Commodore Detzler's small fleet had arrived at the tip of the Malay Peninsula at the end of March, 1867 – approximately a year after the first aborted attempt to seize Singapore by sea. He had landed three divisions of infantry on the (remarkably) undefended island of Singapore, and had remained in a defensive position until it became clear that the soldiers would be able to secure the island and a perimeter.
There had been no sign of the British fleet that had engaged Detzler off Hainan at the beginning of the war. In fact, the Royal Navy hadn't shown itself at all in these waters since visiting Detzler with that first overwhelming defeat. They had disappeared and had not contested even as Prussian troops conquered virtually all of British Indochina.
And here, in Malaya, a landing was made unopposed by sea or land where there had been thousands of British soldiers emplaced last year. The soldiers, too, were gone, to all appearances. But Detzler was suspicious.
He had mounted a reconnaissance to the north, as far as the Straits of Molucca, and had determined to climb to the spine of the peninsula with a scouting party.
Detzler, no longer a young man, faltered once more, just short of the summit. His chest was heaving, his sweat-soaked shirt tickling him as it shifted across his breast. He halted, and turned as if he merely intended to observe the sea to the west.
The young men who were with him, who would not dare to take a break while their commander was forging ahead, were happy to pause and rest whenever Detzler did. The tropical weather was brutal, even to men in light cotton shirts or without any at all.
As Detzler scanned his field of vision, the scene was just as it had been for hours. The distant mound of bright green island, some way to the west. The calm, glittering sea which almost lost its texture from this elevated vantage point. The reefed sails tied up to the yards of the three ships of his detachment. They seemingly relaxed in mimicry of their commander. Otherwise, nothing. Like the world had been abandoned to them.
A cry! Immediately, Detzler’s attention focused on the source of the exclamation – his highly motivated midshipman, Gerz, who had climbed ahead on his own initiative to the rugged top of the ridge. Detzler scrambled rapidly toward the gaping officer.
On arriving, and being able to peer over toward the eastern ocean, Detzler sought the cause of the young man’s consternation. Gerz indicated down below.
There was a second ridge between the Prussians and the opposite shore of the peninsula. A valley separated the ridges, and they could look down upon a fairly large habitation at the foot of the far ridge. Nearer, there was a pass between the ridges, which disappeared behind a series of outcroppings in Detzler’s foreground.
Spanning the not insignificant distance between the town and the pass was a solid line of color. Red, mostly, punctuated with white. The white of tall rounded helmets. And the red of countless Royal British Army uniforms.
There must be hundreds of thousands of troops, Detzler reasoned in complete astonishment. But he also felt relief. These troops, of whatever number, were days, if not weeks from Singapore. Thanks to his intuition, there was still time to sail south, embark the three divisions before they were overrun, and return them to the safety of mainland China. But there was no time to be wasted. General Husman would need to be advised immediately, so he could make an orderly withdrawal.
There had been no sign of the British fleet that had engaged Detzler off Hainan at the beginning of the war. In fact, the Royal Navy hadn't shown itself at all in these waters since visiting Detzler with that first overwhelming defeat. They had disappeared and had not contested even as Prussian troops conquered virtually all of British Indochina.
And here, in Malaya, a landing was made unopposed by sea or land where there had been thousands of British soldiers emplaced last year. The soldiers, too, were gone, to all appearances. But Detzler was suspicious.
He had mounted a reconnaissance to the north, as far as the Straits of Molucca, and had determined to climb to the spine of the peninsula with a scouting party.
Detzler, no longer a young man, faltered once more, just short of the summit. His chest was heaving, his sweat-soaked shirt tickling him as it shifted across his breast. He halted, and turned as if he merely intended to observe the sea to the west.
The young men who were with him, who would not dare to take a break while their commander was forging ahead, were happy to pause and rest whenever Detzler did. The tropical weather was brutal, even to men in light cotton shirts or without any at all.
As Detzler scanned his field of vision, the scene was just as it had been for hours. The distant mound of bright green island, some way to the west. The calm, glittering sea which almost lost its texture from this elevated vantage point. The reefed sails tied up to the yards of the three ships of his detachment. They seemingly relaxed in mimicry of their commander. Otherwise, nothing. Like the world had been abandoned to them.
A cry! Immediately, Detzler’s attention focused on the source of the exclamation – his highly motivated midshipman, Gerz, who had climbed ahead on his own initiative to the rugged top of the ridge. Detzler scrambled rapidly toward the gaping officer.
On arriving, and being able to peer over toward the eastern ocean, Detzler sought the cause of the young man’s consternation. Gerz indicated down below.
There was a second ridge between the Prussians and the opposite shore of the peninsula. A valley separated the ridges, and they could look down upon a fairly large habitation at the foot of the far ridge. Nearer, there was a pass between the ridges, which disappeared behind a series of outcroppings in Detzler’s foreground.
Spanning the not insignificant distance between the town and the pass was a solid line of color. Red, mostly, punctuated with white. The white of tall rounded helmets. And the red of countless Royal British Army uniforms.
There must be hundreds of thousands of troops, Detzler reasoned in complete astonishment. But he also felt relief. These troops, of whatever number, were days, if not weeks from Singapore. Thanks to his intuition, there was still time to sail south, embark the three divisions before they were overrun, and return them to the safety of mainland China. But there was no time to be wasted. General Husman would need to be advised immediately, so he could make an orderly withdrawal.
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