But nothing could be done. It was the one place in the whole Protectorate; all the rest was composed of wild mountains cleft by deep ravines. But on that glorious, sunny morning I only thought of my flight, and frightened the placid inhabitants of Kiao-Chow out of their beauty-sleep with the humming of my propeller. But, when it came to landing, I certainly felt a little queer, for the field was decidedly small, and I slowly circled round, getting gradually lower—thus putting off the critical moment. However, I could not stay up in the air for ever, so I pulled myself together, shut off the engine, and stood on the field a moment later after a secure landing. Now I knew where I was. And the rest of the morning was spent in my aeroplane. After that more work was in store for me. The second machine, also a Rumpler-Taube, which was to be flown by my colleague, Leutnant Müllerskowski, of the battalion of Marines, had to be erected and got into working order. After two days, on the 31st of July 1914, it was ready in the afternoon. Müllerskowski entered his aeroplane and, after receiving my parting instructions based on my previous experience of the flying-field, he took off. But fortune did not smile on him. His machine was only a few seconds in the air, and had just reached an altitude of 50 metres—the critical spot where the aerodrome and solid earth end in a steep cliff with a sheer drop into the sea—when it suddenly turned over on the wing, and we could watch it nosing down with appalling rapidity towards the rocks. We hastened as fast as we could to the spot. Matters looked bad. The machine was completely wrecked, and between the fragments we found Müllerskowski. We brought him, seriously injured, to the hospital, where he had to lie until shortly before the end of the siege. Of the aeroplane nothing remained. In the meanwhile July had come, and brought with it the loveliest weather, most radiant sunshine, and the bluest of skies. It was Kiao-Chow’s best month. The bathing season was at its height. There were many charming ladies, mostly from the European and American settlements in China and Japan, visiting the “Ostend of the Far East” and enjoying the beauty of Kiao-Chow. Amusement was the order of the day. Motor drives, riding-parties, polo and tennis filled the free hours, and in the evenings dancing held undisputed sway. There were many Englishwomen amongst the women, and our relations were most pleasant and cordial. For the beginning of August we had challenged the English Polo Club at Shanghai to a match when, on the 30th of July—like a bolt from the blue—came the order warning us of “Danger of war!” CHAPTER III THREAT OF WAR—MY TAUBE