BEAUTIFUL DAYS IN KIAO-CHOW
FOR days the train took me farther and farther through the steppes and
desert spaces of Russia towards my destination—the Far East.
Mukden at last! We soon passed Peking. Then—Osinanfou! The first
German sounds again smote upon my ear. And then for ten hours we passed
through a beautifully cultivated country full of gardens, fields and
flowers; and at last the train slowly steamed into the station of
Kiao-Chow.
I thus saw it again after six years! Once more I stood on German soil,
in a German city of the Far East!
My brother officers met me. The Mongolian ponies pranced off and
carried me to my new home.
At first we went to Iltis Place, which was our race-course, and was
at the same time destined to become my aerodrome. It was festively
decorated, for all Kiao-Chow had foregathered to watch a big football
match between German sailors and their English comrades from the
English flagship _Good Hope_.
The latter was on a visit at Kiao-Chow, and the game was brilliant and
ended in a draw—one all.
Who could have foreseen this? A short six months hence these same
adversaries opposed each other in a terrible game, which admitted but
of two issues—victory or death. At the battle of Coronel the German
bluejackets sent the English flagship _Good Hope_ to her doom at the
bottom of the Pacific in twenty-seven minutes.
But on that day none knew of the events to come and, united by bonds of
sincere friendship, the German sailors invited their English guests to
their cantonments. Two days later the English Squadron left our port
followed by our Cruiser Squadron under Admiral Count von Spee.
The flags fluttered gaily in the wind, conveying the signals of the two
admirals in command: “Farewell—until we meet again!”
Who could foresee that it would be at Coronel?
Immediately after my arrival, and after I had reported myself
officially, I looked round for my aeroplane, in hopes of being able to
show the amazed citizens of Kiao-Chow my beautiful giant bird. But——!
I had to curb my eagerness, for my machine was sailing jauntily round
India and the steamer only due in July. “What can’t be cured must be
endured,” I said to myself, and now had plenty of time to look round
Kiao-Chow and to choose a house. A delightful little villa, quite close
to the flying-ground, stood vacant, and I promptly took possession of
it with my new comrade, Patzig. I had everything now to make me happy:
my excellent billet at Kiao-Chow—this paradise on earth—work after my
own heart, and, to cap it all, this charming residence, perched high
on an eminence, with a lovely view on to Iltis Place and the distant,
dark blue sea. Apart from this, I belonged to the Cavalry Detachment,
and three happy years lay before me. Who could be more contented
than I? I now set about arranging my house. I had a great number of
plates on interior decoration, and with these I visited a Chinese
cabinet-maker and ordered the furniture. It is marvellous with how much
skill the Chinese are able to imitate our models, in what a short time,
and how cheaply. When, four weeks later, everything was shipshape,
the different pieces standing in their proper places, and the whole
house shining with cleanliness, the masters of the house proudly took
possession of their new abode. Nothing was lacking. Even servants were
provided. If a European wishes to stand well with the Chinese, he must
surround himself with a considerable number of Chinese servants; and
one may affirm it is practically the moral duty of every European to do
so.
Maurice, the cook, in his lovely blue silken Ishang; Fritz, the Mafu
(groom), a perpetual grin on his face, but very concerned about the
welfare of his horses; Max, the gardener, as lazy as a slug; and
August, the pert little “boy,” composed our staff.
To this must be added “Herr” Dorsch and “Herr” Simon.
These two gentlemen were our batmen, who took the fullest advantage of
the custom of the Far East, that a European must do no manual labour in
the presence of a Chinese.
Our house was surrounded by a big garden, which also contained the
stables, the coach-house, the garage and the huts of the Chinese. To
me the most important was my hen-coop. As soon as I arrived I bought
myself a sitting-hen, gave her a dozen eggs to hatch, and when we
entered our house we already had seven chickens.
Poultry is cheap in China. The hen cost fourpence, a duck or a goose a
shilling, and in a short time I had a poultry-yard of fifty birds.
And, as I had also become a cavalryman, I had, of course, acquired a
horse. One of my friends had a ripping little roan. We soon clinched
our bargain, and “Fips” was transferred to my stables. “Fips” was a
delightful animal, a good service-horse, yet excellent for hunting and
polo, which did not prevent him from leaving me in the lurch at the
beginning of the Kiao-Chow siege. I had ridden out into the territory
the day before we were shut up in the fortress, and he took fright at
some shrapnel which burst close to us, and so ran over to the enemy.
Life in the East was very monotonous for the Europeans. Very little
socially, no music, no theatre—things one misses. One’s only
consolation is that one lives better than at home, and sport makes up
for a great deal. I took up polo with enthusiasm, and as soon as I had
accustomed myself to the unusual pitching and tossing to which my horse
subjected me I was very successful.
In mid-July my longing was stilled by the arrival of the steamer
which brought the aeroplanes. As soon as the huge crates stood in the
quay, my men were already engaged in freeing from their dark prisons
my poor birds born for sunshine and air. As they were too heavy, the
unpacking had to be done on the spot. The Chinese crowd stood around us
and gaped. When we had got everything out of the crates, a triumphal
procession was formed, bearing the two aeroplanes, then three vehicles
with the planes and another two with the component parts. The horses
started, and we proudly passed through the streets of Kiao-Chow, and
entered in triumph the aerodrome of the Iltis Place.
Now there was an end to peace. Day and night we worked at the erection
of the machine, and two days later, in the early dawn, with no one
awake, my aeroplane stood ready on the aerodrome, and, opening up the
engine full, I shot into the clear sea-air.
I shall never forget my first flight at Kiao-Chow. The aerodrome was
extraordinarily small, only 600 metres long and 200 metres wide, full
of obstacles surrounded by hills and rocks. I was only to learn later
how very difficult starting and landing were made hereby. My friend
Clobuczar, an Austrian ex-aviator—who now served on the _Kaiserin
Elisabeth_—once said to me: “Do you call this an aerodrome? It is at
best a children’s playground. I have never seen anyone who could fly in
such a confined place.” I felt the same way about it. And in Germany I
should have only used it for an emergency landing.
But nothing could be done. It was the one place in the whole
Protectorate; all the rest was composed of wild mountains cleft by
deep ravines. But on that glorious, sunny morning I only thought of my
flight, and frightened the placid inhabitants of Kiao-Chow out of their
beauty-sleep with the humming of my propeller. But, when it came to
landing, I certainly felt a little queer, for the field was decidedly
small, and I slowly circled round, getting gradually lower—thus
putting off the critical moment. However, I could not stay up in the
air for ever, so I pulled myself together, shut off the engine, and
stood on the field a moment later after a secure landing. Now I knew
where I was. And the rest of the morning was spent in my aeroplane.
After that more work was in store for me. The second machine, also
a Rumpler-Taube, which was to be flown by my colleague, Leutnant
Müllerskowski, of the battalion of Marines, had to be erected and got
into working order. After two days, on the 31st of July 1914, it was
ready in the afternoon. Müllerskowski entered his aeroplane and, after
receiving my parting instructions based on my previous experience of
the flying-field, he took off.
But fortune did not smile on him.
His machine was only a few seconds in the air, and had just reached
an altitude of 50 metres—the critical spot where the aerodrome and
solid earth end in a steep cliff with a sheer drop into the sea—when
it suddenly turned over on the wing, and we could watch it nosing down
with appalling rapidity towards the rocks.
We hastened as fast as we could to the spot. Matters looked bad. The
machine was completely wrecked, and between the fragments we found
Müllerskowski. We brought him, seriously injured, to the hospital,
where he had to lie until shortly before the end of the siege. Of the
aeroplane nothing remained.
In the meanwhile July had come, and brought with it the loveliest
weather, most radiant sunshine, and the bluest of skies. It was
Kiao-Chow’s best month.
The bathing season was at its height. There were many charming ladies,
mostly from the European and American settlements in China and Japan,
visiting the “Ostend of the Far East” and enjoying the beauty of
Kiao-Chow.
Amusement was the order of the day. Motor drives, riding-parties, polo
and tennis filled the free hours, and in the evenings dancing held
undisputed sway. There were many Englishwomen amongst the women, and
our relations were most pleasant and cordial.
For the beginning of August we had challenged the English Polo Club at
Shanghai to a match when, on the 30th of July—like a bolt from the
blue—came the order warning us of “Danger of war!”