THREAT OF WAR—MY TAUBE
I REMEMBER it as if it were yesterday. In the early hours of the
morning an orderly arrived at our villa and brought Patzig and
myself the order to report at once to the Divisional Commander, as
“Protection” had been ordered. We naturally imagined this only to be
a manœuvre, and grumblingly repaired to our rendezvous. But there we
received confirmation of the hardly credible news. And, with doubt
still in our hearts, we hastened to our batteries and began the
necessary preparations.
The order, “Threatening danger of war,” which arrived next day, brought
us certainty at last. It was followed on the 1st of August by the
mobilization, on the 2nd by the declaration of war against Russia, and
on the 3rd by that against France.
It is impossible to describe those days. And for this reason: here we
were, a German Colony, a German fortress, the greater proportion of
the Kiao-Chow population consisting of officers and soldiers. Moreover,
to judge by externals, Kiao-Chow had become international. Russians,
French and English lived with us as our guests. It was a cross-current
of opinions and feelings, such as could hardly have been found
elsewhere.
The main question—I should like to say _the_ question—which occupied
all our minds was: Will there be war with England? Only those who have
lived in the East can judge what this question meant to us.
On the 2nd of August we were informed of our offer to England. I rode
out that day with an English lady, and it was natural that this subject
should form the chief topic of conversation. My companion’s opinion, as
that of all her friends, was that a war between England and Germany was
unthinkable, as it would sound the death-knell of the prestige of the
white race, and give the yellow Jap the opportunity of gathering the
fruits of our dissension.
Our minds, of course, were filled with this contingency. The tension
was even worse than during the first days of mobilization. And when,
on the 4th of August, we got the news that war had been declared
against England, it came as a deliverance—the die was cast in Europe!
It is impossible to pretend that we felt particularly happy: quite
the contrary. Again and again we remembered that we were far away
in Kiao-Chow, whilst at home those lucky devils, our brothers
and comrades, were rejoicing to the full in the glorious days of
mobilization. _They_ were going to war against a world of enemies,
_they_ were to be allowed to defend our holy and beloved Fatherland,
their wives and children, whilst we sat here, powerless to help! The
thought alone was enough to drive us mad. For we knew that neither
English, Russian nor French, by whom we were so greatly outnumbered,
would find the courage to attack us here. However, the hope persisted:
“Perhaps they will!” Oh, what a warm reception we would have given them!
Of course no one for a moment thought of Japan!
In the midst of all the work which the days of mobilization brought
in their wake, we did not forget our guests. Nearly all of them were
enemies, but they remained our guests.
Their excitement was comprehensible. The more so, as news of the
absolutely brutal treatment of the Germans by the English in the
British Colonies was already reaching us.
It was natural that we should break off our relations with the
foreigners, but it was also a matter of course—and I should
particularly like to point this out to the English—that all foreign
subjects were treated with a consideration to be expected from “Huns”
alone.
The foreigners were informed that they could stay on or depart from
Kiao-Chow without any let or hindrance, and that the Governor would
give them due warning at what time they would be expected to leave
the Colony. It was only requested that no one should move beyond
the confines of the city, go near the fortifications, or carry on
espionage. Let who will compare this with the behaviour of our dear
cousins at Hong-Kong and so many other places in the world. All who
went through these experiences could write volumes about them. One
consolation remained to us: the Daily Wireless from home!
It is difficult to depict the delight with which we received this news.
Usually the telegrams arrived in the evening, when we sat in our little
casino, our only conversation, the war. When the glorious news of
victory reached us, our jubilation knew no bounds. But in spite of this
we felt an immense sadness—for we were not with our home armies!
The 15th of August arrived, and with it a communication of such
enormity that we doubted the truth of what we read.
It ran as follows:
EXTRA EDITION
“We consider it most important and necessary, with the object of
maintaining a secure and lasting peace in the Far East, in accordance
with the Anglo-Japanese Alliance Treaty, to take at the present moment
every necessary measure to eliminate all causes likely to endanger
peace.
“First, to withdraw the German warships at once from Japanese and
Chinese waters, also armed ships of any description, and to dismantle
those which cannot be withdrawn.
“Secondly, to surrender the whole Protectorate of Kiao-Chow
forthwith—not later than by the 13th of September—to the Imperial
Japanese Authorities without conditions or claims of indemnity, with
the prospect of eventually returning the same to China.
“The Imperial Japanese Government announces at the same time that
should it receive any but an unconditional acceptance from the
Imperial German Government up to the 23rd of August 1914, to all the
above-mentioned conditions, it will consider itself obliged to take
such measures as the situation necessitates.”
Our Governor had written below:
“It is a matter of course that we can never consent to surrender
Kiao-Chow to Japan without drawing the sword. The frivolity of the
Japanese demand admits but of one reply. But it implies that we must
reckon on the opening of hostilities at the expiration of the date
fixed. It will be a fight to the finish.
“Having regard to the gravity of the situation, we must proceed
without further delay with the evacuation of women and children. Our
Government will therefore place at their disposal a steamer prepared
for the reception of 600 passengers, in order to convey them to
Tientsin this day, Friday morning. It is urged that all who do not
wish to stay here should take advantage of this opportunity, as well
as of the trains, which are still running on the Shantung line.
“Kiao-Chow clears for action!”
We now knew exactly where we were. We had no illusions either as to
the bitterness or the outcome of the coming fight. But never was work
done in a higher or more indefatigable spirit. A titanic task was
completed in these weeks. And, from the oldest officer to the youngest
fifteen-year-old volunteer motorist, one and all combined in placing
their knowledge, their ability, and endeavour at the service of their
love for their country, in order to put Kiao-Chow in a state of defence.
I had experienced particularly bad luck. Three days after
Müllerskowski’s fall I rose in wonderful sunshine to my first important
reconnaissance, and returned in a happy frame of mind to Kiao-Chow,
after having explored the whole Protectorate for hundreds of miles.
I was at an altitude of 1500 metres, and in consequence of the
atmospheric conditions the landing was a particularly difficult one.
When I was about 100 metres over the place, and putting on full engine,
with the object of flying round once more and landing to back, the
engine started knocking and then stopped altogether. I only took a
second to examine my altimeter, but it was sufficient to ascertain that
the machine was no longer capable of landing on the aerodrome.
But I could veer neither to the right nor to the left. On the right
hand there was the Polo Club and a deep ditch, on the left the hotel
and villas.
I knew there was nothing more to be done, but I thought only of one
thing: to keep the engine from harm.
In front of me lay a small wood, and I hoped to be able to negotiate
it. I pulled at the altitude lever, but in the hot, thin air of
the tropics the machine sagged heavily. I just managed to keep my
head clear of the telegraph poles, then drew up my knees, pressed
my feet unconsciously forward, and suddenly I felt a mighty shock,
heard cracking and splintering noises, and collided heavily with the
tank, after which all was silent. But when I looked around me, having
miraculously escaped unhurt, I perceived my Taube with its nose in
the ditch, its little tail high up in the air, and its wings and
under-carriage forming a confused mass of broken wood, wires and canvas.
Oh, my poor little Taube! Would it had not happened exactly on the
third day of the mobilization! I felt quite hopeless. Yet, without
entirely losing courage, I carried the debris to the hangar. Luckily I
had received some reserve propellers and planes from home.
My only hope was that the motor had escaped! I did not possess any
spares, and it would have been impossible to procure them. I made my
way towards the boxes in which the spares were kept, and first opened
those which contained the planes. But, oh, horrors! A foul smell of
decay was wafted into our faces, and, fearing the worst, we prised open
the inner zinc lining.
The sight which met our eyes was perfectly horrible. The box was full
of mouldy lumber. The covering of the planes had rotted. The wing ribs
and the different wooden parts, which had been carefully packed, lay in
a disorderly heap and were covered with a coat of mildew. It was a sad
spectacle. We now opened the case in which were the propellers, where
we found the same conditions. The five propellers had simply ceased to
exist, and had shrunk to such an extent that they could no longer be of
any use. It was a hard nut to crack!
But, without losing courage, my splendid rigger, Stüben, the chief
mechanic, tackled the job, and the same afternoon I sat with Stüben, my
two stokers, Frinks and Scholl, and eight Chinese from the dockyards,
hard at work on the wings.
Thereafter I took the least damaged propeller to the wharf, and was
helped out of my quandary, thanks to the excellent patternmaker K.
who, with the Chinese, constructed a new propeller. This was a real
masterpiece, for it was hewn out of seven thick oak planks which had
been glued together with ordinary carpenter’s glue. The Chinese used
their axes, and fashioned a perfect propeller, copying a model which K.
had set up for them. Though done by hand, their work showed the utmost
care and precision.
It is this propeller I used for all my flights during the siege of
Kiao-Chow.
But we had not remained idle in our sheds. We worked day and night with
the utmost energy, and already, on the ninth day after my accident, my
little Taube stood ready to run out on the aviation field at sunrise.
It is not difficult, though, to understand that my expectations of a
successful flight were not very high. My planes had been reconstructed
from a mass of musty material, and we had to rig them the best we
could, as we had no flat spaces. I have described the erection of the
propeller, which, by the way, made about a hundred revolutions less
than it should have. Besides this, the conditions for flying on this
particular aerodrome were so unfavourable that the choice lay between a
clean start and an irremediable fall.
But I had no business to think of that. We were in the midst of war. I
was the only aviator and had to carry on. And I had luck!
In order to lighten my machine I had scrapped every bit which I could
do without. Therefore in the beginning my bird rose unwillingly to do
my bidding, but soon I had regained full control over it. Hereafter I
flew proudly, and dropped a message in front of the Governor’s house:
“Aircraft again in perfect order!”
I then began my long reconnoitring flights. I traversed the whole
Protectorate, and flew hundreds of kilometres beyond it over the
distant country, watching the ways of approach, and spying out the wild
rocks of the coast, in order to see whether the enemy was near—or
landing. These were the most beautiful expeditions of my life.
The air was so clear and transparent, the sky of such a pure azure,
and the sun shone divinely and lovingly on the beautiful earth, on the
cliffs and mountains, and the deep sea which hemmed the coast. My soul
was athirst for beauty, and revelled in the marvellous sights of Nature
for hours on end.
But I was not wholly without care. Already on my second flight I
was able to ascertain that the glued grooves had split, and that
by a miracle alone the propeller had not been torn asunder. It
had, therefore, to be disconnected and freshly sized. This little
performance had to be repeated after every flight. As soon as I
returned, the propeller was taken off, I drove with my car to the
wharves, there it got a fresh coat of mastic, was screwed under a
press, and in the evening I fetched it, fixed it on the machine, and
started afresh the next day.
But, as the propeller insisted on splitting regularly, I pasted the
whole leading edge with canvas-covering and sticking-plaster, which
helped a little towards holding it together.
At Kiao-Chow, over and above my regular duties, I was also in charge of
the captive-balloon section, which I jokingly called my “swelled-headed
competitors!”
Before I left Berlin I had passed through a training course for
dirigibles, learning to pilot airships, in addition to some practice
with an observation balloon, and different practical exercises like
mending balloon-covers, etc.
The section, which was brand-new, consisted of two huge balloons of
2000 cubic metres each, a balloon-bag and all the necessary accessories
for producing gas and for the service of the airships.
A petty officer, who had also had some experience with airships, was
the only person, besides myself, who knew anything about it. After we
had unpacked all the cases, we went very carefully about filling the
balloons. And we were extremely proud when the first fat yellow sausage
lay stoutly lashed to the ground. I, personally, fastened every line
with my petty officer, and soon after this the yellow monster was
swaying lightly under the blue canopy of the sky. We hauled it down,
and I clambered alone into the gondola for the first ascent. On this
occasion I very nearly started on my complicated voyage to Germany,
for, when the order “Let go!” was given, the rope, which had been
measured out too generously, suddenly stiffened and got mixed up with
the cable, whilst the balloon shot out perpendicularly 50 metres into
the air. The thought that it was going to break away flashed through
my mind. A violent jerk nearly threw me out of the gondola. But as
the steel cable was also quite new it luckily held. So I was none the
worse, except for having gained some fresh experience.
I then started drilling and instructing my crew, and soon the show was
being run with the efficiency of old hands.
Our Governor expected great things of the observation balloon. It was
hoped that it would be of great service in reconnoitring the approach
of the enemy and the disposition of his artillery. These hopes were
doomed to disappointment, and my fears that the erection of the
balloons would serve no useful purpose proved only too justified.
Though I was able to send up the kite balloon to 1200 metres from the
ground, we did not succeed in visualizing the range of hills which lay
behind our fortified positions, thus observing the enemy’s movements
and, above all, the emplacement of his heavy siege artillery. And this
would have been of capital importance to the defenders of Kiao-Chow.
The Protectorate of Kiao-Chow lies on a narrow strip of promontory
which stretches out into the sea, with the town of Kiao-Chow framed
on three sides by the sea and partitioned off from the mainland by a
chain of mountains which has the form of a semicircle. They are the
Moltke, Bismarck and Iltis Mountains. Our chief position nestled among
their crannies, and at their foot lay the five infantry works with the
barbed-wire entanglements. Next came a wide valley, which was bisected
by the river Haipo, and next a new range of hills, which also stretched
from sea to sea and were doomed to bring disaster upon us. Behind them
there was another broad valley surmounted by the wild rocky tips of the
Lau-Hou-Schan, the Yung-Liu-Chui and the Lauchau.
It was most important for us to ascertain what was happening in the
open country, as since the 27th of September we had been completely
shut off behind our barbed wire. We were, above all, anxious to find
out _where_ the enemy kept his siege artillery and, as we had been
disappointed in the reliability of our observation balloon, nothing
remained but an occasional smart reconnaissance and—my aeroplane!
The days of August sped by in ceaseless labour. Kiao-Chow and its
approaches became unrecognizable, and defensive positions for artillery
were opened. To our sorrow the delightful little wood, which had been
planted with so much care, the pride of Kiao-Chow, was felled by our
axes to clear the zone of fire. How sad to destroy at one blow the
loving work of “Kultur”!
The 23rd of August, the day on which the Japanese ultimatum expired,
broke at last, and it is comprehensible that no answer was vouchsafed
to the yellow Jap. The password was: “Go for them!” And this was our
dearest wish.
I remember that, on the following morning, as I looked out from my
balcony over the wide blue sea I noticed at a distance of some nautical
miles several black shadows which slowly moved to and fro. I was even
able to distinguish torpedo-boat destroyers through my telescope.
Patzig, who came at a run to join my observations, also convinced
himself of this. Of course—was it not the 24th? So the gang was
blockading us! And the Japanese had actually dared to attack the German
Empire!
The fight of a yellow race, abetted by a handful of Englishmen, against
_one_ German regiment on a war footing had begun.
Immediately on the expiration of the ultimatum a troop of one thousand
men moved into the extreme outposts of the territory, in order to
protect it as well as the roads of approach. This little detachment
admirably fulfilled its task. It had to defend a tract of land which
was 30 kilometres wide, and then another one of 10 kilometres, with
quite insufficient artillery. A thousand men had to replace two army
corps! They fought stubbornly and courageously, sometimes only able
to oppose flying patrols to enemy battalions, retreating step by step
before the fearful odds. Only on the 28th of September were they pushed
back behind the principal retrenchments, which now definitely closed
upon us until the end of the combat.
During the early days of the siege I must say that aeroplanes as well
as aircraft generally were held in small esteem by the responsible
authorities of the Kiao-Chow garrison. This, one must admit, was only
natural, considering our luckless exhibitions. However, a swift change
soon took place. One day I again flew over the south coast of the
Shantung peninsula, on the look out for enemy ships or landing troops.
The coast appeared deserted, and there was nothing to be seen. Much
relieved that we were safe from that side at least, I flew home. Quite
accidentally I went to Government House in the evening to see a comrade
there. There I encountered by chance the head of the General Staff, who
was in a tearing hurry as he had left an important conference at the
Governor’s in order to fetch a book.
He called out to me as he was passing: “Well, Plüschow, did you fly
again?”
“Yes, sir,” I said. “I have just returned. I searched the coast for
enemy landing troops for several hours, but there is no sign of them.”
I can still see the astounded expression on our Chief’s face.
“What do you mean? Searched the coast? And only tell us now? Here
we have been deliberating for the last two hours how we can ward
off the large convoys which have been sighted by our scouts in the
Dsin-Dsia-Kou Bay. And you have just come from there, and can produce
such unimpeachable evidence? In you go to the Governor and report at
once!”
The whole conference was now settled in a few words. The scouts’
reports were, of course, inventions. But I was happy, for I had saved
the reputation and the honour of aviation!
And now began my most difficult, but also most beautiful, flights.
I was soon to receive my baptism of fire. It was during the first days
of September, on a Sunday, at an altitude of 1500 metres, far out over
the territory, basking in the sunshine. I suddenly caught sight below
of a fairly important detachment of Japanese, which greeted me with
volleys of infantry and machine-gun fire. I returned home, exhibiting
ten bullet holes in my planes. But, in future, I did not descend below
2000 metres, thus avoiding unnecessary risks to my engine and my
propeller.
But the baptism of fire on land promptly followed.
Shortly afterwards, I motored to Shatsy-Kou, where we had advanced
outposts. I stopped before the house without thought of danger. I was
astonished to notice that all the officers and men were lying flat on
the ground, along a stockade which was erected seawards. They waved
their arms, which I naturally regarded as a greeting, answering them
promptly in the same fashion.
I still sat in my car, when I heard a sibilant whistle sounding close
to my head, followed by an ear-splitting crash not 10 feet away. A
shell had exploded in the masonry of the house, and before I could
recover from my surprise other projectiles followed the first.
I threw myself out of the car and took cover with the others. My
brother officers were splitting with laughter, for, however serious the
situation, I must have looked a funny sight.
We then learned what had happened.
A Japanese destroyer-flotilla lay in front and was trying to destroy
Shatsy-Kou by her fire. We spent the next two hours under shell-fire,
in our cramped and exposed position, without being able either to see
or to move. At midday the Japs made a pause, probably in order to
enjoy their dinner. While we examined the damage done to the house, the
Chinese boys were already eagerly collecting shell-splinters. And, as
we sat down for a moment to a cup of coffee, three small Chinks arrived
with radiant faces, and planked three unexploded shells down in front
of us. It would have made a fine mess if they had gone off then!
We started soon after on our return journey; but as we entered the
first valley new shells exploded behind us—the bombardment was resumed.
A little later Shatsy-Kou had to be evacuated with the whole
Protectorate, and on the 28th of September we retreated behind the
principal retrenchments, and at the same time the first bombardment on
a large scale was started from the sea.
“Some” noise!
In the early morning of that day I sat in my bath in the best of
spirits, refreshing myself before a long flight, when I heard the most
appalling noise. As our artillery had been active day and night, I did
not pay much attention to this additional racket, but attributed it
to the firing of our 28-centimetre howitzer of the Bismarck battery,
which lay at the foot of my villa, and had so far kept silent to
economize our ammunition.
I sent out my batman to see that my aeroplane was kept in readiness.
But after a very few minutes he returned breathless and a little pale,
and reported: “Sir, we must leave the villa at once; we are being
bombarded by four big ships. One of the heavy shells has just landed
near the sheds, but, thank God, the aeroplane is not damaged, and no
one is hurt. But I burnt my fingers. I saw such a beautiful large
splinter, and wanted to carry it away as a souvenir; it was _so_ hot,
but I got it, all the same!” And he beamingly showed me his singed
pocket-handkerchief, which held the huge splinter of a 30-centimetre
shell! But I was already out of my bath, and in two minutes had reached
the aerodrome where, with combined efforts, we pushed my aeroplane into
a more sheltered corner of the field. After that I ran to look at the
bombardment from the Shore-commander’s guard-house.
The latter lay on a hill, from which one had an ideal view of
Kiao-Chow. One could follow the flight of every shell, and from now
onwards, whenever I was not flying, I sat up here during the next
weeks, watching the fight.
The first bombardment of Kiao-Chow took place on the 28th of September,
and was particularly impressive.
The crashing and bursting of the shells, with their accompanying
roar, was accentuated by the echo from the surrounding mountains.
Crash followed upon crash, and we had the impression that the whole
of Kiao-Chow was being turned into a heap of ruins. It was a weird
feeling, but we soon got used to it. One is completely helpless in the
face of exploding shells, and can but wait until all is over, whilst
hoping that one may be mercifully far away from the spot on which they
fall.
How despicable the English must have felt during this bombardment and
those that followed!
The enemy ships stood so far out that our guns could not reach them.
Therefore, they were quite safe. In the van steamed three Japanese
battleships, and under Japanese command, at the rear, the English
battleship _Triumph_.
I wonder whether the English felt proud of their rôle as executioners?
Thank God, the damage caused by the bombardment was not of much
consequence, and from then on we awaited their cannonading with the
greatest calm.
In the evening I witnessed a particularly sad performance. Our
gunboats, _Cormoran_, _Iltis_ and _Luchs_, were sunk by us after they
had been dismantled.
It was a tragic sight. The three ships were fastened together and
towed by a steamer into deep water and there blown up and burnt. It
seemed as if the three ships knew that they were being dragged to their
doom. They looked infinitely sad and helpless, with their bare masts
sticking up heavenwards, and their frames writhed in the fire, as if
they were unwilling to turn into ashes, until the waves swept over them
and put an end to their torment. Our sailors’ hearts were wrung with
pity. These three were followed by _Lauting_ and _Taku_, and, shortly
before our surrender, by the little _Jaguar_ and the Austrian cruiser,
_Kaiserin Elisabeth_, after these two ships had rendered us invaluable
service. Their work fills one of the most glorious pages in the history
of the fight and death of Kiao-Chow.