Wada, ‘Study Your Enemy: Russian Military and Naval Attachés in Japan,’ in World War Zero, 2: 36–41, 43. The outbreak of the war on 26 January did not allow for the proper implementation of these measures. Pak, Russko-iaponskaia voina, 115–56; Rostunov, Istoriia, 110; Zolotarev and Kozlov, Borba, 72–73 P. D. Bykov, Russko-iaponskaia voina 1904–1905 gg.: Deistviia na more (Moscow, 1942), 33; Gribovskii and Pozhnakhirev, Rozhestvenskii, 152–53; IKpriMGSh, Russko-iaponskaia voina, 1: 138–39, 141, 163–66, 169, 171–74.

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106 Pokrovskii, Dnevnik Kuropatkina, 129–32; VIK, Russko-iaponskaia voina, 1: 273–75. 107 Corbett, Maritime Operations, 1: 57–58; Menning, ‘Miscalculating One’s Enemies,’ 166. 108 Scout duty in the Yellow Sea was to commence on 28 January. 109 Corbett, Maritime Operations, 1: 92–93; IKpriMGSh, Russko-iaponskaia voina, 1: 155–59, 175–84, 191–92; J. N. Westwood, Russia Against Japan 1904–1905: A New Look at the Russo-Japanese War (London, 1986), 40–41. 110 Shchlomin, Makarov, 2: 142, 557–58; Zolotarev and Kozlov, Flotovdtsy, 365–66. 111 For a detailed history of the war in English consult: Richard M. Connaughton, The War of the Rising Sun and the Tumbling Bear: A Military History of the Russo-Japanese War 1904–1905 (London, 1988); Warner, Tide at Sunrise; Westwood, Russia Against Japan. For solid accounts of wartime naval operations in English consult: Corbett, Maritime Operations; P. Luntinen and B. W. Menning, ‘The Russian Navy at War, 1904–05,’ in World War Zero, 1: 229–59.

Conclusion    1 Corbett, Maritime Operations, 1: 44; I. M. Koktsinskii, Morskie boi i srazheniia russko-iaponskoi voiny: Prichina porazheniia: Krizis upravleniia (Moscow, 2002), 20; Semenoff, Rasplata, 43–44.    2 A. N., ‘Beglyi ocherk,’ 129–32, 147–50; Klado, Ocherk, 15; Nemitts, Russkoiaponskaia voina, 1: 59–65; Nikolai B. Pavlovich, Flot v pervoi mirovoi voine, Vol. 1 (Moscow, 1964), 27; Shcheglov, Znachenie, 1: 12, 16; Shirokorad, Russko-iaponskie voiny, 155–56; Zolotarev and Kozlov, Borba, 47, 51.    3 Nikolai L. Klado, The Battle of the Sea of Japan (London, 1906), 279–80.    4 Ministry of Foreign Affairs, report, 1904, RGAVMF, f. 417, op. 1, d. 3229, ll. 2–6.    5 The above overview is derived from the following sources: A. N. ‘Beglyi ocherk,’ 107–9, 121–23, 169–70; Corbett, Maritime Operations, 1: 26, 44–46, 48; Egorev, Operatsii, 267–68, 271; Klado, Ocherk, 17; Koktsinskii, Morskie boi, 20; Alfred. T. Mahan, Naval Strategy Compared and Contrasted with the Principles and Practice of Military Operations on Land (London, 1911), 392–94, 398–401; Mitchell, Russian and Soviet Sea Power, 211–12; Nemitts, Russko-iaponskaia voina, 1: 45–46; Rostunov, Istoriia, 99; Terestchenko, Guerre navale, 76–79; Zolotarev and Kozlov, Borba, 65–68; Zolotarev and Kozlov, Flotovodtsy, 369–70.    6 Airapetov, ‘Sopkakh Manchzhurii,’ 355–56, 389–411; Aleksei N. Kuropatkin, Zapiski Generala Kuropatkina o russko-iaponskoi voine: Itogy voiny (Berlin, 1909), 187–99, 215–18; David H. Schimmelpenninck van der Oye, ‘The Russo-Japanese War,’ in Military History of Tsarist Russia, 185–96; J. V. Steinberg, ‘Prichiny porazheniia russkoi armii v Russko-iaponskoi voine: Operativnaia tochka zreniia,’ in Vzgliad cherez stoletie, 223–48; Menning, Bayonets, 125–28, 137–47, 152–99; Menning, ‘Miscalculating One’s Enemies,’ 148–62; VIK, Russko-iaponskaia voina, 1: 246–47.

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Index

Afghanistan 39, 70, 84 agriculture 12, 35, 36 Alekseev, E. I.: character 166; Far East 117, 244, 247, 252, 263, 272, 273; Kiaochow 118; and Manchuria 246; operational planning 274–5; Pacific Ocean squadron 129, 198; Port Arthur 177, 201; relationship with Tsar 227; responsibilities 317n56; security measures 265; view of Japanese fleet 195; Vladivostok 197 Alexander II 35, 63, 66 Alexander III: ascension 66; choice of new base 74; commission on torpedo craft 72; death 34; financial stringencies 35; rejection of call to occupy Bosphorus 81; shipbuilding programme 78; support for base on Murman coast 97; support for Ministry of Finance 43; support for Konstantin Nikolaevich 65; and Volunteer Fleet 58 Alexander Mikhailovich criticism of Alexei Alexandrovich 46; criticism of naval strategy 103; deferment of discussion of German threat 228; necessity for reinforcement of fleet 145, 146; opposition to naval leadership 104; publication of pamphlet 130–2; reinforcement of Pacific Ocean squadron 111; reinstatement 219; shipbuilding programme 134; war games 48

Alexei Alexandrovich 46, 65, 66, 67, 77, 116-17 293n17, 293n18; General Admiral 46, 66–7, 77, 96, 98, 101, 104, 113–14, 116–17, 122, 130, 134–6, 139–41, 146–7, 150, 152, 154, 156–8, 166–7, 172, 177, 198, 215, 219, 227, 232–3, 256, 264–5, 270, 293n20, 295n52, 298n13, 300n45, 300n58, 302n32, 303n45, 303n49, 303n50, 303n53, 305n93, 307n24, 308n35, 308n49, 311n15, 311n16, 314n68, 315n19, 316n23 American Civil War 26, 60 Arctic Ocean 42, 43, 216, 217, 280ill Ardagh, J. 143 Argentina 257 armaments 8, 9, 14, 115, 190, 191 armed reserve 55, 260 Armenians 81, 93, 137, 139 army: defensive action against Germany 64, 91, 123; effectiveness of 297n94; Far East 61, 85, 105, 114, 171, 197, 211; Manchuria 264; offensive action against AustriaHungary 64; operational planning 250, 253, 275; as senior partner 41, 44, 102, 221, 228, 268; weakness of 272 Aube, H. L. T. 24–6, 27 Austria-Hungary 27, 39, 63, 142, 164, 189, 208 see also Dreikaiserbund Avelan, F. K. 46, 90, 95, 135, 227, 238, 256

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Baltic Fleet: assessment 241–2; defensive role 68, 72, 77, 131, 203–5, 217; divided opinions 271; financial constraints 238; focus on 60; immobilization due to ice 89; inability to deal with German invasion 76; manoeuvres 75; merger with Pacific squadron 221; need for reliable base 73; and Nicholas II 220; operational planning 71, 78; as outdated 64; reinforcement 88, 100; risk of blockade 60; strategic planning 183–4; support of Peshchurov 66 Baltic Sea 42, 54, 55, 280ill battleships: design innovations 15, 16; importance in warfare 13, 17, 22, 23, 30, 76; problems in design 57; as supporting role 25, 26 Beaumont, L. 110, 120, 121, 142, 143 Beaumont, O. de 107, 108 Beklemishev, M. N. 126 Bessarabia 236 Bezobrazov, A. M. 35, 226, 244 Bezobrazovshchina 35 Birilev, A. A. 212, 213, 241 Bismarck, O. von 10 Black Sea 1, 42, 180, 279ill Black Sea Fleet: battleships 71; and Mediterranean access 89; mobilization 120; and Nicholas II 219, 220; plan for attack of Turkish coastline 78; prioritization 67, 219–20; reappraisal 191; reinforcement 61, 81, 100, 271; report 207, 217; success against Ottoman empire 62; support for Bosphorus expedition 122 Black Sea Straits, foreign control of 37–8, 42, 62, 63 blockade, efficacy of 26 Blue Water School 21, 31, 50, 267, 269, 270; influence of 87; Klado as proponent 51 Bosphorus expedition 78–83; commission 235; operational planning 98–9, 140, 208; possibility of British naval intervention 141,

142; prioritization 124; report 119, 137, 181, 206; resources taken to Far East 178; war games 207 Boxer Rebellion 160, 169, 176, 177 Britain: agreement with Russia re China 159; alliance with Japan 199–201, 214; analysis of Russian naval power 2; and Baltic coastline 71; border dispute re Afghanistan 69, 70; and Bosphorus 138, 139, 141, 142–3; effect of industrialization 21; as enemy of France 23, 24; Far Eastern colonies 86; and Franco-Russian alliance 190; global dominance 7, 9, 28; guerre de course against 84; importance of naval power 13; and India 60; intelligence re Russian navy 136, 158; maritime engineering 19; merchant navy and neutral goods 219; national strategic school 20–3; neutrality 258; and Russian expansion 38–9; and Russian occupation of Constantinople 215; Russo-Japanese War 258; shipbuilding for Japanese 109, 161; shipbuilding programme against Dual Alliance 136; as superior to Russian navy 218, 303n42, 303n43; and warship design 14 British Mediterranean Fleet 83, 120, 138, 207 Brusilov, L. A. 47, 238, 239, 240, 255 Budilovskii, I. V. 130 Bulgaria 80, 208, 236, 295n61 Chagin, I. I. 145, 147–8, 161, 193, 304n70, 304n71 Chapman, E. 142 Charmes, G. 27, 72 Cheefu 107, 108, 110 Chemulpo 248, 263, 264 Chikhachev, N. M.: and British navy 70; Director of Navy Ministry 46, 75; and German threat 133; Kiaochow 118; necessity for torpedo craft 73; and new base at Libau 74; reinforcement of Pacific Ocean

Index squadron 94, 101; rejection of Jeune École 71; report re Vladivostok 128 Chile 257 China: alliance with Russia 125, 149, 150; commercial concessions to Russia 304n74; expansion of navy 65; frontier disputes 64, 84; lease of ports to Russia 152; and Pacific Ocean squadron 85, 86; possibility of partition 105; rejection of demands re Manchuria 193; and Russian expansion 39, 40; Russian fears re relationship with Japan 159; weakness of 11, 125, 147, 288n13 see also Boxer Rebellion coal 20, 30, 43 Colomb, J. C. R. 21, 267 Colomb, P. H. 21–2, 50, 87, 267 Congress of Berlin 62, 63, 295n61 conscription 53 Constantinople 78, 120, 121, 138, 139, 179, 215 Corbett, J. S. 3 Crete 137, 142 Crimean War 14, 35, 38, 55, 58, 61 cruising vessels 15, 16, 18, 25, 111, 117 Custance, R. 191, 214, 215 Dalnii (formerly Taliewan) 254, 255 Dardenelles 62, 120, 121, 208, 274 Delcassé, T. 190, 212, 213 devaluation 56 Dotsenko, V. D. 4 Dreibund 105, 109 Dreikaiserbund 63, 80, 88 Dual Alliance 10, 158, 200, 214 Dubasov, F. V. 129, 168, 170, 220, 305n78 Dukhovskoi, S. M. 105, 106, 114, 165 Egypt 121, 143, 188, 211, 213 Entente Cordiale 245 expansionism 165, 267, 269 Far East 278ill; coastal defence 68; diplomacy 104; guerre de course 60–1; military defeat 266; military

337

weakness of Russian empire 84; naval strategy 126; operational planning 85, 171, 195–8; as priority 153, 160; report 217; Russian isolation 203 Fashoda crisis 187–90 Felkerzam, D. G. von 204 Finland 239 Finnish Gulf 76, 78, 205, 239, 240 First Naval Law (Germany) 182 Flug, V. E. 250–1 Formosa 104, 127 France: alliance with Russia 37, 89–91, 186–91, 210, 212, 245, 269; as ally against Britain 121–2, 143, 192, 213–14; as ally against Germany 39; army 23, 25; colonial expansion 23, 24; defeat 24; development of submarines 18; guerre de course 136; intelligence re Russian navy 135–6; national strategic school 20, 23–7; naval planning 302n35; and Triple Alliance 187 see also Jeune École free trade 7, 8 funding, military 43–4 Fusan 127 Gatrell, P. 44 Germany: alliance with AustriaHungary 63; alliance with Russia 88; coastal defence system 26, 27; command of North Sea 89; economic presence in China 148, 149; as enemy of France 23, 190; and Far East 153; and Franco-Russian alliance 243; importance of land power 71; involvement with Turkish army 308n51; as major threat 37, 63, 71, 113, 164, 210; navy as superior to French 186; and Ottoman empire 178, 182, 206; plan to attack in Baltic Sea 64; possibility of Franco-Russian alliance 144; possible landing on Baltic coast 241–3; torpedo boats 72; unification 10, 61 Giers, N. K. 85, 94 Goschen, G. J. 158 Gougeard, A. 27 Greek-Turkish War 142

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Grivel, L. A. R. 23, 24 Grodekov, N. I. 165, 175–6 guerre de course: against Britain 60, 86, 187, 214; debated 113; in Far East 84; as focus of Jeune École 26, 27; against Germany 87, 90; importance of 66, 69, 102, 115, 116; against Japan 126, 128, 195, 248; and Klado 51; as less important 217, 218; Mahanian view 29; Mediterranean Sea 83; Murman base 97; use of cruisers 24; use of French ports 225 Hague disarmament conference 189 Hiltebrandt, Ia. A. 170, 171, 172, 177 historiography 3–5 Hong Kong 188 Hungary see Austria-Hungary imperialism 11–12, 39 India 60, 91, 121, 188, 190, 213, 214 Indochina 188, 189, 201, 214, 245 industrialization 7–9, 11–12, 43, 44, 226 ironclads 14–15, 19, 55 Istomin, M. K. 83 Japan: alliance with Britain 199–201; coastal defence system 27; defeat against 1; expansion of navy 65; importance of Mosampo 170; increase of armed forces 109; Korea 93, 117, 126, 130, 244; naval bases 261; naval budget 45; operational plan for war 261; reinforcement of navy 145, 153; restriction on foreign ships in ports 95; RussoJapanese War 40, 264; shipbuilding programme 130, 131, 147, 161, 224; strength of fleet 254; as threat 97, 100, 123, 222; use of neutral commercial ships 246 Jeune École 23–7; and coastal defence 32; importance of 50, 269, 271; reduction of influence 31, 267; rejection by Chikhachev 71 Jomini, A. H. de 29, 30

Kargodo 96, 118, 129, 169, 170 Kazi, M. I. 97, 104, 114–16 Kaznakov, N. I. 82, 83 Kerch 82 Kiaochow 117, 118, 129, 149 Klado, N. L. 50–1, 122, 186, 208, 218–19, 302n34, 314n74 Konstantin Nikolaevich 59, 60, 65 Kopytov, N. V. 81, 98, 140 Korea: increase of Russian influence 126; independence 96, 159; Japanese influence 117; Japanese objective 93, 107, 174; need for naval base 129, 149, 170; possibility of RussoJapanese War 126–7, 131, 147, 156; possible Chinese occupation 86; Russian concessions to Japan 159; uprising 94 Korean Straits 42, 84, 86, 172 Korff, A. N. von 85 Kozlov, I. A. 4 Kremer, O. K. 76, 93, 100 Kronstadt: defence of 60, 74, 144; ice bound 68, 73; lack of infrastructure 75; naval defence 240; strengthening of fortifications 71 Kuropatkin, A. N.: defence of western frontiers 166; financial constraints 168, 230; Manchuria 160, 244; and occupation of Mosampo 170; optimism re Far East 257, 258; replacement for Vannovskii 163; report on Black Sea strategy 180; report on needs of War Ministry 227, 228; report on threats to Russian security 164–5; support for Grodekov 176 Kuzmich, K. P. 202, 248 Kwangtung 166, 174, 177, 194, 201, 265 Lambsdorff, V. N. 160, 213 land campaign see army Lanessan, J.-L. de 89 Laughton, J. K. 22 Leer, G. A. 88 Levant 121 Liaotung peninsula 95, 104, 105, 107, 108, 149, 197

Index Libau: defence of 75, 144, 205, 240, 243–4; development halved 184; expense 274; as new base 73–5, 76, 117; opposition to construction 97, 103, 115 Liddel Hart, B. H. 3 Likhachev, I. F. 70 Lobanov-Rostovskii, A. B. 105, 120 logistics 30 Lomen, N. N. 78, 81, 101, 102, 225 Luntinen, P. 313n55 Macedonia 236 Mahan, A. T. 13, 28–31, 50, 88, 185, 186, 267 Makarov, S. O.: commission re war with Britain 86; composition of Pacific Ocean squadron 110; Japan as superior force 154, 176, 177; and Mediterranean squadron 95; move to Far East 96; official policy 53; operational planning 107; rejection of theories 50, 51; report on Far East 127–8; tactics 52; use of Arctic Ocean 143; war as unavoidable 265–6 Manchuria: army concentration 198, 254; Japanese control 95, 96, 105; need for large force 197; political importance 159; and possible Japanese action 193–9, 248; railway 125, 126, 152; Russian presence 160, 250 maritime commerce 29, 36, 50 Mediterranean Sea 82, 83, 139 Mediterranean squadron 90, 95, 208, 209 Mikhnevich, N. P. 203, 204 mines 14, 16 Ministry of Finance, dominance of 43–4 Moluccas 173, 174 Moonzund 74, 115, 117, 205, 239, 243 Morskoi Sbornik (journal) 49, 51, 72, 113, 156, 185, 187 Mosampo 118, 150, 166, 169, 170, 173, 247 Moscow 204

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Moshnin, V. A. 52 Muravev, M. N. 140, 149, 159, 170, 179 Murman coast 102, 103, 116 Musin-Pushkin, A. I. 140, 178–9, 182, 206 Nagasaki 61, 86, 107, 127 nationalism 8, 12 Naval Defence Act (Britain) 23, 91 navalism 12–13 navy: budget increase 230; as career 53–4; as coastal defence force 59; financial constraints 59, 210, 215; officers 53, 261; operational planning 253 Navy Ministry: administration 40, 273; Directorship 46; financial constraints 163; increase in budget 44, 45; and reinforcement 65; shipbuilding programme 78, 112 Near East 37–9 Nelidov, A. I. 81, 139 Nemitts, A. 4 neutral shipping 246 Nicholas II: autocracy 226; Bosphorus expedition 140; concessions to Japan 244; expansionism 40; Korea 199; and mobilization of forces 263; navalism 45, 270; new naval base 98, 123; optimism 258; rejection of occupation of Liaotung 150; report on Navy 114; as responsible for defeat 276; shipbuilding programmes 112, 157, 216, 225, 232, 234; support for Far East 163; support for Kazi 116; support for Ministry of Finance 43; as unprepared for tsardom 34–5 Nicholas Naval Academy 48, 49, 52, 126, 173, 207, 241 Nidermiller, A. G. von 147, 152 Obruchev, N. N.: Bosphorus expedition report 119; Britain as limited threat 71; and Dreikaiserbund 64; need for French support 88;

340

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and new base at Libau 73; and occupation of Bosphorus 80; and possibility of agreement with Japan 104; reinforcement of Kronstadt 75 Ochakov 82, 236, 237 Odessa 79, 82, 120 Orlov, N. I. 52 Ottoman empire: Armenian revolt 93; Christian unrest 37, 81; diplomacy 137; German activity 178; international armada 139; navy as weak 141; threat to Russian empire 61; war with Russia 62; weakness 143 Pacific Ocean squadron: armed reserve 162, 163; base 271; composition 254; dependence on Japanese ports 123; as deterrent 153, 154; funding for expansion 197; and growth of German fleet 217; guerre de course 84, 86; maintenance costs 162; need for permanency 110; and Nicholas II 220; reinforcement 85, 100, 101, 102, 103, 147, 161; weakness of 64, 65 Pechilee, Gulf of 86, 95 Peking agreement (1902) 203 Persian Gulf 39, 209, 212 Pescadores Islands 104, 127 Peshchurov, A. A. 65 Petrov, M. A. 4 Piraeus 82, 83 Poland 36, 41 political stability 7, 12 Port Arthur: as able to withstand siege 228; advantages 195; blockade 266; defence of 175, 176, 244; development delayed 202; disadvantages 174, 260; fortification as necessary 201, 223; ice free 149; Japanese control 95; lease to Russia 152; need for dry dock 177, 255; occupation 150, 165; priority 176, 177; report 151, 166–9 Port Hamilton 84 pre-dreadnought period 16, 17, 18, 19 Priamur 106, 148, 153, 233

protected cruisers 15, 18 protectionism 8, 9, 12, 36 Protopopov, A. P. 235, 236, 237 Prussia 23, 26, 243 Prussian-Austrian War 25 railways: Baghdad 209; cost of 44; and enemy mobilization 64; expansion 36; and imperialism 12; importance of 10, 71, 72, 74, 176; and mobilization of forces 9, 41, 188, 190; and Mosampo 129; Tashkent-Orenburg 211, 230 Riga 72 Riga, Gulf of, defence 74, 75, 76, 78, 144, 205, 238 RN (Royal Navy): and decline of sea power 10; as focus of Jeune École 25, 32; Mediterranean Fleet 62; superiority over Russian navy 70 Rodionov, A. R. 82 Romania 208, 236, 237 Romanovs 45 Rosen R. R. 146–8, 150, 304n70 Royal Navy see RN Rozhestvenskii, Z. P. 221, 223, 227, 240, 241, 256 Rusin, A. I. 193, 224, 262 Russian empire 33, 36–44, 277ill Russo-Chinese Bank, The 125 Russo-Japanese War: Baltic Fleet 241; and Chinese empire 11; defeat 266, 276; first official tactical policy 52; mismanagement of resources 44; and naval general staff 47; as result of expansionism 40; strategic problems 234 Rybachenok, I. S. 4 sail, age of 13, 19, 22, 26 St Petersburg 42, 60, 103, 203, 204, 239 Sakharov, V. V. 98–9, 163, 175, 183, 190, 206, 229, 237–9, 250, 264, 303n44, 309n54, 315n10, 305n11, 305n14, 316n33, 316n43, 318n74 Salisbury, Lord 121, 143 Sasebo 263

Index Sea of Japan 42, 84, 86, 252 Second Naval Law (Germany) 182 Selborne, Earl of 200, 258 Sevastopol 70, 79, 82, 236, 237 Shestakov, I. A.: Director, Navy Ministry 46, 66; necessity for torpedo craft 72, 73; reinforcement of Black Sea Fleet 79, 80; rejection of increased force in Mediterranean 83; rejection of Libau as base 74; Vladivostok as base 85 shipbuilding: Baltic Works shipyard 56; construction costs 56, 66, 69; delays 161, 191; development of 55–7; financial constraints 57, 77, 146, 270, 271; funding of 77; GMSh plan 222–3; increase of costs 19, 20, 45; programmes 65, 100, 216; overseas construction 154, 155, 257; reports 219, 227–8, 231–2; types of vessel 56, 57 Siberia 39, 131, 263 Sino-Japanese War 94–5, 261 Skrydlov, N.I.: Black Sea strategy 235, 237; operational plan re Japan 193–4; and Pacific Ocean squadron 198; preference for Vladivostok 196; war games 173 social unrest 226 Society of the Volunteer Fleet 58, 79 Sollogub, V. U. 78 Spanish-American War 185, 186 Spencer, Lord 91, 110 Stackelberg, E. A. 247, 251, 252 Stark, O. K. 199, 246, 247, 265 steam power 14, 20, 26 Stetsenko, K. V. 255 Stetsenko, V. 87 strategy, naval 3, 47–52, 69, 122, 268 submarines 14, 18 Suez Canal 83, 121, 143, 274 Sveaborg 70, 75, 76, 78, 239 Taliewan (later Dalnii) 95, 108, 149, 150, 151, 152, 169 Tangier 212 telegraph 9, 26, 107 Tirpitz, A. von 182

341

torpedo boats 16, 17, 18, 25, 72, 76 torpedoes 14, 15, 16 Toulon 121, 143, 192, 215, 237 training, peacetime 54–5, 260 Trans-Siberian railway: and access to ocean 131; capabilities 275; funding of 271; as profitable 36; threat to Japan 94; and trade with China 39, 125; vulnerability to attack 255 Treaty of Paris 61 Treaty of Simonoseki 104 Triple Alliance: and Bosphorus expedition 141, 143; as major threat to western borders 71, 164, 229; operational plan against 236; power block 10; superior forces 37; threat in Black Sea 237 Tsardom, autocracy of 33–5 Tsarskoe Selo 146 Turkish fleet 138, 207, 208 Turkish Straits 279ill Tyrtov, P. P.: command combined squadron 96; construction costs of shipbuilding programme 155; death 227; and development of Port Arthur as base 168; Director, Navy Ministry 46; financial constraints 162, 163, 207; and foreign policy 179, 180; and Japanese 106–8; lack of confidence in guerre de course 217; need for base in Korean Straits 169, 170, 199; need for operational plan against Japan 128; Pacific Ocean squadron 94, 118; replacement for Chikhachev 135; shipbuilding programme 217, 225 Ukraine 36 United States 27, 28, 160 United States Naval War College 28 Vannovskii, P. S. 79, 80, 94, 105, 114, 138, 140 Velichko, K. I. 168, 169 Vindau 74, 75 Virenius, A. A.: Chief of VMUO 48; commander reinforcement

342

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detachment 255; financial constraints 162, 163; guerre de course 218; report on Black Sea Fleet 224; shipbuilding programme 217, 231–2 Vitgeft, V. K. 195, 247, 250–1 Vladivostok: cruiser detachment 248, 255; defence of 64, 85, 174, 175, 223; development to infrastructure 130, 167; ice bound 42; isolation 128; lack of infrastructure 61, 95, 110, 260; land forces and security 148; possibility of blockade 87; supplies for Pacific Fleet 86 Volkonskii, A. 156 Volunteer Fleet see Society of the Volunteer Fleet Vyborg 239 war games 126, 173–5, 203, 207, 235, 241–2, 253–4 war indemnity 23, 104, 125, 162 War Ministry: administration 40, 50; financial stringency 44; funding of 228, 229; and new base at Libau 73; strategy 163 warships 14, 16, 19, 57 Weihaiwei 152 White Sea 42, 216, 217 Whitehead, R. 16

Witte, S. Iu: Bosphorus expedition 124; criticism of Alexei Alexandrovich 46; defensive alliance with China 150; dominance 43; extra naval funding 146; and Far East policy 130; financial constraints 112, 155–7, 225, 230, 271; and foreign policy 180; industrialization policy 36, 226; Manchuria 160, 244; opposition to agreement with Japan 105; opposition to Alexander Mikhailovich 133, 134; opposition to Nelidov 139; and Persian Gulf links 209; removal from Ministry of Finance 226; sanction of ice breaker 143; support for base on Murman coast 97; temporary reinforcement of Pacific Ocean squadron 96; and trade with China 40; and TransSiberian railway 125; use of land forces 134; Vladivostok development delayed 167 Yalta conference 206 Yalu estuary 196, 198 Yellow Sea 175, 177, 196, 201, 248, 254 Zolotarev, V. A. 4 Zotov, R. 87, 88