The city appeared as if a typhoon had passed through it. Its wide
asphalt and macadamized streets, fronted by beautiful four- and
five-story buildings of German architecture, were vacant. Giant shells,
some three feet long and a foot in diameter, were lying about on
sidewalk and street still unexploded. Trees, splintered at their bases,
lay toppled over in the avenues. Windows in the houses were shattered,
while gaunt holes in the sides of buildings, where shells had torn
their way, made the residence blocks appear to be gasping for air.
Out in the harbor could be seen the spars of the _Rickmers_ and two or
three other German freighters, which had been sunk at the opening of
hostilities about the city, while farther out in the channel was the
grave of the Austrian cruiser, _Kaiserin Elisabeth_, which had been
sunk by the Germans.
The whole scene seemed one of devastation. Streets deserted of people,
show-fronts of stores completely gone, as was also the merchandise,
harbors deserted of ships, and not even a sign of a ricksha to remind
you of the Orient.
Such was Tsingtau as I first saw it two days after its surrender. But
for the continual sight of the Rising Sun flag flapping from every peak
in the rear of the city, as well as from every Government building,
and its message of "occupied," one would have thought Tsingtau a city
deserted.