Various - The New York Times Current History of the European War, Vol 1, Issue 4, January 23, 1915

V >> Various >> The New York Times Current History of the European War, Vol 1, Issue 4, January 23, 1915

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Yesterday and the day before I ran across country through Valievo toward
Drina. Further north, barely forty miles from Valievo, at Seablatcha,
the poor refugees who had fled from their houses before the onslaught of
the Austrians showed me eight young people, tied one to another, who
were all pierced by bayonets.

Five miles from there, at Bella Tserka, fugitives of the village with
indescribable despair were burying the mutilated, bodies of fourteen
little girls. Six peasants were found hanging in an orchard.

At Lychnitsa, on the Drina, about a hundred old men, inoffensive
civilians, were massacred before the eyes of their wives and children.
All the women and children were led over on the other side of the bank
of the Drina in order to compel the Servians to stop their fire.

It is not war that Austria-Hungary tried to make on Servia. That great
nation wanted to exterminate the Servian people. She thought she would
succeed before Servia had time to defend herself.

Austrian prisoners affirm that they received orders to hang all those
striving against their country, to burn all the enemy's villages, and
put all their inhabitants to death.

The Servian Quartermaster General is drawing up an official list of
these Austro-Hungarian deeds.

*The Attack on Tsing-tau*

*By Jefferson Jones of The Minneapolis Journal and The Japan
Advertiser.*

JAPANESE HEADQUARTERS, Shantung, Nov. 2.--I have seen war from a grand
stand seat. I never before heard of the possibility of witnessing a
modern battle--the attack of warships, the fire of infantry and
artillery, the manoeuvring of airships over the enemy's lines, the
rolling up from the rear of reinforcements and supplies--all at one
sweep of the eye; yet, after watching [Transcriber: original 'watchnig']
for three days the siege of Tsing-tau from a position on Prinz Heinrich
Berg, 1,000 feet above the sea level and but three miles from the
beleaguered city, I am sure that there is actually such a thing as a
theatre of war.

On Oct. 31, the date of the anniversary of the birth of the Emperor of
Japan, the actual bombardment of Tsing-tau began. All the residents of
the little Chinese village of Tschang-tsun, where was fixed on that day
the acting staff headquarters of the Japanese troops, had been awakened
early in the morning by the roar of a German aeroplane over the village.
Every one quickly dressed and, after a hasty breakfast, went out to the
southern edge of the village to gaze toward Tsing-tau.

A great black column of smoke was arising from the city and hung like a
pall over the besieged. At first glance it seemed that one of the
neighboring hills had turned into an active volcano and was emitting
this column of smoke, but it was soon learned that the oil tanks in
Tsing-tau were on fire.

As the bombardment was scheduled to start late in the morning, we were
invited to accompany members of the staff of the Japanese and British
expeditionary forces on a trip to Prinz Heinrich Berg, there to watch
the investment of the city. It was about a three-mile journey to this
mountain, which had been the scene of some severe fighting between the
German and Japanese troops earlier in the month.

When we arrived at the summit there was the theatre of war laid out
before us like a map. To the left were the Japanese and British cruisers
in the Yellow Sea, preparing for the bombardment. Below was the Japanese
battery, stationed near the Meeker House, which the Germans had burned
in their retreat from the mountains. Directly ahead was the City of
Tsing-tau, with the Austrian cruiser Kaiserin Elisabeth steaming about
in the harbor, while to the right one could see the Kiao-Chau coast and
central forts and redoubts and the intrenched Japanese and British
camps.

We had just couched ourselves comfortably between some large, jagged
rocks, where we felt sure we were not in a direct line with the enemy's
guns, when suddenly there was a flash as if some one had turned a large
golden mirror in the field down beyond to the right. A little column of
black smoke drifted away from one of the Japanese trenches, and a minute
later those of us on the peak of Prinz Heinrich heard the sharp report
of a field gun.

"Gentlemen, the show has started," said the British Captain, as he
removed his cap and started adjusting his "opera glass." No sooner had
he said this than the reports of guns came from all directions with a
continuous rumble as if a giant bowling alley were in use. Everywhere
the valley at the rear of Tsing-tau was alive with golden flashes from
discharging guns, and at the same time great clouds of bluish-white
smoke would suddenly spring up around the German batteries where some
Japanese shell had burst. Over near the greater harbor of Tsing-tau we
could see flames licking up the Standard Oil Company's large tanks. We
afterward learned that these had been set on fire by the Germans and
not by a bursting shell.

And then the warships in the Yellow Sea opened fire on Iltis Fort, and
for three hours we continually played our glasses on the field--on
Tsing-tau and on the warships. With glasses on the central redoubt of
the Germans we watched the effects of the Japanese fire until the boom
of guns from the German Fort A, on a little peninsula jutting out from
Kiao-Chau Bay, toward the east, attracted our attention there. We could
see the big siege gun on this fort rise up over the bunker, aim at a
warship, fire, and then quickly go down again. And then we would turn
our eyes toward the warships in time to see a fountain of water 200
yards from a vessel, where the shell had struck. We scanned the city of
Tsing-tau. The 150-ton crane in the greater harbor, which we had seen
earlier in the day, and which was said to be the largest crane in the
world, had disappeared and only its base remained standing. A Japanese
shell had carried away the crane.

But this first day's firing of the Japanese investing troops was mainly
to test the range of the different batteries. The attempt also was made
to silence the line of forts extending in the east from Iltis Hill, near
the wireless and signal stations at the rear of Tsing-tau, to the coast
fort near the burning oil tank on the west. In this they were partly
successful, two guns at Iltis Fort being silenced by the guns at sea.

On Nov. 1, the second day of the bombardment, we again stationed
ourselves on the peak of Prinz Heinrich Berg. From the earliest hours of
morning the Japanese and British forces had kept up a continuous fire on
the German redoubts in front of the Iltis, Moltke, and Bismarck forts,
and when we arrived at our seats it seemed as though the shells were
dropping around the German trenches every minute. Particularly on the
redoubt of Taitung-Chen was the Japanese fire heavy, and by early
afternoon, through field glasses, this German redoubt appeared to have
had an attack of smallpox, so pitted was it from the holes made by
bursting Japanese shells. By nightfall many parts of the German
redoubts had been destroyed, together with some machine guns. The result
was the advancing of the Japanese lines several hundred yards from the
bottom of the hills where they had rested earlier in the day.

It was not until the third day of the bombardment that those of us
stationed on Prinz Heinrich observed that our theatre of war had a
curtain, a real asbestos one that screened the fire in the drops
directly ahead of us from our eyes. We had learned that the theatre was
equipped with pits, drops, a gallery for onlookers, exits, and an
orchestra of booming cannon and rippling, roaring pompons; but that
nature had provided it with a curtain--that was something new to us.

We had reached the summit of the mountain about 11 A.M., just as some
heavy clouds, evidently disturbed by the bombardment during the previous
night, were dropping down into Litsun Valley and in front of Tsing-tau.
For three hours we sat on the peak shivering in a blast from the sea,
and all the while wondering just what was being enacted beyond the
curtain. The firing had suddenly ceased, and with the filmy haze before
our eyes we conjured up pictures of the Japanese troops making the
general attack upon Iltis Fort, evidently the key to Tsing-tau, while
the curtain, of the theatre of war was down.

By early afternoon the clouds lifted, and with glasses we were able to
distinguish fresh sappings of the Japanese infantry nearer to the German
redoubts. The Japanese guns, which the day before were stationed below
us to the left, near the Meeker House, had advanced half a mile and were
on the road just outside the village of Ta-Yau. Turning our glasses on
Kiao-Chau Bay, we discovered that the Kaiserin Elisabeth was missing,
nor did a search of the shore line reveal her. Whether she was blown up
by the Germans or had hidden behind one of the islands I do not know.

All the guns were silent now, and the British Captain said: "Well,
chaps, shall we take advantage of the intermission?"

A half-hour later we were down the mountain and riding homeward toward
Tschang-Tsun.

To understand fully the operations of the Japanese troops in Shantung
during the present Far Eastern war one must be acquainted with the
topography of this peninsula, as well as with the conditions that exist
for the successful movements of the troops.

Since the disembarkation of the Japanese Army on Sept. 2 everything has
seemingly favored the Germans. The country, which is unusually
mountainous, offering natural strongholds for resisting the invading
army, is practically devoid of roads in the hinterland. To add to this
difficulty, the last two months in Shantung have seen heavy rains and
floods which have really aided in holding off the ultimate fall of
Kiao-Chau.

One had only to see the road from Lanschan over Makung Pass, on which
the Japanese troops were forced to rely for their supplies, partly to
understand the reason for the German garrison at Tsing-tau still holding
out. The road, especially near the base, is nothing but a sea of clay in
which the military carts sink up to their hubs. Frequent rains every
week keep the roadway softened up and thus render it necessary for the
Japanese infantry to rebuild it and to construct drainage ditches in
order that there may be no delay in getting supplies and ammunition to
the troops at the front.

The physical characteristics of Kiao-Chau make it an ideal fortress. The
entrance of the bay is nearly two miles wide and is commanded by hills
rising 600 feet directly in the rear of Tsing-tau. The ring of hills
that surrounds the city does not extend back into the hinterland, and
thus there is no screen behind which the Japanese forces can quickly
invest the city. Germany has utilized the semicircle of hills in the
construction of large concrete forts equipped with Krupp guns of 14 and
16 inch calibre, which, for four or five miles back into the peninsula,
command all approaches to the city.

The Japanese Army in approaching Tsing-tau has had to do so practically
in the open. The troops found no hills behind which they could with
safety mount heavy siege guns without detection by the German garrison.
In fact, the strategic plan for the capture of the town has been much
like the plan adopted by the Japanese forces at Port Arthur--they have
forced their approach by sappings. While this is a gradual method, it is
certain of victory in the end and results in very little loss of life.

The natural elevations of the Iltis, Bismarck, and Moltke forts at the
rear of Tsing-tau have another advantage in that they are so situated
that they are commanded by at least two other forts. All of the guns had
been so placed that they can be turned on their neighbors if the
occasion arises.

A Japanese aeroplane soaring over Tsing-tau on Oct. 30 scattered
thousands of paper handbills on which was printed the following
announcement, in German, from the Staff Headquarters:

"To the Honored Officers and Men in the Fortress: It is against the will
of God as well as the principles of humanity to destroy and render
useless arms, ships of war, merchantmen, and other works and
constructions not in obedience to the necessity of war, but merely out
of spite lest they fall into the hands of the enemy.

"Trusting, as we do, that, as you hold dear the honor of civilization,
you will not be betrayed into such base conduct. We beg you, however, to
announce to us your own view as mentioned above."

*The German Attack on Tahiti*

*As Told by Miss Geni La France, an Eyewitness.*

SAN FRANCISCO, Cal., Oct. 7.--Graphic stories of the plight of Papeete,
capital of Tahiti, in the Society Islands, were told here today by
passengers arriving on the Union Steamship Company's liner Moana.
Several of those on board the steamer were in Papeete when the town was
bombarded by the German cruisers Gneisenau and Scharnhorst. They said
the place was in ruins and that the natives were still hiding in the
hills, whence they fled when the bombardment began.

The stories of those arriving on the Moana vary only in unimportant
details. Perhaps the most graphic story was that told by Miss Geni La
France, a French actress. She told of the Governor's heroism and his
self-sacrificing devotion to duty, which caused him to face death rather
than surrender. All of the passengers were loud in their praise of this
Frenchman, who thought first of his country, next of his guests--for so
he considered all travelers--and next of the city's residents.

"While the shells screamed and exploded with a deafening roar, tearing
buildings and leaving wreck and ruin in their wake, this old Governor
was calm throughout," said Miss La France.

"It was his bravery that enabled us to bear up under the terrible
strain, although it was impossible to flee the city, as shells were
exploding all about.

"I was sitting on the veranda of the hotel, having a lovely holiday.
Every one was happy and contented. The sunshine was lovely and warm and
the natives were busy at their work. I noticed two dark ships steaming
up the little river, but was too lazy and 'comfy' to take any interest
in them.

"Suddenly, without any warning, shots began exploding around us. Two of
the houses near the hotel fell with a crash, and the natives began
screaming and running in every direction. For a minute I didn't realize
what was happening. But when another volley of shells burst dangerously
near and some of the pieces just missed my head, I was flying, too.

"Every one was shouting, 'To the hills, to the hills!' My manager could
not obtain a wagon or any means of conveyance to take me there. I felt
as if I had on a pair of magic boots that would carry me to the hills in
three steps. But I didn't. It was a good six miles, over bad roads, and
we had to run.

"The shells from the German battleships kept breaking, and the
explosions were terrible. I am sure that I made a record in sprinting
that six miles. The cries of the people were terrible. I was simply
terror-stricken and could not cry for fear. I seemed to realize that I
must keep my strength in order to reach the hills.

"We hid in the hills and the natives gave up their homes to the white
people, and were especially kind to the women."

"The native population probably hasn't come back from the hills yet, and
when we left, two days after the bombardment, the European population
was still dazed," said E.P. Titchener, a Wellington, New Zealand,
merchant, who went through the bombardment.

"From 8 o'clock until 10 the Scharnhorst and Gneisenau circled in the
harbor, firing broadsides of eight-inch guns at the little gunboat Zelie
and the warehouses beyond.

"Only the American flag, which the American Consul hoisted, and an
American sailing vessel also ran up, the two being in line before the
main European residence section, saved that part of the town, for the
German cruisers were careful not to fire in that direction."

According to all accounts, the cruisers directed their fire solely
toward the Zelie, but their marksmanship was said to be poor. Many shots
fell short and many went wide, so that the whole business district, the
general market, and the warehouses along the water front were peppered
and riddled.

The French replied from some old guns on the hills as well as three
shots from the Zelie, but ineffectively.

"It was plucky of the French to fire at all," said Mr. Titchener. "At 7
o'clock we could see two war vessels approaching, and soon made out they
were cruisers. They came on without a flag, and the Zelie, lying in the
harbor, fired a blank shot.

"Then the Germans hoisted their flag and the Zelie fired two shots. The
Germans swung around and fired their broadsides, and all the crew of the
Zelie scuttled ashore. No one was hurt.

"The Germans continued to swing and fire. Their shells flew all over the
town above the berth of the Zelie and the German prize ship Walkure,
which the Zelie had captured. Perhaps not knowing they were firing into
a German vessel, the Gneisenau and the Scharnhorst continued their wild
cannonades.

"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 Papeete 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 Papeete 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.

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