before us like a map. To the left were the Japanese and British cruisers
in the Yellow Sea, preparing for the bombardment. Below was the Japanese
battery, stationed near the Meeker House, which the Germans had burned
in their retreat from the mountains. Directly ahead was the City of
Tsing-tau, with the Austrian cruiser Kaiserin Elisabeth steaming about
in the harbor, while to the right one could see the Kiao-Chau coast and
central forts and redoubts and the intrenched Japanese and British
camps.
We had just couched ourselves comfortably between some large, jagged
rocks, where we felt sure we were not in a direct line with the enemy's
guns, when suddenly there was a flash as if some one had turned a large
golden mirror in the field down beyond to the right. A little column of
black smoke drifted away from one of the Japanese trenches, and a minute
later those of us on the peak of Prinz Heinrich heard the sharp report
of a field gun.
"Gentlemen, the show has started," said the British Captain, as he
removed his cap and started adjusting his "opera glass." No sooner had
he said this than the reports of guns came from all directions with a
continuous rumble as if a giant bowling alley were in use. Everywhere
the valley at the rear of Tsing-tau was alive with golden flashes from
discharging guns, and at the same time great clouds of bluish-white
smoke would suddenly spring up around the German batteries where some
Japanese shell had burst. Over near the greater harbor of Tsing-tau we
could see flames licking up the Standard Oil Company's large tanks. We
afterward learned that these had been set on fire by the Germans and
not by a bursting shell.
And then the warships in the Yellow Sea opened fire on Iltis Fort, and
for three hours we continually played our glasses on the field--on
Tsing-tau and on the warships. With glasses on the central redoubt of
the Germans we watched the effects of the Japanese fire until the boom
of guns from the German Fort A, on a little peninsula jutting out from
Kiao-Chau Bay, toward the east, attracted our attention there. We could
see the big siege gun on this fort rise up over the bunker, aim at a
warship, fire, and then quickly go down again. And then we would turn
our eyes toward the warships in time to see a fountain of water 200
yards from a vessel, where the shell had struck. We scanned the city of
Tsing-tau. The 150-ton crane in the greater harbor, which we had seen
earlier in the day, and which was said to be the largest crane in the
world, had disappeared and only its base remained standing. A Japanese
shell had carried away the crane.
But this first day's firing of the Japanese investing troops was mainly
to test the range of the different batteries. The attempt also was made
to silence the line of forts extending in the east from Iltis Hill, near
the wireless and signal stations at the rear of Tsing-tau, to the coast
fort near the burning oil tank on the west. In this they were partly
successful, two guns at Iltis Fort being silenced by the guns at sea.
On Nov. 1, the second day of the bombardment, we again stationed
ourselves on the peak of Prinz Heinrich Berg. From the earliest hours of
morning the Japanese and British forces had kept up a continuous fire on
the German redoubts in front of the Iltis, Moltke, and Bismarck forts,
and when we arrived at our seats it seemed as though the shells were
dropping around the German trenches every minute. Particularly on the
redoubt of Taitung-Chen was the Japanese fire heavy, and by early
afternoon, through field glasses, this German redoubt appeared to have
had an attack of smallpox, so pitted was it from the holes made by
bursting Japanese shells. By nightfall many parts of the German
redoubts had been destroyed, together with some machine guns. The result
was the advancing of the Japanese lines several hundred yards from the
bottom of the hills where they had rested earlier in the day.
It was not until the third day of the bombardment that those of us
stationed on Prinz Heinrich observed that our theatre of war had a
curtain, a real asbestos one that screened the fire in the drops
directly ahead of us from our eyes. We had learned that the theatre was
equipped with pits, drops, a gallery for onlookers, exits, and an
orchestra of booming cannon and rippling, roaring pompons; but that
nature had provided it with a curtain--that was something new to us.
We had reached the summit of the mountain about 11 A.M., just as some
heavy clouds, evidently disturbed by the bombardment during the previous
night, were dropping down into Litsun Valley and in front of Tsing-tau.
For three hours we sat on the peak shivering in a blast from the sea,
and all the while wondering just what was being enacted beyond the
curtain. The firing had suddenly ceased, and with the filmy haze before
our eyes we conjured up pictures of the Japanese troops making the
general attack upon Iltis Fort, evidently the key to Tsing-tau, while
the curtain, of the theatre of war was down.
By early afternoon the clouds lifted, and with glasses we were able to
distinguish fresh sappings of the Japanese infantry nearer to the German
redoubts. The Japanese guns, which the day before were stationed below
us to the left, near the Meeker House, had advanced half a mile and were
on the road just outside the village of Ta-Yau. Turning our glasses on
Kiao-Chau Bay, we discovered that the Kaiserin Elisabeth was missing,
nor did a search of the shore line reveal her. Whether she was blown up
by the Germans or had hidden behind one of the islands I do not know.
All the guns were silent now, and the British Captain said: "Well,
chaps, shall we take advantage of the intermission?"
A half-hour later we were down the mountain and riding homeward toward
Tschang-Tsun.
To understand fully the operations of the Japanese troops in Shantung
during the present Far Eastern war one must be acquainted with the
topography of this peninsula, as well as with the conditions that exist
for the successful movements of the troops.
Since the disembarkation of the Japanese Army on Sept. 2 everything has
seemingly favored the Germans. The country, which is unusually
mountainous, offering natural strongholds for resisting the invading
army, is practically devoid of roads in the hinterland. To add to this
difficulty, the last two months in Shantung have seen heavy rains and
floods which have really aided in holding off the ultimate fall of
Kiao-Chau.
One had only to see the road from Lanschan over Makung Pass, on which
the Japanese troops were forced to rely for their supplies, partly to
understand the reason for the German garrison at Tsing-tau still holding
out. The road, especially near the base, is nothing but a sea of clay in
which the military carts sink up to their hubs. Frequent rains every
week keep the roadway softened up and thus render it necessary for the
Japanese infantry to rebuild it and to construct drainage ditches in
order that there may be no delay in getting supplies and ammunition to
the troops at the front.
The physical characteristics of Kiao-Chau make it an ideal fortress. The
entrance of the bay is nearly two miles wide and is commanded by hills
rising 600 feet directly in the rear of Tsing-tau. The ring of hills
that surrounds the city does not extend back into the hinterland, and
thus there is no screen behind which the Japanese forces can quickly
invest the city. Germany has utilized the semicircle of hills in the
construction of large concrete forts equipped with Krupp guns of 14 and
16 inch calibre, which, for four or five miles back into the peninsula,
command all approaches to the city.
The Japanese Army in approaching Tsing-tau has had to do so practically
in the open. The troops found no hills behind which they could with
safety mount heavy siege guns without detection by the German garrison.
In fact, the strategic plan for the capture of the town has been much
like the plan adopted by the Japanese forces at Port Arthur--they have
forced their approach by sappings. While this is a gradual method, it is
certain of victory in the end and results in very little loss of life.
The natural elevations of the Iltis, Bismarck, and Moltke forts at the
rear of Tsing-tau have another advantage in that they are so situated
that they are commanded by at least two other forts. All of the guns had
been so placed that they can be turned on their neighbors if the
occasion arises.
A Japanese aeroplane soaring over Tsing-tau on Oct. 30 scattered
thousands of paper handbills on which was printed the following
announcement, in German, from the Staff Headquarters:
"To the Honored Officers and Men in the Fortress: It is against the will
of God as well as the principles of humanity to destroy and render
useless arms, ships of war, merchantmen, and other works and
constructions not in obedience to the necessity of war, but merely out
of spite lest they fall into the hands of the enemy.
"Trusting, as we do, that, as you hold dear the honor of civilization,
you will not be betrayed into such base conduct. We beg you, however, to
announce to us your own view as mentioned above."
*The German Attack on Tahiti*
*As Told by Miss Geni La France, an Eyewitness.*
SAN FRANCISCO, Cal., Oct. 7.--Graphic stories of the plight of Papeéte,
capital of Tahiti, in the Society Islands, were told here today by
passengers arriving on the Union Steamship Company's liner Moana.
Several of those on board the steamer were in Papeéte when the town was
bombarded by the German cruisers Gneisenau and Scharnhorst. They said
the place was in ruins and that the natives were still hiding in the
hills, whence they fled when the bombardment began.
The stories of those arriving on the Moana vary only in unimportant
details. Perhaps the most graphic story was that told by Miss Geni La
France, a French actress. She told of the Governor's heroism and his
self-sacrificing devotion to duty, which caused him to face death rather
than surrender. All of the passengers were loud in their praise of this
Frenchman, who thought first of his country, next of his guests--for so
he considered all travelers--and next of the city's residents.
"While the shells screamed and exploded with a deafening roar, tearing
buildings and leaving wreck and ruin in their wake, this old Governor
was calm throughout," said Miss La France.
"It was his bravery that enabled us to bear up under the terrible
strain, although it was impossible to flee the city, as shells were
exploding all about.
"I was sitting on the veranda of the hotel, having a lovely holiday.
Every one was happy and contented. The sunshine was lovely and warm and
the natives were busy at their work. I noticed two dark ships steaming
up the little river, but was too lazy and 'comfy' to take any interest
in them.
"Suddenly, without any warning, shots began exploding around us. Two of
the houses near the hotel fell with a crash, and the natives began
screaming and running in every direction. For a minute I didn't realize
what was happening. But when another volley of shells burst dangerously
near and some of the pieces just missed my head, I was flying, too.
"Every one was shouting, 'To the hills, to the hills!' My manager could
not obtain a wagon or any means of conveyance to take me there. I felt
as if I had on a pair of magic boots that would carry me to the hills in
three steps. But I didn't. It was a good six miles, over bad roads, and
we had to run.
"The shells from the German battleships kept breaking, and the
explosions were terrible. I am sure that I made a record in sprinting
that six miles. The cries of the people were terrible. I was simply
terror-stricken and could not cry for fear. I seemed to realize that I
must keep my strength in order to reach the hills.
"We hid in the hills and the natives gave up their homes to the white
people, and were especially kind to the women."
"The native population probably hasn't come back from the hills yet, and
when we left, two days after the bombardment, the European population
was still dazed," said E.P. Titchener, a Wellington, New Zealand,
merchant, who went through the bombardment.
"From 8 o'clock until 10 the Scharnhorst and Gneisenau circled in the
harbor, firing broadsides of eight-inch guns at the little gunboat Zelie
and the warehouses beyond.
"Only the American flag, which the American Consul hoisted, and an
American sailing vessel also ran up, the two being in line before the
main European residence section, saved that part of the town, for the
German cruisers were careful not to fire in that direction."
According to all accounts, the cruisers directed their fire solely
toward the Zelie, but their marksmanship was said to be poor. Many shots
fell short and many went wide, so that the whole business district, the
general market, and the warehouses along the water front were peppered
and riddled.
The French replied from some old guns on the hills as well as three
shots from the Zelie, but ineffectively.
"It was plucky of the French to fire at all," said Mr. Titchener. "At 7
o'clock we could see two war vessels approaching, and soon made out they
were cruisers. They came on without a flag, and the Zelie, lying in the
harbor, fired a blank shot.
"Then the Germans hoisted their flag and the Zelie fired two shots. The
Germans swung around and fired their broadsides, and all the crew of the
Zelie scuttled ashore. No one was hurt.
"The Germans continued to swing and fire. Their shells flew all over the
town above the berth of the Zelie and the German prize ship Walkure,
which the Zelie had captured. Perhaps not knowing they were firing into
a German vessel, the Gneisenau and the Scharnhorst continued their wild
cannonades.
"During the two hours of bombardment a hundred shells from the big
8-inch guns of the cruisers fell and exploded in the town. The sound was
terrific, and nobody blamed the natives for running away.
"With all the destruction, only three men were killed--one Chinaman and
two natives. The Germans evidently made an effort to confine their fire,
but many shots went wide, and these did the main mischief.
"Finally, about 10 o'clock, without attempting to land, and not knowing
that the German crew of the Walkure were prisoners in the town, the
Gneisenau and the Scharnhorst steamed away and disappeared over the
horizon. They sailed off to the westward, but of course we could not
tell how they set their course when they got beyond our vision."
The damage to Papeéte was estimated at $2,000,000. Two vessels were sunk
and two blocks of business houses and residences were destroyed. The
French set fire to a 40,000-ton coal pile to prevent the Germans
replenishing their bunkers.
The voyage of the Moana was fraught with adventure. From Papeéte the
vessel, which flies the British flag, sailed with lights out and dodged
four German cruisers after being warned by the wireless operator, who
had picked up a German code message sent out by the cruisers which had
razed the island city.
*The Bloodless Capture of German Samoa*
*By Malcolm Ross, F.R.G.S.*
[Special Correspondence of THE NEW YORK TIMES.]
WELLINGTON, N.Z., Sept. 19.--The advance detachment of the New Zealand
Expeditionary Force which was ordered to seize German Samoa left
Wellington in two troopships at dawn on Aug. 15, and was met in the
ocean in latitude 36.0 south, longitude 178.30 east by three of the
British cruisers in New Zealand waters--the Psyche, Pyramus, and
Philomel.
As it was known that the armored cruisers Scharnhorst and Gneisenau were
still at large in Pacific waters, it was decided not to go direct to
Samoa, but to shape a course direct for New Caledonia. For the next
fortnight or so we were playing a game of hide and seek in the big
islanded playground of the Pacific Ocean. The first evening out the
Psyche signaled "Whereabouts of Scharnhorst and Gneisenau still unknown;
troopships to extinguish all lights and proceed with only shaded lights
at bow and stern." Military books and papers were quickly gathered
together, and the remaining few minutes of daylight were used for
getting into bed, while the difficult task was set us of trying to sleep
the round of the clock. Thus, night after night, with lights out, we
steamed along our northward track, the days being spent in drill and
ball firing with rifles and the Maxim guns.
On the morning of Aug. 2 we proceeded along the shores of New Caledonia
and saw the big French cruiser Montcalm entering the harbor. Next day we
were joined by the battle cruiser Australia and the light cruiser
Melbourne. The contingent received an enthusiastic reception in New
Caledonia. As we passed the Montcalm our band played the "Marseillaise,"
and the band on the French cruiser responded with our national anthem.
Cheers from the thousands of men afloat and the singing of patriotic
songs added to the general enthusiasm, the French residents being
greatly excited with the sudden and unexpected appearance of their
allies from New Zealand.
A delay of twenty-four hours was caused by one of the troopships
grounding on a sand bank in the harbor, but on Sunday, Aug. 23, the
expedition got safely away.
We steamed through the Havannah Pass, at the southeastern end of the
island, where we awaited Rear Admiral Sir George Patey, in command of
the allied fleets. In due course the Australia and the Melbourne came up
with us. Then in turn waited for the Montcalm. All the ships, eight in
number, were now assembled, and they moved off in the evening light to
take up position in the line ahead.
Fiji was reached in due course, and at anchor in the harbor of Suva we
found the Japanese collier Fukoku Maru, and learned that she had been
coaling the German cruisers at the Caroline Islands just before the
declaration of war. After the coaling had been completed the Japanese
Captain went on to Samoa, calling at Apia. The Germans, however, would
not allow him to land. The Japanese Captain had been paid for his coal
by drafts on Germany, which, on reaching Suva, he found to be useless.
He was therefore left without means to coal and reprovision. As he was
not allowed to land at Samoa, he went on to Pago-Pago, in complete
ignorance that war had been declared, and, not being able to get
supplies there, left for Suva. At the latter port the harbor lights
being extinguished, he ran his vessel on to the reef in the night time.
Rockets were sent up, but no assistance could be given from the shore.
Fortunately, however, he got off as the tide made; but it was a narrow
call.
In the early dawn of Aug. 30 we got our first glimpse of German Samoa.
The American island of Tutuila was out of sight, away to the right, but
presently we rounded the southeastern corner of the island of Upolu,
with its beautiful wooded hills wreathing their summits in the morning
mists, and saw the white line of surf breaking along its coral
reef--historic Upolu, the home of Robert Louis Stevenson, the scene of
wars and rebellions and international schemings, and the scene also of
that devastating hurricane which wrecked six ships of war and ten other
vessels, and sent 142 officers and men of the German and American Navies
to their last sleep. The rusting ribs and plates of the Adler, the
German flagship, pitched high inside the reef, still stare at us as a
reminder of that memorable event.
The Psyche went boldly on ahead, and after the harbor had been swept for
mines she steamed in, under a flag of truce, and delivered a message
from Admiral Patey, demanding the surrender of Apia. The Germans, who
had been expecting their own fleet in, were surprised with the
suddenness with which an overwhelming force had descended upon them, and
decided to offer no resistance to a landing. Capt. Marshall promptly
made a signal to the troopships to steam to their anchorages; motor
launches, motor surfboats, and ships' boats were launched, and the men
began to pour over the ships' sides and down the rope ladders into the
boats.
In a remarkably brief space of time the covering party was on shore,
officers and men dashing out of the boats, up to the knees, and
sometimes the waist, in water. The main street, the cross-roads, and the
bridges were quickly in possession of our men, with their Maxims and
rifles, and then, one after another, the motor boats and launches began
to tow strings of boats, crammed with the men of the main body, toward
the shore. The bluejackets of the beach party, who had already landed,
urged them forward by word and deed in cheery fashion, and soon Apia was
swarming with our troops.
Guards were placed all about the Government buildings, and Col. Logan,
with his staff, was quickly installed in the Government offices.
Lieut. Col. Fulton dashed off to the telephone exchange and pulled out
all the plugs, so that the residents could hold no intercommunication by
that means. The Custom House and the offices of the Governor were also
seized without a moment's loss of time. An armed party was dispatched
along a bush road to seize the wireless station. Late that evening the
man in charge rang up in some alarm to state that there was dynamite
lying about and that the engine had been tampered with to such an extent
that the apparatus could not be used until we got our own machinery in
position.
Meantime the German flag, that had flown over the island for fourteen
years, was hauled down, the Germans present doffing their hats and
standing bareheaded and silent on the veranda of the Supreme Court as
they watched the soldier in khaki from New Zealand unceremoniously
pulling it down, detaching it from the rope, and carrying it inside the
building.
Next morning the British flag was hoisted with all due ceremony. In the
harbor the emblem of Britain's might fluttered from the masts of our
cruiser escort, the Stars and Stripes waved in the tropic breeze above
the palms surrounding the American Consulate, and out in the open sea
the white ensign and tricolor flew on the powerful warships of the
allied fleets of England and France.
A large crowd of British and other residents and Samoans had gathered.
In the background were groups of Chinese coolies, gazing wonderingly
upon the scene. The balconies of the adjoining buildings were crowded
with British and Samoans. Only the Germans were conspicuous by their
absence. With undisguised feelings of sadness they had seen their own
flag hauled down the day before. Naturally they had no desire to witness
the flag of the rival nation going up in its place.
A few minutes before 8 o'clock all was ready. Two bluejackets and a
naval Lieutenant stood with the flag, awaiting the signal. The first gun
of the royal salute from the Psyche boomed out across the bay. Then
slowly, to the booming of twenty-one guns, the flag was hoisted to the
summit of the staff, the officers, with drawn swords, silently watching
it go up. With the sound of the last gun it reached the top of the
flagstaff [Transcriber: original 'fliagstaff'] and fluttered out in the
southeast trade wind above the tall palms of Upolo.
There was a sharp order from the officer commanding the expedition, and
the troops came to the royal salute. The national anthem--never more
fervently sung--and three rousing cheers for King George followed.
Then came the reading of the proclamation by Col. Logan, the troops
formed up again, and, to the music of the, band of the Fifth Regiment,
marched back to quarters.
*How the Cressy Sank*
*By Edgar Rowan of The London Daily Chronicle.*
MUIDEN, Holland, Sept. 23.--(Dispatch to The London Daily
Chronicle.)--When the history of this war comes to be written we shall
put no black borders, as men without pride or hope, around the story of
the loss of the cruisers Aboukir, Cressy, and Hogue. We shall write it
in letters of gold, for the plain, unvarnished tale of those last
moments, when the cruisers went down, helpless before a hidden foe,
ranks among the countless deeds of quiet, unseen, unconscious heroism
that make up the navy's splendid pages.
It is easy to learn all that happened, for the officers want chiefly to
tell how splendidly brave the men were, and the men pay a like tribute
to the officers. The following appears to be a main outline of the
disaster:
The three cruisers had for some time been patrolling the North Sea. Soon
after 6 o'clock Tuesday morning--there is disagreement as to the exact
time--the Aboukir suddenly felt a shock on the port side. A dull
explosion was heard and a column of water was thrown up mast high. The
explosion wrecked the stokehole just forward of amidship and, judging by
the speed with which the cruiser sank, tore the bottom open.
Almost immediately the doomed cruiser began to settle. Except for the
watch on deck, most of her crew, were asleep, wearied by constant vigil
in bad weather, but in perfect order officers and men rushed to
quarters. Quickfirers were manned in the hope of a dying shot at a
submarine, but there was not a glimpse of one. Of the few boats carried
when cleared for action, two were smashed in recent gales and another
was wrecked by the explosion.
The Aboukir's sister cruisers, each more than a mile away, saw and heard
the explosion. They thought the Aboukir had been struck by a mine. They
closed in and lowered boats. This sealed their own fate, for while they
were standing by to rescue survivors, first the Hogue and then the
Cressy was torpedoed.
The Cressy appears to have seen the submarines in time to attempt to
retaliate. She fired a few shots before she keeled over, broken in two,
and sank. Whether she sank any submarines is not known.
The men of the Aboukir afloat in the water hoped for everything from the
arrival of her sister cruisers, and all survivors agree that when these
also sank many gave up the struggle for life and went down. An officer
told me that when swimming, after having lost his jacket in the grip of
a drowning man, his chief thought was that the Germans had succeeded in
sinking only three comparatively obsolete cruisers which shortly would
have been scrapped anyway.
Twenty-four men were saved on a target which floated off the Hogue's
deck. The men were gathered on it for four hours waist deep in water.
The rescued officers unite in praising the skill and daring of the
German naval officers, and, far from bearing any grudge, they have
nothing but professional praise for the submarines' feat.
"Our only grievance," one said, "is that we did not have a shot at the
Germans. Our only share in the war has been a few uncomfortable weeks of
bad weather, mines, and submarines."
When I entered the billiard room of the hotel here sheltering survivors
and asked if any British officers were there, several unshaven men in
the khaki working kit of the Dutch Army or in fishermen's jerseys got up
from their chairs. Most of them had been saved in their pajamas, and
they had to accept the first things in the way of clothing offered by
the kindly Dutch. One Lieutenant apologized for closing the window, as
he had only a thin jacket over his pajamas. He gladly accepted the loan
of my overcoat while making a list of his men who had been saved.
While the survivors are technically prisoners in this neutral country,
to be interned until the end of the war, Muiden steadfastly refuses to
regard them as other than honored guests. The soldiers posted before
every building where officers or men are sheltered seem to be guards of
honor rather than prison warders, and every one in the place is
competing for the honor of lending clothes, running errands, or offering
cigars for the survivors.
When the Dutch steamer Flora arrived with survivors last night, flying
her flag at half-mast and signaling for a doctor, the Red Cross
authorities and the British Vice Consul, Mr. Rigorsberg, at once set the
machinery in motion, and soon the officers were settled in hotels and
the men were divided among a hospital, a church, and a young men's
institute.
I saw one bluejacket asleep covered with a white ensign. He had snatched
it up before diving overboard. He held it in his teeth while in the
water and refused to part with it when rescued. He is now prepared to
fight any one who may attempt to steal this last relic of his ship.
One survivor says that an English fishing boat also was sunk by the
submarines, but the story is not confirmed.
For hours Capt. Voorham of the Flora and Capt. Berkhout of the Titan,
caring nothing for risks of mines and submarines, cruised over the scene
of the disaster, and the gallant Dutch seamen were rewarded by the
rescue of 400 survivors.
Capt. Voorham, who landed all the survivors at Muiden, says:
"We left Rotterdam early Tuesday. In the North Sea we saw a warship,
which proved to be the Cressy. Not long afterward I saw her keel over,
break in two and disappear. Our only thought then was to save as many
survivors as possible. When we got to the spot where she disappeared
boats approached us and we began to get the men in them aboard. It was a
very difficult undertaking, as the survivors were exhausted and we were
rolling heavily.
"We also lowered our own boats and picked up many from the wreckage. All
were practically naked and some were so exhausted that they had to be
hauled aboard with tackle. Each as he recovered at once turned to help
my small crew to save others. Later I saw the Titan approaching and
signaled for help.
"One man was brought aboard with his legs broken. It was touching to see
how tenderly his mates handled him.
"Presently the British destroyers approached. A survivor on my ship
signaled with his arms that he was on a friendly ship, and the warships
passed on.
"Among those saved were two doctors, who worked hard to help the
exhausted men. One man died after they had tried artificial respiration
for an hour.
"My men collected all the clothes and blankets on board and gave them to
the survivors, and the cook was busy getting hot coffee and other food
for my large party of guests.
"By 11:30 we had picked up all the survivors we could see. Soon after we
saw German submarines, and, thinking it best to get to the nearest port,
called here."
Remember that Capt. Voorham had only a comparatively small ship and a
crew of only seventeen and realize the splendid work he did.
[Illustration]
*German Story of the Heligoland Fight*
[Special Correspondence of THE NEW YORK TIMES.]
LONDON, Sept. 8.--Copies of the Berliner Tageblatt have been received
here containing the German account of the recent naval battle off
Heligoland between British and German vessels.
"Regarding the sinking of torpedo boat V-187," says the Tageblatt
account, "an eyewitness says the small craft fought heroically to the
bitter end against overwhelming odds. Quite unexpectedly the V-187 was
attacked by a flotilla of English destroyers coming from the north.
Hardly had the first shot been fired when more hostile destroyers, also
submarines, arrived and surrounded the German craft.
"The V-187, on which, in addition to the commander, was the flotilla
chief, Capt. Wallis, defended itself to the utmost, but the steering
gear was put out of business by several shots, and thus it was
impossible to withdraw from the enemy. When the commander saw there was
no further hope, the vessel was blown up so as not to fall into the
enemy's hands. But even while she sank the guns not put out of action
continued to be worked by the crew till the ship was swallowed up in the
waves. The flotilla commander, as well as Commander Lechler, was lost,
besides many of the crew.
"The enemy deserves the greatest credit for their splendid rescue work.
The English sailors, unmindful of their own safety, went about it in
heroic fashion.
"Boats were put out from the destroyers to save the survivors. While
this rescue work was still under way stronger German forces approached,
causing the English torpedo boats to withdraw, abandoning the small
rescue boats which they had put out, and those who had been saved were
now taken from the English boats aboard our ships.
"When the thunder of the guns showed the enemy was near and engaged with
our torpedo boats, the small armored cruiser Ariadne steamed out to take
part in the scrap. As the Ariadne neared the outpost vessels it was
observed that various of our lighter units were fighting with the
English, which later, however, appeared to be escaping toward the west.
"The long-suppressed keenness for fighting could not be gainsaid and the
Ariadne pursued, although the fog made it impossible to estimate the
strength of the enemy. Presently, not far from the Ariadne, two hostile
cruisers loomed out of the mist--two dreadnought battle cruisers of
30,000 tons' displacement, armed with eight 13.5-inch guns. What could
the Ariadne, of 2,650 tons and armed with ten 4-inch guns, do against
those two Goliath ships?
"At the start of this unequal contest a shot struck the forward boiler
room of the Ariadne and put half of her boilers out of business,
lowering her speed by fifteen miles. Nevertheless, and despite the
overwhelming superiority of the English, the fight lasted half an hour.
The stern of the Ariadne was in flames, but the guns on her foredeck
continued to be worked.
"But the fight was over. The enemy disappeared to the westward. The crew
of the Ariadne, now gathered on the foredeck, true to the navy's
traditions, broke into three hurrahs for the War Lord, Kaiser Wilhelm.
Then, to the singing of 'Deutschland Ueber Alles,' the sinking, burning
ship was abandoned in good order. Two of our ships near by picked up the
Ariadne's crew. Presently the Ariadne disappeared under the waves after
the stern powder magazine had exploded.
"The first officer, surgeon, chief engineer, and seventy men were lost.
In addition, many were wounded."
*The Sinking of the Cressy and the Hogue*
*By the Senior Surviving Officers--Commander Bertram W.L. Nicholson and
Commander Reginald A. Norton.*
[By the Associated Press.]
LONDON, Sept. 25.--The report to the Admiralty on the sinking of the
Cressy, signed by Bertram W.L. Nicholson, Commander of the late H.M.S.
Cressy, follows:
"Sir: I have the honor to submit the following report in connection with
the sinking of H.M.S. Cressy, in company with H.M.S. Aboukir and Hogue,
on the morning of the 22d of September, while on patrol duty:
"The Aboukir was struck at about 6:25 A.M. on the starboard beam. The
Hogue and Cressy closed and took up a position, the Hogue ahead of the
Aboukir, and the Cressy about 400 yards on her port beam. As soon as it
was seen that the Aboukir was in danger of sinking all the boats were
sent away from the Cressy, and a picket boat was hoisted out without
steam up. When cutters full of the Aboukir's men were returning to the
Cressy the Hogue was struck, apparently under the aft 9.2 magazine, as a
very heavy explosion took place immediately. Almost directly after the
Hogue was hit we observed a periscope on our port bow about 300 yards
off.
"Fire was immediately opened and the engines were put full speed ahead
with the intention of running her down. Our gunner, Mr. Dougherty,
positively asserts that he hit the periscope and that the submarine
sank. An officer who was standing alongside the gunner thinks that the
shell struck only floating timber, of which there was much about, but it
was evidently the impression of the men on deck, who cheered and clapped
heartily, that the submarine had been hit. This submarine did not fire a
torpedo at the Cressy.
"Capt. Johnson then manoeuvred the ship so as to render assistance to
the crews of the Hogue and Aboukir. About five minutes later another
periscope was seen on our starboard quarter and fire was opened. The
track of the torpedo she fired at a range of 500 to 600 yards was
plainly visible and it struck us on the starboard side just before the
afterbridge.
"The ship listed about 10 degrees to the starboard and remained steady.
The time was 7:15 A.M. All the watertight doors, deadlights and scuttles
had been securely closed before the torpedo struck the ship. All the
mess stools and table shores, and all available timber below and on
deck, had been previously got up and thrown over side for the saving of
life.
"A second torpedo fired by the same submarine missed and passed about 10
feet astern. About a quarter of an hour after the first torpedo had hit
a third torpedo fired from a submarine just before the starboard beam
hit us under the No. 5 boiler room. The time was 7:30 A.M. The ship then
began to heel rapidly, and finally turned keel up, remaining so for
about twenty minutes before she finally sank, at 7:55 A.M.
"A large number of men were saved by casting adrift on Pattern 3 target.
The steam pinnace floated off her clutches, but filled and sank.
"The second torpedo which struck the Cressy passed over the sinking hull
of the Aboukir, narrowly missing it. It is possible that the same
submarine fired all three torpedoes at the Cressy.
"The conduct of the crew was excellent throughout. I have already
remarked on the bravery displayed by Capt. Phillips, master of the
trawler L.T. Coriander, and his crew, who picked up 156 officers and
men."
The report to the Admiralty of Commander Reginald A. Norton, late of
H.M.S. Hogue, follows:
"I have the honor to report as follows concerning the sinking of the
Hogue, Aboukir, and Cressy: Between 6:15 and 6:30 A.M., H.M.S. Aboukir
was struck by a torpedo. The Hogue closed on the Aboukir and I received
orders to hoist out the launch, turn out and prepare all boats, and
unlash all timber on the upper deck.
"Two lifeboats were sent to the Aboukir, but before the launch could get
away the Hogue was struck on the starboard side amidships by two
torpedoes at intervals of ten to twenty seconds. The ship at once began
to heel to starboard. After ordering the men to provide themselves with
wood, hammocks, &c., and to get into the boats on the booms and take off
their clothes, I went, by Capt. Nicholson's direction, to ascertain the
damage done in the engine room. The artificer engineer informed me that
the water was over the engine-room gratings.
"While endeavoring to return to the bridge the water burst open the
starboard entry port doors and the ship heeled rapidly. I told the men
in the port battery to jump overboard, as the launch was close
alongside, and soon afterward the ship lurched heavily to starboard.
"I clung to a ringbolt for some time, but eventually was dropped on to
the deck, and a huge wave washed me away. I climbed up the ship's side
and again was washed off. Eventually, after swimming about from various
overladen pieces of wreckage, I was picked up by a cutter from the
Hogue, Coxswain L.S. Marks, which pulled about for some hours, picking
up men and discharging them to our picket boat and steam pinnace and to
the Dutch steamers Flora and Titan, and rescued, in this way, Commander
Sells of the Aboukir, Engineer Commander Stokes, (with legs broken,)
Fleet Paymaster Eldred, and about 120 others.
"Finally, about 11 A.M., when we could find no more men in the water, we
were picked up by the Lucifier, which proceeded to the Titan and took
off from her all our men except about twenty who were too ill to be
moved.
"A Lowestoft trawler and the two Dutch ships Flora and Titan were
extraordinarily kind, clothing and feeding our men. My boat's crew,
consisting mainly of Royal Navy Reserve men, pulled and behaved
remarkably well. I particularly wish to mention Petty Officer Halton,
who, by encouraging the men in the water near me, undoubtedly saved many
lives.
"Lieut. Commander Phillips-Wolley, after hoisting out the launch, asked
me if we should try to hoist out another boat, and endeavored to do so.
The last I saw of him was on the after bridge, doing well.
"Lieut. Commander Tillard was picked up by a launch. He got up a
cutter's crew and saved many lives, as did Midshipman Cazalet in the
Cressy's gig. Lieut. Chichester turned out the whaler very quickly.
"A Dutch sailing trawler sailed close by, but went off without rendering
any assistance [Transcriber: original 'asistance'], although we signaled
to her from the Hogue to close after we were struck.
"The Aboukir appeared to me to take about thirty-five minutes to sink,
floating bottom up for about five minutes. The Hogue turned turtle very
quickly--in about five minutes--and floated bottom up for several
minutes. A dense black smoke was seen in the starboard battery, whether
from coal or torpedo cordite I could not say. The upper deck was not
blown up, and only one other small explosion occurred and we heeled
over.
"The Cressy I watched heel over from the cutter. She heeled over to
starboard very slowly, dense black smoke issuing from her when she
attained an angle of about 90 degrees, and she took a long time from
this angle till she floated bottom up with the starboard screw slightly
out of water. I consider it was thirty-five to forty-five minutes from
the time she was struck till she was bottom up.
"All the men on the Hogue behaved extraordinarily [Transcriber: original
'extraordinarly'] well, obeying orders even when in the water swimming
for their lives, and I witnessed many cases of great self-sacrifice and
gallantry. Farmstone, an able seaman of the Hogue, jumped overboard from
the launch to make room for others, and would not avail himself of
assistance until all the men near by were picked up. He was in the water
about half an hour.
"There was no panic of any sort, the men taking off their clothes as
ordered and falling in with hammock or wood. Capt. Nicholson, in our
other cutter, as usual, was perfectly cool and rescued large numbers of
men. I last saw him alongside the Flora. Engineer Commander Stokes, I
believe, was in the engine room to the last, and Engineer Lieut.
Commander Fendick got steam on the boat hoist and worked it in five
minutes.
"I have the honor to submit that I may be appointed to another ship as
soon as I can get a kit."
*The Sinking of the Hawke*
[By a Correspondent of The London Daily Chronicle.]
ABERDEEN, Scotland, Oct. 16.--The British cruiser Hawke was sunk in the
North Sea yesterday by a German submarine, and of her crew of 400
officers and men only 73 are known to have been saved.
The cruiser Theseus, a sister ship of the Hawke, was attacked by the
same submarine, but escaped because she obeyed the Admiralty's
instructions and looked to her own safety instead of rushing to the aid
of the Hawke's perishing crew.
A survivor of the Hawke gives the following description of the disaster:
"Within eight minutes the Hawke had gone under. Had the ship gone down
forward or aft there would have been some chance for us to get the boats
out and clear of the cruiser, but she keeled over on her beam ends, and
so of all boats we lowered those on the starboard side were useless, and
those on the port side were crushed as soon as they touched the water.
"I was proud to be among such comrades. Everything was absolutely in
perfect order. When the ship was struck a fearful explosion followed,
and grime and dust were everywhere. I was amidships at the time, and
could hardly see to grope my way to the ship's side. I heard orders
given to lower the boats, and then some one shouted, 'Look after
yourselves!' So I did that.
"Most of the men on board were married men. We saw hundreds in the
water, but we were afraid to pick them up as our boat was already
overcrowded. So we threw our lifebelts to them. It was all we could do.
"The weather was bitter cold, and I do not think that many, apart from
those who were landed at Aberdeen, were saved."
Here is the statement of a rescued stoker: "When the explosion occurred
I, along with others who were in the engine room, was sent flying into
space and was stunned for a time. When I came to my senses I found
myself in the midst of what must be described as an absolute inferno.
One of the cylinders of the engine had been completely wrecked, and
steam was passing out in dense, scalding clouds. The horror of the
situation was increased when a tank of oil fuel caught fire, and the
flames advanced with frightful rapidity.
"Seeing that there was not a ghost of a chance of doing any good by
remaining in what was obviously a deathtrap, I determined to make a dash
for it, and I scrambled up an iron ladder to the main deck. All this had
happened in less time than it takes to tell it, but such is British
pluck, coolness, and nerve even in such a situation that the commander
and other officers were on the bridge, and as calmly as if we were on
fleet manoeuvres the orders were given and as calmly obeyed.
"The buglers sounded a stiff call which summoned every man to remain at
his post. During the first minute or two many of us believed all that
was wrong was a boiler explosion, but the rapidity with which the
cruiser was making water on the starboard side quickly disabused all our
minds of this belief. Realizing the actual situation, the commander gave
orders to close all the watertight doors. Soon after that came orders to
abandon the ship and get out the boats.
"One cutter was being launched from the port side, but the Hawke at that
moment heeled over before the boat could be got clear, and the cutter
lurched against the cruiser's side and stove in one or two of her
planks. As the Hawke went down a small pinnace and a raft which had been
prepared for such an emergency floated free, but such was the onrush of
men who had been thrown into the water that both were overcrowded. On
the raft were about seventy men knee deep in water, and the pinnace also
appeared to be overfilled.
"When those who managed to make their way into the cutter, which was
also in grave danger of being overturned, caught the last glimpse of
these two craft they were in a precarious condition. The cutter moved
around the wreck, picking up as many survivors as the boat would hold.
All those aboard her who had put on lifebelts took them off and threw
them to their comrades who were struggling in the water. Oars and other
movable woodwork also were pitched overboard to help those clinging to
the wreckage, many of whom were seen to sink."
*The Emden's Last Fight*
[By the Cable Operator at Cocos Islands.]
KEELING, Cocos Islands, Nov. 12, (Dispatch to The London Daily
Chronicle.)--It was early on Monday that the unexpected arrival of the
German cruiser Emden broke the calm of these isolated little islands,
which the distant news of the war had hitherto left unruffled. One of
the islands is known as Direction Island, and here the Eastern Telegraph
Company has a cable station and a staff engaged in relaying messages
between Europe and Australia. Otherwise the inhabitants are all Malays,
with the exception of the descendants of June Clunies Ross, a British
naval officer who came to these islands ninety years ago and founded the
line of "Uncrowned Kings."
The war seemed to be very far away. The official bulletins passed
through the cable station, but they gave us very little real news, and
the only excitement was when it was rumored that the company was sending
out rifles in case of a raid on the stations, and orders came that the
beach must be patrolled by parties on the lookout for Germans. Then we
heard from Singapore that a German cruiser had been dispatched to these
islands, and toward the end of August one of the cable staff thought he
saw searchlights out over the sea. Then suddenly we were awakened from
our calm and were made to feel that we had suddenly become the most
important place in the whole worldwide war area.
At 6 o'clock on Monday morning a four-funneled cruiser arrived at full
speed at the entrance to the lagoon. Our suspicions were aroused, for
she was flying no flag and her fourth funnel was obviously a dummy made
of painted canvas. Therefore we were not altogether surprised at the
turn of events. The cruiser at once lowered away an armored launch and
two boats, which came ashore and landed on Coral Beach three officers
and forty men, all fully armed and having four Maxim guns.
The Germans--for all doubt about the mysterious cruiser was now at
end--at once rushed up to the cable station, and, entering the office,
turned out the operators, smashed the instruments, and set armed guards
over all the buildings. All the knives and firearms found in possession
of the cable staff were at once confiscated.
I should say here that, in spite of the excitement on the outside, all
the work was carried on in the cable office as usual right up to the
moment when the Germans burst in. A general call was sent out just
before the wireless apparatus was blown up.
The whole of the staff was placed under an armed guard while the
instruments were being destroyed, but it is only fair to say that the
Germans, working in well-disciplined fashion under their officers, were
most civil. There was no such brutality as we hear characterizes the
German Army's behavior toward civilians, and there were no attempts at
pillaging.
While the cable station was being put out of action the crew of the
launch grappled for the cables and endeavored to cut them, but
fortunately without success. The electrical stores were then blown up.
At 9 A.M. we heard the sound of a siren from the Emden, and this was
evidently the signal to the landing party to return to the ship, for
they at once dashed for the boats, but the Emden got under way at once
and the boats were left behind.
Looking to the eastward, we could see the reason for this sudden
departure, for a warship, which we afterward learned was the Australian
cruiser Sydney, was coming up at full speed in pursuit. The Emden did
not wait to discuss matters, but, firing her first shot at a range of
about 3,700 yards, steamed north as hard as she could go.
At first the firing of the Emden seemed excellent, while that of the
Sydney was somewhat erratic. This, as I afterward learned, was due to
the fact that the Australian cruiser's range-finder was put out of
action by one of the only two shots the Germans got home. However, the
British gunners soon overcame any difficulties that this may have caused
and settled down to their work, so that before long two of the Emden's
funnels had been shot away. She also lost one of her masts quite early
in the fight. Both blazing away with their big guns, the two cruisers
disappeared below the horizon, the Emden being on fire.
After the great naval duel passed from our sight and we could turn our
attention to the portion of the German crew that had been left behind,
we found that these men had put off in their boats obedient to the
signal of the siren, but when their ship steamed off without them they
could do nothing else but come ashore again. On relanding they lined up
on the shore of the lagoon, evidently determined to fight to the finish
if the British cruiser sent a party ashore, but the dueling cruiser had
disappeared, and at 6 P.M. the German raiders embarked on the old
schooner Ayessa, which belongs to Mr. Ross, the "uncrowned king" of the
islands. Seizing a quantity of clothes and stores, they sailed out, and
have not been seen since.
Early the next morning, Tuesday, Nov. 10, we saw the Sydney returning,
and at 8:45 A.M. she anchored off the island. From various members of
the crew I gathered some details of the running fight with the Emden.
The Sydney, having an advantage in speed, was able to keep out of range
of the Emden's guns and to bombard her with her own heavier metal. The
engagement lasted eighty minutes, the Emden finally running ashore on
North Keeling Island and becoming an utter wreck.
Only two German shots proved effective. One of these failed to explode,
but smashed the main range finder and killed one man. The other killed
three men and wounded fourteen.
Each of the cruisers attempted to torpedo the other, but both were
unsuccessful, and the duel proved a contest in hard pounding at long
range. The Sydney's speed during the fighting was twenty-six knots and
the Emden's twenty-four knots, the British ship's superiority of two
knots enabling her to choose the range at which the battle should be
fought, and to make the most of her superior guns.
The Sydney left here at 11 A.M. Tuesday in the hope of picking up any of
the survivors of the Buresk, the collier that had been in attendance on
the Emden and was sunk after an engagement on the previous day. Finally,
with a number of wounded prisoners on board, the Sydney left here
yesterday, and our few hours of war excitement were over.
*Crowds See the Niger Sink*
[By a Correspondent of The London Daily Chronicle.]
DEAL, England, Nov. 11.--By the destruction of the British torpedo
gunboat Niger, which was torpedoed and sunk by a submarine in the Downs
this afternoon, the realities of war were brought home to the
inhabitants of Deal and Walmer.
A loud explosion was heard from the gunboat as she lay off the Deal
pier, and great volumes of smoke enveloped the vessel. When the smoke
cleared the Niger was observed to be settling down forward. Men, women,
and children rushed to the sea front, exclaiming that the vessel had
been torpedoed or mined. They soon realized that the Niger was doomed.
The Deal and Kingsdown lifeboats as well as boats from other parts of
the beach were launched in an effort to save the sailors.
Consternation and almost panic prevailed among the hundreds who stood
watching the ghastly sight from the beach. Fortunately, the North Deal
galley Hope, commanded by Capt. John Budd, lay at anchor near the spot,
waiting to land the pilot from a London steamer which was going down the
channel. When the boatmen realized that the Niger had been hit by a
submarine or mine, to use their own expression, they rowed like the very
devil.
"We saw the sailors," said Capt. Budd, "jumping from the vessel's side
in dozens. As we neared the fast-disappearing vessel we came upon swarms
of men struggling in the sea and heroically helping to support each
other. Some were fully dressed, others only partly so. They were
clinging to pieces of wreckage and deck furniture, and some were in
lifeboats.
"It was a heartrending spectacle. The men were so thick in the water
that they grasped at our oars as we dipped them in the sea. We rescued
so many and our own boat got so choked that we could not move. With our
own gunwale only just out of the water, we were in danger of sinking
ourselves.
"We called to the men that we could take no more in or we should sink
ourselves, but they continued to pour over the sides, and some hung to
the stern of our boat. We had about fifty on board. Never had there been
so many in the boat before. One burly sailor, whom we told to wait until
the next boat came along, laughingly remarked [Transcriber: original
'remared'] while he was in the water, 'All right, Cocky, I will hold on
by my eyebrows,' and he drifted to another galley. Another Deal boat
then came along and relieved us of some of our men.
"Suddenly we heard a shout, and, looking around, saw the commander of
the Niger waving and beckoning to us from the stern of the sinking ship.
We could not go to him because our craft was so heavily laden. Another
galley then came along, and, after taking out some of our men, together
with those who were hanging on to our sides, we went closer to the
sinking gunboat and took off some more men, and at the Captain's special
request we waited until he took a final look around to see if there were
any more men left on board the vessel.
"By this time the ship was very nearly under water, and we shouted to
him to hurry up, as the Niger had turned over on her side and was likely
to go down at any moment. That brave Captain only just managed to jump
in time, when the gunboat gave a lurch and sank on her side in eight
fathoms of water. We were proud to rescue that Captain, for he was a
true sailor."
The other boats which picked up men were the Maple Leaf, the motor boat
Naru, the Annie, the May, and the Deal lifeboat.
The rescuing party saw one dead sailor floating by.
The majority of those rescued received first aid on being landed at
North Deal, and then they were taken in ambulances to the Marine
Hospital at Walmer.
One survivor, replying to a question as to whether the Niger was
torpedoed or mined, replied:
"Torpedoed, Sir. With the exception of the watch and the gun crews all
were below at the time. The first order we received was to close the
watertight doors."
So far as I can ascertain at present only one man is missing. Four or
five have been landed at Ramsgate. The crew is said to have numbered
ninety-six officers and men.
The sinking of the Niger came with tragic swiftness. It was
comparatively a fine, peaceful day, and the people were resting on the
promenade enjoying sea and fresh air. Anglers--men and women--were
calmly fishing from the pier. One angler whom I interviewed this evening
said:
"I had just baited my line and cast it out when I heard two loud
reports, like an explosion. I looked seaward and saw the Niger, only a
mile away, enveloped in smoke or steam. When it had cleared away. I said
to my fellow-anglers, 'Oh, he is letting off steam! When I looked at her
again I was startled to notice that she was lower in the water.
Fortunately I had slung across my shoulder a pair of glasses, and, on
looking at the vessel through them, I noticed that they were attempting
to lower the boats, while the remainder of the crew stood at attention
on the deck. We could see that the vessel was sinking, and the lifeboats
and other boats were hastening to the rescue.
"The vessel then gradually disappeared, bow first, and after about
fifteen minutes not a sign of her remained."
*Lieut. Weddigen's Own Story*
*By Herbert B. Swope.*
[Copyright, 1914, by The Press Publishing Company (The New York World).]
BERLIN, Sept. 30.--Through the kindness of the German Admiralty I am
able to tell exclusively the story of Capt. Lieut. Otto Weddigen,
commander of the now world famous submarine U-9, whose feat in
destroying three English cruisers has lifted the German Navy to a lofty
place in sea history.
There is an inviolable rule in the German Army and Navy prohibiting
officers from talking of their exploits, but because of the special
nature of Weddigen's exploit an exception was made, and through the good
offices of Count von Oppersdorf The World was granted the right of first
telling Weddigen's remarkable story.
It must be borne in mind that Lieut. Weddigen's account has been
officially announced and verified by German Navy Headquarters. That will
explain why certain details must be omitted, since they are of
importance if further submarine excursions are undertaken against the
British fleet. Following is Weddigen's tale, supplemented by the
Admiralty Intelligence Department:
By CAPT. LIEUT. OTTO WEDDIGEN.
Commander of the German Submarine U-9.
I am 32 years old and have been in the navy for years. For the last five
years I have been attached to the submarine flotilla, and have been most
interested in that branch of the navy. At the outbreak of the war our
undersea boats were rendezvoused at certain harbors in the North Sea,
the names of which I am restrained from divulging.
Each of us felt and hoped that the Fatherland might be benefited by such
individual efforts of ours as were possible at a time when our bigger
sisters of the fleet were prohibited from activity. So we awaited
commands from the Admiralty, ready for any undertaking that promised to
do for the imperial navy what our brothers of the army were so
gloriously accomplishing.
It has already been told how I was married at the home of my brother in
Wilhelmshaven to my boyhood sweetheart, Miss Prete of Hamburg, on Aug.
16.
Before that I had been steadily on duty with my boat, and I had to leave
again the next day after my marriage. But both my bride and I wanted the
ceremony to take place at the appointed time, and it did, although
within twenty-four hours thereafter I had to go away on a venture that
gave a good chance of making my new wife a widow. But she was as firm as
I was that my first duty was to answer the call of our country, and she
waved me away from the dock with good-luck wishes.
I set out from a North Sea port on one of the arms of the Kiel Canal and
set my course in a southwesterly direction. The name of the port I
cannot state officially, but it has been guessed at; nor am I permitted
to say definitely just when we started, but it was not many days before
the morning of Sept. 22 when I fell in with my quarry.
When I started from home the fact was kept quiet and a heavy sea helped
to keep the secret, but when the action began the sun was bright and the
water smooth--not the most favorable conditions for submarine work.
I had sighted several ships during my passage, but they were not what I
was seeking. English torpedo boats came within my reach, but I felt
there was bigger game further on, so on I went. I traveled on the
surface except when we sighted vessels, and then I submerged, not even
showing my periscope, except when it was necessary to take bearings. It
was ten minutes after 6 on the morning of last Tuesday when I caught
sight of one of the big cruisers of the enemy.
I was then eighteen sea miles northwest of the Hook of Holland. I had
then traveled considerably more than 200 miles from my base. My boat was
one of an old type, but she had been built on honor, and she was
behaving beautifully. I had been going ahead partly submerged, with
about five feet of my periscope showing. Almost immediately I caught
sight of the first cruiser and two others. I submerged completely and
laid my course so as to bring up in the centre of the trio, which held a
sort of triangular formation. I could see their gray-black sides riding
high over the water.
When I first sighted them they were near enough for torpedo work, but I
wanted to make my aim sure, so I went down and in on them. I had taken
the position of the three ships before submerging, and I succeeded in
getting another flash through my periscope before I began action. I soon
reached what I regarded as a good shooting point.
[The officer is not permitted to give this distance, but it is
understood to have been considerably less than a mile, although the
German torpedoes have an effective range of four miles.]
[Illustration: CAPT. KARL VON MULLER
Of the German Cruiser Emden
(_Photo (C) by American Press Assn._)]
[Illustration: GEN. JOSEPH JOFFRE
The French Commander-in-Chief.
(_Photo from International News Service._)]
Then I loosed one of my torpedoes at the middle ship. I was then about
twelve feet under water, and got the shot off in good shape, my men
handling the boat as if she had been a skiff. I climbed to the surface
to get a sight through my tube of the effect, and discovered that the
shot had gone straight and true, striking the ship, which I later
learned was the Aboukir, under one of her magazines, which in exploding
helped the torpedo's work of destruction.
There was a fountain of water, a burst of smoke, a flash of fire, and
part of the cruiser rose in the air. Then I heard a roar and felt
reverberations sent through the water by the detonation. She had been
broken apart, and sank in a few minutes. The Aboukir had been stricken
in a vital spot and by an unseen force; that made the blow all the
greater.
Her crew were brave, and even with death staring them in the face kept
to their posts, ready to handle their useless guns, for I submerged at
once. But I had stayed on top long enough to see the other cruisers,
which I learned were the Cressy and the Hogue, turn and steam full speed
to their dying sister, whose plight they could not understand, unless it
had been due to an accident.
The ships came on a mission of inquiry and rescue, for many of the
Aboukir's crew were now in the water, the order having been given, "Each
man for himself."
But soon the other two English cruisers learned what had brought about
the destruction so suddenly.
As I reached my torpedo depth I sent a second charge at the nearest of
the oncoming vessels, which was the Hogue. The English were playing my
game, for I had scarcely to move out of my position, which was a great
aid, since it helped to keep me from detection.
On board my little boat the spirit of the German Navy was to be seen in
its best form. With enthusiasm every man held himself in check and gave
attention to the work in hand.
The attack on the Hogue went true. But this time I did not have the
advantageous aid of having the torpedo detonate under the magazine, so
for twenty minutes the Hogue lay wounded and helpless on the surface
before she heaved, half turned over and sank.
But this time, the third cruiser knew of course that the enemy was upon
her and she sought as best she could to defend herself. She loosed her
torpedo defense batteries on boats, starboard and port, and stood her
ground as if more anxious to help the many sailors who were in the water
than to save herself. In common with the method of defending herself
against a submarine attack, she steamed in a zigzag course, and this
made it necessary for me to hold my torpedoes until I could lay a true
course for them, which also made it necessary for me to get nearer to
the Cressy. I had come to the surface for a view and saw how wildly the
fire was being sent from the ship. Small wonder that was when they did
not know where to shoot, although one shot went unpleasantly near us.
When I got within suitable range I sent away my third attack. This time
I sent a second torpedo after the first to make the strike doubly
certain. My crew were aiming like sharpshooters and both torpedos went
to their bullseye. My luck was with me again, for the enemy was made
useless and at once began sinking by her head. Then she careened far
over, but all the while her men stayed at the guns looking for their
invisible foe. They were brave and true to their country's sea
traditions. Then she eventually suffered a boiler explosion and
completely turned turtle. With her keel uppermost she floated until the
air got out from under her and then she sank with a loud sound, as if
from a creature in pain.
The whole affair had taken less than one hour from the time of shooting
off the first torpedo until the Cressy went to the bottom. Not one of
the three had been able to use any of its big guns. I knew the wireless
of the three cruisers had been calling for aid. I was still quite able
to defend myself, but I knew that news of the disaster would call many
English submarines and torpedo boat destroyers, so, having done my
appointed work, I set my course for home.
My surmise was right, for before I got very far some British cruisers
and destroyers were on the spot, and the destroyers took up the chase. I
kept under water most of the way, but managed to get off a wireless to
the German fleet that I was heading homeward and being pursued. I hoped
to entice the enemy, by allowing them now and then a glimpse of me, into
the zone in which they might be exposed to capture or destruction by
German warships, but, although their destroyers saw me plainly at dusk
on the 22d and made a final effort to stop me, they abandoned the
attempt, as it was taking them too far from safety and needlessly
exposing them to attack from our fleet and submarines.
How much they feared our submarines and how wide was the agitation
caused by good little U-9 is shown by the English reports that a whole
flotilla of German submarines had attacked the cruisers and that this
flotilla had approached under cover of the flag of Holland.
These reports were absolutely untrue. U-9 was the only submarine on
deck, and she flew the flag she still flies--the German naval
ensign--which I hope to keep forever as a glorious memento and as an
inspiration for devotion to the Fatherland.
I reached the home port on the afternoon of the 23d, and on the 24th
went to Wilhelmshaven, to find that news of my effort had become public.
My wife, dry eyed when I went away, met me with tears. Then I learned
that my little vessel and her brave crew had won the plaudit of the
Kaiser, who conferred upon each of my co-workers the Iron Cross of the
second class and upon me the Iron Cross of the first and second classes.
[Weddigen is the hero of the hour in Germany. He also wears a medal
for life-saving. Counting himself, Weddigen had twenty-six men. The
limit of time that his ship is capable of staying below the surface
is about six hours.]