_THE "AYESHA"_
We landed at the same place at which we had gone ashore before. Again I
ordered all the Englishmen to assemble, and their fire-arms were taken
from them. The German flag was raised on the island, which was declared
to be under martial law; every attempt to communicate by signal with
any other island, or with the enemy's ships, was forbidden; my officers
were given orders to clear the beach for defence, to mount the machine
guns, and to prepare to intrench. Should the engagement between the two
ships prove to be a short one, I could count with certainty upon the
enemy's cruiser running into port here, if for no other reason than to
look after the station. It was not my intention, however, to surrender
without a blow an island on which the German flag was flying.
The Englishmen on the island were little pleased at the prospect, and
begged permission, in case it should come to a battle, to withdraw to
one of the other islands. Their request was granted.
Accompanied by two of my signal men, I now took my station on the roof
of the highest house to watch the fight between the two cruisers. As
a whole, the Englishmen showed little interest in the conflict that
was going on but a few thousand meters distant from the island. Other
matters seemed to claim their attention. With an ingratiating smile one
of them stepped up to our officers, who were head over ears in work
down on the beach, and asked:
"Do you play tennis?"
It was an invitation which, under the circumstances, we felt compelled
to decline.
By the time I had reached the roof, the fight between the _Emden_ and
the other cruiser was well under way. I could not identify the enemy's
ship, but, judging from her structure, and the amount of water raised
by the falling shells, I concluded that it must be one of the two
Australian cruisers, the _Sydney_ or the _Melbourne_. As the columns
of water raised by the enemy's shells were much taller than those
caused by the _Emden's_, I estimated the guns of the enemy to be of 15
centimeter caliber.
The _Sydney_, for she it was, as I learned later, was more than a match
for the _Emden_. Our ship of 3600 tons displacement could deliver a
broadside of only five 10-1/2 centimeter guns, and had no side armor,
whereas the _Sydney_, being a vessel of 5700 tons displacement, could
fire a broadside of five 15.2 centimeter guns, and had armored sides.
From the very beginning, the _Emden's_ fire reached its mark on the
enemy's cruiser, whose guns, it must be said, were aimed pretty badly.
The water spouts that were raised by their falling shells were mostly
several hundred meters distant from one another. But when one of the
volleys did hit, it made havoc on our unarmored vessel.
During the very first of the fight, the forward smoke stack of the
_Emden_ was shot away and lay directly across the deck. Another shell
crashed into the stern aft of the cabin, and started a great blaze,
the gray smoke of which was mixed with white steam, showing that the
steam pipes had been damaged. The _Emden_ now turned sharply about
and made a dash for her foe, apparently for the purpose of making a
torpedo attack. It cost her her foremast, which was shot away and fell
overboard. For the moment it seemed as though the enemy's ship intended
to discontinue the fight, for she turned and ran at high speed,
followed by the _Emden_. Whether the _Sydney_ had suffered serious
damage which could not be discerned from without, I could not tell.
Perhaps it was simply her intention to increase her fighting distance
from the _Emden_, in order to take advantage of the greater caliber of
her guns. The running fight between the two ships now took a northerly
course at an ever increasing distance from the island, and soon the two
cruisers, still fighting, were lost to view beyond the horizon.
The point for me to settle now was what to do with the landing squad.
So far as our ship was concerned, the damage she had suffered at the
hands of a far superior foe was so great that a return to the island,
even in the event of a most favorable outcome of the battle, was out of
the question. She must run for the nearest port where she could make
repairs, bury her dead, and leave her wounded. At the same time I could
count with certainty upon the arrival of an English war vessel ere long
in Keeling harbor, to learn what had befallen the cable and wireless
station. For, had not the telegraphic service to Australia, Batavia and
Mauritius been cut off entirely?
[Illustration: THE _AYESHA_]
With our four machine guns and twenty-nine rifles we could, for the
time at least, have prevented the English from making a landing on
the island, but against the fire of the English cruiser's heavy guns,
which would then have been directed against us, we would have had no
defence whatever. Taking everything into consideration, therefore, we
could do no more than defer the surrender of a position that, from the
outset, it had been impossible to hold. Moreover, confinement in an
English prison was little to our taste.
Now, fortunately for us, the small white schooner that we had failed
to blow up was still riding at anchor in the harbor. It could, and it
should help us to escape from our predicament. I decided to leave the
island on the little boat. Her name was _Ayesha_,[2] and at one time
she had served to carry copra from Keeling to Batavia two or three
times a year, and to bring provisions back with her on her return trip.
Now that steamship service had been established between these two
points, she lay idle and dismantled in the harbor, and was gradually
falling into decay.
Taking no one with me, I got into the steam launch and went out to the
schooner to learn whether she was at all seaworthy. The captain and
a single sailor were aboard her. Of the former I inquired casually
whether he had any ammunition aboard, for I did not wish him to suspect
the real purpose of my coming. He said there was none, and a brief
inspection of the ship led me to believe that she was still seaworthy.
Consequently I sent my officers and men aboard the _Ayesha_ to get her
into trim for sailing.
There was plenty to do on the little ship. All the sails and rigging
had been taken down and stowed away, and had now to be put in place
again.
When the Englishmen on the island realized that it was my intention
to sail off in the schooner, they warned me with great earnestness
against trusting ourselves to her, saying that the _Ayesha_ was old and
rotten, and could not stand a sea voyage. Furthermore, they informed me
that an English man-of-war, the _Minotaur_, and a Japanese cruiser were
in the vicinity of the island, and that we would surely fall a prey to
one of them.
As my predecessor in command of the _Ayesha_ was leaving her, he wished
us Godspeed, and concluded with the comforting remark, "But the ship's
bottom is worn through."
When, in spite of all these warnings, we remained firm in our purpose,
and continued the work of getting the _Ayesha_ ready for sea, the
sporting side of the situation began to appeal to the Englishmen, and
they almost ran their legs off in their eagerness to help us. Could
it have been gratitude that impelled them to lend us their aid? It
is a question I have never been able to answer to my satisfaction,
although, to be sure, several of them _did_ express a feeling of relief
at the thought that now the fatiguing telegraph service with its many
hours of overwork, and its lack of diversion, was a thing of the past.
They showed us where the provisions and water were kept, and urgently
advised us to take provisions from the one side, where they were new
and fresh, rather than from the other, where they were stale. They
fetched out cooking utensils, water, barrels of petroleum, old clothes,
blankets, and the like, and themselves loaded them on trucks and
brought them to us. From every side invitations to dinner poured down
upon us; my men were supplied with pipes and tobacco; in short, the
Englishmen did all they could to help us out.
Nor were they sparing with advice as to the course we ought to take,
and time proved that all they told us of wind and weather, of currents,
etc., was in every way trustworthy. As the last of our boats left the
shore, the Englishmen gave us three hearty cheers, wished us a safe
journey, and expressed their gratitude for the "moderation" which we
had shown in the discharge of our duty, wherein all of our men had
behaved "generously," they said. Then, cameras in hand, they still
swarmed about the _Ayesha_, taking pictures of her.
Meanwhile the lookout on our ship reported that the two battling
cruisers had come into sight again. From the top of the _Ayesha's_
mast I could at first see only the thick cloud of black smoke that
the _Sydney's_ smoke stack was belching forth, but soon the masts,
smoke stacks and upper deck came in sight. Of the _Emden_ I could see
only one smoke stack and one mast; the rest of the ship was below the
horizon. Both cruisers were steering an easterly course, and both were
still firing their guns.
Suddenly, at full speed, the _Sydney_ made a dash at the _Emden_.
"Now," thought I, "the _Emden's_ last gun has been silenced, and the
_Sydney_ is running at her to deal her her death blow." But then, in
the black smoke of the English ship, between the foremast and the
nearest smoke stack, a tall column of water shot up, which could only
be the result of a serious explosion. We supposed that it was caused
by a well-aimed torpedo shot from the _Emden_. The _Sydney_, which was
still running at a speed of twenty nautical miles, now made a quick
turn to starboard, changed her course entirely, and steamed slowly
westward. The _Emden_ continued to steer an easterly course. Both ships
were still firing at each other, but the distance between them grew
greater and greater, until finally they were beyond the reach of each
other's guns. The fight was over. In the approaching darkness both
vessels were soon lost to sight beyond the horizon. That was the last
we saw of them. The conflict, which had begun at about 8.30 in the
morning, ended at six o'clock in the evening. The report, published in
all the English newspapers, that it was only a "sixty minutes' running
fight" is therefore to be classed with the many similarly false
reports made by the English.
The oncoming darkness now warned me to make my way as speedily as
possible out of the harbor, for the dangers of the coral reefs render
it unsafe for navigation after nightfall. In the meantime we had taken
aboard water enough for four weeks, and provisions for eight. The sails
had been bent on as best they could be. I made a short speech, and
with three cheers for the Emperor, first in command, the war flag and
pennant fluttered up to the masthead of His Majesty's latest ship, the
schooner _Ayesha_. Slowly the steam launch took us in tow. I climbed
to the top of the foremast, as from there I could best discern where
lay the reefs and the shoals, for of charts we had none. With the
boatswain's whistle I gave the launch orders to steer to starboard or
to port, according to the lay of the reefs. The _Emden's_ two cutters
we carried in tow.
Our departure was much too slow to suit us. The sun was setting, and
in these latitudes, so near the equator, there is no twilight. No
sooner has the sun disappeared below the horizon than the blackness of
midnight reigns. We had not passed quite through the danger zone of the
reefs before it grew so dark that, from my position on the foremast,
I could not see ahead sufficiently far to direct our course. In order
to be able to see anything at all, I climbed down into the port fore
channels close by the water, and gave my orders from there.
Just as we were passing the last reef that might prove dangerous to
us, we spent some anxious moments. Suddenly, in spite of the darkness,
I could see every pebble, every bit of seaweed on the bottom, an
unmistakable evidence that we were in very shallow water. Our lucky
star guided us over this shoal also, however, and we did not run
aground.
Meanwhile we had set some sail, and had thus lightened the work of the
steam launch, which still had us in tow. Before long we were free of
the sheltering islands, and the long, heavy swells of the ocean put
some motion into our new ship.
When we were far enough out at sea to sail our boat without danger of
running into the surf to leeward, I called the steam launch back to the
ship, so as to take off the crew. The heavy swell made this manoeuvre
no light task. Again and again the little steamboat was dashed against
the side of the _Ayesha_, and, although the future of the launch was of
little interest to me, this unexpected encounter between my old ship
and my new one gave me serious concern. I had no confidence in the
_Ayesha's_ ability to endure with safety such vigorous demonstrations
of friendship. Finally, however, we succeeded in ridding ourselves
of the steam launch in this way: the last man aboard her started her
engine again with the little steam that was left in the boiler. Then,
from aboard the _Ayesha_, we reached over with a boat hook, and turned
the rudder of the steam launch to port. Curtesying elegantly, the
little boat drew away from us, and soon vanished in the darkness.
Whither it went, I do not know. In all likelihood it found a grave in
the surf that beat wildly only a few hundred meters away. Perhaps,
however, it is still beating about the ocean, raiding on its own
account.