"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.'