The raid was a risky venture, for the Germans might well have encountered a British heavy cruiser coming out of the harbor. But in the first morning light, the only warship visible was anchored offshore near the narrow “gut” that separated the outer and inner harbors. Zhemchug was an antiquated Russian light cruiser. Its 4.7-inch guns were slightly heavier than those of Emden, but the crew’s fighting efficiency did not approach that of the Germans. Emden had yet to be challenged when it launched a torpedo from its starboard tube that struck the Russian in the stern, lifting it briefly out of the water.

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Executing a full turn in the harbor, Müller launched a second torpedo at Zhemchug. While Müller’s gunners poured fire at the stricken enemy, just one of the Russian guns fired wildly in response. The second torpedo struck amidships, and Zhemchug’s magazines exploded, sending a huge column of flame, smoke, and debris skyward. Müller was tempted to attack the merchant vessels in the harbor, but he had no way of ascertaining their nationality without jeopardizing his own ship.

The forlorn Zhemchug was not the only Allied warship in the area; three French destroyers were in and around Penang’s harbor. Two of them were under repair, however, and thus were effectively out of action. Outside the harbor, the third French ship, the three-hundred-ton destroyer Mousquet, bravely challenged the emerging Emden. The French commander made an unsuccessful torpedo attack, but Emden quickly demolished his little ship by accurate fire. Müller stopped to pick up thirty-six survivors.

The Penang raid had proved a stunning success, but Müller could not afford to linger; he and his faithful collier made for the Sunda Strait. On the morning of October 30, Emden stopped a British steamer carrying a cargo of salt. The British skipper, having expected his vessel to be sunk, was more than happy to take Müller’s French prisoners to Sumatra instead.

Morale aboard the German raider continued high. Although the ship was showing signs of wear and fresh water was now in short supply, provisions taken from prizes allowed the crew to eat reasonably well. Weather permitting, many of the men slept on deck, in hammocks. Whenever they sighted a squall, the officer of the deck would often steer for it, allowing off-duty crewmen to strip and shower in the rain. Like many warships of its day, Emden had a band, and a quiet day at sea often concluded with a concert, ending with a lusty rendering of “Watch on the Rhine.”

When shipping proved sparse in the Sunda Strait, Müller decided on another change of locale. He had earlier ordered a captured collier, Exford, to meet him in the isolated Cocos Islands. There, Emden would be able both to coal and to undertake some long-deferred maintenance. Once he had destroyed the British wireless station on Direction Island, he expected he could work undisturbed. The raider set a fateful course for the Cocos group.

At 6 a.m. on November 9, Emden appeared off the northernmost of the Cocos group and dropped anchor off tiny Direction Island. A shore party, commanded by Mucke, set out to destroy the radio station set on a small hill.

Already the raider was in jeopardy. When the approaching Emden had failed to reply to a request for identification, the British radio technicians wasted no time in sending an SOS, followed by messages identifying the stranger as Emden. The Germans attempted to jam those transmissions, but Müller now made the first mistake of a nearly error-free cruise. Instead of assuming the worst and returning to sea, he prepared to coal from the nearby Buresk.

Shortly after 9 a.m., the lookout reported a ship to the north. Initially, crewmen thought the stranger was Buresk, but when they saw it approaching very rapidly and recognized four funnels, the Germans knew they were in trouble. Müller signaled frantically for the shore party to return. When it was slow to respond, the raider raised anchor and steamed out of the harbor at about 9:30.

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