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!”