Meantime, boats of all descriptions had started toward the place where
the Russian cruiser had last been seen. The water was covered with
débris of all sorts, to which the survivors were clinging. They
presented a horrible sight when they were landed on Victoria Pier,
which the ambulance corps of the Sikh garrison turned into a temporary
hospital. Almost all of them had wounds of one sort or another. Many
were covered with them. Their blood-stained and, for the most part,
naked bodies were enough to send shivers through even the most
cold-blooded person. It was a sight I shall not forget for many a day.
Out of a crew of 334 men 142 were picked up wounded. Only 94 were
found practically untouched. Ninety-eight were "missing." It is not
yet known how many of the crew of the 78 of the Mosquet were rescued
by the Emden.
So much of the story I am able to write from personal observation and
investigation. Here, however, is an account of what occurred from an
officer who saw it all from closer range and more intimate conditions,
for he was on the French torpedo boat destroyer Pistolet. I tell his
story exactly as he told it to me:
"The Captain of the Pistolet had invited Capt. T. and myself to have a
game of bridge whist on board. His ship was lying alongside the
Government wharf, just inside the inner harbor. The game proved a most
interesting one and time flew by unnoticed. Finally, just before 1
A.M., it came to a close, but, owing to the fact that our going home
at that hour of the morning would mean a rikisha ride of over two
miles, the Captain stretched a point and invited us to remain on
board, which we did. Little did we know what our decision was to mean
to us.
"At 5:25 the next morning, just as day was breaking, I was awakened by
a deafening crash, followed by two others in rapid succession. Without
waiting for more, I pulled my ducks over my pajamas and hurried on
deck. Right before us, at the entrance to the inner harbor, lay the
Russian cruiser Jemtchug. Steaming toward her at full speed came the
German cruiser Emden, her bow guns belching forth vast clouds of
smoke, through which the flash of the guns could just be
distinguished. She was less than half a mile away. After what seemed
to me an interminable delay, the surprised Jemtchug started to reply
with her small guns, and the din grew greater and greater.
"As the Emden came on she swerved slightly out of her course and
steamed down the far side of the channel, thus bringing her broadside
guns to bear on the Jemtchug, which by this time was literally
spitting fire. The range now was less than 300 yards, and the
execution being done must have been terrible. We noticed, however,
that the greater number of the Russian shells were 'carrying over.'
"The Emden now changed her course again, to the right, and disappeared
behind a group of several tramp steamers so as to enable her to turn
around without unduly exposing herself. While she was doing this the
firing diminished greatly, owing to the disinclination on the part of
either, I imagine, wantonly to damage harmless merchant vessels. No
sooner had she started on her way out of the harbor, however, than the
din arose once more.
"Just at this time the French torpedo boat Fronde dropped back from
her position alongside us and started in to take part in the mêlée
with a machine gun. This caused the Emden to devote part of her time
to us, and we were made the objective of a severe machine-gun fire
which, owing to our position in the shadow of the pier and of the fact
that the light was very poor, did little or no damage. Nevertheless,
it was rather disconcerting to hear the rattle of lead on the
corrugated iron sheds behind us.
"By this time the Emden must have realized that at such close quarters
she was subject to the danger of a torpedo attack, (although as a
matter of fact no effort seemed to have been made along these lines,)
and she accordingly started up the north channel toward the outer
harbor at full speed, firing broadside after broadside at the
Jemtchug, now badly crippled.
"Suddenly, as the two cruisers were abreast and no more than 150 yards
from one another, there was a tremendous crash. The Jemtchug heaved up
amidships, there was another detonation even louder than the first,
and she sank before I could realize what had happened. All that
remained was a large pillar of smoke to mark the spot where she had
been. A German torpedo had found its mark, and the Emden sailed around
the point without firing another shot.
"By this time--less than thirty minutes after the first shot had been
fired--the Pistolet had cast off and we started across the harbor
toward the place where we had last seen the Jemtchug, with the Fronde
close behind us. It was slow work, as we had very little steam.
"As we neared the scene of the disaster I received my first impression
of the horror of modern naval warfare. The water was strewn with
wreckage, amid which heads were popping up and down like corks in a
lily pond. It seemed as if it were alive with men. They were
everywhere, hanging on to pieces of wood, clutching life preservers,
clinging to débris of all kinds.
"When we reached them we immediately started in getting them aboard by
means of boats, ropes looped at the end, by hand, and in any way
possible. They were indeed a most terrible sight. Most of them were
wounded, and those that were were bleeding profusely. Practically none
were wearing more than a pair of trousers, and a considerable number
did not even have that. A few were frightfully lacerated, and we
recovered one man who had had his leg blown off below the knee--he
died five minutes after we got him on board. It was like living a
frightful nightmare. Everywhere you turned you met a groaning, greasy
mass of humanity.
"Discipline was thrown aside and Captain and men alike toiled in
their efforts to alleviate the suffering of the Jemtchug's survivors.
My partner at bridge the previous night, the doctor, asked my
assistance, and together we went from man to man doing what emergency
work we could. My pajama-decked costume was rapidly covered with
blood. It was a case of everybody helping everybody else.
"Finally, when numerous launches of all sizes and makes had put out to
relieve us, we returned to the Victoria jetty, which the ambulance
corps of the Sikh garrison, aided by volunteers and local doctors, had
turned into a temporary hospital. Here were removed what remained of
the Jemtchug.
"While the last few men were taken off the Pistolet, another
cannonading was heard. I hurried ashore, with no feeling of regret, I
might say, and took a rikisha to the outer sea wall to see whatever
fighting was going on. The ships were so far away that it was hard to
tell with the naked eye exactly what was going on. We could see the
little torpedo boat Mosquet trying to get beyond the range of the
Emden's guns while the shells were throwing up water all around her.
The chase had kept on for twenty minutes, I should say, when we saw
the little craft sink by the bow. The Emden lowered boats to pick up
any possible survivors, but, from the short time they were down, I
imagine most of the crew were lost.
"I have tried to give you some little idea in the foregoing of the
frightful encounter I have witnessed. It seemed like a nightmare
afterward, although while it was actually going on you felt as if you
were looking at a sham battle. Even when the bullets started in to
rattle on the iron-covered sheds above our heads there was nothing
terrifying about it. After the effect of the first few shots had worn
off I felt as if I were watching a play. That quiet, staid Penang with
her shaded streets and sampan covered harbor should be the scene of a
naval engagement such as I witnessed today is almost unbelievable. Yet
the sordid aftereffects are before our eyes.
"Only the masterly manoeuvring of that gentleman of the German
fleet--the Captain of the Emden--prevented the city from being the
scene of a terrible carnage. His refusal to sink unarmed vessels while
the crews were on board, his refraining from bombarding the town, his
stopping to pick up the crew of the Mosquet, although every minute was
valuable to him, at once made him 'that gentleman, the Captain of the
Emden.' On all sides you heard 'I hope they sink the Emden, but it
will be a shame if any of her crew are lost.'
"While steaming away from Penang he met the tramp Glen. Instead of
capturing her, he sent her into Penang with the message: 'I tried not
to hit the town. If I did so, I am very sorry, indeed.' Well, he
'played the game,' and he has made me, for one, feel extremely
doubtful whether the much-talked-of German 'atrocities' are true,
except where the exigencies of war have made them unavoidable."
Here you have the story of an engagement which will go down in history
as a demonstration that, even under the conditions of modern naval
warfare, it is possible for two ships of almost equal armament to
fight by daylight at almost point-blank range without resulting in the
disabling of both. A sight similar to that witnessed yesterday would
be considered by most naval critics as impossible, or, rather,
suicidal.
The sad, or, rather, disgraceful, part of the story has yet to be
told. It was true that the Jemtchug was caught unprepared. Her Captain
was spending the night ashore, her decks were not cleared, she was
slow to get into action, and when she did so her marksmanship was
poor. All this could hardly be excused, but it becomes insignificant
when we consider the case of the French torpedo boats and the
D'Iberville, whose help the Jemtchug had a right to expect. Here they
lay in a harbor with fully ten minutes' warning that a hostile ship
was approaching, yet they allowed that ship to enter the harbor, steam
around it, turn, and make her escape without so much as firing a shot,
when, if they had gone into action, the Emden could hardly have
escaped. The range was everything they could have desired.
What was the matter? Why did they remain silent? The answer is this:
Although it was a time of war, a large percentage of the officers of
these ships had been allowed to remain ashore over night. Not one of
the ships had steam up. Their decks were not even cleared for action.
Yet, even taking this into consideration, it is inexplicable that,
when two or three torpedoes from any one of them would have saved the
day, none was fired. The ships need not have moved an inch to have
done so. The range was ridiculously short--less than 200 yards at one
time. But surprise, lack of discipline, and general inefficiency
seemed to hold them paralyzed.
The prevailing opinion here is that they did not wish to draw the
Emden's fire on themselves--although one did use her machine gun
toward the end of the engagement. Whatever is said, however, it is
impossible to get away from the fact that the French Navy yesterday
sustained a blow to its efficiency that it will take a long time to
wipe out. Theirs was a "masterly inaction" caused by something which
they do not attempt themselves to define. Both army and navy
commanders here are one in their contemptuous condemnation of such a
spectacle.