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!