MR. MACGARVIN’S PTOMAINE POISONING
IN the evening the Mandarin held his reception.
When I stepped out of my door the whole courtyard was ablaze with
torches and countless large Chinese lanterns. The guard presented arms,
the drums beat and the musicians gave us some tunes—hardly pleasing
except to Chinese ears. The Mandarin had even sent me his own palanquin.
I shall never forget that evening. I sat in a litter upholstered in
blue silk, with curtained windows, which was carried by eight sturdy
fellows. In front, on the sides and behind the palanquin, marched
soldiers with fixed bayonets and dozens of runners with paper lanterns.
The palanquin swayed gently to the tread of the bearers. Every ten
minutes the man at the head gave a loud signal by rapping with his
stick on the ground; the litter halted, the bearers moved the carrying
poles to the other shoulder, and on we went like the wind.
After forty minutes we reached the Mandarin’s palace. Ear-splitting
music, shouted orders and the light of many lanterns and torches
greeted us. The centre doors of the gigantic portals flew open before
me, and in front of the last one the Mandarin himself came forward to
receive me.
Several high dignitaries and generals had already assembled, and after
ceremonial greetings the ordinary green, thinnish tea was handed
round as a sign of welcome. I took advantage of this to present to
the Mandarin my Mauser pistol, plus ammunition, as a token of my
gratitude. He was visibly pleased, and we sat down to our meal in high
good humour. A huge, round table, covered with some fifty dishes, in
which swam the daintiest Chinese delicacies, awaited our pleasure. As a
specially honoured guest I was handed a knife and fork, and the feast
began. I added up the courses, but lost count at the thirty-sixth! But
what about the menu? From the delicate swallows’ nests to the finest
sharks’ fins; from sugar-cane salad to the most perfect chicken
stews—nothing had been forgotten. I had to sample everything, and the
Mandarin was tireless in his attentions, and even sometimes lifted a
particular titbit from his own plate to place it with his own fingers
on mine! We drank bottled beer from Germany! And German Schnaps.
Mr. Morgan’s was the hardest task, for he had to interpret the
conversation, which was not devoid of comic aspects.
The battles round Kiao-Chow, the losses of the Japanese and the English
and the flying interested the Chinese most of all. Their questions
never ran dry.
I took hearty and grateful leave of my Mandarin, and the next day I did
the same of my amiable hosts.
When I landed with my aeroplane I had only a tooth-brush, a piece of
soap and my flying-kit, _i.e._ my leather jacket, a scarf and leggings.
I had also taken a civilian suit with me. I now donned the latter.
The five-year-old daughter of our missionary presented me with her
old, shabby little felt hat to replace my sports cap, which a Chinese
had stolen whilst I was dismantling my machine. And in the evening I
was again conducted with ceremony to the junk, which was placed at my
disposal.
My suite, and at the same time guard of honour, during the coming
journey consisted of the Chinese General Lin, well known as a fighter
of pirates, of two officers and forty-five men, apart from the crew of
the boat. I was terribly worn out after all I had been through, and
went to my small wooden room, where to my joy and surprise, instead
of the plank-bed, I found a beautiful sleeping-bag with mattress and
blankets, which the attentive wife of the missionary had sent on board
for me. Without these I should have come off badly in my thin sports
clothes. It was bitterly cold, the wind whistled through the gaps
and crannies, and I could see the starry sky through the awning. And
whilst my thoughts lingered with my brave comrades in Kiao-Chow, and I
gratefully recalled the many battles and dangers I had come through in
order to fulfil my task to the end, sleep overtook me and enfolded me
in its arms.
The journey proceeded by slow stages. The junks were dragged upstream
by two coolies, by means of a rope which was fastened to our masthead.
It took us a day and a half to cover the first stage to Bampu, which I
had flown in twenty minutes with my aeroplane. Later on we went faster,
especially with a favourable wind filling our sails. But it was only
five days later that we arrived at Nanking.
Our progress interested me immensely, for we traversed a criss-cross
of rivers to the famous Emperor’s Channel, and through this we reached
Nanking by way of the Yangtse-kiang. The country was famous for its
pirates, and we passed towns where no European had set foot. During the
day, whilst the junk was being towed along, I walked on the bank with
the General and some of our guards, and watched with great interest the
active and crowded life of these cities, as yet untouched by Western
civilization. Chinese men, women and children came running out of
their houses, stared in astonishment at the sight of a fair man, with
blue eyes, who wore no hat. And they sometimes touched my garments to
convince themselves that I was really human.
My walks and my life on the junk took a quiet and rather silent course.
My courteous General, though he wore European attire, had the typically
Chinese bands wound round his ankles, and he sported a fine, long
“tail” which was coquettishly tucked under the belt of his jacket. The
good man knew not a word of any language but Chinese, and I knew none
of that. During our meals, which were of the richest description, but
reeked terribly of onions and garlic, we sat opposite each other, and
grinned amicably at one another—and that was our whole conversation.
At last, on the 11th of November, we arrived at Yang-dchou-fou, and one
can imagine with what avidity I threw myself on the first newspaper.
Full of excitement in the expectation of hearing at last about the
fate of Kiao-Chow, I devoured the pages of the _Shanghai Times_. There
on the second page—the name Kiao-Chow. But what was that? Could such
treachery exist in the world? For with disgust and loathing of the low
English-lying brood, this is what I read:
“THE COWARDLY CAPITULATION
OF
KIAO-CHOW.
THE FORTRESS TAKEN WITHOUT A BLOW.
THE GARRISON DRUNK AND LOOTING.”
And after that so much mud, such low-down lying, that I threw the
paper aside in disgust. And this was what the English, who had behaved
with so little valour before Kiao-Chow, dared assert about our brave
defenders!
Ah, but I did not know the English papers then! Later in Shanghai, and
also in America, I had to get used to much worse from the American
Press, to say nothing of the English. But now, at least, I was certain
as to the fate of Kiao-Chow, which was inevitable from the first. I
saw also how opportunely I had left the fortress, on the very eve, so
to speak, of her forced surrender. We arrived safely at Nanking on the
11th of November 1914.
I was warmly welcomed at the station by Kapitänleutnant Brunner,
Commander of the torpedo boat S.90, and his officers.
We drove in a carriage to the buildings which had been allotted to the
officers and crew of the S.90, and where, to my astonishment, a room
was already prepared for me. When I amazedly inquired the reason of
this, my comrades told me that I was to be interned, and that they all
rejoiced to have a fourth at Skat. I protested loudly that I did not
play cards; also, I held my own views on the question of internment,
but these I kept to myself.
So I repaired with my General Lin to the palace of the Governor of
Nanking. Unfortunately, or rather luckily, we could not see the
Governor, and an old Chinese doctor received us very kindly in his
stead, and expressed the hope that I should be very happy in Nanking.
I thanked him profusely, though I had no such intention!
I now took leave of my General Lin, who seemed obviously relieved at
having concluded his mission; but, when I stepped into my carriage, a
fully armed Chinese soldier followed me.
When, astounded, I asked for an explanation, he told me in fairly
intelligible German that he was my “Guard of Honour,” and had been
attached to me for my _protection_ and would henceforward accompany me
in all my comings and goings.
That was _too_ bad! Had I not been formally assured in Hai-Dchou that
my removal to Nanking was a pure formality, and that I should be
absolutely free?
So they wanted to intern me?
In that case I had to act promptly, before I gave the Chinese the
chance to announce this fact to me and rob me of my freedom. The “Guard
of Honour” was a nuisance, but I hoped to find means of getting rid of
him.
The same evening we were all bidden to the house of a German friend.
I had settled on my plan. After a few pleasant hours, during which I
had to recount time and again the last days of Kiao-Chow, the other
officers took their departure at ten o’clock, followed by their
faithful sentries. I stayed on, but after half an hour decided that it
was imperative for me to depart, if I still wanted to make my escape.
But when my host stepped out from the house whom did he see? My yellow
guardian! We were in a fix; but with prompt decision I sent our “boy”
to ask him what he meant by waiting, as all the gentlemen had been gone
for a good while, and he would be punished for his carelessness if he
did not catch them up.
And whilst the poor devil ran off in their wake, a closed carriage
was taking me to the station at breakneck speed. I was just in
time to secure the last berth in the newly run express train. The
sleeping-compartment was already locked, and a tall Englishman opened
the door unwillingly and with a furious face, in answer to my spirited
knocking. I simply ignored him, jumped into the upper berth, and,
turning off the light, pretended to undress. In reality I crept under
my pillows and blankets, resolved not to wake up under any provocation.
But during the next eight hours I never slept. As often as the train
stopped, I felt cold shivers running down my back, saying to myself:
“Ha, they will fetch me now!” And, when loud voices sounded outside, I
felt convinced that my last train-trip during this war was over.
But nothing happened. The Chinese did not yet seem to have thought of
telegraphing in connection with arrests, so, according to schedule, at
seven in the morning we arrived in Shanghai. After successfully passing
the ticket-collector, I promptly bowled along in a rickshaw through
the Chinese quarter—where the Chinese authorities still had a hold on
me—and at last reached the European side, where I felt safe and free
from interference.
I went straight to a German acquaintance, who received me with open
arms, and whose guest I remained during the next three weeks.
For it was fully that before I was able to continue my journey; and in
the meantime how many adventures, perils, and games of hide-and-seek!
For what was more natural than that Oberleutnant P. should not be known
at all at my quarters, and that Herr Meyer, who had stayed there for a
few days, should already have left?
That Mr. Scott had come on a visit to his kind friends, of course, was
no one’s business. But prudence was essential, especially as I knew
a great number of people in Shanghai, many of whom were English, met
previously in Kiao-Chow before the war.
I assumed four or five different names, and stayed with different
friends in succession.
But the greatest difficulty still lay in finding ways and means to
get to America. Once I nearly got away on an _English_ ship, thanks
to the introduction which a German friend procured for me. An English
ship-owner introduced me as a Swiss, who did not know _one_ word of
English. I listened to the whole conversation, but was able to suppress
my jubilation when I heard that I was to sail on the steamer _Goliath_,
bound direct for San Francisco. It was, alas, of short duration,
for the ship had weighed anchor two hours earlier on account of the
tide—and we came too late!
I could have tried another steamer, but they all went by way of Japan,
and I feared to risk that.
Fortune, however, smiled upon me. One day I accidentally met a friend
with whom I had spent many a gay night in the haunts of the Far East;
he was at once ready to help me. And after only a few days I held the
necessary papers, and had received all the needful instructions. From
a Mr. Scott, Meyer or Brown, I turned suddenly into a distinguished
Englishman, rolling in money, who bore the beautiful and dignified name
of MacGarvin. This gentleman was representative of the Singer Sewing
Machines Company, and on his way from Shanghai to his factories in
California.
What was more natural for Mr. MacGarvin than to travel on one of the
first outgoing American Mail Steamers!
There were only two luxurious state-rooms aboard this boat. The one was
allotted to an American multi-millionaire, the other to Oberleutnant
Plüschow—no, I mean, Mr. MacGarvin. One difficulty still remained: to
escape unobserved from Shanghai.
But there my friends again came to the rescue. Three days before the
ship sailed I took official leave, and spread the report that I no
longer felt safe in Shanghai, and was going to Peking, in order to work
there at the German Legation. At eleven that night I left in a carriage
for the station. How could I be expected to know that the coachman
turned off a few minutes before, and drove sharply out of the town in a
southern direction? What did I know about Shanghai?
After we had rolled along the Wusung River for nearly two hours, we
stopped. Two men armed with revolvers came up, a brief countersign
was exchanged; with deep respect and gratitude I kissed a woman’s
slim, white hands which were extended to me from the interior of the
carriage, and it wheeled round and disappeared. My two friends took me
in their midst, I also drew my revolver, and we stepped silently into
the waiting junk.
The night was black as pitch, the wind howled, and the dirty, dark
water gurgled dismally as it flew by, driven by the tide.
The four Chinks bent to their sculls with the utmost exertion, and
after an hour we reached our destination, which lay many miles
downstream on the opposite shore!
Soundlessly we landed, soundlessly the junk disappeared; and in the
same fashion we made our way towards a dark building which stood in the
midst of a small garden near some huge factories.
My eyes were blinded by the glare of many electric lamps, once the door
had been carefully locked after us.
I soon noticed that we were in comfortable bachelor’s quarters. The
table was spread, and we courageously attacked the many delicious
dishes. Over this meal we decided on our tactics.
The apartment belonged to the two young men who worked during the day
at the factory. The servants were pure Chinese, which was all to the
good.
My visit had to be kept secret in any case, especially as a
disagreeable individual, who belonged to the “Entente,” also lived on
the premises.
It was our intention to take advantage of the fear which the Chinese
profess for evil spirits, and especially of their superstition in
regard to mad people. Therefore, my problem was to act the part of a
madman for three days.
I was given a tiny room, where I was locked in. The “boy” received
detailed and sharp instructions from his master, and so I felt secure
that I should not be betrayed.
Dash it all! I never thought it would be so difficult to feign madness.
For three days I remained shut up in this room, raved and stamped
about, sometimes dropping into a chair and staring stupidly in front of
me.
As soon as the “boy,” who was on guard outside, noticed these symptoms,
he carefully opened the door and pushed through his tray with food like
greased lightning, then withdrew his arm, and I could feel with what
relief he turned the key on me on the outside. When I sometimes burst
out laughing, because I felt in such high spirits, the poor chap must
have thought I had a fresh attack.
At last, on the evening of the third day, we left the house silently
and cautiously.
A large steamer lay near the landing-place, we took brief but warm
leave of each other, and off we went in the direction of the Wusung
Roadstead.
The weather was bad, the sea rough and the gangway was not even let
down. After calling and yelling loudly, at last somebody appeared and
helped Mr. MacGarvin to board the ship with his solitary trunk.
Nobody even looked at me. The deck was in half-darkness, and at last I
went up to several of the officers and inquired as to the whereabouts
of my cabin. Something unintelligible was growled at me, but when the
gentlemen looked more closely at my ticket a sudden change took place.
Bowings and scrapings and fluent excuses. A blast from the whistle of
an officer, and several stewards appeared as by magic, headed by the
white head-steward. The deck-lamps gleamed. The stewards fought over
the possession of my trunk, and the head-steward conducted me with
_empressement_ to my state-room. He simply exuded politeness.
“Oh, Mr. MacGarvin, why do you come to-day? The steamer only leaves the
day after to-morrow, and it was known all over Shanghai at midday!”
I looked furious, and expressed my indignation that the owner of a
state-cabin should not have been warned in time.
He was followed by my fat Chinese cabin-steward, who was repose and
distinction personified. But he put me into a fix. One of his “boys”
was ordered to bring my trunk, whereupon he asked me, in doubting
tones, whether this represented all my luggage.
“Yes,” I said.
He supposed my other trunks were in the hold.
“Of course. My heavy luggage was brought on board yesterday, and I hope
that my valuable belongings were carefully handled.”
Oh, if the good Chink had guessed how proud I was of that _one_ trunk,
even though it was suspiciously light!
At last, on the 5th of December 1914, the steamer _Mongolia_ weighed
anchor.
In spite of the lovely weather and good food, on the very next day Mr.
MacGarvin was suddenly taken ill. He himself did know what it was.
Probably severe ptomaine poisoning, and the ship’s doctor was quickly
sent for. He was a brilliant man, a thorough sportsman and ready for
any joke. His concerned face took on an astonished expression when,
instead of a patient at death’s door, he beheld my florid and sunburnt
countenance.
I had confidence in him, and in a few words I explained my situation.
I have seldom seen anyone’s eyes gleam with such pleasure as his did
after I had confessed my sins to him. His uproarious laugh and warm
handshake convinced me that I had chanced on the right man. The steward
knocked at the door.
The ship’s surgeon assumed an anxious mien, whilst I groaned. The
steward flitted in, and the American said to him in hushed, impressive
tones: “Look here, Boy! This Master plenty ill, don’t disturb him,
can’t get up before ten days; give him plenty good food, chosen by
cook; always bring to him in bed. If Master want anything, you call me!”
During this speech I already held one end of the blanket in my mouth,
and if it had lasted longer I would have swallowed the whole. Once more
I took the centre of the stage.
Three days on the sea, and then came the first of the three Japanese
harbours which I dreaded. The steamer ran peacefully into Nagasaki,
and immediately a flood of custom-officers, policemen and detectives
inundated the boat. The bell rang through the ship, and summoned
passengers and crew for examination. And now the whole procedure
started. The passengers were assembled in the saloon. Each was called
by name; man, woman and child questioned by a commission consisting of
police-officers and detectives; their papers closely examined; and they
themselves overhauled by the Japanese doctor with regard to infectious
diseases. Above all, they wanted to know which of them came from
Kiao-Chow. The thirty-fifth name called was that of MacGarvin. Every
one looked round, for, of course, no one had even seen him. Whereupon
the ship’s surgeon approached, looked very serious, and whispered some
dreadful news into the ear of his Japanese colleague.
Some fifteen minutes later I heard a hum of many voices before my
cabin. The door was carefully opened. In walked the American ship’s
surgeon, and in his wake crept two Japanese police-officers and the
Japanese doctor. The poor victim of ptomaine poisoning lay in a huddled
heap, moaning softly, and with nothing to be seen of him but a crop of
hair.
The American came close to the bed and lightly touched my shoulder,
which apparently called forth horrible pain. He immediately stepped
back and whispered: “Oh, very ill, very ill!” The Japs, who had from
the first contemplated the beautifully furnished cabin with shy
admiration, seemed happy to get out of these unwonted surroundings.
They kow-towed profoundly, hissed something through their teeth, which
was meant to express particular deference, a softly murmured “Oh, I beg
your pardon!” and the entire Yellow Peril disappeared from my sight.
I believe that during this whole scene, and just before, I did feel a
slight attack of the shivers—but it did not last.
In the afternoon I risked getting up for a moment as I wanted to catch
a glimpse of Nagasaki, which I already knew.
But the sight that met my eyes sent me scuttling back to my bunk. The
harbour was filled with countless steamers, richly festooned with
flags. Extraordinary animation reigned aboard the ships; troops, horses
and guns were being put ashore continuously. The soldiers were in gala
attire, and the houses of the town nearly disappeared under the load
of garlands and flags; a huge crowd flowed through the streets to
the parade-ground, where a review was to be held. So these were the
conquerors of Kiao-Chow!
The whole of Japan fêted to-day the defeat and humiliation of the
German Empire. I read that night in the Japanese papers, which appeared
in English, that Japan had achieved that which the English, French
and Russians had tried in vain—to defeat Germany; and that from now
onwards their army was the best and the strongest in the whole world.
But enough of this, the Americans and the English have not shown
greater restraint on other occasions.
Twice more the steamer ran into harbour during the next days. Both
at Kobe and Yokohama my cabin witnessed the same procedure as at
Nagasaki—Mr. MacGarvin remained ill and unmolested.
We stayed five days in all in Japan. At last, after I had kept to my
bunk for a whole week, we left those dangerous shores. And when they
disappeared on the horizon a young man on the steamer is said to have
danced with joy and frantically waved a small hat, which had belonged
to a little girl in far-away China, shouting laughingly: “Good-bye,
Japs! Good-bye, Japs!”
The days passed pleasantly enough amidst the recreations which are
usual on board an ocean-going steamer. I met several Germans, whom the
war had thrust forth from their adopted country; also a brother officer
who had been lately busy at Shanghai, and a war-comrade; the American
war correspondent, Mr. Brace, who was the only foreigner to take part
in the whole siege of Kiao-Chow.
Neptune took care to provide us with a change. Shortly before Honolulu,
we were caught in a typhoon, which lasted nearly two days and
threatened our ship with dire peril.
When we arrived in Honolulu the sun was shining brightly, and I had to
look twice before I dared trust my eyes. For did I not see the German
war flag!
And as we dropped anchor there lay alongside, like a tiny cockleshell,
the small cruiser _Geier_, which, coming from the South Seas, had run
the blockade and had just been interned. What a curious meeting! I met
dear comrades again from whom I had heard nothing for a long time, in
the midst of war, far from our country, after momentous happenings. We
talked and talked without end.
At the beginning of the war the _Geier_ lay far away to the south
amongst the coral-reefs. She only heard of the Russian mobilization,
then her wireless went to pieces, and she swam about without news in
the Pacific. Only fourteen days later, the _Geier_ heard something
of the war with England and later with Japan. This meant caution.
Surrounded and hunted by a score of enemies, the small cruiser achieved
a voyage of many thousands of sea miles to Honolulu, either taken
in tow by a small steamer or sailing on her own. And when the huge
Japanese cruiser, which lay on the watch for her at the mouth of the
harbour, one fine morning beheld the cockleshell safe in port, with the
German flag flying at the masthead, the yellow monkey had to slink off
homewards with its tail between its legs.
After our departure from Honolulu I had a bone to pick with my war
correspondent. Beaming with joy, he brought me the _Honolulu Times_
and proudly showed me the first page, on which my name, my profession
and my nationality were recorded in immense letters, followed by
several columns of close print, which recounted all my misdeeds during
and after the siege of Kiao-Chow.
Truly American this—to be judged according to what the papers said.
But the whole business was extremely painful to me, for I had every
reason to fear that the American authorities would arrest me on my
arrival at San Francisco on the strength of this report. However, all
the Americans on board reassured me and expressed their opinion that
I would be allowed to go my own way without hindrance. For what I had
done was “good sport.” On the contrary, people in America would be
delighted at my adventures, and if I only behaved sensibly, and gave up
my foolish German militarist ideas, I could make a lot of money there.
The thing for me to do was to apply to the right kind of newspaper.
It would take the matter in hand, arrange for the needful publicity,
and then I could travel from town to town—possibly preceded by a
band—and collect “plenty dollars.” Those Americans were truly gifted
with fine feelings! One of these gentlemen, a jolly old man, who had a
charming daughter with him, came to me one day and took me seriously in
hand.
“Now look here, Mr. MacGarvin, I like you; I take an interest in your
career. What are you going to do now? You have probably no money. You
are unknown in America, and it is difficult to find a job there!”
“Well, I want to return to Germany and fight for my country, as I am an
officer.”
He smiled with pity.
“You will never be able to get out of America. And with all respect
for your confidence in your country and your enthusiasm—believe me,
I have good connections over there—in a few months Germany will be
annihilated, and then you will neither get work nor be allowed to live
there. England will allow no German officer to remain in Germany when
the war is over. They will all be deported. The German Empire will be
divided, and the Kaiser deposed by his own people. Do be sensible; try
to make a new home for yourself and stay in America. I am quite ready
to help you.”
But that was too much. My patience was exhausted, and I gave the
gentleman an answer which taught him many new things about German
officers and the real state of affairs in Germany. In the end he was
quite converted to my ideas, and showed himself still more amiable
towards me. Subsequently I was often his guest in San Francisco and New
York.
On the 30th of December we cast anchor in San Francisco.
A typically American reception.
Dozens of newspaper reporters and photographers swarmed over the deck,
filled the saloons, and even invaded the cabins. The fellows had
already got on my scent. They surrounded one on all sides; cameras
clicked everywhere—it was simply revolting. At last I took refuge in
the only expedient that is of any use. I became rude and shouted: “I
have nothing to say, and if you molest me any further I shall fetch the
police.” My war correspondent from Kiao-Chow had taught me beforehand
to treat his colleagues in this manner.
Only a tiny yellow Japanese crept up to me like a cat, made a deep
obeisance, hissed through his teeth and said, with a false smile, that
he came from the Japanese Consulate (of all places!) to greet me and to
wish me happiness on my leaving Kiao-Chow with such luck. He assured
me I had nothing to fear, as I was on American soil; but that he would
be only too charmed to send a short account to his paper in Tokio, to
delight his Japanese brethren.
I ordered my Chinese steward to throw the yellow Jap out.
San Francisco!