"That night," he said, "we were working in trenches along a river bed at the bottom of the slope, where the others had been wounded, and sans doute most darnation close to the enemy. A beginning had been made on this trench the night before, so there was a little cover. The two redoubts were about 800 yards on our right and left respectively, the enemy's trenches about 350 yards to our front.
"Well, for the first hour after getting down we were left severely alone. Then they started throwing star rockets and sort of Roman candle things which lit up the place like day, and at the same time they peppered us with Maxims, pompoms, and rifle fire from all three places. We had some men hit further back in the communication trench, but funnily enough none in the forward line.... We were entertained by a certain amount of shell fire during the rest of the night. Next night we were due to leave for the forward trenches at dusk to carry on, having had our usual entertainment in the afternoon from the Germans, when suddenly they began throwing shrapnel at our trench. For about half an hour it was all over us, and I'm blest if I know why nobody was hit. It was the overhead cover, I fancy, that saved us this time. We came out like a lot of rabbits when it was over and proceeded to get down below.
"The Japanese artillery was supporting us that night, as we were working on the enemy's side of the river, within 200 yards of their advance trenches. Never have I felt a more comforting sensation then when watching those Japanese shells bursting just over our heads, a little in advance, the shrapnel from them going slap into the Germans every time. I must say it was a magnificent sight when the Japanese guns were going, the German rockets, etc., and their machine guns and rifles joining in when they could get their heads up. One had to shout to make oneself heard, and those who saw it from the top of Heinrich Hill in rear said it was very fine."
During the early days of the siege life in the beleaguered city went on about as usual. A large part of the civil population had withdrawn while there was yet time, but enough shops remained open to supply the needs of those who remained. Cafés continued business and meals were served without interruption at the German Club throughout the siege, although toward the end the number of those who gathered at the club's tables dwindled to a few administrative officers and civilians.
In a proclamation the day before the expiration of the Japanese ultimatum, Governor Meyer-Waldeck had expressed the spirit of the little garrison in the following words:
"Never shall we surrender the smallest bit of ground over which the war flag is flying. From this place, which we with love and success have endeavored during the last seventeen years to shape into a little Germany across the seas, we shall not retreat. If the enemy wants Tsing-tau, he must come and take it."
Few, if any, military men in Tsing-tau doubted the outcome of the siege; but every resource was prepared for a desperate resistance. The city did not lack food; and after the surrender it was found that enough still remained to provision the garrison for more than three months longer. The supply of running water ceased about the middle of October. News from the outside world came in until November 5, and invariably it told of German successes.
"I remember one evening," said the Tsing-tau correspondent of the Associated Press, and the only foreign press representative in the city during the siege, "the roar of laughter that went up in the German Club when the news was read that England had asked Portugal for assistance. For two or three days it looked, according to the news, that the British Empire was going to pieces. We heard of revolutions in India, riots in Alexandria, mutiny and martial law in South Africa and even disaffection in Sarawak and North Borneo."
When it became clear that the end was drawing near preparations were made that as few war munitions as possible should fall into the hands of the enemy. The warships in the harbor that had escaped the bombardment were blown up. When the big guns in the forts had fired their last shots the gunners under orders destroyed them. In many cases this was done because without ammunition the guns were useless.
October 31, 1914, the anniversary of the emperor's birthday, was selected by the Japanese and English for their final bombardment. From 142 guns now occupying commanding positions came a deluge of shells that continued for seven days. The gunners by this time had the exact ranges and wasted no ammunition. The staffs of the two expeditionary forces gathered on Prince Heinrich Hill to watch the final act of the passing of German rule in the Far East. The warships ranged in the harbor joined in, and after an hour or two it became evident that the German defenses would be swept away by mere weight of metal. Under cover of this terrific gunfire the Allies' troops drove their saps and trenches up the very edge of the defense works, where they waited orders to take the place by storm.