The Russian gunboat Koriets, one of the ships lost at the Battle of Chemulpo.
Text Taken from Cassell's History of the Russo-Japanese War
It was about 5 o'clock in the afternoon when ... the Korietz was passing right outside Chemulpo. A vision which, under other circumstances, would have been an inspiring one, was gradually revealed to the Russian commander, Captain Bielaev, and his crew. In rapid succession there came into view several transports, escorted by a cruiser division of the Japanese fleet, and some torpedo boats. Well might the Russians have felt misgivings as they "sized up" that workmanlike contingent. For, although of the six attendant cruisers five were vessels of about half the size of the Korietzs' late consort in Chemulpo harbour, the sixth was the big armoured ship, Asama, which was half as large again as the Varyag, and with the appearance of which many Englishmen are familiar.
Probably, too, Captain Bielaev was aware that the division was commanded by Rear-Admiral Uriu [Uryu Sotokichi], an officer of very remarkable attainments, and one of the youngest of Japan's admirals. Now only forty-six years of age, Admiral Uriu [left] received his early naval training in the United States; he was actively employed on the Staff during the Chino-Japanese War; and his name and reputation will, of course, have been familiar to the Russian Navy.
However, Captain Bielaev seems to have been in no way daunted by the imposing approach of the Japanese squadron, any one of the cruisers in which could have sunk him in a few minutes, and, as one of the Japanese torpedo-boats came within short range of him, one of his guns "spoke." Thus, in a moment of passionate foolhardiness, strangely typical of Russia's action in provoking the resentment of a Power temporarily and locally, at any rate, far stronger than herself, was fired the first shot of the war.
That shot, like so much of Russia's "bluff" against Japan, missed its mark. Nor was it immediately countered by effective Japanese reprisals. A couple of torpedoes were discharged at the Korietz, but did not hit her; and Captain Bielaev, finding discretion the better part of valour, ran back to rejoin the Varyag inside the harbour.
The Japanese ships continued their passage, and, in due course, four battalions of Japanese infantry, aggregating some three thousand men, were landed from the transports, an operation which would have been impossible in the eye of any but a very inferior enemy. Subsequently Chemulpo was occupied by a Japanese detachment, the remainder of the troops continuing the march to Seoul.
Soon after midnight the landing is completed, and General Yasutsuma Kigoshi, commanding the troops, retires to rest in his temporary headquarters from which in a few hours he will lead his fine fellows to Seoul. Before the troops Admiral Uriu has acted with regard to the Russians in harbour. At 4 a.m. he sends a letter to Captain Roudneff, commanding the Varyag, to say that if the latter and the Korietz remain in the harbour after twelve o'clock he will attack them.
It is, indeed, a melancholy position in which the representatives of proud Russia's Navy are now placed. Surrender is out of the question, except by [illegible], and Captain Rudneff [right] probably surmises that Japan would never have attempted such a landing as she has just carried out unless she had taken care that the main body of Russia's fleet were occupied elsewhere. This Captain Roudneff is a strapping fellow, an old shipmate of Admiral Alexeieff, who was only recently given the command of the Varyag. A man of great force of character and firmness of disposition, he takes no long time making up his mind in these difficult circumstances. He knows well that both his ship and the Korietz are doomed, but he resolves that their end shall be worthy of the Russian flag.
To lose the Korietz is no great matter. After seventeen years of service, that insignificant gunboat is not worth much to Russia, even in the Far East, but it must be with a real pang that the gallant sailor thinks of the fate which is awaiting his own fine ship, which was only laid down at Cramp's famous yard at Philadelphia four or five years ago, and is one of the fastest vessels in the Russian Navy. With something of a heavy heart, we may be sure, the necessary orders are given, and half an hour before noon the two vessels are steaming out through the narrow and difficult entrance to the port.
But before the Varyag and Korietz leave the company of the foreign warships, an episode occurs which marks the coming conflict with a distinctive touch of pathos and sublimity. They are going to almost certain death, the brave fellows on these doomed ships; the ships themselves will soon, well-nigh inevitably, be frightfully mauled by their powerful antagonists — but the band on the Varyag strikes up the Russian National Anthem as she steams out majestically to meet het fate, and the strains of "God Save the Emperor!" are the stirring overture to a stirring, if one-sided, fight.
There is not much need to prolong the tale of what follows. Close to noon comes the first shot in the running battle which ensues between the Russian ships and Admiral Uriu's squadron which is pressing on their heels. From twelve to half-past the firing is fast and furious, the Korietz, as well as the Varyag, making a most plucky fight, and apparently escaping with much less damage than her big consort. But here again, as at Port Arthur, Russian gunnery proves deficient. With her turn of speed the Varyag might conceivably have succeeded in disabling one or more of her antagonists, while the Korietz has at least two quick-firing guns of considerable calibre. No serious damage, however, appears to be inflicted by either ship, while the Japanese [inflict] some cruel blows, especially on the Varyag.
Japanese woodblock propaganda print inaccurately shows the Koriets taking a pasting at the hands of Japanese cruisers.
At 12.30 the firing becomes more desultory, and by this time the Russian ships, which have sought the shelter of the neighbouring Polynesian Islands, are showing signs of distress. Shortly afterwards the guns on both sides are silent, and the Varyag and Korietz are seen returning to the harbour. The Japanese squadron remains outside.
Listing heavily to port the Varyag struggles into the channel where the neutral warships are lying, and anchors. The Korietz does the same a few furlongs off, and to the experienced eyes of the observers on the Talbot, Vicksburg, Pascal, and Elba, the end is not far off. The Varyag has been punished frightfully, shells having struck her in the bows and low down in the stern, while the debris on deck, caused by the bursting of another shell on the bridge, is said to resemble that of a machine shop.
As the Varyag afterwards is found to be sinking, and the Korietz is on fire, the crews are taken off and received on board the neutral cruisers. The casualties are very numerous, brave Captain Roudneff being among the wounded. The Sungari, a Russian transport lying in the harbour, is set on fire and abandoned.
At 4 o'clock the Korietz, the fire having spread to her magazine, blows up. The Russian crew from the decks of the Pascal sing the national anthem [once again] as the fragments of their gallant little ship strew the waters of the harbour. At 6.30 the Varyag, said to have been set on fire, sinks. The Sungari follows. So ends the eventful evening of February 8th [sic], a day which has seen two naval battles fought, and nine Russian warships put out of action. A terrible lesson in naval warfare this, and one which will linger long in the memories even of those not privileged to witness these tremendous sights, as so many spectators both at Port Arthur and Chemulpo were. But, perhaps, the memory which will survive the longest is that of the Russian sailors who went out to fight their last fight, went out to death, perhaps to agony — for torturing agony is what death on board a stricken warship sometimes means — singing "God Save the Emperor!"
-- Cassell's History of the Russo-Japanese War (London: Cassell Publishing, 1905), I, 29-32.
The Koriets blows sky-high at Chemulpo: photo taken by the American consul from another vessel in port.
Some of the Japanese Cruisers at Chemulpo
The armored cruiser Asama seen in theater, 1904. Completed in 1898, she carried four 8"/40 and twelve 6"/40 guns; fought in all the principal naval battles of the war. Schematic
The venerable Naniwa was Uryu's flagship. Her sister ship, the Takachicho, also participated in the fight. British-built vessels each mounted two 10" Krupp guns and six Armstrong 6". Schematic
Armored cruiser Adzuma was built at St-Nazaire, France in 1900. Armed with Elswick ordnance, she carried four 8"/40 and fourteen 6"/40. Schematic
The 2,700-ton protected cruiser Akashi was among the first modern warships built entirely in Japan, completing in 1899. A 20-knotter, she carried two 6" and six 5" guns.
Protected cruiser Niitaka was one of the workhorses of the Imperial Japanese Navy. This 3,400-ton, 20-knot ship was typical of the cruisers turned out by Japanese dockyards 5 years after the Akashi; she completed only a few weeks before the Chemulpo action. She brought six 6" guns plus torpedoes to the battle; had a long career stretching to 1927, with many a sea-fight to relate.
Protected cruiser Chiyoda, built by John Brown in Britain 1888-91, mounted ten 4.7" (120 mm) guns.
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