Pen Picture by a Times Correspondent of the Havoc She Wrought
[From The New York Times Correspondent in Penang.]
PENANG, STRAITS SETTLEMENTS, Oct. 29.—The German cruiser Emden called here yesterday and departed, leaving death and destruction behind her. You will doubtless have learned long before this story of her visit, carried by the slow mails of the Far East, is read in the United States some account of the Emden's raid, but the cable can hardly carry a detailed picture of the destruction wrought in a brief hour or so yesterday in this busy harbor, and it seems worth while to describe for you how this sudden vision of war burst on Penang.
For those who do not know, the City of Penang lies on the western coast of the Malay Peninsula, just below the Siamese border. It is the shipping point of the Federated Malay States, where 65 per cent. of the world's tin is produced, as well as a great amount of rubber and copra. With a population of 246,000, it is growing by leaps and bounds and gives every indication of soon becoming one of the largest ports in the Far East.
The thing that makes this city a point of importance in the present war is the fact that it is the last port of call for ships going from China and Japan to Colombo and Europe. As a result, it has been made more or less of a naval base by the English Government. Large stores of Admiralty coal have been collected and all vessels have been commanded to stop here for orders before crossing the Bay of Bengal.
It was probably with the idea of crippling this base, from which her pursuers were radiating, that the Emden made her raid here. Had she found it temporarily undefended she could at one blow seriously have embarrassed the English cruisers patrolling these waters and at the same time cause a terrific loss to English commerce by sinking the many merchantmen at anchor in the harbor.
It was early on Wednesday morning that the Emden, with a dummy fourth funnel and flying the British ensign, in some inexplicable fashion sneaked past the French torpedo boat Mosquet, which was on patrol duty outside, and entered the outer harbor of Penang. Across the channel leading to the inner harbor lay the Russian cruiser Jemtchug. Inside were the French torpedo boats Fronde and Pistolet and the torpedo boat destroyer D'Iberville. The torpedo boats lay beside the long Government wharf, while the D'Iberville rode at anchor between two tramp steamers.
At full speed the Emden steamed straight for the Jemtchug and the inner harbor. In the semi-darkness of the early morning the Russian took her for the British cruiser Yarmouth, which had been in and out two or three times during the previous week and did not even "query" her. Suddenly, when less than 400 yards away, the Emden emptied her bow guns into the Jemtchug and came on at a terrific pace, with all the guns she could bring to bear in action. When she had come within 250 yards she changed her course slightly, and as she passed the Jemtchug poured two broadsides into her, as well as a torpedo, which entered the engine room but did comparatively little damage.
The Russian cruiser was taken completely by surprise and was badly crippled before she realized what was happening. The fact that her Captain was spending the night ashore and that there was no one on board who seemed capable of acting energetically completed the demoralization. She was defeated before the battle began. However, her men finally manned the light guns and brought them into action.
In the meantime the Emden was well inside the inner harbor and among the shipping. She saw the French torpedo boats there, and apparently realized at once that unless she could get out before they joined in the action her fate was sealed. At such close quarters (the range was never more than 450 yards) their torpedoes would have proved deadly. Accordingly, she turned sharply and made for the Jemtchug once more.
All the time she had been in the harbor the Russian had been bombarding her with shrapnel, but, owing to the notoriously bad marksmanship prevalent in the Czar's navy, had succeeded for the most part only in peppering every merchant ship within range. As the Emden neared the Jemtchug again both ships were actually spitting fire. The range was practically point-blank. Less than 150 yards away the Emden passed the Russian, and as she did so torpedoed her amidships, striking the magazine. There was a tremendous detonation, paling into insignificance by its volume all the previous din; a heavy black column of smoke arose and the Jemtchug sank in less than ten seconds, while the Emden steamed behind the point to safety.
No sooner had she done so, however, than she sighted the torpedo boat Mosquet, which had heard the firing and was coming in at top speed. The Emden immediately opened up on her, thereby causing her to turn around in an endeavor to escape. It was too late. After a running fight of twenty minutes the Mosquet seemed to be hit by three shells simultaneously and sank very rapidly. The German had got a second victim.
It was here that the chivalrous bravery of the Emden's Captain, which has been many times in evidence throughout her meteoric career, was again shown. If the French boats were coming out, every moment was of priceless value to him. Nevertheless, utterly disregarding this, he stopped, lowered boats, and picked up the survivors from the Mosquet before steaming on his way.
The English here now say of him, admiringly, "He played the game."
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.