The Naval Battle of Tsushima, 1905. Japan Emerges as the Pacific's Major Naval Power Sparking the Decline of the Russian Empire.

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It’s hard to play what-if games with any degree of accuracy. But, today’s conflict, the naval battle of Tsushima, sowed the seeds of an imperial nation that would create a dominant naval force and a culturally induced fanatical military. 

According to an Irish military historian, a masters graduate in military history and strategic studies, who goes by the moniker Never Felt Better (his blog will be linked in the show notes), he had this to say about today’s battle:

Japan could finally be recognised as a Great Power after Tsushima. The battle’s result contributed to its growing territorial ambitions as Korea, then Manchuria were invaded. With a growing sense of superiority, Japan aimed to become the leader of East Asia. Viewing itself as an elite naval power, it acted as an equal to all other Pacific powers, the British Empire and the United States. Tsushima paved the way for Pearl Harbour, the innate sense within the Japanese Empire that it could win.

A reverse of Tsushima, where the Japanese lost all of their battleships and most of their fleet, would have devastated the Japanese war effort. With supremacy in the environment, Russia would have had clear motivation to send more troops into the area and there is every possibility that they would have had success against now isolated Japanese forces, who had already suffered severe losses.

With victory in the war, Russia would have gained control over Korea, greater influence over China, and would have to be recognised as the eminent power of the Pacific. It’s internal unrest would also have lacked staying power with such a military victory, and its subsequent fortunes in World War One would have been different.

Japan on the other hand, would have been dealt a severe blow, its ambitions dented, and more importantly, its pride. It would have been unable to expand as aggressively as it did during the following decades, and almost certainly would not have been powerful enough to challenge the United States in 1941.

Lets now experience, the naval battle of Tsushima.

Welcome to History's Greatest Battles, Season One, Episode 78: The Battle of Tsushima, the 27th of May, 1905. 

Russian Forces: Eight Battleships, Eight Cruisers, Nine Destroyers.

Japanese Forces: Four Battleships, Eight Cruisers, 21 Destroyers, and 60 Torpedo Boats.

The catastrophic defeat of the Russian fleet at Tsushima shattered Russia’s aspirations as a naval power, sealing its decline on the seas. At the same time, the victory cemented Japan’s emergence as a dominant force in naval warfare, signaling a seismic shift in global power dynamics.

In the years 1894 and 1895, Japan thundered onto the world stage with a victory so decisive it left the great powers of the era stunned. The war against China, fought for dominance over Korea and the vital Liaotung Peninsula, which thrusts boldly into the Sea of Japan, showcased a rising empire’s power.

Yet, no sooner had Japan tasted triumph than the European powers, their ambitions cloaked in diplomacy, intervened. Under relentless pressure, Japan was forced to relinquish nearly all its conquests, including the invaluable prize of Port Arthur, a fortress commanding the tip of the Liaotung Peninsula.

Seizing the moment like a predator stalking weakened prey, Russia moved swiftly. With ruthless precision, it coerced the Chinese government into granting the right to extend the Trans-Siberian Railway deep into Manchuria, all the way to Port Arthur. To solidify its grip, Russia claimed Port Arthur itself as a bastion for its Pacific Squadron, the pride of its navy, while stationing the remainder of its fleet in the icy northern waters of Vladivostok.

For Japan, the humiliation ran deep. The empire’s leaders seethed, and its people nursed a fiery resentment toward Russia, which they saw as the primary instigator of this indignity. In 1899, U.S. Secretary of State John Hay brokered a fragile consensus among the world’s great powers. Britain, France, Germany, Russia, and Japan agreed to the so-called Open Door Policy, a doctrine proclaiming free trade within China’s vast and resource-rich markets.

Japan saw this policy as a gateway to Manchuria, a land brimming with the raw materials that its resource-starved industries desperately needed to fuel their ambitions. Since opening its doors to the outside world in 1854, Japan had embarked on an unrelenting mission to bridge the technological chasm separating it from the industrial titans of the West. For Japan, a nation woefully devoid of natural resources, the coal and iron ore buried beneath Manchuria’s soil gleamed like treasure waiting to be claimed.

But Russia, with its imperial swagger, had no intention of honoring the Open Door Policy it had so begrudgingly endorsed. Japan pursued negotiation, seeking fair access to Manchuria’s markets. Russia, however, feigned diplomacy while reinforcing its military presence, signaling its contempt for compromise.

By the dawn of 1904, Japan’s patience was exhausted. Its leaders resolved to act decisively and with force. Under the cover of darkness on 8 February, just before the stroke of midnight, Japanese destroyers and torpedo boats slipped silently into Port Arthur. Their target: the anchored Russian fleet, vulnerable and unaware. When the attack commenced, chaos erupted. Three Russian vessels were battered, left listing in the harbor under the ferocity of Japan’s opening strike.

As dawn broke, Admiral Heihachiro Togo led the full strength of Japan’s navy into action, raining down a relentless bombardment on Russian ships and the shore defenses that guarded them. The Russian fleet suffered further devastation, but when their return fire struck several Japanese vessels, Togo calculated the risks and pulled his forces back.

Despite outnumbering their foes, the Russian fleet remained stagnant, failing to seize the opportunity to counterattack and break the Japanese assault. Meanwhile, the Japanese refrained from pressing the advantage, leaving the battered Russian fleet anchored but intact—a missed opportunity that would later weigh heavily on strategists.

What Admiral Togo could not yet grasp was the true state of his enemy. The Russian fleet, plagued by shoddy training and low morale, was defended by gunners whose aim was as feeble as their spirit. Unaware of this weakness, Togo chose caution, unwilling to gamble his smaller, more vital fleet on what might have been an overwhelming triumph.

The very next day, on 9 February, Japanese ships struck again, this time in the harbor of Chemulpo. Two Russian vessels were left crippled under a hail of Japanese fire, their crews scuttling them in a desperate bid to avoid capture. Japanese forces swiftly followed up with a ground invasion, capturing Chemulpo and setting the stage for a full-scale offensive into Manchuria by early May.

Meanwhile, at Port Arthur, the Russian fleet gained a new commander—Admiral Stepan Makarov—a man known for his discipline and tactical rigor. Makarov wasted no time whipping his demoralized crews into shape. On 13 April, he led them out of the safety of the harbor, determined to take the fight to the enemy. But fate intervened cruelly. Makarov’s flagship struck a Russian-laid mine, sinking to the depths and taking the admiral and his ambitions with it.

His successor, paralyzed by indecision, opted for inaction. The fleet remained tethered in Port Arthur, a powerful force rendered useless by a commander who feared mistakes more than defeat. The Japanese Army seized the moment. Their artillery pounded Port Arthur into submission, obliterating its harbor and sinking the remnants of the Russian fleet, now trapped and defenseless.

Outraged by the annihilation of his Pacific Squadron, Czar Nicholas II issued orders for the Baltic Fleet to embark on a perilous journey to the East, an odyssey born of desperation and imperial pride. Command fell to Admiral Zinovy Rozhdestvensky, a man whose uninspired leadership matched the aging fleet under his charge. Four modern battleships aside, the journey was a marathon of missteps and calamities.

In the North Sea, fear of phantom Japanese torpedo boats drove the Russian fleet to disaster. They opened fire on British fishing vessels near the Dogger Banks, sinking several and igniting a diplomatic crisis that nearly spiraled into war. Seeking to avoid further blunders, Rozhdestvensky split his forces. Half the fleet braved the turbulent waters of the Cape of Good Hope, while the other half threaded the Suez Canal, both converging in Madagascar for resupply.

By the time the battered fleet reached Madagascar on 1 January 1905, news arrived that Port Arthur had fallen. Japan’s victory was complete, and Russia’s humiliation deepened. After regrouping and resupplying in French Indochina, the combined fleet set sail on 14 May for the final, grueling leg toward Vladivostok, their spirits worn thin by the arduous journey.

Rozhdestvensky knew full well the Japanese navy would await him if he chose the route west of Japan, yet he pressed onward, resigned to a confrontation he was ill-prepared to win. Togo, meanwhile, had learned from every prior engagement. His crews were drilled to perfection, and his battleships were armed with newly refined shells to replace the earlier munitions that had failed in combat.

Togo commanded a formidable force: four battleships, eight cruisers, twenty-one destroyers, and sixty torpedo boats. Though the Russians outgunned him in capital ships, his vessels were faster, more advanced, and manned by superior crews. Togo hungered for battle, eager to strike a decisive blow. Rozhdestvensky, by contrast, sought only to survive, his sole aim to reach Vladivostok and merge with what was left of the Russian Pacific fleet.

Togo held every advantage. He operated near his own shores, navigating waters he knew intimately, while his Russian adversary sailed blind in hostile seas.

Togo anchored his fleet in Masampo Bay off southern Korea, waiting for news of the Russian fleet’s approach. Wireless telegraphy, a groundbreaking invention, ensured he would be alerted the moment the enemy was sighted. His strategy was meticulously crafted: he would position his battleships to cross the head of the Russian formation, a maneuver that would allow him to unleash devastating broadsides while the Russians could reply with only their forward guns. His cruisers would sweep in to harass the enemy’s flanks, while his smaller torpedo boats would dart in to sow havoc among the disoriented Russian vessels.

At dawn on 27 May 1905, the Japanese ship Siano Maru nearly collided with a Russian hospital ship trailing the fleet in the fog, confirming the enemy’s position. Rozhdestvensky, leading his fleet toward the Tsushima Strait, ordered his disorganized formation of two parallel columns into a single line. The Russians sailed northward, their unwieldy fleet lumbering through treacherous waters. By 10:00 a.m., Russian lookouts spotted Japanese cruisers shadowing them six miles to the west, a silent prelude to the storm.

At noon, Rozhdestvensky adjusted his course east by north, while his officers toasted Czar Nicholas’s coronation in their wardroom, oblivious to the looming threat. Then, at 2:00 p.m., Togo made his move. Aboard his flagship Mikasa, he executed the classic naval maneuver of "crossing the T," cutting across the head of the Russian line. The Japanese ships unleashed a torrent of broadsides, their shells raining destruction on the approaching enemy. The Russians, confined to a narrow formation, could answer only with their forward guns, hopelessly outmatched by Togo’s firepower and precision.

The engagement was a slaughter. The Russian flagship Suvarov was struck early, its steering destroyed, leaving it helpless amidst the chaos. With their leader incapacitated, the rest of the Russian fleet began to falter. As one Japanese officer later observed, “After the first twenty minutes, the Russians seemed suddenly to go all to pieces, and their shooting became wild and almost harmless.”

Rozhdestvensky himself was wounded twice during the exchange and was eventually evacuated. Command passed to Rear Admiral Nikolai Nebogatov, who was left to salvage the remnants of the fleet. By evening, three Russian battleships had been sunk, and the remaining vessels were relentlessly harried through the night by Japanese torpedo boats. The once-proud Russian fleet was reduced to burning wrecks and fleeing stragglers.

By the following day, the battle was all but over. Most of the Russian fleet had been sunk or captured. Only a single cruiser and two destroyers managed to limp to Vladivostok, while three other destroyers fled to the Philippines, where they were interned. The toll was staggering: six Russian battleships were obliterated, two captured, and most of their cruisers and destroyers destroyed or taken. Nearly 10,000 Russian sailors were dead, wounded, or captured. In contrast, Japan suffered only 1,000 casualties, with three torpedo boats lost.

The scale of the defeat was unprecedented. Not since Trafalgar had the world witnessed such a one-sided naval victory. At Tsushima, Japan not only crushed the last remnants of Russian naval power in the Pacific but also announced its arrival as a dominant force on the world stage.

For Russia, the loss was catastrophic. It shattered the myth of imperial invincibility and exposed the incompetence of its leadership, fueling revolutionary fervor back home. The humiliation forced Czar Nicholas II to seek peace. Under the mediation of U.S. President Theodore Roosevelt, the Treaty of Portsmouth was signed in August 1905, bringing the war to an end.

But the treaty brought little satisfaction to Japan. Although its government accepted the terms, the public seethed at the perceived concessions. Much like after the First Sino-Japanese War, Japan was forced to give up prizes it had won in battle, including monetary reparations from Russia. This resentment simmered for decades, forming the seeds of hostility toward the West.

Tensions escalated further when discriminatory laws targeting Japanese immigrants were enacted in California. The insult sparked outrage in Japan, with newspapers calling for action. President Roosevelt, wary of the consequences, sent the Great White Fleet on a global tour, including a stop in Tokyo Bay in 1907. Painted white as a symbol of peace, the fleet showcased American naval might. Yet its arrival exposed the aging fleet’s vulnerabilities compared to Japan’s modernized navy, a chilling reminder of the power Japan now wielded.

The Root-Takahira Agreement followed, temporarily easing tensions by delineating spheres of influence in the Pacific. Roosevelt recognized that Japan had emerged as a naval power of the first rank, one to be respected and feared. Though the treaty maintained peace for nearly three decades, the underlying resentment would not fade.

By the late 1930s, Japan’s naval power had grown unchecked, fueled by ambition and resentment over decades of perceived Western slights. In 1941, the storm that Roosevelt had feared finally broke, as Japan unleashed its full might at Pearl Harbor, plunging the Pacific into total war.

Ultimately, it was the United States’ new and modernized navy, forged in the fires of World War II, that ended the struggle for naval supremacy in the Pacific.