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 manoeuvre, 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:

Our Governor had written below:

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.