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.”