In the early days of November we prepared for the end. On the 1st, our loyal ally, the Austrian cruiser Kaiserin Elisabeth, was blown up by her gallant crew after she had fired her last shot. A few days later she was followed by our last ship, the brave little gunboat Jaguar.
Our deck and crane followed, and then came the turn of our wharves.
We no longer had much help from our guns. A few were out of action, others had been destroyed by enemy artillery, the greater number we blew up ourselves.
On the 5th of November 1914 I myself was forced to undertake the destruction of my biplane. I had succeeded, assisted by an Austrian ex-aviator, Leutnant Clobuczar, in the construction of a wonderful, large two-seater hydroplane. It lay in readiness, and it had been my intention to reconnoitre with it, as it was no longer possible to use our aviation field, which was only 4000 to 5000 metres distant, but held under the steady fire of the enemy.
Nothing was to come of my biplane, and all our labour was in vain, for that afternoon our Chief summoned me and said:
“We are expecting the Japanese main attack at any hour now. See that you leave the fortress by aeroplane, though I fear the Japs will give you no time to do so. And now, God speed you, and may you come through safely. I thank you for the work you did for Kiao-Chow!”
He gave me his hand. I said, standing at attention:
“I report myself obediently as leaving the fortress!” And with this I was dismissed.