Chapter XIII: The Lull in November (6)

"During the two hours of bombardment a hundred shells from the big 8-inch guns of the cruisers fell and exploded in the town. The sound was terrific, and nobody blamed the natives for running away.

"With all the destruction, only three men were killed--one Chinaman and two natives. The Germans evidently made an effort to confine their fire, but many shots went wide, and these did the main mischief.

"Finally, about 10 o'clock, without attempting to land, and not knowing that the German crew of the Walkure were prisoners in the town, the Gneisenau and the Scharnhorst steamed away and disappeared over the horizon. They sailed off to the westward, but of course we could not tell how they set their course when they got beyond our vision."

The damage to Papeéte was estimated at $2,000,000. Two vessels were sunk and two blocks of business houses and residences were destroyed. The French set fire to a 40,000-ton coal pile to prevent the Germans replenishing their bunkers.

The voyage of the Moana was fraught with adventure. From Papeéte the vessel, which flies the British flag, sailed with lights out and dodged four German cruisers after being warned by the wireless operator, who had picked up a German code message sent out by the cruisers which had razed the island city.

*The Bloodless Capture of German Samoa*

*By Malcolm Ross, F.R.G.S.*

[Special Correspondence of THE NEW YORK TIMES.]

WELLINGTON, N.Z., Sept. 19.--The advance detachment of the New Zealand Expeditionary Force which was ordered to seize German Samoa left Wellington in two troopships at dawn on Aug. 15, and was met in the ocean in latitude 36.0 south, longitude 178.30 east by three of the British cruisers in New Zealand waters--the Psyche, Pyramus, and Philomel.

As it was known that the armored cruisers Scharnhorst and Gneisenau were still at large in Pacific waters, it was decided not to go direct to Samoa, but to shape a course direct for New Caledonia. For the next fortnight or so we were playing a game of hide and seek in the big islanded playground of the Pacific Ocean. The first evening out the Psyche signaled "Whereabouts of Scharnhorst and Gneisenau still unknown; troopships to extinguish all lights and proceed with only shaded lights at bow and stern." Military books and papers were quickly gathered together, and the remaining few minutes of daylight were used for getting into bed, while the difficult task was set us of trying to sleep the round of the clock. Thus, night after night, with lights out, we steamed along our northward track, the days being spent in drill and ball firing with rifles and the Maxim guns.

On the morning of Aug. 2 we proceeded along the shores of New Caledonia and saw the big French cruiser Montcalm entering the harbor. Next day we were joined by the battle cruiser Australia and the light cruiser Melbourne. The contingent received an enthusiastic reception in New Caledonia. As we passed the Montcalm our band played the "Marseillaise," and the band on the French cruiser responded with our national anthem. Cheers from the thousands of men afloat and the singing of patriotic songs added to the general enthusiasm, the French residents being greatly excited with the sudden and unexpected appearance of their allies from New Zealand.

A delay of twenty-four hours was caused by one of the troopships grounding on a sand bank in the harbor, but on Sunday, Aug. 23, the expedition got safely away.

We steamed through the Havannah Pass, at the southeastern end of the island, where we awaited Rear Admiral Sir George Patey, in command of the allied fleets. In due course the Australia and the Melbourne came up with us. Then in turn waited for the Montcalm. All the ships, eight in number, were now assembled, and they moved off in the evening light to take up position in the line ahead.

Fiji was reached in due course, and at anchor in the harbor of Suva we found the Japanese collier Fukoku Maru, and learned that she had been coaling the German cruisers at the Caroline Islands just before the declaration of war. After the coaling had been completed the Japanese Captain went on to Samoa, calling at Apia. The Germans, however, would not allow him to land. The Japanese Captain had been paid for his coal by drafts on Germany, which, on reaching Suva, he found to be useless. He was therefore left without means to coal and reprovision. As he was not allowed to land at Samoa, he went on to Pago-Pago, in complete ignorance that war had been declared, and, not being able to get supplies there, left for Suva. At the latter port the harbor lights being extinguished, he ran his vessel on to the reef in the night time. Rockets were sent up, but no assistance could be given from the shore. Fortunately, however, he got off as the tide made; but it was a narrow call.

In the early dawn of Aug. 30 we got our first glimpse of German Samoa. The American island of Tutuila was out of sight, away to the right, but presently we rounded the southeastern corner of the island of Upolu, with its beautiful wooded hills wreathing their summits in the morning mists, and saw the white line of surf breaking along its coral reef--historic Upolu, the home of Robert Louis Stevenson, the scene of wars and rebellions and international schemings, and the scene also of that devastating hurricane which wrecked six ships of war and ten other vessels, and sent 142 officers and men of the German and American Navies to their last sleep. The rusting ribs and plates of the Adler, the German flagship, pitched high inside the reef, still stare at us as a reminder of that memorable event.

The Psyche went boldly on ahead, and after the harbor had been swept for mines she steamed in, under a flag of truce, and delivered a message from Admiral Patey, demanding the surrender of Apia. The Germans, who had been expecting their own fleet in, were surprised with the suddenness with which an overwhelming force had descended upon them, and decided to offer no resistance to a landing. Capt. Marshall promptly made a signal to the troopships to steam to their anchorages; motor launches, motor surfboats, and ships' boats were launched, and the men began to pour over the ships' sides and down the rope ladders into the boats.

In a remarkably brief space of time the covering party was on shore, officers and men dashing out of the boats, up to the knees, and sometimes the waist, in water. The main street, the cross-roads, and the bridges were quickly in possession of our men, with their Maxims and rifles, and then, one after another, the motor boats and launches began to tow strings of boats, crammed with the men of the main body, toward the shore. The bluejackets of the beach party, who had already landed, urged them forward by word and deed in cheery fashion, and soon Apia was swarming with our troops.

Guards were placed all about the Government buildings, and Col. Logan, with his staff, was quickly installed in the Government offices.

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 [Transcriber: original 'fliagstaff'] 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.

It is easy to learn all that happened, for the officers want chiefly to tell how splendidly brave the men were, and the men pay a like tribute to the officers. The following appears to be a main outline of the disaster:

The three cruisers had for some time been patrolling the North Sea. Soon after 6 o'clock Tuesday morning--there is disagreement as to the exact time--the Aboukir suddenly felt a shock on the port side. A dull explosion was heard and a column of water was thrown up mast high. The explosion wrecked the stokehole just forward of amidship and, judging by the speed with which the cruiser sank, tore the bottom open.

Almost immediately the doomed cruiser began to settle. Except for the watch on deck, most of her crew, were asleep, wearied by constant vigil in bad weather, but in perfect order officers and men rushed to quarters. Quickfirers were manned in the hope of a dying shot at a submarine, but there was not a glimpse of one. Of the few boats carried when cleared for action, two were smashed in recent gales and another was wrecked by the explosion.

The Aboukir's sister cruisers, each more than a mile away, saw and heard the explosion. They thought the Aboukir had been struck by a mine. They closed in and lowered boats. This sealed their own fate, for while they were standing by to rescue survivors, first the Hogue and then the Cressy was torpedoed.

The Cressy appears to have seen the submarines in time to attempt to retaliate. She fired a few shots before she keeled over, broken in two, and sank. Whether she sank any submarines is not known.

The men of the Aboukir afloat in the water hoped for everything from the arrival of her sister cruisers, and all survivors agree that when these also sank many gave up the struggle for life and went down. An officer told me that when swimming, after having lost his jacket in the grip of a drowning man, his chief thought was that the Germans had succeeded in sinking only three comparatively obsolete cruisers which shortly would have been scrapped anyway.

Twenty-four men were saved on a target which floated off the Hogue's deck. The men were gathered on it for four hours waist deep in water.

The rescued officers unite in praising the skill and daring of the German naval officers, and, far from bearing any grudge, they have nothing but professional praise for the submarines' feat.

"Our only grievance," one said, "is that we did not have a shot at the Germans. Our only share in the war has been a few uncomfortable weeks of bad weather, mines, and submarines."

When I entered the billiard room of the hotel here sheltering survivors and asked if any British officers were there, several unshaven men in the khaki working kit of the Dutch Army or in fishermen's jerseys got up from their chairs. Most of them had been saved in their pajamas, and they had to accept the first things in the way of clothing offered by the kindly Dutch. One Lieutenant apologized for closing the window, as he had only a thin jacket over his pajamas. He gladly accepted the loan of my overcoat while making a list of his men who had been saved.

While the survivors are technically prisoners in this neutral country, to be interned until the end of the war, Muiden steadfastly refuses to regard them as other than honored guests. The soldiers posted before every building where officers or men are sheltered seem to be guards of honor rather than prison warders, and every one in the place is competing for the honor of lending clothes, running errands, or offering cigars for the survivors.

When the Dutch steamer Flora arrived with survivors last night, flying her flag at half-mast and signaling for a doctor, the Red Cross authorities and the British Vice Consul, Mr. Rigorsberg, at once set the machinery in motion, and soon the officers were settled in hotels and the men were divided among a hospital, a church, and a young men's institute.

I saw one bluejacket asleep covered with a white ensign. He had snatched it up before diving overboard. He held it in his teeth while in the water and refused to part with it when rescued. He is now prepared to fight any one who may attempt to steal this last relic of his ship.

One survivor says that an English fishing boat also was sunk by the submarines, but the story is not confirmed.

For hours Capt. Voorham of the Flora and Capt. Berkhout of the Titan, caring nothing for risks of mines and submarines, cruised over the scene of the disaster, and the gallant Dutch seamen were rewarded by the rescue of 400 survivors.

Capt. Voorham, who landed all the survivors at Muiden, says:

"We left Rotterdam early Tuesday. In the North Sea we saw a warship, which proved to be the Cressy. Not long afterward I saw her keel over, break in two and disappear. Our only thought then was to save as many survivors as possible. When we got to the spot where she disappeared boats approached us and we began to get the men in them aboard. It was a very difficult undertaking, as the survivors were exhausted and we were rolling heavily.

"We also lowered our own boats and picked up many from the wreckage. All were practically naked and some were so exhausted that they had to be hauled aboard with tackle. Each as he recovered at once turned to help my small crew to save others. Later I saw the Titan approaching and signaled for help.

"One man was brought aboard with his legs broken. It was touching to see how tenderly his mates handled him.

"Presently the British destroyers approached. A survivor on my ship signaled with his arms that he was on a friendly ship, and the warships passed on.

"Among those saved were two doctors, who worked hard to help the exhausted men. One man died after they had tried artificial respiration for an hour.

"My men collected all the clothes and blankets on board and gave them to the survivors, and the cook was busy getting hot coffee and other food for my large party of guests.

"By 11:30 we had picked up all the survivors we could see. Soon after we saw German submarines, and, thinking it best to get to the nearest port, called here."

Remember that Capt. Voorham had only a comparatively small ship and a crew of only seventeen and realize the splendid work he did.

*German Story of the Heligoland Fight*

[Special Correspondence of THE NEW YORK TIMES.]

LONDON, Sept. 8.--Copies of the Berliner Tageblatt have been received here containing the German account of the recent naval battle off Heligoland between British and German vessels.

"Regarding the sinking of torpedo boat V-187," says the Tageblatt account, "an eyewitness says the small craft fought heroically to the bitter end against overwhelming odds. Quite unexpectedly the V-187 was attacked by a flotilla of English destroyers coming from the north. Hardly had the first shot been fired when more hostile destroyers, also submarines, arrived and surrounded the German craft.

"The V-187, on which, in addition to the commander, was the flotilla chief, Capt. Wallis, defended itself to the utmost, but the steering gear was put out of business by several shots, and thus it was impossible to withdraw from the enemy. When the commander saw there was no further hope, the vessel was blown up so as not to fall into the enemy's hands. But even while she sank the guns not put out of action continued to be worked by the crew till the ship was swallowed up in the waves. The flotilla commander, as well as Commander Lechler, was lost, besides many of the crew.

"The enemy deserves the greatest credit for their splendid rescue work. The English sailors, unmindful of their own safety, went about it in heroic fashion.

"Boats were put out from the destroyers to save the survivors. While this rescue work was still under way stronger German forces approached, causing the English torpedo boats to withdraw, abandoning the small rescue boats which they had put out, and those who had been saved were now taken from the English boats aboard our ships.

"When the thunder of the guns showed the enemy was near and engaged with our torpedo boats, the small armored cruiser Ariadne steamed out to take part in the scrap. As the Ariadne neared the outpost vessels it was observed that various of our lighter units were fighting with the English, which later, however, appeared to be escaping toward the west.

"The long-suppressed keenness for fighting could not be gainsaid and the Ariadne pursued, although the fog made it impossible to estimate the strength of the enemy. Presently, not far from the Ariadne, two hostile cruisers loomed out of the mist--two dreadnought battle cruisers of 30,000 tons' displacement, armed with eight 13.5-inch guns. What could the Ariadne, of 2,650 tons and armed with ten 4-inch guns, do against those two Goliath ships?

"At the start of this unequal contest a shot struck the forward boiler room of the Ariadne and put half of her boilers out of business, lowering her speed by fifteen miles. Nevertheless, and despite the overwhelming superiority of the English, the fight lasted half an hour. The stern of the Ariadne was in flames, but the guns on her foredeck continued to be worked.

"But the fight was over. The enemy disappeared to the westward. The crew of the Ariadne, now gathered on the foredeck, true to the navy's traditions, broke into three hurrahs for the War Lord, Kaiser Wilhelm. Then, to the singing of 'Deutschland Ueber Alles,' the sinking, burning ship was abandoned in good order. Two of our ships near by picked up the Ariadne's crew. Presently the Ariadne disappeared under the waves after the stern powder magazine had exploded.

"The first officer, surgeon, chief engineer, and seventy men were lost. In addition, many were wounded."

*The Sinking of the Cressy and the Hogue*

*By the Senior Surviving Officers--Commander Bertram W.L. Nicholson and Commander Reginald A. Norton.*

[By the Associated Press.]

LONDON, Sept. 25.--The report to the Admiralty on the sinking of the Cressy, signed by Bertram W.L. Nicholson, Commander of the late H.M.S. Cressy, follows:

"Sir: I have the honor to submit the following report in connection with the sinking of H.M.S. Cressy, in company with H.M.S. Aboukir and Hogue, on the morning of the 22d of September, while on patrol duty:

"The Aboukir was struck at about 6:25 A.M. on the starboard beam. The Hogue and Cressy closed and took up a position, the Hogue ahead of the Aboukir, and the Cressy about 400 yards on her port beam. As soon as it was seen that the Aboukir was in danger of sinking all the boats were sent away from the Cressy, and a picket boat was hoisted out without steam up. When cutters full of the Aboukir's men were returning to the Cressy the Hogue was struck, apparently under the aft 9.2 magazine, as a very heavy explosion took place immediately. Almost directly after the Hogue was hit we observed a periscope on our port bow about 300 yards off.

"Fire was immediately opened and the engines were put full speed ahead with the intention of running her down. Our gunner, Mr. Dougherty, positively asserts that he hit the periscope and that the submarine sank. An officer who was standing alongside the gunner thinks that the shell struck only floating timber, of which there was much about, but it was evidently the impression of the men on deck, who cheered and clapped heartily, that the submarine had been hit. This submarine did not fire a torpedo at the Cressy.

"Capt. Johnson then manoeuvred the ship so as to render assistance to the crews of the Hogue and Aboukir. About five minutes later another periscope was seen on our starboard quarter and fire was opened. The track of the torpedo she fired at a range of 500 to 600 yards was plainly visible and it struck us on the starboard side just before the afterbridge.

"The ship listed about 10 degrees to the starboard and remained steady. The time was 7:15 A.M. All the watertight doors, deadlights and scuttles had been securely closed before the torpedo struck the ship. All the mess stools and table shores, and all available timber below and on deck, had been previously got up and thrown over side for the saving of life.

"A second torpedo fired by the same submarine missed and passed about 10 feet astern. About a quarter of an hour after the first torpedo had hit a third torpedo fired from a submarine just before the starboard beam hit us under the No. 5 boiler room. The time was 7:30 A.M. The ship then began to heel rapidly, and finally turned keel up, remaining so for about twenty minutes before she finally sank, at 7:55 A.M.

"A large number of men were saved by casting adrift on Pattern 3 target. The steam pinnace floated off her clutches, but filled and sank.

"The second torpedo which struck the Cressy passed over the sinking hull of the Aboukir, narrowly missing it. It is possible that the same submarine fired all three torpedoes at the Cressy.

"The conduct of the crew was excellent throughout. I have already remarked on the bravery displayed by Capt. Phillips, master of the trawler L.T. Coriander, and his crew, who picked up 156 officers and men."

The report to the Admiralty of Commander Reginald A. Norton, late of H.M.S. Hogue, follows:

"I have the honor to report as follows concerning the sinking of the Hogue, Aboukir, and Cressy: Between 6:15 and 6:30 A.M., H.M.S. Aboukir was struck by a torpedo. The Hogue closed on the Aboukir and I received orders to hoist out the launch, turn out and prepare all boats, and unlash all timber on the upper deck.

"Two lifeboats were sent to the Aboukir, but before the launch could get away the Hogue was struck on the starboard side amidships by two torpedoes at intervals of ten to twenty seconds. The ship at once began to heel to starboard. After ordering the men to provide themselves with wood, hammocks, &c., and to get into the boats on the booms and take off their clothes, I went, by Capt. Nicholson's direction, to ascertain the damage done in the engine room. The artificer engineer informed me that the water was over the engine-room gratings.

"While endeavoring to return to the bridge the water burst open the starboard entry port doors and the ship heeled rapidly. I told the men in the port battery to jump overboard, as the launch was close alongside, and soon afterward the ship lurched heavily to starboard.

"I clung to a ringbolt for some time, but eventually was dropped on to the deck, and a huge wave washed me away. I climbed up the ship's side and again was washed off. Eventually, after swimming about from various overladen pieces of wreckage, I was picked up by a cutter from the Hogue, Coxswain L.S. Marks, which pulled about for some hours, picking up men and discharging them to our picket boat and steam pinnace and to the Dutch steamers Flora and Titan, and rescued, in this way, Commander Sells of the Aboukir, Engineer Commander Stokes, (with legs broken,) Fleet Paymaster Eldred, and about 120 others.

"Finally, about 11 A.M., when we could find no more men in the water, we were picked up by the Lucifier, which proceeded to the Titan and took off from her all our men except about twenty who were too ill to be moved.

"A Lowestoft trawler and the two Dutch ships Flora and Titan were extraordinarily kind, clothing and feeding our men. My boat's crew, consisting mainly of Royal Navy Reserve men, pulled and behaved remarkably well. I particularly wish to mention Petty Officer Halton, who, by encouraging the men in the water near me, undoubtedly saved many lives.

"Lieut. Commander Phillips-Wolley, after hoisting out the launch, asked me if we should try to hoist out another boat, and endeavored to do so. The last I saw of him was on the after bridge, doing well.

"Lieut. Commander Tillard was picked up by a launch. He got up a cutter's crew and saved many lives, as did Midshipman Cazalet in the Cressy's gig. Lieut. Chichester turned out the whaler very quickly.

"A Dutch sailing trawler sailed close by, but went off without rendering any assistance [Transcriber: original 'asistance'], although we signaled to her from the Hogue to close after we were struck.

"The Aboukir appeared to me to take about thirty-five minutes to sink, floating bottom up for about five minutes. The Hogue turned turtle very quickly--in about five minutes--and floated bottom up for several minutes. A dense black smoke was seen in the starboard battery, whether from coal or torpedo cordite I could not say. The upper deck was not blown up, and only one other small explosion occurred and we heeled over.

"The Cressy I watched heel over from the cutter. She heeled over to starboard very slowly, dense black smoke issuing from her when she attained an angle of about 90 degrees, and she took a long time from this angle till she floated bottom up with the starboard screw slightly out of water. I consider it was thirty-five to forty-five minutes from the time she was struck till she was bottom up.

"All the men on the Hogue behaved extraordinarily [Transcriber: original 'extraordinarly'] well, obeying orders even when in the water swimming for their lives, and I witnessed many cases of great self-sacrifice and gallantry. Farmstone, an able seaman of the Hogue, jumped overboard from the launch to make room for others, and would not avail himself of assistance until all the men near by were picked up. He was in the water about half an hour.

"There was no panic of any sort, the men taking off their clothes as ordered and falling in with hammock or wood. Capt. Nicholson, in our other cutter, as usual, was perfectly cool and rescued large numbers of men. I last saw him alongside the Flora. Engineer Commander Stokes, I believe, was in the engine room to the last, and Engineer Lieut. Commander Fendick got steam on the boat hoist and worked it in five minutes.

"I have the honor to submit that I may be appointed to another ship as soon as I can get a kit."

*The Sinking of the Hawke*

[By a Correspondent of The London Daily Chronicle.]

ABERDEEN, Scotland, Oct. 16.--The British cruiser Hawke was sunk in the North Sea yesterday by a German submarine, and of her crew of 400 officers and men only 73 are known to have been saved.

The cruiser Theseus, a sister ship of the Hawke, was attacked by the same submarine, but escaped because she obeyed the Admiralty's instructions and looked to her own safety instead of rushing to the aid of the Hawke's perishing crew.

A survivor of the Hawke gives the following description of the disaster: "Within eight minutes the Hawke had gone under. Had the ship gone down forward or aft there would have been some chance for us to get the boats out and clear of the cruiser, but she keeled over on her beam ends, and so of all boats we lowered those on the starboard side were useless, and those on the port side were crushed as soon as they touched the water.

"I was proud to be among such comrades. Everything was absolutely in perfect order. When the ship was struck a fearful explosion followed, and grime and dust were everywhere. I was amidships at the time, and could hardly see to grope my way to the ship's side. I heard orders given to lower the boats, and then some one shouted, 'Look after yourselves!' So I did that.

"Most of the men on board were married men. We saw hundreds in the water, but we were afraid to pick them up as our boat was already overcrowded. So we threw our lifebelts to them. It was all we could do.

"The weather was bitter cold, and I do not think that many, apart from those who were landed at Aberdeen, were saved."

Here is the statement of a rescued stoker: "When the explosion occurred I, along with others who were in the engine room, was sent flying into space and was stunned for a time. When I came to my senses I found myself in the midst of what must be described as an absolute inferno. One of the cylinders of the engine had been completely wrecked, and steam was passing out in dense, scalding clouds. The horror of the situation was increased when a tank of oil fuel caught fire, and the flames advanced with frightful rapidity.

"Seeing that there was not a ghost of a chance of doing any good by remaining in what was obviously a deathtrap, I determined to make a dash for it, and I scrambled up an iron ladder to the main deck. All this had happened in less time than it takes to tell it, but such is British pluck, coolness, and nerve even in such a situation that the commander and other officers were on the bridge, and as calmly as if we were on fleet manoeuvres the orders were given and as calmly obeyed.

"The buglers sounded a stiff call which summoned every man to remain at his post. During the first minute or two many of us believed all that was wrong was a boiler explosion, but the rapidity with which the cruiser was making water on the starboard side quickly disabused all our minds of this belief. Realizing the actual situation, the commander gave orders to close all the watertight doors. Soon after that came orders to abandon the ship and get out the boats.

"One cutter was being launched from the port side, but the Hawke at that moment heeled over before the boat could be got clear, and the cutter lurched against the cruiser's side and stove in one or two of her planks. As the Hawke went down a small pinnace and a raft which had been prepared for such an emergency floated free, but such was the onrush of men who had been thrown into the water that both were overcrowded. On the raft were about seventy men knee deep in water, and the pinnace also appeared to be overfilled.

"When those who managed to make their way into the cutter, which was also in grave danger of being overturned, caught the last glimpse of these two craft they were in a precarious condition. The cutter moved around the wreck, picking up as many survivors as the boat would hold. All those aboard her who had put on lifebelts took them off and threw them to their comrades who were struggling in the water. Oars and other movable woodwork also were pitched overboard to help those clinging to the wreckage, many of whom were seen to sink."

*The Emden's Last Fight*

[By the Cable Operator at Cocos Islands.]

KEELING, Cocos Islands, Nov. 12, (Dispatch to The London Daily Chronicle.)--It was early on Monday that the unexpected arrival of the German cruiser Emden broke the calm of these isolated little islands, which the distant news of the war had hitherto left unruffled. One of the islands is known as Direction Island, and here the Eastern Telegraph Company has a cable station and a staff engaged in relaying messages between Europe and Australia. Otherwise the inhabitants are all Malays, with the exception of the descendants of June Clunies Ross, a British naval officer who came to these islands ninety years ago and founded the line of "Uncrowned Kings."

The war seemed to be very far away. The official bulletins passed through the cable station, but they gave us very little real news, and the only excitement was when it was rumored that the company was sending out rifles in case of a raid on the stations, and orders came that the beach must be patrolled by parties on the lookout for Germans. Then we heard from Singapore that a German cruiser had been dispatched to these islands, and toward the end of August one of the cable staff thought he saw searchlights out over the sea. Then suddenly we were awakened from our calm and were made to feel that we had suddenly become the most important place in the whole worldwide war area.

At 6 o'clock on Monday morning a four-funneled cruiser arrived at full speed at the entrance to the lagoon. Our suspicions were aroused, for she was flying no flag and her fourth funnel was obviously a dummy made of painted canvas. Therefore we were not altogether surprised at the turn of events. The cruiser at once lowered away an armored launch and two boats, which came ashore and landed on Coral Beach three officers and forty men, all fully armed and having four Maxim guns.

The Germans--for all doubt about the mysterious cruiser was now at end--at once rushed up to the cable station, and, entering the office, turned out the operators, smashed the instruments, and set armed guards over all the buildings. All the knives and firearms found in possession of the cable staff were at once confiscated.

I should say here that, in spite of the excitement on the outside, all the work was carried on in the cable office as usual right up to the moment when the Germans burst in. A general call was sent out just before the wireless apparatus was blown up.

The whole of the staff was placed under an armed guard while the instruments were being destroyed, but it is only fair to say that the Germans, working in well-disciplined fashion under their officers, were most civil. There was no such brutality as we hear characterizes the German Army's behavior toward civilians, and there were no attempts at pillaging.

While the cable station was being put out of action the crew of the launch grappled for the cables and endeavored to cut them, but fortunately without success. The electrical stores were then blown up.

At 9 A.M. we heard the sound of a siren from the Emden, and this was evidently the signal to the landing party to return to the ship, for they at once dashed for the boats, but the Emden got under way at once and the boats were left behind.

Looking to the eastward, we could see the reason for this sudden departure, for a warship, which we afterward learned was the Australian cruiser Sydney, was coming up at full speed in pursuit. The Emden did not wait to discuss matters, but, firing her first shot at a range of about 3,700 yards, steamed north as hard as she could go.

At first the firing of the Emden seemed excellent, while that of the Sydney was somewhat erratic. This, as I afterward learned, was due to the fact that the Australian cruiser's range-finder was put out of action by one of the only two shots the Germans got home. However, the British gunners soon overcame any difficulties that this may have caused and settled down to their work, so that before long two of the Emden's funnels had been shot away. She also lost one of her masts quite early in the fight. Both blazing away with their big guns, the two cruisers disappeared below the horizon, the Emden being on fire.

After the great naval duel passed from our sight and we could turn our attention to the portion of the German crew that had been left behind, we found that these men had put off in their boats obedient to the signal of the siren, but when their ship steamed off without them they could do nothing else but come ashore again. On relanding they lined up on the shore of the lagoon, evidently determined to fight to the finish if the British cruiser sent a party ashore, but the dueling cruiser had disappeared, and at 6 P.M. the German raiders embarked on the old schooner Ayessa, which belongs to Mr. Ross, the "uncrowned king" of the islands. Seizing a quantity of clothes and stores, they sailed out, and have not been seen since.

Early the next morning, Tuesday, Nov. 10, we saw the Sydney returning, and at 8:45 A.M. she anchored off the island. From various members of the crew I gathered some details of the running fight with the Emden. The Sydney, having an advantage in speed, was able to keep out of range of the Emden's guns and to bombard her with her own heavier metal. The engagement lasted eighty minutes, the Emden finally running ashore on North Keeling Island and becoming an utter wreck.

Only two German shots proved effective. One of these failed to explode, but smashed the main range finder and killed one man. The other killed three men and wounded fourteen.

Each of the cruisers attempted to torpedo the other, but both were unsuccessful, and the duel proved a contest in hard pounding at long range. The Sydney's speed during the fighting was twenty-six knots and the Emden's twenty-four knots, the British ship's superiority of two knots enabling her to choose the range at which the battle should be fought, and to make the most of her superior guns.

The Sydney left here at 11 A.M. Tuesday in the hope of picking up any of the survivors of the Buresk, the collier that had been in attendance on the Emden and was sunk after an engagement on the previous day. Finally, with a number of wounded prisoners on board, the Sydney left here yesterday, and our few hours of war excitement were over.

*Crowds See the Niger Sink*

[By a Correspondent of The London Daily Chronicle.]

DEAL, England, Nov. 11.--By the destruction of the British torpedo gunboat Niger, which was torpedoed and sunk by a submarine in the Downs this afternoon, the realities of war were brought home to the inhabitants of Deal and Walmer.

A loud explosion was heard from the gunboat as she lay off the Deal pier, and great volumes of smoke enveloped the vessel. When the smoke cleared the Niger was observed to be settling down forward. Men, women, and children rushed to the sea front, exclaiming that the vessel had been torpedoed or mined. They soon realized that the Niger was doomed. The Deal and Kingsdown lifeboats as well as boats from other parts of the beach were launched in an effort to save the sailors.

Consternation and almost panic prevailed among the hundreds who stood watching the ghastly sight from the beach. Fortunately, the North Deal galley Hope, commanded by Capt. John Budd, lay at anchor near the spot, waiting to land the pilot from a London steamer which was going down the channel. When the boatmen realized that the Niger had been hit by a submarine or mine, to use their own expression, they rowed like the very devil.

"We saw the sailors," said Capt. Budd, "jumping from the vessel's side in dozens. As we neared the fast-disappearing vessel we came upon swarms of men struggling in the sea and heroically helping to support each other. Some were fully dressed, others only partly so. They were clinging to pieces of wreckage and deck furniture, and some were in lifeboats.

"It was a heartrending spectacle. The men were so thick in the water that they grasped at our oars as we dipped them in the sea. We rescued so many and our own boat got so choked that we could not move. With our own gunwale only just out of the water, we were in danger of sinking ourselves.

"We called to the men that we could take no more in or we should sink ourselves, but they continued to pour over the sides, and some hung to the stern of our boat. We had about fifty on board. Never had there been so many in the boat before. One burly sailor, whom we told to wait until the next boat came along, laughingly remarked [Transcriber: original 'remared'] while he was in the water, 'All right, Cocky, I will hold on by my eyebrows,' and he drifted to another galley. Another Deal boat then came along and relieved us of some of our men.

"Suddenly we heard a shout, and, looking around, saw the commander of the Niger waving and beckoning to us from the stern of the sinking ship. We could not go to him because our craft was so heavily laden. Another galley then came along, and, after taking out some of our men, together with those who were hanging on to our sides, we went closer to the sinking gunboat and took off some more men, and at the Captain's special request we waited until he took a final look around to see if there were any more men left on board the vessel.

"By this time the ship was very nearly under water, and we shouted to him to hurry up, as the Niger had turned over on her side and was likely to go down at any moment. That brave Captain only just managed to jump in time, when the gunboat gave a lurch and sank on her side in eight fathoms of water. We were proud to rescue that Captain, for he was a true sailor."

The other boats which picked up men were the Maple Leaf, the motor boat Naru, the Annie, the May, and the Deal lifeboat.

The rescuing party saw one dead sailor floating by.

The majority of those rescued received first aid on being landed at North Deal, and then they were taken in ambulances to the Marine Hospital at Walmer.

One survivor, replying to a question as to whether the Niger was torpedoed or mined, replied:

"Torpedoed, Sir. With the exception of the watch and the gun crews all were below at the time. The first order we received was to close the watertight doors."

So far as I can ascertain at present only one man is missing. Four or five have been landed at Ramsgate. The crew is said to have numbered ninety-six officers and men.

The sinking of the Niger came with tragic swiftness. It was comparatively a fine, peaceful day, and the people were resting on the promenade enjoying sea and fresh air. Anglers--men and women--were calmly fishing from the pier. One angler whom I interviewed this evening said:

"I had just baited my line and cast it out when I heard two loud reports, like an explosion. I looked seaward and saw the Niger, only a mile away, enveloped in smoke or steam. When it had cleared away. I said to my fellow-anglers, 'Oh, he is letting off steam! When I looked at her again I was startled to notice that she was lower in the water. Fortunately I had slung across my shoulder a pair of glasses, and, on looking at the vessel through them, I noticed that they were attempting to lower the boats, while the remainder of the crew stood at attention on the deck. We could see that the vessel was sinking, and the lifeboats and other boats were hastening to the rescue.

"The vessel then gradually disappeared, bow first, and after about fifteen minutes not a sign of her remained."

*Lieut. Weddigen's Own Story*

*By Herbert B. Swope.*

[Copyright, 1914, by The Press Publishing Company (The New York World).]

BERLIN, Sept. 30.--Through the kindness of the German Admiralty I am able to tell exclusively the story of Capt. Lieut. Otto Weddigen, commander of the now world famous submarine U-9, whose feat in destroying three English cruisers has lifted the German Navy to a lofty place in sea history.

There is an inviolable rule in the German Army and Navy prohibiting officers from talking of their exploits, but because of the special nature of Weddigen's exploit an exception was made, and through the good offices of Count von Oppersdorf The World was granted the right of first telling Weddigen's remarkable story.

It must be borne in mind that Lieut. Weddigen's account has been officially announced and verified by German Navy Headquarters. That will explain why certain details must be omitted, since they are of importance if further submarine excursions are undertaken against the British fleet. Following is Weddigen's tale, supplemented by the Admiralty Intelligence Department:

By CAPT. LIEUT. OTTO WEDDIGEN. Commander of the German Submarine U-9.

I am 32 years old and have been in the navy for years. For the last five years I have been attached to the submarine flotilla, and have been most interested in that branch of the navy. At the outbreak of the war our undersea boats were rendezvoused at certain harbors in the North Sea, the names of which I am restrained from divulging.

Each of us felt and hoped that the Fatherland might be benefited by such individual efforts of ours as were possible at a time when our bigger sisters of the fleet were prohibited from activity. So we awaited commands from the Admiralty, ready for any undertaking that promised to do for the imperial navy what our brothers of the army were so gloriously accomplishing.

It has already been told how I was married at the home of my brother in Wilhelmshaven to my boyhood sweetheart, Miss Prete of Hamburg, on Aug. 16.

Before that I had been steadily on duty with my boat, and I had to leave again the next day after my marriage. But both my bride and I wanted the ceremony to take place at the appointed time, and it did, although within twenty-four hours thereafter I had to go away on a venture that gave a good chance of making my new wife a widow. But she was as firm as I was that my first duty was to answer the call of our country, and she waved me away from the dock with good-luck wishes.

I set out from a North Sea port on one of the arms of the Kiel Canal and set my course in a southwesterly direction. The name of the port I cannot state officially, but it has been guessed at; nor am I permitted to say definitely just when we started, but it was not many days before the morning of Sept. 22 when I fell in with my quarry.

When I started from home the fact was kept quiet and a heavy sea helped to keep the secret, but when the action began the sun was bright and the water smooth--not the most favorable conditions for submarine work.

I had sighted several ships during my passage, but they were not what I was seeking. English torpedo boats came within my reach, but I felt there was bigger game further on, so on I went. I traveled on the surface except when we sighted vessels, and then I submerged, not even showing my periscope, except when it was necessary to take bearings. It was ten minutes after 6 on the morning of last Tuesday when I caught sight of one of the big cruisers of the enemy.

I was then eighteen sea miles northwest of the Hook of Holland. I had then traveled considerably more than 200 miles from my base. My boat was one of an old type, but she had been built on honor, and she was behaving beautifully. I had been going ahead partly submerged, with about five feet of my periscope showing. Almost immediately I caught sight of the first cruiser and two others. I submerged completely and laid my course so as to bring up in the centre of the trio, which held a sort of triangular formation. I could see their gray-black sides riding high over the water.

When I first sighted them they were near enough for torpedo work, but I wanted to make my aim sure, so I went down and in on them. I had taken the position of the three ships before submerging, and I succeeded in getting another flash through my periscope before I began action. I soon reached what I regarded as a good shooting point.

[The officer is not permitted to give this distance, but it is understood to have been considerably less than a mile, although the German torpedoes have an effective range of four miles.]

Then I loosed one of my torpedoes at the middle ship. I was then about twelve feet under water, and got the shot off in good shape, my men handling the boat as if she had been a skiff. I climbed to the surface to get a sight through my tube of the effect, and discovered that the shot had gone straight and true, striking the ship, which I later learned was the Aboukir, under one of her magazines, which in exploding helped the torpedo's work of destruction.

There was a fountain of water, a burst of smoke, a flash of fire, and part of the cruiser rose in the air. Then I heard a roar and felt reverberations sent through the water by the detonation. She had been broken apart, and sank in a few minutes. The Aboukir had been stricken in a vital spot and by an unseen force; that made the blow all the greater.

Her crew were brave, and even with death staring them in the face kept to their posts, ready to handle their useless guns, for I submerged at once. But I had stayed on top long enough to see the other cruisers, which I learned were the Cressy and the Hogue, turn and steam full speed to their dying sister, whose plight they could not understand, unless it had been due to an accident.

The ships came on a mission of inquiry and rescue, for many of the Aboukir's crew were now in the water, the order having been given, "Each man for himself."

But soon the other two English cruisers learned what had brought about the destruction so suddenly.

As I reached my torpedo depth I sent a second charge at the nearest of the oncoming vessels, which was the Hogue. The English were playing my game, for I had scarcely to move out of my position, which was a great aid, since it helped to keep me from detection.

On board my little boat the spirit of the German Navy was to be seen in its best form. With enthusiasm every man held himself in check and gave attention to the work in hand.