Lieut. Col. Fulton dashed off to the telephone exchange and pulled out all the plugs, so that the residents could hold no intercommunication by that means. The Custom House and the offices of the Governor were also seized without a moment's loss of time. An armed party was dispatched along a bush road to seize the wireless station. Late that evening the man in charge rang up in some alarm to state that there was dynamite lying about and that the engine had been tampered with to such an extent that the apparatus could not be used until we got our own machinery in position.
Meantime the German flag, that had flown over the island for fourteen years, was hauled down, the Germans present doffing their hats and standing bareheaded and silent on the veranda of the Supreme Court as they watched the soldier in khaki from New Zealand unceremoniously pulling it down, detaching it from the rope, and carrying it inside the building.
Next morning the British flag was hoisted with all due ceremony. In the harbor the emblem of Britain's might fluttered from the masts of our cruiser escort, the Stars and Stripes waved in the tropic breeze above the palms surrounding the American Consulate, and out in the open sea the white ensign and tricolor flew on the powerful warships of the allied fleets of England and France.
A large crowd of British and other residents and Samoans had gathered. In the background were groups of Chinese coolies, gazing wonderingly upon the scene. The balconies of the adjoining buildings were crowded with British and Samoans. Only the Germans were conspicuous by their absence. With undisguised feelings of sadness they had seen their own flag hauled down the day before. Naturally they had no desire to witness the flag of the rival nation going up in its place.
A few minutes before 8 o'clock all was ready. Two bluejackets and a naval Lieutenant stood with the flag, awaiting the signal. The first gun of the royal salute from the Psyche boomed out across the bay. Then slowly, to the booming of twenty-one guns, the flag was hoisted to the summit of the staff, the officers, with drawn swords, silently watching it go up. With the sound of the last gun it reached the top of the flagstaff and fluttered out in the southeast trade wind above the tall palms of Upolo.
There was a sharp order from the officer commanding the expedition, and the troops came to the royal salute. The national anthem—never more fervently sung—and three rousing cheers for King George followed.
Then came the reading of the proclamation by Col. Logan, the troops formed up again, and, to the music of the, band of the Fifth Regiment, marched back to quarters.
How the Cressy Sank
By Edgar Rowan of The London Daily Chronicle.
MUIDEN, Holland, Sept. 23.—(Dispatch to The London Daily Chronicle.)—When the history of this war comes to be written we shall put no black borders, as men without pride or hope, around the story of the loss of the cruisers Aboukir, Cressy, and Hogue. We shall write it in letters of gold, for the plain, unvarnished tale of those last moments, when the cruisers went down, helpless before a hidden foe, ranks among the countless deeds of quiet, unseen, unconscious heroism that make up the navy's splendid pages.