The Project Gutenberg eBook of Count Luckner, the sea devil, by Lowell Thomas (2024)

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 73765 ***

Count Felix Von Luckner, the most romantic and mysterious figure
of the World War, with powerful hands tears a telephone book
into four parts.

By LOWELL THOMAS

ILLUSTRATIONS
FROM PHOTOGRAPHS

GARDEN CITY PUBLISHING COMPANY, INC,
GARDEN CITY, NEW YORK

COPYRIGHT, 1927, BY DOUBLEDAY, PAGE
& COMPANY. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES AT THE
COUNTRY LIFE PRESS, GARDEN CITY, N. Y.

CONTENTS

I.We Meet a Flying Buccaneer
II.Felix Runs off to Sea
III.Saved by an Albatross
IV.Salvation, Kangaroos, and Fakirs in Australia
V.Wrestling Champion of Sankt Pauli
VI.The Tragic Cruise of the "Cæsarea"
VII.The Beach Comber's Adventure with the "Panther"
VIII.Pitfalls for the Sailor, and the Canary That Spoke Low Deutsch
IX.The Runaway Comes Home
X.From Pig-Sty Cleaner to Kaiser's Protégé
XI.In the Cameroons and the Fairy of Fuerteventura
XII.Fake Norwegians for a Pirate Cruise
XIII.Running the British Blockade in a Hurricane
XIV.We Capture the "Gladys Royal" and the "Lundy Island"
XV.Raiding Along the Equator, and an Interrupted Honeymoon
XVI.Windjammer vs. Steamer
XVII.The Last Cruise of the Poor Old "Pinmore"
XVIII.The Life of a Modern Buccaneer
XIX.How We Made Our Prisoners Walk the Plank
XX.The Battle of the Falkland Islands
XXI.Racing the Enemy Around Cape Horn
XXII.Raiding the Pacific
XXIII.Shipwrecked in Southern Seas
XXIV.Castaways on a Coral Atoll
XXV.Let's Go Raiding Again!
XXVI.From the Society Islands to the Cook Islands in an Open Boat
XXVII.Through a Sea of Floating Brimstone to Fiji
XXVIII.Caught by the British at Wakaya
XXIX.Jailed in Fiji While the Others Escape to Easter Island
XXX.The Escape from New Zealand to the Smoking Isle

COUNT LUCKNER,
THE SEA DEVIL

COUNT LUCKNER
THE SEA DEVIL

I

WE MEET A FLYING BUCCANEER

It was on a flying field in Central Europe that I firstsaw the "Sea Devil." We were on our way fromLondon to Moscow by air, and had come as far asStuttgart with stops at Paris and Basle. While waitingfor the mechanics to tune up the big Fokkermonoplane in which we were to cover the next stage toBerlin, we lunched in the little tea room on the edgeof the flying field, kept by the widow of a Germanpilot killed in the war. Suddenly, through an openwindow, from off to the east in the direction ofMunich and Ulm, we heard a familiar drone, and amoment later a silvery monoplane darted from abillowy cloud bank, the rays of the afternoon sunglistening now from one wing and now from theother. In a series of sliding swoops, with motor offand noiseless except for the whistle of the propeller,it dropped gently on to the turf and sped across thefield.

Uniformed aërodrome attendants ran over, leanedtheir spidery metal ladder against the glisteningduraluminum fuselage, and opened the cabin door.Two passengers descended, a giant of a man and adainty slip of a woman. The former, who climbeddown first, was tall, of massive frame, with hugeshoulders, and altogether one of the mostpowerful-looking men I had ever seen. After him came thelittle blonde, who looked for all the world like a fairywho had arrived on a sunbeam. Putting her slipperto the top rung of the ladder she jumped into herescort's arms.

What a voice that man had! It boomed across theflying field like a foghorn or the skipper of a Yankeewhaler ordering his men aloft.

As they came toward us, he walked with a rollingseaman's gait. In his mouth was a nautical-lookingpipe, and his jovial weather-beaten countenancesuggested one who goes down to the sea. He wore anaval cap co*cked over one eye, and a rakish lightbrown chinchilla coat, called a "British Warm."

Every pilot and mechanic on the field stopped workand saluted the couple. The mariner who had droppedfrom the sky saluted in all directions after thecheery but somewhat perfunctory manner of thePrince of Wales. One could see that he wasaccustomed to doing it, and presumably was someone ofmore than local fame. He even saluted us, as theypassed into the little restaurant, although he hadnever set eyes on us before and we had not salutedhim. But the newcomer seemed to take the wholeworld, including strangers, into the compass of hisrollicking friendliness. We were still sitting on theveranda when they came out and drove off for LakeConstance. He called, or rather bellowed,"Wiedersehen, wiedersehen," to everybody, as he squeezedinto the door, and the frame of the limousine bentunder his weight. The man simply radiated personality,and turning to the commandant of the StuttgartPlug Platz, who stood near me, I said:

"Who is that?"

"That? Why that's the Sea Devil."

"And who may the Sea Devil be?"

"Why, the Sea Devil is Count Luckner, whocommanded the raider Seeadler. The young lady is hiscountess."

I remembered the Seeadler vaguely as a sailing shipthat had broken through the British blockade andplayed havoc with Allied shipping in the Atlanticand Pacific during the latter part of the war.Certainly, this Sea Devil looked the part of a rollickingbuccaneer. I thought the age of pirates had vanishedwith the passing of Captain Kidd and the BarbaryCorsairs, but here was one of the good old "Yo-ho,and a bottle of rum" type.

My wife and I continued our aërial jaunt acrossEurope, via Berlin, Königsberg, and Smolensk, tothe capital of the Bolsheviks, but later on, whileflying back and forth across Germany on our wayfrom Constantinople to Copenhagen and fromFinland to Spain, whenever we dropped down out ofthe skies in Germany we heard more of this SeaDevil. That first encounter with this modernbuccaneer had aroused my curiosity, and each new yarnthat I heard made me keen to see more of him.Incidentally, we found that he and his dainty countesswere doing almost as much flying as we were,although entirely within the borders of Germany andAustria. Cities were declaring half holidays in hishonour, and apparently this Sea Devil was more of apopular hero than even the great Von Hindenburg.As for the youth of Germany, they fairly idolizedhim, and crowds of boys met him at every aërodrome.

There were other German sea-raiders during theWorld War that most of us remember far morevividly than we recollect the Seeadler. They were theEmden, the Moewe and the Wolf. But these three wereeither modern warships or fast auxiliary cruisers,while this giant count with the foghorn voice and thesea legs had run the blockade in a prehistoricold-fashioned sailing ship. That, together with analmost unbelievably adventurous personal story, maderomance complete. Added to which we discoveredthat he had the unique and enviable reputation ofdisrupting Allied shipping without ever having takena human life or so much as drowning a ship's cat.

Upon returning home from his buccaneering cruisethe Count of course received a score of decorations,and his own government signally honoured him in away that has rarely happened in German history. Hewas presented with a cross that places him outsidethe scope of German law. Like the kings of old, he"can do no wrong"—at any rate, not in his own country.He was even called to Rome and decorated by thePope as "a great humanitarian."

When we encountered him at Stuttgart, he was ona sort of triumphal tour of Germany, exhorting theyouth to prove worthy of their inheritance, and incheery seaman's language he was telling the boys andgirls to keep up their courage, "stay with the pumps,and not abandon the ship." They in turn seemed tolook upon him as a modern Drake or John Paul Jones.

Upon our return from Moscow, we learned moreand more of this Count Felix von Luckner: that hewas a member of an old and famous military family, adescendant of a Marshal of France, who had runaway to sea as a boy, and then served for seven yearsbefore the mast, roaming the wide world o'er underan assumed name as a common jack-tar, suffering thebeatings, starvation, shipwreck, and other hardshipsthat the sea visits upon its children. We heard howduring his turns ashore he had even joined theSalvation Army in Australia, had become a kangaroohunter, a prize-fighter, a wrestler, a beach-comberand a Mexican soldier, standing on guard before thedoor of Porfirio Diaz's presidential palace. Longsince given up as dead, he had been listed by theAlmanack de Gotha as missing.

Then, one day, after he had fought his way upfrom a common seaman to the rank of an officer ofthe German Navy, he returned to his family. Aseries of life-saving exploits had brought him fame,with the result that he became the protégé of theKaiser. As an officer aboard the Kron Prinz, thefinest ship in the Imperial Navy, he had survived theBattle of Jutland.

Then came his golden chance. Shortly after Jutland,he was commissioned to perform the audaciousfeat of taking a sailing ship through the Britishblockade in order to raid Allied shipping.

The Seeadler maintained a destructive career formonths, ranging the South Atlantic and Pacific,dodging cruisers and sinking merchant vessels. Shescuttled twenty-five million dollars' worth ofshipping, and wrought incalculable damage by delayinghundreds of cargo vessels from venturing out of port,and raising the rates of marine insurance. After acruise as full of excitement and thrills as the voyagesof Captain Kidd and Sir Francis Drake, the Count'sraider was wrecked on the coral reefs of a South Seaisle. From then on, the Sea Devil and his crewadventured from atoll to atoll in the far-off Southern ocean,passing from one surf-beaten shore to another inopen boats or in ships they contrived to capture.

We were sitting in the lobby of the Hotel Adlonin Berlin, one evening, when again I saw that magnificentnautical figure. A mutual friend introduced us,and that evening my wife and I listened to greatstories of the sea, told with a manner of inimitablevigour, sailor-like jollity, and dramatic inflection.After that, we met often, sometimes on board histrim schooner the Vaterland, on which he wassetting out to sail round the world, and again at myhome near New York, where the Sea Devil and hiscountess came. On these occasions, I got thecomplete story of his life and his buccaneeringexperiences on the most adventurous cruise of our time.

The Count is a born actor; in fact, I verily believehim to be the finest actor I have ever seen. If he hadnot run away to sea, what a career he might have hadon the stage! But his inborn flair for pantomimewas only to be heightened by life at sea. Sailors arevigorously expressive men, full of mimicry, and blusteryactors of parts. You seldom see a sailor with thephlegmatic stolidity that you find in lumpishlandlubbers. When the Count tells you he raised amarlinespike, he jumps to the fireplace, seizes a pair oftongs, and illustrates with it. When he tells how heknocked a man cold in Fiji for spitting in a sailor'sface, he acts out the whole affair.

As a sailor, he had spent long years before the mastunder the Union Jack and the Stars and Stripes. Sohe told his tale to me in racy sailor's English. He hasone amusing peculiarity of speech. Nearly everyother word is the expletive, "By Joe!" In explainingthis, he remarked that the language of the seaconsists principally of a blistering string of oaths. Hesaid these oaths had become so much a part of himafter seven years before the mast that for a long timeafterward he was unable to express himself withoutusing sulphury profanities. Of course, this caused himmuch embarrassment and trouble when he returnedfrom his long voyages and attempted to qualify as anaval officer. It caused particular consternationwhen, after his years at sea, he returned to thebosom of his stately and highly respectable family.In fact, he had to submit himself to a long andrigorous course of self-discipline to extract the blazingnautical oaths from his common speech. He achievedthis in his English diction by a resort to theexpression, "By Joe." Whenever one of these hair-raisingoceanic apostrophes came leaping on to his tongue,he had trained himself so well that it automaticallychanged itself into "By Joe." This habit still clingsto him as a salty reminder of fo'c'sle days.

At the time when Count Luckner was raiding theseas, I had been thrown in contact with the mostpicturesque adventurer that the World War hadbrought forth—Lawrence of Arabia. Here, in the SeaDevil, was his naval counterpart. They were the twogreat adventurers of the two respective sides duringthe World War. While Colonel Lawrence, mountedon a ship of the desert, led raids across the sands ofAraby, Felix von Luckner scoured the seas in awindjammer. Lawrence led Bedouins on fleet Arabianhorses and racing camels, romantic people travellingin the most romantic way known to land. The SeaDevil commanded sailors before the mast on a sailingship, romantic people travelling in the most romanticway known to the sea. In each, adventure climbedclose to its highest summit.

Lawrence was a man slight and frail, diffident,silent, and soft-spoken, who might have been takenoffhand for the most bashful of youths, a mosterudite scholar, an archæologist whom the war caughtpractising his profession among the antiquities ofAssyria and Babylon. War and its forays must seemthe last degree removed from this studious andutterly cerebral spirit. One could find no greatercontrast to him than in this brawny sea rover with thebooming voice and blustery manner, who raided theseas from Skagerrak and Iceland to Fiji and theMarquesas.

The ex-Kaiser, the ex-Crown Prince, Hindenburg,Ludendorff, Von Tirpitz, and sundry others of ourlate enemies, have given us their personal accounts ofthe part they played in the World War. But none hada tale to tell like Count Felix von Luckner. Withme the story lies close as a companion piece to thestory of Lawrence of Arabia, and I pass it on to youin the words of the Sea Devil and, I hope, withsomething of the tang of the sea.*

* The reader will notice that inCount von Luckner's narrative, theprecise chronological order of eventsis occasionally not observed. Themap used as lining paper in this bookshows the route of the Seeadlerand the names and dates of ships sunk,and other events in their chronological sequence.

II

FELIX RUNS OFF TO SEA

Take a windjammer out as a cruiser? Sneak throughthe blockade and go buccaneering on the high seas?

"By Joe!" I thought, "that's something."

It was a romantic thing all right in this day andage, when the sailing ship is getting to be somethingof a relic of the fine old times, the heroic age of thesea. But it wasn't because I had read a lot of seastories and had become fascinated with the oldworld of rigging and canvas. I had been there myself,had been there good and proper.

The reason I was assigned to the command of theSeeadler was because I was the only officer in theGerman Navy who had had actual experience withsail. I was born Graf Felix von Luckner and was nowa lieutenant commander, in the Imperial Service,but I had spent seven years of my early life as acommon jack-tar before the mast. The fo'c'sle was asfamiliar to me as charts are to an admiral. That waswhy this windjammer cruise of war meant so deucedmuch to me, why it hit so close and was so personal.

I cannot make that part of it clear without tellingyou something of my early life at sea, a thing or twoabout the old days when sailing before the mastwas all they say—and more. It's a yarn aboutshipwreck, storm, and cantankerous captains. So, sityourself down there, by Joe, while I light my pipeand weigh anchor.

My first mental picture of life at sea dates awayback to the time when I was a little fellow living inquiet, charming old Dresden. I saw a bill of farefrom the liner, Fuerst Bismarck. By Joe, there werefine delicacies on it. I read it until my jaws began tomove. So that was how people feasted at sea? Ah,then, how wonderful it must be to be a sailor.Perhaps, some day, I might become the captain of agreat steamer where they had meals like that. Themore I thought of it, the better I liked the idea, andfrom then on I had my mind set on going to sea. Iread of the voyages of the wily Odysseus and of Sindbadthe Sailor. On the river near our home I built aboat of an old box and christened it the Pirate.

"Oceans, straits, and gulfs are all very fine, butof what concern are they to a Von Luckner?" askedmy father. "You are to be a cavalryman."

You see, my great-grandfather had started thecavalry tradition among us Von Luckners. They hadtried to make a monk of him, and had put him in amonastery. But he didn't like that job, and amonghis fellows at the monastery he was called "Lucknerlibertinus." When he was thirteen years old, he ranaway and joined the army of the Turks, in a waragainst the Austrians. In those days, the cavalrymenall had boys to feed and look after the horses, carrymunitions, and clean rifles. So, while still a merelad, my great-grandfather became a professionalsoldier, a soldier of fortune. After he had learned alot about the Turks, he left them and joined theAustrians. That was when he was fifteen years old. Lateron, he joined the Prussian Army, as a lieutenant ofcavalry, under Frederick the Great.

Finally, he formed his own regiment, which becamefamous throughout all Europe as "Count Luckner'sHussars." They had their own specially designedbrown uniforms, and as mercenaries they fought inany war that came along. In those days, it was thecustom for soldiers to fight for whoever could affordto pay them. The King of Hanover was in the habitof buying regiments, and my great-grandfather soldhim his on the condition that it was still to be knownas "Count Luckner's Hussars." The King broke hisword. So my warlike ancestor went to the King'scastle, boldly charged him with treachery, then tookoff his mantle and tunic covered with the decorationsthat the King had given him and threw them intothe open fire.

"Henceforth I will fight against you," he shouted.

The runaway sailor came home at last, but not until he had worn
the Kaiser's uniform with honour. He dropped the name "Phelax
Leudige," and after completing his studies and examinations saved
five lives, became famous, and was promoted, to the rank of
Lieutenant-Commander in the Imperial Navy.

Shortly after this, he joined forces with the Kingof France, and then, during the French Revolution,he continued to serve the new French government asthe commander of the Army of the Rhine. When theMarseillaise was written, it was dedicated to himbecause he happened to be the commanding general inthe region where this immortal song was composed.After winning a number of important victories inBelgium, he was made a Marshal of France.

When the campaign was over, he led his army tothe outskirts of Paris, and then, accompanied onlyby his aides, he went into the city to demand theback pay that was due to his soldiers. But instead ofgetting it, he was treacherously seized and sent tothe guillotine. You see, it was cheaper to kill himthan pay him. Although always a Royalist at heart,he was above all a soldier, and fought faithfully andvaliantly for any monarch or government willing tohire his famous regiment. All our histories tell ofhim and his gallant deeds.

From then on, all Luckners became cavalrymen. Itseemed to be in the blood. My grandfather, anofficer, was accidentally killed while on a huntingexpedition. My father fought in all the wars from 1848down to the World War. In 1914, when he wasninety, he wanted to join up again. He insisted thathe was still able to do patrol duty, because hiseyesight was unimpaired and he was still a horseman.When the general staff refused his request on theground that he was too old, he was very angry.

"It is because I am so old that they should takeme," he said. "Let me serve as an example to theyounger soldiers. I have fought in many wars, andwill be living proof to them that the surest way tolive a long and healthy life is to be a soldier."

Ships, harbours, the seven seas had nothing todo with a Von Luckner. My father scoffed at my talkof becoming a sailor, so I never spoke to him anyfurther about it. He tried to tell me what a finecavalryman I would make, and asked me to promisethat I would wear the Emperor's uniform with honour.

Now, in Germany, unless you had a good education,there was no hope of your ever becoming anofficer. And the courses were stiff. Instead ofstudying, I preferred to read your American Indian stories,especially those of James Fenimore Cooper. I knewthe names of many of your famous Indian chiefs,and as a youngster I dreamed of voyaging to Americato hunt buffalo.

My father hired a tutor to cram me with bookknowledge, but after six months that worthy wentto him in despair and said:

"It is no use; the boy doesn't learn. There is adevil in him."

Next they put me in a private school in the country,thinking that association with other boys wouldfill me with ambition to learn. Instead, I learned howto fight. Although only ten years old, I was a huskyyoung devil, fond of sports, and ready for anythingthat would provide a thrill. My father thought theteacher was too soft for me, so he sent me off toanother school, where the teacher was a strong manand something of a ruffian himself. By Joe, how thatman used to pound me! My father also gave me manylickings, and I considered he was entitled to do so.But this other man? Well, I stood it from him justonce. Then, when the second beating came, I ranaway. For eight days nobody knew where I was.I lived in the fields like an animal, eating apples andother fruits. Then they found me. My poor fatherwas ready to give me up as hopeless, but I still hada true friend, my grandmother. She told my fatherhe had been far too stern with me, and said to him:"Give me the boy, Henry. A little kindness maystill make a good lad of him."

"You are welcome to try," responded my father,"but you will only spoil him the more."

Well, Grandmother had the right idea. She madea bargain with me. There were thirty-four boys inmy class at school, and in my studies I always stoodthirty-fourth.

"My lad," she said, "study conscientiously andI will give you fifty pennies every time you advancea place. I will continue doing this until you are atthe head of the class!"

I couldn't figure right then how much I stood tomake. I never was much at arithmetic. But I guessedit would be considerable, and I considered Grandmothera good fairy.

I studied with all my might. The next examinationcame, and others were ahead, but not I. I was indespair. My grandmother encouraged me, and Istudied still harder. Another examination came, andI moved up four seats! She gave me two hundredpennies, and I felt like a millionaire. But at thefollowing examination I dropped back two seats. Shewas not discouraged with me and said she hardlyexpected me to go ahead without a few rebuffs. I wasafraid she would demand a rebate for the places Ihad lost, but she did not. I now saw myself clear ofall financial difficulties. By going ahead with anoccasional dropping back, my income would be endless.

I turned into quite a despicable swindler, but itwas not out of pure avarice. I had formed the ideaof breeding rabbits and had set my eye on a finerabbit sire that would cost me several marks. To getthe sum needed I would have to be promoted severalseats which, I reasoned, could be easily done,especially with occasional slidings back. But I had badluck and got no more promotions. What was to bedone? I needed the money. So I told Grandmotherthat I had been promoted two places. I got thepennies. Another week I told her I had gone ahead threeplaces; another week one; and still another weekfour. The intricacies of finance and greed led me toa series of fake promotions that soon landed me atthe head of the class. I had the cheek to put on thatI had gained that honour.

Of course, Grandmother was happy and veryproud of the success of her policy of kindness withme. One day, she happened to meet my schoolsuperintendent and could not resist expressing herelation.

"And what do you think of our Felix? Here he hasprogressed to the first place in his class by that simplemethod of mine of giving him fifty pennies for everyform he moves up. I tell you, there is nothing likekindness. It takes a grandmother to handle a boy."

In utter astonishment, the superintendent replied:

"What, Felix in first place? That's somemisunderstanding. So far as I know, Felix is inthirty-fourth place."

My grandmother rushed home and began to overwhelmme with reproaches. It happened that she hadtwo bulldogs, one thirteen and the other fourteenyears old. They suffered from asthma. The wheezingdogs started a commotion in the next room. Thatdiverted her attention from me, and she bustled outto see what was the matter. When she returned, herflare of temper had subsided, and she merely saidlaconically and finally that she was through with me."In you there is a devil," she cried.

She did not tell my father of the adventure, forfear it would make her ridiculous. All he knew wasthat, when Easter came, I was promoted on probation,with the accompanying suggestion that it wouldbe best if I left school. So he sent me to a school inHalle, a city of Prussian Saxony, and engaged aprivate tutor to coach me in addition.

The end of my school days now came speedily.My father, perhaps taking a leaf out of mygrandmother's book, resorted to a promise. If I werepromoted, I would be allowed to visit my cousin, wholived on an estate in the country, a thing that Iwanted very much to do. When the examinationscame, my father was away. He had left me with thetutor, who was to permit me to depart for my cousin'sestate if I gained the promotion. As usual I flunked theexamination, and came home angry and sullen. Thetutor met me, eagerly asking whether I had beenpromoted. I bit my lips and lied impudently. I saidI had been promoted, but that the superintendent wasaway and had not been able to sign my report, whichwould be mailed later. The tutor, delighted that hiscoaching had been so successful, gave me immediatepermission to leave for my cousin's.

I took my father's big boots, his water boots, hislittle coat, his trousers, his sport shoes. I was big formy thirteen and a half years, and they would fit me.My brother and I each had a savings bank. I hadeighty marks in mine. He had one hundred and tenmarks in his. I took my savings and forty marks ofhis. I would repay him later.

I was away. Where? If I had a devil in me, surelyit must be a sea devil, because I now dreamed ofnothing but the sea. I had promised my father towear the Emperor's uniform with honour. I wouldnot return home until I wore the Emperor's navaluniform, and with honour. I was firm in my decisionabout this.

I was all excited when I stepped off the train inHamburg. Here was the great seaport town, and herewas I, a lad going to sea. In the railroad station I sawa large sign advertising the Concordia Hotel with theprices of accommodations listed, from fifty toseventy-five pfennigs a cot. That seemed a little high tome, but never mind. A porter took my baggage. I waswell dressed, and he treated me with a good deal ofrespect. When I directed him to the Concordia, helooked at me.

"So you are one of those fellows driving out tosea?" He changed instantly from polite German tocommon, vulgar, Low German in addressing me.

I had stumbled on the sailors' favourite hotel, butsailors didn't seem to be held in much respect byporters.

When I got to the Concordia, I soon discoveredthat sailors do not frequent palatial hostelries. It wasa "rear house," situated in a back yard. Here inAmerica you would call it a "sailors' flop." I askedthe clerk for a cot, for seventy-five pfennigs. Heshowed me into a room where there were six cots.I remonstrated that, when I paid the highest rate,I didn't want to sleep in a room with five otherpeople. He laughed and replied that if I was notsatisfied with five companions he would give me afifty-pfennig room with forty-nine companions. Ichose the five.

My first evening I spent along the famous Hamburgwater front, Sankt Pauli, known to sailors theworld over. There was the gigantic "Vanity Fair,"or White City with all its lights and excitement.Here I saw all manner of seafaring folk, fromMalays to West Indians. In front of some of theamusem*nt halls stood African Negroes in weirdcostumes.

At the shipyards, where I offered my services asa cabin boy, I was told that, since I was onlythirteen and a half years old, they would have to havea written permission from my father before theycould engage me. So I decided I had better addressmyself directly to captains aboard their ships. WhenI went to the part of the harbour where sailing shipsrode at anchor, I found it an immense basin with aforest of masts, and the vessels moored at considerabledistance offshore.

While gazing longingly at them and wonderingwhat to do next, I came upon an old man and got intoconversation with him. He was a salt-bitten tar.For thirty-five years he had sailed before the mast.Now, in his old age, he operated a little ferryboat.So I asked him to row me out to one of the ships.The old tar handled his jolly-boat with amazing skill.Never before had I seen anyone scull. As I gazed upat the lofty masts all around us, old Peter told methat sailors had to climb these in storms when it wasimpossible for a greenhorn to hold on.

I went aboard several ships, but the captains alsoinsisted on my showing them permission from myfather. After I had been turned down, old Petersaw that my spirits were at low ebb. When I admittedto him that I had run away from home, it seemed totouch the sympathy of the old wanderer. But whenI told him my father was a landowner and a count,he looked at me in awe.

"A count? Why, that ranks next to a king!"

He could hardly get over it—a count's son runningaway to become a sailor before the mast! The tragedyof it made him take such an interest in me that weinstantly became warm friends, and he asked me tocome and share his humble quarters. From then on,for a week, I spent most of my time with old PeterBoemer.

"For thirty-five years, for my whole life," hepleaded in his broad Hamburg dialect, "I was asailor. What have I now? All I am is captain of thislittle rowboat, carrying people for a few pfennings atrip. Go back to the Count, your father, and whenhe gives you a licking for this, thank him for everylick."

I must go home. He was certain of that. He mustpersuade me to go home. But the idea of notifyingmy parents never occurred to him. That would besquealing, and squealing is not a virtue amongsailors. I saw him every day for a week, andnotwithstanding all of his unanswerable arguments, stillI refused to go home. At last he saw that it washopeless to plead with me any longer, so he agreed to helpme get on a ship without having any papers.

He got me a post as cabin boy aboard the Niobe, acraft the memory of which grows more vivid with thepassing of the years. Then he insisted upon seeing toit that I was properly outfitted for the sea. Under hisdirection, I expended the last of my money for warmunderclothing, oilskins, a sheath knife, tobacco, anda pipe. I was very proud of the pipe. He took me tohis room high up in a dingy house on a dingy street.Suspended from the ceiling was a stuffed flying fish.On a wall hung the painting of a ship on sail canvas.I was filled with admiration when Peter told me hehad painted it himself. In a cage was a parrot, asold and dishevelled as Peter. He had brought it fromBrazil, and it spoke only Portuguese. On the bureauwere Chinese curios and other souvenirs of longvoyages.

"And this is my sea chest," he said, as he hauledforth an ancient weather-beaten but staunch box,and emptied out of it various examples of his ownweaving and knitting.

"Every sailor needs a sea chest," he continued."It is watertight and will float. For thirty-five yearsit travelled with me around the world. It is yoursnow, by Joe, and I hope it will serve you as well as itserved me."

That old sea chest was destined to serve me well aslong as I had it. I lost it when I ran away from thelighthouse at Cape Leeuwin, Australia.

He put me aboard the Niobe, that never-to-be-forgottenargosy, showed me to my bunk, and fixedmy mattress and bolster.

"You are born a count"—he shook his head—"andyou become a sailor. Count and sailor don'tgo together. It is like a Paris shoe on a Russianpeasant's foot. You are Count Felix von Luckner nolonger. You must change your name."

Then and there I rechristened myself, took thename of my mother's family, and called myselfPhelax Luedige. Under that name I sailed the seasfor seven years.

My last gift from old Peter was a motto. Puttinghis hands on my shoulders he said:

"My boy, always remember, one hand for yourself,and one for the ship."

By this he meant that, when aloft, I must holdon with one hand and work with the other. But themotto had a wider meaning than that. In everychannel, sea, or backwater of life—one hand foryourself and one for the ship.

I stood at the rail while the tug towed the Niobeout of the harbour. Old Peter, with his marvellouslyskilful stroke, sculled alongside the slowly movingvessel all the way out past the piers of Sankt Pauli.

"My boy, God speed you," he shouted. "This isas far as I can go. I will never see you again. It'shard on old Peter to see you go away."

I wanted to shout something in return, but tearswere streaming down my cheeks.

Peter had carefully packed my sea chest, andwhen I opened it I found his picture right under thelid. Across the bottom he had scrawled, "Don'tforget your old Peter."

The low coast gradually melted into the haze.Years were to pass before I should return to myhomeland and to the friend who had helped me getto sea.

III

SAVED BY AN ALBATROSS

The Russian full-rigged ship Niobe, bound forFremantle, Australia, was an old craft, dirty and mean.I have seen many another like her, but she was aclassic. Her captain, too, was something of a classic.When old Peter spoke to him about taking me,although I had no permission from my parents, hereplied:

"I will take him provided he doesn't want anypay!"

I didn't want any pay, but should have preferreda more agreeable-looking shipmaster. He had a sour,sallow face with a long goatee, half Mephisto, halfNapoleon III. He hated Germans.

I knew no Russian. The others knew no German,except the captain. He knew it brokenly, just enoughto abuse me. The helmsman spoke a little English.I had learned a few words of English in school. Inever did learn Russian. That language has alwaysbeen a puzzle to me. During the long trip of eightydays on the Niobe I was among people whose talkbetween themselves, and nearly all of whose speechaddressed to me, I couldn't understand.

I discovered the helmsman's knowledge of Englishthe first day out. I was delighted to find thathere was at least one sailor with whom I couldconverse. He asked me questions. What was my father?

"A farmer," I replied.

"Well, then," quoth he, "it will be just the rightthing if I appoint you chief inspector."

That sounded important, and I walked a littlestiffly as he led me down the deck. We came to apig pen where there were half a dozen large andparticularly filthy porkers. The chief inspector's officewas that of cleaning the pig sty.

"And besides," the helmsman added cordially, "Iwill appoint you superintendent of the starboardand larboard pharmacies." I promptly discoveredthat in the language of the sea a pharmacy was alatrine.

In cleaning the sty, I was not allowed to let thepigs out. I had to go in there with them, and itwas very narrow quarters. The unspeakably dirtyanimals rubbed against me constantly while Ilaboured with pail and brush. The sewage was so deepthat it filled my shoes. I had only two pairs oftrousers. Soap and water were not to be wasted. I grewfilthier than the pigs. And then there were the"clinics."

Everyone kicked me because I looked like a pig andsmelled like one. They called me "Pig." For food Ihad to go around and eat what the sailors left on theirplates. They said that was the way pigs were fed.For breakfast, instead of coffee and rolls, there wasvodka with stale bread to soak in it. I got theleavings of this. The salted meat, of which I got thescraps, was so strong that I could scarcely force itdown my throat. I often thought of that bill of farefrom the Fuerst Bismarck, which had lingered inmy thoughts. I had made a mistake there, by Joe.

I was afraid of the masts. I dreaded the thoughtof going aloft. But I said to myself that I must getused to it. So I climbed desperately every day, a littlehigher, a little higher, always practising. Finally,one day, I got to the crow's nest, halfway to the top.I thought that was fine. I felt so proud I called downfor the others to see where I was.

"Any old sea cook can get that far," the helmsmanshouted back scornfully.

That hurt me and made me all the more determinedto learn how to go aloft as the sailors did. Ikept trying, and I watched the other apprenticesskipping nimbly high up in the rigging.

We had a storm rounding the Cape of Good Hope,followed by a heavy swell. All the sails had beenreefed except the storm sail, and we were ready toset the main topsail. Eager to show how much Ihad learned about going aloft, I climbed up to helpunfurl the canvas. I forgot old Peter's advice: onehand for the ship, the other for yourself. The sail,filled with a sudden gust of wind, blew out like aballoon. I fell. I grabbed hold of the gasket, the ropethat holds the sail to the yard, but it burned throughmy hands. I dropped ninety feet on to the braces,the ropes that hold the yard. If I had struck the deck,I would have been killed. At that moment the shipheaved with a swelling wave, and I was thrown outinto the sea.

The Niobe was tearing along with a speed of eightknots. I came up astern. The wash in her wakeswirled me around, but I could see a sailor throwingme a life preserver. I couldn't find it. The waveswere too high. I sank, and when I came up I saw theship a long, long distance away, it seemed. I threwoff my heavy oilskins and sea boots, although thereseemed little use trying to save myself by swimming.Even if they did put out a lifeboat, they would neverbe able to find me in that heavy sea.

Above me hovered several albatross, those hugewhite birds that seem to think everything floating isfor them to eat. They swooped down upon me. Iwas ready to sink, but still had enough strength tofight at them, waving with one hand and thenanother. A great white form swooped down. A bird'stalons seized a human hand. And I in turn clutchedat it. A drowning man grasps a straw, even a bird.The albatross beat the air with its wings, franticallytrying to rise. I still kept my grip on its claw. Thehuge bird was keeping me afloat. Then the albatrossbegan to strike at my hand with its beak. It hurtand wounded me badly. I have the scars on my handto this day. Still I held on.

"Phelax," I said to myself, "you will never getback to your ship, but maybe another ship will findyou if you don't let go."

The other albatross were flying above, circlingaround, watching the strange proceedings.

It seemed to me as though my hand had been tornaway by the repeated striking of that beak. Then,all at once, a swell lifted me high above the otherwaves, and I saw a lifeboat coming. I let go of thealbatross, and he was glad to get away, by Joe. Heshot up into the air to join his companions. Thatbird had saved my life, and so had his friends. Thesailors could never have found me had they not seenthose birds hovering above me. They knew that Imust be swimming there.

In the boat I said to myself that I supposed thecaptain would be happy to see me back again. Whenwe came alongside, he stood up there above, pointingdown at me.

"You, you ——! Come up here! I wish to ——you had stayed out there and that we were rid of you!Look, my sails are blown away, blown away."

In the commotion caused by my going overboard,he had lost two sails. I sat down there in the littleboat with the blood flowing out of my hand andtrembling. The sea was high, and the lifeboat dancedup and down while the sailors made vain efforts toswing it over the davits. In a wild toss the boat roseas high as the ship's gunwales. I was so excited that Imade a crazy jump, hit the deck, and was knockedunconscious.

A moment later, the boat was smashed against theship's side. The sailors were pitched into the water,nine of them. For a while, it seemed that some ofthem would drown, and it was only after a strugglethat the last of them managed to catch a rope andclamber on deck.

I lay stunned. The captain leaned over me andshouted in my face.

"You German dogs like to guzzle. Wake up andtake some of this!"

He put the neck of a vodka bottle in my mouthand let the liquid fire trickle down my throat. Nextday I was too sick to stand on my feet. The captainordered me out of my bunk and to work. I tried butcouldn't get up. Then he beat me, saying I was adrunken loafer.

Later I learned that when I had fallen overboardthe quartermaster immediately called for volunteersto man the lifeboat. The captain, who hadnever dreamed of sending help to me, shouted tohim, shaking a harpoon:

"If you lower the boat, you will get this harpoonin your belly."

As a matter of fact, they were not obliged to senda boat for me. A captain need not attempt therescue of a man overboard if it is liable to endangerthe lives of others of his crew.

The quartermaster, however, calmly walked away,got his volunteers, lowered the boat, went after me,and left the captain in a towering rage.

The shock of that experience brought on a sort ofnervous spasm which made my hands shake. I waslike that for four years, and even to-day I sometimeshave nightmares and dream of falling from a mast,of the albatross, of the captain and the vodka.

I lay in my bunk and thought it over. I had beenCount Felix von Luckner, of a titled, landowningfamily, descendant of a long line of military officersand of an illustrious Marshal of France. Now I wasa mere cleaner of the pig sties and the latrines, fedlike a pig on scraps left by others, cursed and beatenand considered by the captain to be carrion notworth saving from the sea. I said to myself:

"You put yourself in this fix, by Joe, and you'vegot to take your humiliation and punishment like aman."

So this was the life at sea? Certainly, it was notwhat I had expected. I wondered if I had made amistake. Well, mistake or no mistake, I had promisedmy father to wear the Emperor's uniform withhonour, and I would not go home until I wore theEmperor's naval uniform with honour. But how faraway from me now seemed epaulettes and gold braid.

The Niobe did not put in at a single port on ourway out. After we passed through the EnglishChannel, until we reached Western Australia, we sawnothing save sky and sea, the sky light or dark, the seain quiet or in storm. In fact, we only came in sightof land once. This was when we sighted an islandsomewhere off the African coast. I could see palms,rows of palms, and white houses with red roofs andgreen shutters. I stood at the rail and gazed. Whatjoy it must be to walk and breathe on that greenisland. It seemed an abode of all happy things. Iwas sure that living there must be a fairy princess.I was very much of a boy, and I had been reared onGerman stories. I was wretched, and yonder was aland so fair. It must be the haunt of a fairy princess.I stood with my elbows on the rail and my chinon my hands and dreamed of her.

Singular that I should have then thought of afairy princess. A few years later, I visited that sameisle. By then I had become a naval officer of theKaiser. I wandered all through its palm groves,remembering how once I had sailed past it, the miserablecabin boy of the Niobe, and had had visions of afairy. This time I did indeed find a fairy princessthere, and promptly lost my heart to her. Webecame engaged, and a little later she became theguardian angel of the raider in which I sailed theseas. She was a visitor on the isle, and her name wasIrma.

But my fairy princess was only a wild fancy as Istood at the rail of the Niobe. The dreamy bit ofland with its graceful palms and pretty houses grewsmall in the distance as the wind bellied out themainsail and swept us on toward Cape Verde. Finally,I was left gazing at a speck that vanished onthe horizon. And still I remained motionless and inmy trance, until a howl cracked my ears and a kicknearly split me in two.

"Get along there, you loafer," roared the captain.

But the latter part of the voyage was not so badas the first. I was getting used to mistreatment, andwas rapidly developing into a hardened seaman.The captain remained brutal, and so did most ofthe men, but there were several who grew kindtoward me, among them the boatswain and thehelmsman. So I began to experience some of thatcomradeship of the sea for which a sailor will enduremany a hardship.

Finally, after eighty days at sea without touchingat a single port, we sailed into the harbour atFremantle. I had always thought of Australia as a landof kangaroos, of black aborigines with bows andarrows, and of bushrangers. But Fremantle turned outto be as commonplace and bleak a port as you couldhope to see. However, I met some sailors off aGerman ship, and the sound of my native language andassociation with my countrymen made me happy.They took me to the Hotel Royal. They went thereto drink beer and I to share their company. But theproprietor had a daughter, and I transferred myinterest to her. She was what you call a bonnie lassie,and she listened to my chatter. After I told her mystory, she urged me to desert from my ship. She eventalked to her father about me and got him to takeme on as a dishwasher. That was all right.Dish-washing had been perhaps the most elegant of all thejobs assigned to me on the Niobe. But I could notabandon old Peter's sea chest. So the German sailorshelped me to smuggle it off the ship. The Niobesailed presently. Luckily, the captain did not askthe police to find me, as he had a right to do. Maybehe considered himself lucky to get rid of me.

IV

SALVATION, KANGAROOS, AND FAKIRS IN AUSTRALIA

About the only amusem*nt I could find in Fremantlewas listening to the Salvation Army band.They had a hall where they had preaching and wherebums and sailors stood up and told lurid tales oftheir experiences. Then they all sang songs. It wasthe songs I liked. I couldn't tell much about thewords, but the tunes were lively and the big drumfascinated me. This music was altogether different fromthe music back home in our churches at Dresden.But what interested me most of all was that thisSalvation Army post had a gramophone. I had neverseen one before. I had come to Australia expecting tofind a wilderness of kangaroos and savages, and herewas this marvellous product of civilization.

"By Joe, Felix," I said to myself, "everythingin the world is different from what you thought."

I couldn't shake off the notion that this gramophonewas a hoax. I thought somebody hidden mustbe talking into that horn. I could not get near enoughto investigate. The place was always crowded, andonly those who "got religion" were allowed up front.So I persuaded a friend of mine from a German boatto keep me company, and we went up at a big meetingand offered ourselves for salvation. We gavetestimony of our past sins and told what bad sailorlads we had been, and then we signed a pledge neverto touch strong drink.

The gramophone was O.K., I found, and thatmade the Salvation Army O.K. with me. I becameenthusiastic, somehow, or other, with the songs andexcitement. I actually "got religion." I joined up,and they gave me a job putting moth balls in clothingdonated by charitable people. At any rate, I nolonger had to wash dishes, and here was an army inwhich I might become a lieutenant. I rememberedhow my father had wanted me to become alieutenant in the German Army. Why not become alieutenant in the Salvation Army instead? I used todaydream and build castles in the air like this whileplacing those moth balls in the piles of old clothes.

Since I was converted and saved and stood onholy ground, I felt I should tell the whole truth. So,one night at a meeting, I got up and testified and toldmy fellow soldiers of the Salvation Army that myright name was Count Felix von Luckner. Thatmade a sensation. They immediately used me foradvertisem*nt. 'Halleluiah! We have saved aGerman count from perdition," they announced."Before he came here he drank whisky like a fish. Nowhe is a teetotaller."

Well, by Joe, people came from all over town tosee the reformed count.

They put me in a uniform and sent me out to sellthe War Cry. I sold a lot. People didn't mind buyingthe War Cry from a count. I thought I could becomea captain. It was no trouble to leave whisky alone,because I had never tasted it in my life. But I did likelemonade and ginger ale, especially ginger ale, whichI thought contained alcohol because they offered itto me in the bars where I sold the War Cry andbecause it tasted so delicious. I thought I was puttingsomething over. They got on to it in the saloons andhad their joke with me.

"Count, have a ginger ale," they would callwhenever they saw me, and I would wink and drink itdown. I thought they were laughing because I hadput one over, and I laughed too.

I got tired of it. I got tired of everything exceptthe sea. I was a sailor, I reasoned, and the onlylieutenant I could ever be was a naval lieutenant andthe only kind of captain a ship captain. TheSalvation Army people were very good to me. They saidI was too young to be a sailor, but that they wouldget me a job somewhere near the sea. So they foundme a job in a lighthouse. It was almost like being atsea, they told me. All day I could look out and seefair weather or storms with ships sailing at peace orrolling and heaving.

I became assistant to the lighthouse keeper of theCape Leeuwin Beacon, which is south of Fremantleand the biggest light on the southwest Australiancoast. "Assistant"—what a fine title! And"beacon," a word that meant everything to the shipsdriven by the fury of the storm. Wasn't I a sailorwho knew all about that from experience? Well,they put me to cleaning the "windows"—that is,the lenses. The thousands of prisms of the reflectorastonished me not a little. Each day I wound up theweights for the revolving apparatus. The rest of thetime, when I was not sleeping, I kept watch. Therewere three other lighthouse keepers, who lived inlittle houses on the cliff. They passed the daysplaying cards and fishing. They had pushed all oftheir duties on to me. For doing their work I gotninepence a day!

The daughter of one of the lighthouse keeperswas named Eva. She was pretty and very charming.One day I kissed her. It was an innocent kiss, butwe were in a bad place, a room with a locked door,but which was open on the side of the sea and lookeddown on the beach. One of the men was fishing thereand saw us. He hurried to Eva's father. Soon therewas a cursing and knocking at the locked door. Wewere terrified. The threats and banging grew moreviolent. I threw the door open, dashed out and away,frightened half out of my wits.

I left behind me all my belongings. That was howI lost the sea chest that old Peter had given me. Itwas too bad. Late that night I sneaked back andmade off with one of the horses. It was worth aboutthirty shillings, which I figured was about the valueof the luggage I had to abandon.

I rode to Port Augusta, and for a time worked ina sawmill. The work was frightfully hard. The payseemed good, thirty shillings a day, but the cost ofliving was so high—one had even to pay for water—thatit left only a few shillings out of a day's pay.The work was lucrative only for Chinese coolies,with their low standards of living. I was able tosave sixty shillings and then couldn't stand it anylonger.

One day I met a Norwegian hunter who had beenshooting kangaroos and wallabies and selling theirskins. I gave him my money, and my watch thatI had brought from Germany, and he gave me hisrifle. Then I went into the forest and became a hunter,or at least tried to. After a month, the solitudegot on my nerves, and I left the kangaroos in fullpossession of their native bush.

In Port Augusta I watched a steamer dischargeits passengers.

"Oh," I said, "what kind of a crowd is that?"

They were a troupe of Hindu fakirs. Unable towithhold my curiosity, I went up and talked to them.When they learned that I was a sailor, they said Iwas exactly the man they needed for pitching theirlarge tents, currying the horses, and distributingadvertisem*nts, and the like. They explained that theirtrade was similar to mine, since they were always onthe move, only they travelled on land.

They had with them several dark-eyed Hindugirls who looked bewitching. I joined the fakirs.

We travelled from one end of Australia to theother. I pitched their tents and booths in publicplaces. Handling the canvas did remind me a littleof my work as a sailor. In Fremantle, when I wentaround passing out handbills, I heard on all sides:

"Hello, Count. No more Salvation Army, eh?Have a ginger ale."

I found the ginger ale as good as ever.

The fakirs made a mango tree grow before yourvery eyes. It is one of the classic tricks of India.It was my task after the show was over to clear theplace where the tree had miraculously grown. Icould never find any sign of preparation. A bowl ofwater would be brought in and shown to the spectators.The fakir would sit down in such a way asto hide it from the audience. In a little while he wouldstep aside and the bowl would be filled with livegoldfish. I could never discover any mechanism for this.A fakir would say to a spectator:

"That is a valuable ring you have on your finger.You must not lose it, But, look, you have lost italready. I have it on my finger."

And, indeed, he would have it on his finger.

There was a little Malayan girl with whom Iflirted, thinking I could learn the secret of the tricksfrom her. At first she was very shy, but then becamemore friendly. She did tell me how some of the magicwas done, but only some of the minor effects. Ilearned them quite well, and to this day can performthem. The major spectacles, she, herself, thoughtwere miracles. It seems to me impossible for anyEuropean ever to learn the more important secretsof these sorcerers. The old masters, accustomed tobe worshipped as beings endowed with supernaturalpowers, hold themselves inaccessible. The two chieffakirs of our company, with their long beards anda poise made perfect by lifelong training of the will,made a sublime picture.

One Sunday morning I sat on the beach washingmy clothes. Three men came up, stopped and gazedat me. They looked me over as though I were beefon the hoof. I have always been big-framed andpowerfully muscled, with an arm like iron, andshoulders as wide as a barn door, bulging with sinews.

"How old are you, boy?"

I replied that I was nearly sixteen.

"How would you like to learn boxing?"

"Very much," I replied, "because if I knew howto spar, I would be less likely to get a thrashing."

They took me to a school of boxing, where I wassubmitted to another examination. They gave mesix pounds sterling and agreed to train me for theprize ring. In return, I was to box for Queensland,exclusively.

That began a strenuous time for me. I was put towork with all kinds of gymnastic apparatus toharden my body, particularly chest and stomach, toresist blows. I went through three months of that kindof training before I was allowed to try a boxingpass. Then I practised sparring with an experiencedboxer. I was told that, after I had progressed farenough, I would be sent to San Francisco foradditional training and would make my debut there as"the Prize Boxer of Queensland." It all looked veryrosy. I liked boxing and do to this day.

An American craft was in port, the Golden Shorea four-masted schooner plying between Queenslandand Honolulu. She was later put on the SanFrancisco-Vancouver-Honolulu run. They needed handsand offered to take me as an able-bodied seaman atthe excellent pay of forty-five dollars a month. Fromcabin boy to able-bodied seaman in one jump—thatwas an inducement, by Joe. The usual line ofsuccession is: cabin boy, yeoman, 'prentice seaman,able-bodied seaman. I guess I was made to be a sailor,because that promotion looked bigger than anythingelse in the world. I quit my boxing and shippedaboard the Golden Shore.

In Honolulu I came upon a mystery, a fantasticmystery. It sounds unbelievable. I, myself, cannotexplain it. Someday I hope to meet someone whocan. One of the cabin boys aboard the Golden Shorewas a German named Nauke. He was a violin makerby trade who had lost all his money and put to sea.We became fast friends. At Honolulu, Naukeinvited me to go ashore with him. He brought along acan of condensed milk, a delicacy he knew I liked. Wewent sightseeing, and one of the sights was that ofroyalty. We stood outside of the palace groundsand watched the Hawaiian potentate while he hadtea. He sat in a reed chair, and a couple of his wivesstood beside him. A well-dressed gentleman whoseemed to be on a stroll came up to us and beganto talk to us in English.

"Don't waste your time on anything like that,"he said. "Why not see the hula-hula dance?"

Nauke and I said all right, because the hula-hulawas just what we did want to see.

The gentleman asked whether we had any betterclothes to wear, to which we responded that we hadnot.

"It doesn't matter," he said, "I will provide youwith a suit each."

He took us to a carriage drawn by four mules, andwe all got in. I remarked to Nauke that the gentlemanseemed to be a man of means. The gentleman turnedhis head.

"You mustn't talk so much," he said in German.

We came to the sugar plantations outside the town.The carriage stopped. Our host led us to a field path,until finally we came to a European house that hadan air of distinction. Young colts grazed within afence. Through the large windows of the stately villaI saw a row of large black tables such as are used inGermany, in a lecture room. Our host told Nauke towait outside, and got a piece of cake for him. Iwhispered to Nauke not to go away.

I felt very strange on entering the house. The manshowed me into a room next to the hall with themany tables. He was about to lock the door. I askedhim not to. In the room was a long black table likethose I had seen in the other room. The man said hewas going upstairs to get a measuring tape. Whilehe was gone, I noticed that under the table were twolong narrow boxes with heavy locks on both sides.What if I should end in one of those boxes! But I wasconfident. What had I learned boxing for?

The stranger returned with a tape. He measuredmy arm. Unlike a tailor, he measured from wrist toshoulder instead of from shoulder to wrist.

"Thirty," he announced, repeated it once, andmuttered several other numbers between his teeth.

He pulled my coat halfway down my back, thushindering my arms. He remarked that the light waspoor, and turned me so that my back was towardthe outer door. I could hear a creaking that told mesomeone was moving behind that door. I noticed onthe floor below the lower part of the table a disorderlypile of old clothes which looked as though theymight be sailors' togs. The gentleman took off mybelt and laid it on the table. Attached to the beltwas my knife case. It was empty. I wondered wheremy knife might be. I remembered having it thatmorning. I had peeled potatoes with it. My bloodfroze as between empty bottles on the window sillI saw a chopped off human thumb with a long sinewattached. The gentleman was about to let down mytrousers, which would have kept me from running.

I jerked my coat back into place, knocked theman down with a heavy blow, grabbed my emptyknife case from the table, kicked open the nearestdoor to the open, and jumped out, shouting forNauke. He appeared, still munching his piece ofcake. We ran out into the plantation and threwourselves down among the cane. There was the soundof a whistle and of galloping horses and runningmen. They were hunting for us along the roads. Wegroped our way among the fields, and, after losingour way several times, finally reached the beach.

We looked up an English-speaking policeman andtold him our story. He shrugged his shoulders andsaid it would take a special force of detectives todiscover how many sailors had mysteriously disappearedon the islands. Our captain merely remarkedthat we deserved a good thrashing for going ashore.We sailors on the ship laid a plan to take theplantation by storm on the following Sunday, andgathered our weapons for the raid. But on Friday aquarantine was proclaimed, due to some infectious diseasethat was spreading, and the raid was off. In latertimes, I often inquired about the strange circ*mstance,and heard tales of white sailors disappearingon the islands, but never a solution of the mystery.

On board the Golden Shore was a lad named Augustfrom Winsen on the Luhe, in Germany. He and Italked over the ever-beguiling idea of serving amaster no longer, but of being our own masters. Weknew that fishing was considered good on thewestern coast of North America, and we determinedto go into business for ourselves as fishermen.The Golden Shore took her course to Seattle, andthere we were informed that the fishing was bestaround Vancouver. At Vancouver we looked thingsover and came to the conclusion that the ideal thingwould be to live in a boat and hunt and fish by turns.That would be a state of perfect independence. Weused what money we had to buy a rifle. Now all weneeded was a boat.

At the fishing village of Modeville, a number ofsailboats were moored off shore. They belonged toIndians and half-breeds, whose camp fires we couldsee and whose savage dogs barked out fierce alarms.It was about dusk. Cautiously, we launched one ofthe canoes on the beach and paddled out to one ofthe sailboats that had taken our fancy. We gotaboard quietly and cut the anchor rope. The boatwas set lightly for drying. There was only a slightbreeze, and we drifted very slowly. Somebody ashoresaw the boat drifting. A canoe came paddling out inleisurely fashion. We gave the sail a hoist to getup more speed. The men in the canoe noticed this atonce. They yelled and paddled hard. We were in afix. But as we passed out of the lee of the highmountains, we got a windfall, the sail bellied out,and the boat scudded swiftly along. From the shorethey fired at us with rifles, but we were away.

We sailed to Seattle, and there the sailors of aGerman boat gave us a supply of food and some whitelead with which to paint our boat. We hunted andfished and got along, and then grew tired of it.We were honest lads, and tried to return our boatsecretly to Modeville. We were caught and haledbefore a Canadian judge. He was lenient and putus on probation for a few weeks.

That was my first adventure at piracy.

In Vancouver I signed on the four-masted Englishship, the Pinmore, on which I was now to make thelongest uninterrupted voyage of my life. It took ustwo hundred and eighty-five days to sail from SanFrancisco around the Horn to Liverpool. We hadrations for a hundred and eighty days, and sea watergot into our water tanks. We lay in calms for longperiods on our way south, and then were held backby long-continued storms off Cape Horn.

It was as though that ship harboured a devil. Wedid not meet a single craft that we could ask forprovisions. None of the rain clouds that went driftingpast came near enough to provide us with water.Between the half rations and the brackish water inour tanks, six men died of scurvy and beri-beri, andthe rest were so ill with these dread diseases thattheir abdomens and legs swelled up as though withdropsy. We used only the storm sails. None of us wasable to climb into the rigging. When at length wesighted England off the Scillys, the last portion ofpeas had been distributed, and when the tug hove upto us in St. George's Channel we all cried, "Water,water!" We drank all the water that we could hold,and still we were thirsty. Our bodies were dried up.I was a fortnight in hospital.

I gave the Pinmore a willing farewell, hoping neverto see her again. Strange how coincidence turns. Idid see her again, a long time later, from the deckof my raider Seeadler.

V

WRESTLING CHAMPION OF SANKT PAULI

When a German sailor came back from a cruisewith a bit of money burning holes in his pockets,Hamburg and the bright lights of Sankt Pauli werehis goal. When I left the Pinmore, I had a thousandmarks in my jeans. This was a new thrill, and I hadit all changed into silver, so that I could feast myeyes on it. Proudly I strutted down Sankt Pauliwater front, a full-fledged sailor, back from his firstcruise around the world. I swaggered like a veteranold salt. But my thoughts were not of the gayamusem*nt parlours of Sankt Pauli. There was anothermission that had brought me to Hamburg.

I went to the old house at the Brauerknechtergrabenand climbed the creaking stairs. The namePeter Breumer was still on the door. A broken oldwoman answered my knock and ushered me in. Fromthe roof hung the flying fish. On the wall was thepainting of the ship. The ragged parrot was in itscage.

"Peter? He is dead. I live here now. I am hissister."

"Peter dead?"

"Yes, three years ago. And that's you, his boy,whom he helped to go to sea. How often he said:'Where may the boy be now?' But Peter is gone."

I went to his grave at Ohlsdorf. It was shabby. Igot a big iron anchor and had a brass plate fixed onit with the engraving: "I did not forget you.—Yourboy." Then I placed it on Peter's grave, afitting monument for a sailor.

Since the raids of the Seeadler the grave of oldPeter has become a kind of shrine where peoplevisit, especially German children.

It was in December, and the festival called theHamburg Dom was being held. In Sankt Pauli weremany diversions and shows. In one show, Lipstulianthe wrestler held forth. Fifty marks were offered toanyone who could throw him. My pals said:"Go up there, Phelax. You can beat him."

I said no. I had no desire to make myself conspicuous.On the platform the wrestler drew himself upin his tights and taunted me.

"My lad, you had better bring along a bag inwhich to carry home your bones."

I considered this an insult, and climbed on to thestand. The barker outside shouted.

"Step inside, ladies and gentlemen. We havefound a sucker who is going to get his bones crushed."

Lipstulian paced the platform like a prize steer.I gave my purse to our sailmaker to hold. Attendantsescorted me to a little booth, where they dressed mein a red and white shirt and pants and a belt. WhenI stepped on to the platform Lipstulian looked atmy bare arms and became pensive.

It was not real wrestling, but merely a test of rawstrength. Lipstulian tried to jerk me to him and tipme over before the signal had been given. That mademe angry. I seized him, but could not lift him.The sailors howled encouragement to me. One ofmy shipmates offered me an additional fifty marksif I downed him. On the third attempt I lifted him.He tried to support his foot against a tent pole, butslipped. I threw him to the floor.

The barker howled that I had not put the championon his back. That found little favour with theaudience. There was a tremendous din. The sailorswere ready for trouble. The manager paid me insilver. He gave me, however, twenty instead of thepromised fifty marks. I did not protest. I feltgood-natured. My shipmates were hoisting me on theirshoulders. They carried me to the nearest saloon,where, as the victor, I treated the crowd again andagain.

My shipmates took me to a photographer, wherethey had a picture made of me in wrestling togs withthe inscription on it—the Champion Wrestler ofSankt Pauli. By Joe, but I was proud of that picture.It was a visible indication that I had been somebody.

That night I sat looking at it. I had often wantedto write to my parents. They must think me dead bynow. I was ashamed to have them hear from me as anobody. But now ... I looked at the picture again.On the back of that formidable representation ofthe Champion Wrestler of Sankt Pauli I wrote:"To my dear father for remembrance, from hisfaithful son Felix, 1902." I addressed an envelope.

Then my courage left me. The difference betweenthat photograph and our life at home, between the"Champion Wrestler of Sankt Pauli" and the stately,severe Count Heinrich von Luckner, my father, camevividly upon me and made my heart sink. I put thepicture back in my sea chest.

The remembrance came back to me how my fatherexpected me to become an officer in the ImperialService, and how I had vowed that I would never goback until I was a naval officer in the ImperialService. Let them think me dead until I was able to gohome clad in the Imperial naval uniform.

When I did return home as a naval officer, Ijokingly showed my father the photograph of theChampion Wrestler of Sankt Pauli. He took it fromme and for years carried it proudly in his wallet.

VI

THE TRAGIC CRUISE OF THE CÆSAREA

By Joe, I've got a real sea yarn to tell you now. Waita minute till I light my pipe, and I'll tell you aboutthe voyage of the Cæsarea.

She was my first German ship. With a cargo boundfor Melbourne, we set sail from Hamburg. Myfriend Nauke was aboard, and again we were comrades.The captain was a clever sailor, but an oldskinflint. The cook, who on German ships is called"Smutje"—smudgy, smutty—was a good fellow,but was keen to please the miserly captain. Together,they did wonders in skimping our food. On Mondaywe got peas, on Tuesday beans, on Wednesday, fora change, yellow peas, on Thursday brown beans, onFriday "blue Henry," which looked like coffee beans,but smaller, on Saturday corned beef (bully beef),and on Sunday, as a Sabbatical delicacy, we got aspecial dish called "plum and dumplings." The farenever changed, and we were always hungry. Verygood, Smutje, you were an excellent fellow at heart,but that penny-squeezing captain made a son-of-a-gunof a sea cook out of you, and you are the heroof this tale.

One day I was sitting on a topyard. I could hearSmutje down in the galley whistling "My Heart IsLike a Beehive," which was a song hit of those days.I whistled along with him. My heart was like abee-hive, and girls were the bees and one of them was thequeen bee. I could see her floating in front of me. Yes,it was the same fairy princess of my dreams whomI had seen in imagination from the deck of theNiobe on that first voyage when we sighted the Isleof Fuerteventura in the Canaries. My fairy princesslived on that distant tropic island of waving palmsand white houses. So I whistled as loud as I couldthe same tune that Smutje was whistling, "My HeartIs Like a Beehive."

"What is that?"

I couldn't trust my eyes. I saw two arms thrustfrom the galley. They supported a big tray, whichthey thrust on to the skylight of the galley. The traywas heaped with a big stack of pancakes. What? Athousand miles out at sea, and pancakes fresh andwarm?

I slid down the rope, and tiptoed to the galley.I took that stack of pancakes from the plate andslipped them inside my shirt, against my breast. ThenI climbed to the yardarm again. Whew! By Joe,those pancakes were hot! They were burning intomy flesh. When I was halfway up the mast I thoughtI should fall down, but I kept saying over and over,"Phelax, you are a sailor now, and a sailor neverwinces." When I was aloft I laid the pancakes onthe yard, and ate them as fast as I could. There werefourteen of those pancakes.

Smutje was still whistling. "Ah, but just wait,you old sea cook, and see what kind of a beehiveyour heart is in a few minutes!"

Two arms were thrust out of the galley, and verycarefully, so the flapjacks might not slide off, theempty platter was lowered. Next a long shrill whistleand then a smothered cry:

"My flap jacks!"

Smutje came climbing to the roof of the galley,thinking that perhaps with the rolling of the shipthe flapjacks had slid off the plate. Then he roared,cursing:

"Damned pack of thieves."

I called down from aloft.

"Who is a thief, Smutje?'

"Not you," he replied, "because you are workingup there. But did you see anybody take my flapjacks?"

"No, I haven't been looking that way, Smutje."

I slid down to talk with him, still amazed at thephenomenon of encountering fresh, hot—veryhot—flapjacks on the high seas.

"What was that you were talking about, Smutje?Flapjacks, how can that be?"

"I will tell you, Phelax. You are the only honestfellow aboard."

"I know that, but go ahead."

"It is the captain's birthday to-day, Phelax.Nobody aboard can make him a present except me. Ifixed fourteen flapjacks for him. Is that too much forthe captain's birthday?"

"No, Smutje, it is not too much."

"And a delicious cranberry jelly to go with them."

"Cranberry jelly, Smutje?"

"Yes; a fine cranberry compote. Now, by Joe,Phelax, you know I am a good fellow. I would saynothing if some son-of-a-gun stole one flapjack, but,by Joe, I say the one who took the whole fourteenis a son-of-a-gun, by Joe."

"I agree with your opinion, Smutje, he is ason-of-a-gun, by Joe."

"You are an honest fellow, Phelax, and I alwaysgive you the best. That cranberry compote is no useto me now, anyway. You can eat it because you arehonest and because you will help me to find thethief."

The compote was just what I needed, what I hadmissed. It should have been spread between thepancakes, but still it was going to the same place.

"How can I catch the thief, Smutje?"

"Watch to-night, and see who eats the least peas."

"All right, Smutje, I will watch."

"Be sure to catch him, Phelax, and now, becauseyou are honest, here is the cranberry compote."

It was delicious.

That night I reported to Smutje that each of theother men had eaten approximately an equal amountof peas. It was not part of the bargain to report thatI had scarcely eaten any. I promised to continue thehunt for the culprit, and Smutje was confirmed inhis opinion that I was the only honest man aboard.

The Cæsarea docked in Melbourne, and there animportant event occurred. The captain invited theGerman consul to dinner, and then took counsel withSmutje.

"We must have something good when the consulcomes."

Smutje immediately fell in with the suggestionand replied: "Yes, on such an occasion nothing istoo good."

The captain restrained his enthusiasm.

"But there must not be too much expense."

"No, certainly not. Let us have ducks. That issomething good and does not cost much around here."

I heard the captain inviting the first mate to histable.

"But don't forget to put on a white collar, Mate.It is the consul who is coming."

"Thank you, sir, thank you." And the first mategrinned all over his face.

Then the captain tackled the second mate.

"I invite you to supper to-night at eight bells.The consul is coming."

"Thank you, sir, thank you." The second matewiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

It was on a Saturday. I sat near the porthole ofthe galley, patching my trousers and very busy at it.All the while I kept an eye on Smutje preparingthe ducks. They were roasted, stuffed with prunesand apples, and I do love them that way. I waswaiting for the moment when Smutje would goaft to get something.

I didn't see the captain. He was sitting on thebridge reading his newspaper, apparently. He hadmade a hole in the middle of the page, through whichhe looked down into the open door of the galley andkept his eye on the ducks. At first he did not see me.The mast was in the way. Then he happened to leanto one side, and caught sight of me near the portholeindustriously mending my trousers.

Suddenly, a marlinespike came flying past me.

"You loafer, by Joe. What are you sniffing aroundthe galley for? And so you brought your pants alongfor wrapping purposes!"

I promptly moved on.

At night the consul came. The captain and themates were all dolled up. They had even cleaned theirfinger nails. In the cabin the consul was the only onewho was given a napkin. On the skylight sat Naukeand I. We watched the ducks on the table. We hadbrought along a boat hook, waiting for the momentwhen the consul should leave.

The consul ate well, but the captain seemed tohave very little appetite. He took only one smallhelping of the duck. The two mates held back out ofpoliteness. It would have been bad manners for themto eat more than the captain.

When the duck course was done the captain wouldnot let the birds be taken away, but kept them inhis sight. When the consul left, the captain had toescort him to the gangway, but he ushered the matesout first, so that they would not have a chanceto snatch a drumstick, and, before he left the cabin,he had Smutje take the ducks away to the pantry.Nauke and I watched all this from the skylight.There was no chance for us to use our boathook.

The pantry, however, could be reached from thebull's-eye. We waited till Smutje had gone to hisbunk, and then stole our way to the bull's-eye. Ireached in. Good luck. The pantry was open. Smutjemust have forgotten to close it. The unfortunate partof it, however, was that it was the captain who hadleft the pantry door open. He had stolen down tohave his fill of ducks, and at this moment was sittingat a table with a bird before him. His back wasturned to the pantry.

I fished around and first got a big handful of plumand apple stuffing, which I put in my pants pocketfor safe keeping. I was very quiet about it, and thecaptain heard nothing. I felt around again, and founda whole, fine bird. It must have been my excitementand delight which caused me to make a slight noise.The captain looked around and saw the magnificentfowl suspended in midair and going away. With halfa drumstick in his mouth he yelled:

"My bird!"

Then he jumped, and grabbed my arm just as itwas disappearing.

"Let go that bird," he howled, twisting my arm.

I let the bird go, and kept silent in spite of thepain, hoping that he would let me go without learningwho I was. He reached for a rope and spliced myarm to the brass handle of the drawer. Nauke reachedinto my pants pocket and took out the stuffing tosave it from destruction during the coming licking.

The captain came out.

"Oh, it's you, Phelax. You don't like ducks, doyou? But you like the rope's end."

With that, he gave me an awful beating with arope's end. I howled, by Joe.

Limping and sore, I went forward to get my shareof the stuffing from Nauke. He had eaten it all.That made me so angry that, in spite of my soreness,I passed a good share of my licking on to him.Smutje shook his head and remarked sadly that thesociety of thieves had corrupted the only honestfellow aboard.

We took on a supply of sausages made out ofpemmican that were to be sewn up in canvas andwhitewashed so they would keep. For this work youngerseamen are used, they being considered more honestand unspoiled than the older hands. I was not inline for the job. However, we slipped appropriateadvice to the yeomen on the sly. Broomsticks werecut up in lengths a trifle shorter than the sausages.The two ends of sausages were cut off and splicedto the ends of the pieces of broomstick. The dummieswere then tied up in sail cloth in such a way that theends could be inspected. After this they werewhitewashed. When the captain carefully counted theone hundred and sixty sausages and inspected theunmistakable sausage ends of each one, he said:"Thank God, boys, that you are still honest."

Later on he stormed and raged when he had torevise this good opinion.

We contrived to swipe a number of hams out ofthe galley. The captain accused Smutje, which madethat honest sea cook so indignant that he desertedthe ship at Newcastle. Now there was no cook, noSmutje. The captain asked for volunteers, but nonecame forward. Ships' cooks as a rule think themselvesindispensable and irreplaceable, and make the sailorsthink so, when in fact they often cannot do more thancook pea soup and fry doughnuts.

"If nobody wants to be the cook," said the captain,"I shall have to commandeer one. Phelax, canyou boil water?"

"Yes, sir."

"Into the galley, then, and beware if you burnthe peas."

I did not know how long my new job would last,so I immediately began to eat until I was ready toburst. My first pea soup was a great success. I tookcare, and, to make myself popular, put in a hamboneand half a bottle of the captain's red wine. Thecaptain and the crew all said:

"What a soup, Phelax! You are a master cook."

The next day the bean soup burned. I had heardthat in a case like that the thing to do was to putsome soda in. I didn't know how much, so I triedtwo handfuls, and then added half a bottle of thecaptain's red wine. The soup still tasted good, andthey said:

"Phelax, you are a born cook."

At six bells the soda had done its work, and I wasfired from the galley. The captain was sick for threedays. Nauke was ordered into the galley, andproceeded to do pretty well.

Four weeks after Smutje left us, we got him back.The harbour police found him in a hotel where hehad been hired as a chef. He should have waitedfor deserting until the last day before sailing time,as most men do when they clear out. There is lesschance of recapture then.

After discharging cargo at Melbourne, we tookon a shipload of Australian coal and set sail for CaletaBuena in Chile. I'll never forget that part of thevoyage, because I managed to pass New Year's in aChilean dungeon. After a spree ashore, I determined togo back to the ship in a certain particular direction.I went in that direction until I came to a wall. Iclimbed over it and fell into a pig sty. Hearing thegrunts of the porkers, the owner of the place, a verydignified gentleman, came out. I told him I wanted togo to my ship.

"I will escort you to your ship," he offered withgrave politeness.

With no less politeness, I accepted his kindness.

He led me to a house, in front of which stood apolice guard. I was astonished, but he invited me toenter. I did.

"This thief has tried to steal my pigs," he told thepolice officers inside.

"I want to get back to my ship," I protested.

They threw me into a cell, where there were anumber of others, sailors among them, who had beencelebrating New Year's Eve too well. I fell asleepon a bench. I awakened. A woman was being hurledinto the cell. I fell asleep, and when I becameconscious again, I found that the new arrival had takena place beside me, and fallen asleep with her head inmy lap. I raised her from my lap, to place her on thebench. She yelled, "Robadores!—caramba." The guardcame in, and the señora, still shrieking, told him thatI had beaten her. They seized me and threw me downa dark stairway into a dungeon. I fell over a muleharness into a pile of saltpetre dust. I put my headon the harness and fell asleep again.

I stayed there, in the company of many very tamerats, for three days. Then the mate came and gotme out. The captain had been informed on the firstday that I was in the calaboose, but he said:

"Oh, Phelax! We have three days in port, and itwon't hurt him to be by himself a little until we sail."

With a cargo of saltpetre, we headed for Plymouth,and off the Falkland Islands were caught ina dreadful hurricane. At first we were able to runbefore the wind. The Cæsarea was good at scudding,a fast boat with the wind behind her. The pull of thewater at the stern varies greatly with different ships.With some it drags back heavily. With others it fallsreadily away. On the other hand, you must not runbefore the wind too long, or you may be unable toheave to at will, and your ship may be overwhelmedby seas overtaking her from astern and raking herdeck from stern to bow. Well, aboard the Cæsareawe were caught in just this peril. The seas werebreaking over her. We hung out all the hawsers we had tocatch the waves astern.

Then we reached the centre of the storm. Fromthat howling hurricane of wind and rain we passedsuddenly into a deathly calm. In the sky above thestars gleamed down. The sea was like a kettle ofboiling water. Stirred up from the outer edges it camepouring in toward the centre. The danger is greatestin the vortex of a hurricane. The water rushes uponthe ship from all sides. Lacking wind, the vesselcannot be steered. It lies helpless and tossing. Therigging cannot forever bear the strain of the tremendousand convulsive jerking and rolling. We lost ourtop-masts and topgallant masts. They had stood inthe blasting wind and the head-on plunging of theship, but could not sustain the dizzy reeling at thecentre. For a full half hour we stayed in that circle ofdeath, with its peaceful air and starry sky. It seemedas though the ship were turned inside out. Then,with a sudden blow, we were in the rush and wildfury of the wind again. The remainder of the rigging,now thoroughly weakened, came down, except themainmast and its lower yards. The wreckage fellover the stern and tangled with the rudder. The deckwas flooded and there seemed little hope of ourriding the storm, when, as suddenly as it had burstupon us, the wind shifted eight points, and soon wewere out of the hurricane.

We reached Plymouth after one hundred andtwenty days, and only the older mate, Nauke, and Iremained aboard for another voyage. Smutje left,but before going ashore said to me:

"Phelax, God knows whether we will ever seeeach other again. We have been good comradesever since that scoundrel stole the flapjacks. You arean honest fellow. Therefore, let us go ashore andhave a 'pain expeller.'"

"All right, Smutje," said I, and we went ashore.

At a bar the cookie ordered up two big "painexpellers." The glasses had just been put in front of us,when I thought to myself, "Phelax, if you are anhonest fellow, surely this is the time to show yourhonesty."

"Smutje," I said, "I know who took your flapjacks."

"You know? Who was it?"

"Me."

"You?"

"Yes, me."

He took his stick, took his hat, turned his back onme, and walked right out, never touching his painexpeller. I looked at the two glasses, and thought tomyself:

"Phelax, it is the reward of your honesty. Firstfor your honesty you get the compote of cranberries.Now you get two pain expellers instead of one—foryour honesty."

Eleven years later, as an officer in the ImperialNavy, I went from Kiel to attend a dinner inHamburg. At the Hamburg railway station, as I calledfor a taxi, I heard a voice quite close to me.

"Hello there, Phelax."

"Hello, Smutje."

"How have you changed, Phelax! Are you an officerin the Imperial Navy?"

"Yes, Smutje."

"How have you changed, Phelax! Do you stillremember your old cookie?"

"You bet I remember you, Smutje."

"Well, how have you changed, Phelax!"

"By Joe, Smutje, I have an invitation to dinner,but I'd rather have dinner with you. Come along."

I took him in the taxi to Hotel Atlantic, the finestin Hamburg. Bellboys came to open the door andusher us in. Cookie looked around.

"This too, Phelax?"

"Yes, Smutje."

"How have you changed, Phelax!"

I ordered champagne and cigarettes brought to aprivate room. There Smutje and I sat talking overold times. The waiter brought the wine. Cookielooked at the waiter's evening clothes in awe and thenlooked at me.

"How have you changed, Phelax!"

He essayed to grow friendly with the waiter, andventured a familiar, joking remark. But the pompouswaiter disdained to talk to such a fellow, ignoredhim, and turned to me.

"Do you wish anything else, Count?"

"Hey, Phelax, did you hear what he called you?Count! Are you a count?"

"Yes, Smutje."

"How have you changed, Phelax!"

He thought for a while, and then gave me his twohands.

"You swiped my fourteen pancakes, Phelax. Ihaven't forgotten it. I shall be proud all my life thata count swiped my pancakes."

The Cæsarea took on a cargo for New York. Itconsisted chiefly of chalk packed in barrels. Abaft wehad a load of arsenic, three hundred tons packed insmall barrels, which, because of its great weight,took up little room. It was a badly stowed,ill-balanced load. Of our new crew, some were sent fromHamburg and some were signed in England. Theselatter were stokers and trimmers who had neverbeen on a sailing ship before. They could neither steernor set sails. They received higher wages than we,and yet we had to do all the work. As a consequence,we treated them pretty roughly. Even our Hamburgcabin boys, whose duty it was to clean the sailors'quarters, were loath to do this for the green handswho knew less than they.

The captain had hopes of a fast run to New York,which certainly seemed an easy jump after our tripthrough the latitudes of the hurricanes. But we hadstorm after storm from the first day out, and couldmake scarcely any headway at all. With our worthlesscrew, it was particularly miserable and trying.Christmas came, and with it the first fine weatherand a fair wind. After a long time, we could set thetopgallant sails again. It was fine to see the deck dryonce more. The captain said:

"This is a sign from God. Let us celebrate Christmasproperly."

So thankful was he that the old skinflint gaveorders for Christmas cheer regardless of expense. Insailor fashion, we made a Christmas tree out of abroomstick and decorated it with coloured paper.The captain sent down a ham and a bowl of punch.When the candles were lit, a committee called onhim to wish him a Merry Christmas and invite himto look at the tree. He accepted, and came downjovial and merry. Our new Smutje brought the flowingbowl, and we stood in line, each glass in hand,ready to toast the captain.

Then a white squall struck us.

A squall is called white when you have not seen itcoming. It hit us square on the bow. The shipshivered from one end to the other, and was pushedstern-wise. The foremast went overboard. Its yard smashedupon my bunk. The main topmast followed. Everythingwent to pieces. Only the lower masts remained.We tumbled on deck. The captain ran to the steeringwheel, where the helmsman had been knocked downand could not get up. (He died two days later.) Thecombers were sweeping over the ship. With axes wecut away the wreckage. The sails on the lower yards,the only ones that were in place, had to be bracedinto the wind. In four hours we had the ship undercontrol again. The green crew had hidden themselvesbelow. We were so enraged with them now that theydid not dare to show their faces.

The storm turned into a hurricane. It blew throughoutChristmas night and the next day. On the secondafternoon of the storm, at eight bells, the steeragedeck broke under the heavy load of arsenic. Thatbroke several rivets, and the ship began to leak.We hurried to shift the barrels. Several had burst.We did not realize our danger from the arsenic dust.It produced terrible inflammation, and after severaldays most of us were badly swollen and bloated.Nevertheless, the arsenic was stowed again.

The ship started going down at the bow, and thecarpenter reported three feet of water in the hold.

"Clear the pumps!"

We pumped, by Joe. The water in the hold grewdeeper. We pumped until we grew weak. They gaveus liquor to strengthen us. When we felt we could goon no longer, the cry went up:

"Grog ahoy!"

The grog made us pump again, although wedoubted that we would win out.

A breaker came over the deck and swept away thegalley. The cookie was making coffee for us andwarming himself at the fire. He went overboard withhis stove, pots, pans, and the coal box. He hung fora moment on the chimney, crying out for help at thetop of his voice. There was no chance to save him. Anold sailmaker next to me shouted:

"Smutje, you're all right. You've got plenty ofcoal for your trip to the devil."

That joke in the teeth of death made me shiver,since death was so close to us all.

We worked at the pumps for forty-eight hours.The water in the hold rose higher and higher. We wereat the end of our rope. The constant drink, too, hadworn us out. We could pump no longer. The captain,harpoon in hand, threatened:

"The one who stops pumping, I'll harpoon him."

A voice from abaft sang out:

"Lookout! Breaker!"

At the pumps we could not see the comber, but weheard it roaring. It broke over us. Six men wereswept away from the pumps. Two were washedstraight overboard. A third was thrown against theshrouds. His arm was smashed, and then he waswashed overboard. Another's skull was fractured.Still another was left on the deck in a heap withseveral broken bones. I was lucky. There wereseveral timbers on the deck. I braced myself with onefoot between two of them. The wave drove themtogether and pinned my foot. I fell, and my legsnapped. The timbers still held my foot, while theswirling water tugged and twisted me as though itwere determined to carry me into the sea.

The mate released me with a crowbar, and thecaptain had me taken to his cabin. My leg was bentlike an L.

"We have lost seven men," he said, "and wecannot afford to lose another. Carpenter!"

They tied me to one wall and fastened a blockand tackle to the drawer of the sideboard. Theyhitched the tackle to the foot of my broken leg, andpulled slowly until the leg was straight and the bonesin place. By Joe, it hurt. The carpenter measured meand made a pair of splints, which they fastenedtightly to the leg. The splints were long enough toact as a wooden leg, and I could walk around,painfully, but enough to be of some use.

The Cæsarea was sinking now. We cleared thelifeboats. But first we poured out oil to calm the sea.The boats were swung overboard and lowered intothe water with long ropes attached to them. A mantied a rope around his body, jumped overboard, andswam over to the boat and climbed in. The next onefollowed and was hauled in by the first one. Theytied a rope to me and threw it to the men in a boat.Then they threw me overboard, and the men pulledme to the boat. One boat was under the command ofthe captain. The first mate had the other. We couldmake no headway rowing, so we simply held the boatsagainst the heavy sea to keep them from overturning.In spite of my broken leg, I did my share of the work.The boats drifted apart. I was in the captain's boat.The mate's boat was lost and never seen again.

The storm lasted for four days. We had a littlehardtack soaked with salt water, and a small supplyof fresh water. It was bitterly cold. What wood wemight have burned was soaking wet. It was almostimpossible to sleep. On the fourth day, we sighted asteamer. Its course would take it some distance awayfrom us, but we were certain that we could hail it.With great jubilation, we hoisted a pair of pants on amast as a signal. We were certain we saw the vesselchange its course. We were overjoyed. Nevertheless,the steamer gradually disappeared.

All our food was gone now, and only a very littlewater was left, which the captain, with an inflexiblewill, doled out in minute quantities. The weather wasfair now, and we could sleep. Our thirst increased. Wesucked our hands to start the spittle in our mouths.We wanted to drink sea water, knowing that it wouldhasten our end. The captain encouraged us:

"Don't throw away your young lives. Look at me,an old man. I won't give up."

On the sixth day, we decided to draw lots to determinewhich one should be sacrificed so the othersmight drink his blood. No one proposed a start ofthe drawing of lots, each afraid that he would drawthe fatal number. The authority of the captain stillpreserved a remnant of drinking water to be doledout. Late in the afternoon, we defied him, seized thewater, and drank the last drop.

The next morning we sighted a steamer. We wavedfeebly, and she bore down upon us.

At that moment our last strength left us. We weredelirious with joy, but we could not move. We laydumped in our boat. The ship, the Italian steamerMaracaibo, came alongside, and dropped rope ladders.We were as if asleep. The Maracaibo had to getit* cranes out and hoist us aboard like pieces offreight. Afterward, we were unable to remember howwe had reached the steamer's deck. We slept forsixteen hours. When we awakened, all the doctorwould give us was a little milk. Three of our mendied. In New York, where we arrived the next day,they went ashore and gorged on ham and eggs. Itkilled them.

I was taken to the German hospital. My leg was insuch condition that at first they thought they wouldhave to amputate it, but finally the head surgeondecided that he might be able to save it, and he didsave it. After eight weeks I left the hospital and wasready to go to sea again.

VII

THE BEACH COMBERS ADVENTURE WITH THE PANTHER

The leg I had broken aboard the Cæsarea wasscarcely well knit when I broke the other leg. Thiswas after I had shipped on the Flying Fish. But let mejump ahead a few years and tell you this tale exactlyas I related it to the Emperor. That was after I hadrealized my boyhood ambition and become a lieutenantcommander in the Imperial Navy.

H. M. S. Kaiser was one of the proudest ships ofthe German Navy. She was always kept spick andspan. You can bet that she was shining now. HisMajesty was aboard for a visit. We sat in the saloonafter dinner, smoking, drinking, talking. For severaldays the Kaiser had amused himself by having me tellstories of my adventures before the mast. To-nightthe Emperor said to me:

"Luckner, what was your worst experience?"

I thought of the fight with the albatross, the scurvyand beri-beri aboard the Pinmore, the flogging at therope's end aboard the Cæsarea, the three days in thedungeon in Chile, the setting of my broken leg withblock and tackle, the plan to draw lots and see whoseblood would be drunk in the drifting lifeboat.

"My worst time, Your Majesty? It was aboardYour Majesty's ship, the Panther."

The Panther was a small ship but a memorable onein the German Navy. You will recall that it was thepart she played in the Tangier dispute of 1908 thatnearly brought on a world war at that time.

Von Plessen, the stately old courtier, glared at me.An admiral across from me scowled. The Emperorsmiled.

"By thunder, you must tell me about it."

I told my story.

I had sailed on the Canadian schooner, Flying Fish,bound from Novia Scotia to Jamaica with a cargo oflumber. We had already entered the harbour ofKingston when the wind left us. While we were becalmed,we made ready for discharging the cargo. The shiplurched with a slight but unexpected roll. A beamslipped and fell against my leg. The bone snappedjust above the ankle. They took me to a hospitalashore. On German ships, the owner is responsiblefor all accidents aboard, but on Canadian ships, youpay your own hospital bills.

"How much money have you?" they asked me atthe hospital.

I replied that I had six pounds coming to me fromthe ship, which, according to regulations, the captainwould deposit for me with the German consul,together with whatever articles of property I hadon the ship. The hospital was not expensive, and thesurgeon said the money would be enough.

Three weeks after I entered the hospital, they sentto the German Consulate for my money. Only threepounds was to my credit there. The captain of theFlying Fish had sailed away, taking half of mymoney with him. None of my belongings were at theConsulate either. He hadn't even bothered to leavethem for me. At the hospital, they called me a liarand threw me out into the street. The plaster cast wasstill on my leg and foot. For clothing I had only whatI had worn to the hospital, trousers, jacket, and oneboot.

I could not walk unaided, but I dragged myself to astick of bamboo, which I broke into a length that Icould use as a cane. With this support I could limpalong.

"Phelax," I said to myself, "you must go to theocean. It is your element. You must go to thebeach."

I went to the sandy shore and lay there. Whennight came, I buried myself in the sand and slept allnight, slept well. In the morning, I was half starved.I found some cocoanuts. Although terrible food foran empty stomach, I tried to eat them. While sittingthere wondering what would become of me, a steamerarrived.

"Phelax," I said, "you are a sailor and there is aship."

I took my stick and hobbled along the beach anddown the long pier. The ship was a British collier,and they were making ready to unload coal. I wentto the mate, told him what had happened to me, andasked him for a chance. The plaster cast was still on,and below my trouser leg my huge white foot lookedlike a club. In the hospital, I hadn't had a haircut or ashave. My hair was long and matted. My beard washalf grown. My face was burned red from lying inthe sun. The mate eyed me up and down.

"You look like a bum, by Joe. Clear out, by Joe,get out."

So they kicked me out, kicked me off a dirty collier,by Joe.

The collier discharged its coal in bags, and I foundan empty bag. I was glad to have any new possession,even a gunny bag. I washed it out on the beach, andat night used it for a pillow. I still had my sheathknife, and a Negro helped me cut the plaster castfrom my leg and foot. Half of the skin went with it.The tropical sun burned the raw flesh until it swelledand ached dreadfully. The coal sack did me goodservice now. I stepped into it and wrapped the rest ofit around my leg. It was a stocking and a shoe for me.

I saw a Negro cutting bamboo and gave him ahand. He took me to his hut and handed me sixpenceand some maize to eat. It was cooked and warm.For days I had had only cocoanuts to eat. It wasdelicious. Rain began to fall, a heavy, tropical rain.It would not be good sleeping on the beach that night.I asked him to give me shelter in his hut. He lookedat me just like the mate of that collier had done.Although he wouldn't have me in his hut, he said Imight sleep in an old shanty covered with palmleaves where he kept his tools. It was dry, but allnight I could hear co*ckroaches running around, onthe walls, on the palm leaves, and big rats chasingthem. Whenever I fell off to sleep, they ran over myface. Next morning the Negro gave me cooked maizeagain, and then we went out to cut bamboo.

Over the bay I saw a white boat, a wonderful whiteboat. It looked like a yacht. Oh, by Joe, if I couldonly get a chance on a beautiful boat like that. Ihobbled down to the pier. The boat was coming in.It was a warship. Then I recognized the flag, theGerman flag. It was the Panther, the first Germanwarship I had ever seen. It was so white and clean,oh, home, so white and clean! I was miserable andhungry, and there were my countrymen, a warshipof my country. I felt my tangled beard and my longtangled hair. I looked down at my tattered clothesand the coal sack on my foot. Could I go to mycountry's ship looking as I did? I only stood andwatched. Four officers in white uniforms came downthe gangway and down the pier. I went toward themto hear the sound of German, and when I heard it Iwas never so ashamed of myself. They passed nearme, but did not look at me.

"Phelax," I said, "that was what you might havebeen if you had stayed at home and studied thoselessons."

I felt I could not look at the Panther any longer,and went wandering miserably around the town. Itwas dark. Three or four sailors came down thestreet. They were talking and laughing. One of them,a gigantic fellow, spoke in broad Saxon. When I heardmy native dialect, I thought to myself: "In thedarkness nobody can see how you look. It would be goodto talk a few words in Saxon."

"Hello, Landsmann," I sang out, and I never letmyself go so broadly in the Saxon dialect as I didthen.

He stopped and talked with me. He was a stokeron the Panther and hailed from Zwickau in Saxony.

Those fellows made me tell them about my plight.Could they spare me a piece of bread? I asked.

"Sure," replied the Saxon. "Meet me at the endof the pier at six bells. I have no more time now. Imust go back on board."

I was at the end of the pier fifteen minutes aheadof time. The Saxon came off the ship and gave me agreat loaf of rye bread.

"Come to-morrow at the same time," he said,"and there will be another loaf for you."

I did not sleep that night, but passed the hours onthe beach eating that bread. I nibbled it in slow bitesso that I might not lose any of the delight.

The Saxon gave me a loaf of bread every night,and finally said:

"To-morrow is Sunday, and on Sunday we havecoffee and cakes aboard. Come aboard the Pantherat half-past three to-morrow, and have coffee andcakes."

"By Joe, mate, can I come aboard a German warshiplike this?"

"Never mind, boy, we'll receive you." And hepersuaded me to do what I wanted to do more thananything else.

When the sun rose the next morning, I started tomake my toilet. The beach was my dressing room.The ocean was both mirror and wash basin. I scrubbedmy hands and face with sand and water. I ranmy fingers through my hair and beard, trying to combthem. I tried to smoothe the wrinkles out of my coatand trousers. I tucked the coal bag around my legand foot fifty times, to make it look its best. I sneakedon board like a criminal. The sailors gave me a goodreception. Everybody sat on benches, and had coffeeand cake. There was a cannon under a tarpaulin. Itried to get a glimpse of it. I was bashful and ill atease. I felt as though I was among rich people in amansion.

The young officer of the watch passed and saw me.The sailors jumped up, and stood at attention. Istood up, putting the foot with the coal sack behindthe other one to hide it. The officer called theboatswain.

"In the future," he said, "I want you to see thatno such tramps get aboard. Throw this unspeakablecreature off.

"Get out of here," yelled the boatswain.

I slunk across the deck to the gangplank like abeaten dog. I had seen this beautiful ship. I had seena German warship for the first time. Poor castawaythat I was, the sailors had welcomed me aboard.Holy feelings had been aroused in me. And now...

I heard the sailors mutter. One of them said quietlyto me:

"Don't worry, Phelax. We will get you fine clothes.The lieutenant, we will take his pants. The boatswain,we will take his shirt. We will give you a coat,shoes, and a cap. The barber will be there too. Ateight bells on the pier."

At eight bells on the pier they brought me theboatswain's blue shirt, the lieutenant's white trousers,and the remainder of a highly presentable outfit.The barber was along. He took me to the edge of thepier and cut my hair. My long hair fell down into thewater. Then he shaved me. I could scarcely wait tillmorning to dress. Every article of my new clothesthat I put on made me feel more like a millionaire,and when I threw away my coal bag and put on thosefine shoes, I walked like the finest dandy in Berlin.

I went to the captain in charge of the piers. Mysmart clothes got for me an excellent post as dockinspector. After a month I went to sea again. Withmy dock inspector's recommendation, I got a goodberth on the Nova Scotia, running between the WestIndian islands.

The Kaiser listened to the story attentively, andwhen I had finished he looked queerly at the otherofficers. There was a twinkle in his eye.

"It would be appropriate and poetic," he said, "ifLuckner went back to the Panther now."

So, a few months later, by order of the Emperor, Iwas transferred to the Panther, which was stationedin the Cameroons. I went down to Africa, and themoment I boarded the Panther I went to the fo'c'sle.None of the men I had seen there before were on theship. It was the custom to transfer officers and crewsevery three years. I looked around, half expecting tosee poor tattered Phelax sitting there somewhere. Isat down where I sat before. Although an officer nowin a trim, white uniform with gold braid, in reality Iwas that miserable beach comber Phelax, again.I dreamed I had the coal bag on my foot once more.I reached down and felt smooth hose and a smartshoe. I leaned back and dreamed of the coal bag.

VIII

PITFALLS FOR THE SAILOR, AND THE CANARY
THAT SPOKE LOW DEUTSCH

That's a sailor's life, glorious one day, miserablethe next. I went on month after month drinkingdown in deep draughts the experience of the sea. Aheady drink it is.

The sea is the sailor's power, yet he is always eagerto get to port. There are two places that are ever inhis mind: his home, if he has any, and the port wherehe will be paid off. For months Jack Tar handles nomoney. He dreams of the wad of bank bills that willbe placed in his hands and of ways to spend it.Aboard, no magazine or newspaper, no matter howold, is left unread. Old fashion plates go from hand tohand. An evening suit with a waistcoat cut as low aspossible so as to show a vast expanse of festive shirtfront arouses a general discussion.

"Hans, my boy, look at that rig. What would yoursweetheart in Düsseldorf say if she saw you in that?"

Mail-order catalogues are thoroughly thumbed.

"What! a gramophone like that for forty marks? Imust have it, and all the latest songs."

They plan trips into the interior of the Fatherland.

"We will go to Munich in Bavaria. They say youcan see the Alps from there."

The homegoings are anticipated with elaboratetalk.

"Won't the old woman be glad to see me, particularlywhen I unwrap that silk dress I bought forher in Singapore."

The most disagreeable thing that can happenaboard a sailing vessel is to be becalmed on thehomeward voyage, and the nearer the home port themore irritating it is. The captain begins to look for aJonah. The first unfortunate for him to vent his rageupon is the helmsman. Nothing he does is right.The skipper is certain that as long as that hoodoo isat the wheel there will never be any wind. He isdriving it away. Taking the helm himself, however,seems to do no good. He calls the youngest cabin boyand orders him to scratch the mainmast, which issupposed to bring wind. When this does not help,he gives the boy a broom and chases him to the topof the mainmast, to sweep the sky. Then he takeseither an old pair of pants or an old boot and throwsit overboard. Wind must certainly come now. Hestamps down to his cabin and sits and smokes for awhile awaiting the wind. When he returns to the deck,the calm is still unbroken. He starts in with thehelmsman again, angered by the leering grin on the face ofthe Jonah.

"Here, Jan, you are such a fine fellow. You take thehelm, by Joe, and see if you cannot get some wind up.You are good luck. You are an old friend of St. Peter."

Presently, indeed, far away on the horizon you cansee a slight curling of the water. A slight breeze iscoming.

"Jan, what did I tell you? You shall have half apound of tobacco."

The other sailors watch these manœuvres withprofound sympathy.

On shore everything is different from what JackTar expected. He has had the experience a hundredtimes, but he always has it again. The crowds do notgive companionship. Everything is too much in ahurry. What people talk about does not interesthim. He is out of touch with things. Besides, peopledo not sit and talk except for a little while. Someonealways interrupts, or people grow impatient and goaway, too much in a hurry. Jack Tar misses the usualhour for intimate conversation, on watch at night.The sea heaves slowly. The stars are bright above.The ship follows her course. Conversation is neverinterrupted by outsiders, and you can talk as longas the watch lasts.

Jack Tar is ever a mark for thieves. Aboard shipthe comradeship of man with man will not toleratedishonesty. A theft between shipmates is the worstof crimes. No sea chest is ever locked. On land JackTar likes bright lights and gaieties, and there, forsome reason, a great abundance of swindlers arefound to take him in. You go about Sankt Pauli, allsails set. You join a group and find that a horse hasfallen down and broken its leg. You hear a groan.You turn around, and somebody says:

"Please, young man, can't you tell me the shortestway to a pawn shop?"

"A pawn shop? I don't know of any."

"That is too bad. I am forced to pawn the lastheirloom from my dear mother."

"What is it?"

"A diamond ring."

He takes the ring from his finger, kisses it, andhands it to me. While I look at it, a well-dressed mansidles up and addresses me.

"I beg your pardon for having been curious enoughto listen to your conversation. It is luck for you thatI happen to be a jeweller. I should not like to see youtaken advantage of. Real diamond rings are seldomoffered in the streets."

The first fellow gets mad:

"Do you think I would try to cheat anyone withthe ring that belonged to my sainted mother?"

"I have nothing to do with you. I am trying toprotect this young man."

The jeweller examines the ring through a glass,and then whispers to me.

"Ask him how much he wants for it."

I ask, and receive the reply.

"Ten marks at least."

"He must have stolen it," the jeweller whispersagain. "It is valuable. Give him twenty marks for itto get it quickly. Then follow me to my store, andI will give you a hundred."

Delighted at the opportunity to make some moneyon land, I give the man twenty marks for the ring.He hurries away. I look for the jeweller, whom I amto follow. He has disappeared. At a bona fide jeweller'sI am told:

"It is a rhinestone, not a bad value for threemarks."

Tedje and I take in the Hamburg Dom. From therows of booths come promises of unparalleled sights.The sights we see in strange lands don't interest us,but at carnivals ashore it is different.

"Step in, step in," a barker howls, "and see whatnobody ever saw or ate."

"What is it?" Tedje demands cautiously.

"Step in, and you will hear a canary bird talkingPlattdeutsch, Low German. Five hundred marksreward if the bird does not talk Plattdeutsch."

We have never heard a canary bird talking anylanguage, least of all Plattdeutsch. We join thecrowd going in.

A canary bird in a cage is brought on to theplatform. An elegantly dressed gentleman announces:

"Permit me to introduce this bird to you. Hisname is Hans."

"Never mind," shouts a sailor, "we want to hearhim talk Deutsch."

"You will hear him, gentlemen. Hans—" and nowhe speaks in the Plattdeutsch dialect—"Hans, tellme what I should smoke, a cigar or a pipe." Hepronounces the word pipe as "peep," in Plattdeutschfashion.

In response the canary bird twitters:

"Peep."

"There, you see, gentlemen, the bird has talkedPlattdeutsch."

There is loud laughter, and we all go out and tellthe other suckers that the bird talked Deutsch. Whyshould we be the only fools?

Perhaps Jack Tar gets engaged to be married tothe daughter of a "crimp." That costs him all hismoney. Or he gets drunk and everything is takenaway from him.

Hein and Tedje meet back on their ship.

"Well, Tedje, how did Munich strike you?"

Tedje, who did not get away from the Hamburgwater front, merely asks in turn:

"Did you get your gramophone?"

Although the North Sea may not be exactly thesailor's friend, the disillusioned tars are glad whensail is raised and they see water all around them oncemore.

At sea the sailor is on terms of intimacy withnature. He is friendly with the stars. He understandsthe clouds, and upon them he relies to tell him aboutthe weather. He knows most of the fishes he encounters,although there are very few kinds that can becaught with hook and line from deck. When a schoolof porpoises appears, the command comes:

"Get the harpoons ready!"

The prosaic American clipper, Pass of Balmaha, bound for
Russia with a cargo of cotton, by the alchemy of war became
the mysterious Seeadler preying on Allied shipping until a
coral reef of the South Pacific ended its seven months' cruise
of destruction.

It takes a skilful harpooner to overhaul aporpoise on its darting, leaping course. When one istaken, there is great rejoicing. Fresh meat will beserved on board.

Near the Cape of Good Hope, Cape Horn, and theFalkland Isles you encounter many birds, albatross,cape pigeons, mulehogs, and all varieties of gulls.They feed on the waste thrown overboard and escortthe ship halfway to Australia. You greet them as oldfriends whom you met a year ago and are glad to seeback again. The gull and albatross are regarded assacred, for it is the belief of the seaman that someday he will return to earth as a gull or albatross. Eachone of these birds is the soul of a seaman. The whitegulls are good souls. The brown or black gulls are badsouls, the "sea devils." When you are running beforethe trade wind south of the equator, the appearanceof the albatross is a great event in the monotonyof the voyage. Majestically the great white birdsweeps up and down, now before the bow now behindthe stern, and circles the ship. He is the ruler of theSouthern seas. It is a common belief among seamenthat nobody ever succeeded in bringing an albatrossalive to the Northern Hemisphere.

Sometimes off the coast of Africa hundreds ofswallows that have lost their way in a fog alight on aship's rigging, exhausted. Sometimes dozens of storksdo. They never rise again. There is no suitable foodon board for them. It is pitiful to see them wasteaway and drop dead on deck or into the sea. There isno help for it. They die a seaman's death, like sailorsadrift without food or water.

Our ship lay idle in Tampico. A comrade and I gotshore leave. We were allured by the romantic life ofthe lasso-throwing vaqueros, with their herds oflong-horned cattle, their fiery broncos, theirsilver-mounted saddles. A German settler put two horsesat our disposal, and, to shame the idea that sailorscannot ride, we went galloping around the countryon a tour that lasted several days. When we returnedto Tampico, our ship had sailed.

In a country so rich as Mexico, it was not hard tomake a living. All you had to do was to stand aroundthe market-place and lend a hand. You earnedenough to live and had a few coins left to squander inthe gambling houses. For a couple of weeks, we madeour living by carrying market baskets.

We joined the Mexican Army. Anybody could becomea soldier. Life was pleasant and lazy, althoughthe quarters were poor. We were sent to Mexico City,and there for several days stood on guard at thepalace of the great Porfirio Diaz, under whosedictatorship Mexico was then enjoying her golden days.

We quit the army and worked on a railroad constructionin the interior. In a gang of Italians, Poles,Germans, and Jamaica Negroes we transported sand,soil, and materials for railroad trestles. Then weworked for a German who had a ranch on which heraised poultry and fruit.

At Vera Cruz we signed on a petroleum tanker forHavana, and there shipped on a Norwegian craftwhich made the old New York-Australia run. Thereturn voyage was via Honolulu to Vancouver,where we took a cargo of lumber aboard for Liverpool.On this voyage I acquired a fair knowledge ofNorwegian, which was destined to play an importantpart in running the British blockade with theSeeadler.

Back in Hamburg I tried my hand as a tavernkeeper and bartender. I frequented Mother Schroth'sfamiliar old place. The Frau, a typical old friend ofJack Tar ashore, suffered from asthma and had puton too much weight altogether. She wanted to go to awatering place. One of my pals, Ulhorn, and I, toldher that we would take over her place and run itwhile she was away. She was greatly pleased.

It was easy enough to run the business, as onlybottled beer was handled. The food was broughtfrom a near-by restaurant, each portion in a pail,at sixty pfennigs a portion. All Ulhorn and I had todo was to circulate among the guests and see thatthey drank plenty of beer by drinking with them.In the evening a blind man came and played theaccordion.

Business boomed. The sailors came, and felt athome. We had to get in an extra supply of beer.When we reckoned our accounts, however, we wereastonished to find that we had a deficit. We chalkedon a blackboard each bottle of beer that was drunk.That was all right so long as we stayed sober. Then,when we began to feel good, we allowed some of ourguests to assist in the bookkeeping. They chalked uptheir own accounts, but instead of increasing theirscores with every bottle of beer they drank, theyreduced them. After a short while at this, we quit withless money than when we started. I decided that thesaloon business was not the career for me.

After sundry other voyages, I shipped on theLisbon, bound for the Mediterranean. By now, alittle sense had been knocked into my head. I hadsaved 3,600 marks, which interest brought up to3,800—enough to see me through a period of specialtraining that would enable me to become a mate.This preparation called for a period of steamshipservice and a course at a navigation school. TheLisbon was a steamer, the first on which I had served.My voyage on her marked a turning point in my life.

IX

THE RUNAWAY COMES HOME

In the Café Niederegger in Lübeck I sat and drankmy glass of beer, a trifle self-conscious. I hadregistered in Professor Schultze's School for Navigation,and felt that as a navigation student it was requiredof me to affect better ways than I had followed whenI was a common sailor. I bought a decent wardrobe.I wore linen collars now, and neckties that you tie,and a scarf pin that you thrust into the necktie,instead of the eternally enduring celluloid collarwhich you share on board with a friend who wants togo ashore, and the indestructible tin necktie, made inAmerica, with the scarfpin, a tiny revolver, rivetedto it. I was conscious likewise that I must frequentbetter cafés than the saloons I had frolicked in as asailor. That was what had brought me to the CaféNiederegger, famous for its almond paste. The tableswere covered with spotless white cloths, the waiterswore frock coats, and on a table, as a final mark ofelegance, lay a handsomely bound book, theAlmanach de Gotha.

Overcome with curiosity, I took up the volume andturned to the L's. Yes, there were the Von Luckners,and there was Count Felix von Luckner with thenote attached—"missing." That was as I hadthought. At home they had given me up for lost,dead.

"Phelax," I thought, "perhaps it is you who will bemissing before long. Perhaps before many monthsare gone Count Felix von Luckner will go home—as anaval officer in the Imperial Service."

For the present, I ordered another glass of Pilsenerand drank to my demise.

At Professor Schultze's school, I was faced withthat old and almost forgotten enemy of mine—study.I was past twenty now and more ignorant than theaverage ten-year-old child. The professor wastolerant and wise enough to expect almost anything, butI astounded him. When he examined me in fractionalarithmetic I did not know what a fifth was.A half and a quarter I understood from the clock,but a fifth was a quantity unknown to me. And Iwas to acquire grammatical German, something ofa general education, and the large amount of highermathematics and astronomy necessary in the scienceof navigation. I should not have blamed the professorif he had despaired and turned me away. I told himmy history, begging him to keep my identity secret,and he vowed, by Joe, that he would make a learnednavigator of me.

I lived quietly. My face lost its tan and roughness.Month after month I had to buy smaller collars. Itried especially to keep my hands clean. By and bythey lost their tarry wrinkles and calluses. I studiedfrom morning till night. To reduce something to acommon denominator is no joke. The whole Schultzefamily helped me and shared in my worries.

Examination day came, with all the professors infull dress. My handwriting was still clumsy. Withmy hard, big hands I used the bulkiest penholder Icould find. It was as thick as a cane, an instrumentdesigned for victims of apoplectic stroke who wouldhave to grasp it with both hands.

Early one morning, a good citizen of Lübeck wentout to water his garden and saw a navigation studentlying among his tomatoes.

"What are you doing there?"

The wretch, not knowing what to answer, merelyasked in turn:

"What are you watering?"

For two days I had been celebrating the fact thatI had passed the examination.

Again I was tempted to rush straightway to myparents. Professor Schultze had investigated quietlyon his own account and found that my father andmother were alive and well and that my brother, likemyself, had turned his mind to the sea. He was anensign in the navy. Once more I denied myself, andremembered my vow not to go home save as a navalofficer.

I got a post as petty officer aboard the Hamburg-SouthAmerican liner Petropolis. I bought whitekid gloves and white shoes, and can still see myselfbuying my first pair of cuff links. As I promenadedthe deck of the Petropolis in my new uniform, I feltmyself a god, only my cuffs kept bothering me andsaluting seemed queer. I read all the learned books Icould find, but there was much I could not understand.

After three quarters of a year aboard the Petropolis,I was eligible to enter the navy as a one-year servicevolunteer, for naval training and study. That was amethod of training mercantile marine officers fornaval service in case of war, of creating a class ofreserve officers. After I had served my year as avolunteer and had mastered my studies, I would beentitled to wear a lieutenant's uniform. I wouldwalk out a naval officer in the Imperial Service.

A comrade and I took the railroad from Hamburgto Kiel to be mustered in for volunteer service. Itwas the first time I had ever been in an expensiverailroad compartment. Opposite us sat a gentlemanwith a pointed beard whom we took to be anaval officer. That made us behave in very dignifiedfashion.

"Luckner," said my comrade, "is it not a fine view?"

"It is, indeed," I replied.

The gentleman with the pointed beard looked atme several times.

The daily drill at slow step on the parade groundat Kiel gave me a great deal of pain in the placeswhere my legs had been broken before. An orderlycame looking for a volunteer private named Luckner.I was required to go to the station. My officer askedme whether I had a relative at the station. I said,"No," and wondered whether it was a police station.Which one of my sins had been discovered?

I went to a red building and waited in ananteroom. A corporal bade me enter an inner office.Admiral Count Baudissin wanted to see me. How wasI to behave in the presence of such a high dignitary?I supposed the principal thing was to stand atattention. The admiral was seated. He had gold braid onhis sleeves. He was the same gentleman with thepointed beard who had looked at me on the train. Istood there at attention, elbows and hands held tightagainst me.

"Tell me, which Luckner are you?"

"The son of Heinrich Luckner."

"What is your first name?"

"Felix."

"He is missing."

"I am that Felix, sir."

"How did you get here?"

"I have passed my examination as mate, whichentitles me to volunteer service, I hope to become areserve officer through good behaviour."

"How do you expect to pay your way?"

"I have 3,400 marks."

"You have earned that much?"

"Yes, sir."

"Why did you not write to your parents?"

"I want to go home an officer in the Emperor'sservice. I did not write because I did not want myparents to know I was a common sailor. I don'twant them to know until I return home an officer."

Then the admiral said:

"I am your uncle Fritz."

"Eh," I thought, "what a noble uncle!"

I had never heard of this relationship. I rolled myeyes right and left, not knowing whether to addressthe admiral as Uncle then and there.

"Your Excellency," I said, "I wish it could bearranged that my parents do not learn of my being hereuntil I have qualified as a reserve officer."

"Very well," he answered, "but you must notexpect any help from me."

Not being able to say "Uncle," I replied:

"No, sir."

"Do not in any sense think that you are under myprotection."

"No, sir."

"By the way, Felix, you may come to my housetwice a week. My daughter will teach you a little, mylad. You speak a dreadful German."

I had considered myself, after all my studies, atolerably educated man, but lapses in grammar havebeen my bane, more than storms at sea or shell fireduring the war.

In the admiral's family, as a side line to mygrammatical studies, I was required to write out a historyof my adventures, which I did with judiciousomissions, such as service in the Salvation Army andstealing a horse from a lighthouse-keeper. Such detailswould have spoiled my career at the outset.

I soon felt at home in the navy. There was atremendous amount of studying to be done inmechanics, engineering, and the mathematics ofgunnery. I was beginning to get used to study, as aslave gets used to the treadmill.

One day I tried to prevent a boat collision, andwas too confident of my strength, alas. I was forcedagainst an iron support, which pierced my abdomenand tore my intestines twice. That sent me to thehospital for a long spell. I was convalescing. A visitorbrought some plums to a ward mate. I was starving.I begged some of the plums from him, and ate them.The next day, when the surgeon changed my bandage,he was dumbfounded to find the plums in the bandage.My imprudent act had caused a breaking of theintestines where they had been sewn. It was necessaryto sew them again. I was threatened with arrestwhen I got well again, and a guard was placed overmy bed to see that I ate no more plums.

Instead of arrest, however, and possible troubleabout getting my commission, the naval authoritieswere kind enough to credit me with the time I passedin the hospital. In due time, I was mustered in as areserve naval lieutenant. I called on my Uncle Fritzonce more, and started out for home. I wore myuniform, a co*cked hat, epaulettes, and a sword sash.

In Halle, the quiet home on the "Old Promenade"had changed not at all in those eight years. I climbedthe steps to the door, quite a figure in my brilliantuniform. To the maid, whom I did not know, Ihanded my visiting card, which she took inside. Iheard the well remembered voice of the old gentlemanquestioning:

"Naval Lieutenant Felix Luckner? There is nosuch man of our name. But show him in."

I entered and said:

"Good-morning, Father. I hope I have kept myword to wear the Emperor's uniform with honour."

He could not find anything to say to me. He calledfor Mother in a choking voice.

She came down the stairs, looked at me for amoment, and sat down on a step in weak surprise.Then she began to cry, and came running to me. Theold gentleman by now was wiping his eyes too.

Where had I been? What had I done? There wereso many questions that I could not answer half. Wesat there, and I told as much as I could. Soon theold gentleman had gathered his wits. He began toboast.

"You see, my dear wife. Did I not always tell you'He is a Luckner—he will amount to something—donot worry about him'? Behold I was right. He is aLuckner."

Telegrams were sent to sisters, brothers, cousins,uncles, and aunts. There was a great family reunion,and I was petted like a child.

X

FROM PIG-STY CLEANER TO KAISER'S PROTÉGÉ

More studying and then more studying. It seemedas though I never would get through. I served as amate with the Hamburg-American Line for twoyears, and prepared myself for the captain'sexamination. More mathematics, more astronomy, moremechanics. I plugged and plugged. Study is no good,but you've got to do it. Finally, I was ready for thetest. I went to a school for a little more preparation,and succeeded in passing the examination withflying colours. I was proud, but I was also glad thatthere would be no more studying for me now. I waseligible to become a captain. What further rank wasthere to make me study again? I served theHamburg-American Line until 1911.

Then more school and studies!

I often spent an afternoon with several comradessailing on the lower Elbe near Neumuehlen. One daywe saw a small catboat and in it a man who obviouslydid not know how to sail. He was, in fact, a merchantof Cologne possessed of more courage than sense.Pretty soon a jibbing boom knocked him overboard.He couldn't swim, either. He sank out of sight. Iswam and dove for him. I got hold of him andpushed him up above me, so that he would reach thesurface before I did. When I came up he seizedme, wound his arms and legs around me, and draggedme down. I struggled free, and everything turnedblack. I came to the surface, caught my breath, anddove again for him. I reached him, but an eddyingcurrent dragged us both down and down. Luckily,he was unconscious now, and I was able to grasphim and fight my way with him to the surface. Iswam with my burden to shore. I was in reachingdistance of the pier when I collapsed. Men waiting therepulled the drowning man out. An old gentlemanclaims he fished me out with his umbrella.

A week later, I was called before the authoritieswho awarded life-saving medals. They asked me toproduce witness of my life-saving feat. That formalitywas necessary before they could give me a medal.I didn't want to bother producing any witnesses,The matter was dropped there.

I had the good fortune to be able to rescue threeother people from drowning, and then a fifth. Thatoccurred on Christmas Eve, 1911. I attended acelebration in Hamburg, and returned late to get aboardmy ship, the Meteor. I waited on the slip for theferry. Next to me stood a customs official. It wasbitterly cold. In the flickering light I saw a man in thewater some distance out. He was struggling faintly.I started to throw off my great-coat. The customsofficial held me.

"Are you crazy? Into that icy water? Is it notenough for one man to drown?"

"But surely I cannot let that man go down."

I slipped out of my overcoat, which he held, andjumped. By Joe, when I was in there I had thesensation of somebody holding a red-hot wire around myneck. After a hard swim, I reached my man. It waslucky for him that it was so cold and that he was sodrunk. He was perfectly rigid now. If you lie still,you don't drown easily. It was no trouble to swim inwith him, except that it was so cold. The customsman pulled us on to the pier. I could never have gotup alone.

"What a crazy fool," the customs man said. "IfI had not been here you would have jumped in justthe same, and you would have drowned."

They took us to a saloon, where they put usbetween blankets and gave us grog. I soon got mystrength back, likewise my man, an English sailornamed Pearson. He soon had his second load ofliquor.

After that exploit, the Hamburg newspapersmade much of me, particularly since I still refused tobother about producing the witnesses necessarybefore I could get a life-saving medal. The editorsdenounced this instance of red tape. The controversycame to the notice of Prince Henry of Prussia. Alittle while later, when I took part in the yearlymanœuvres for reserve officers, I received an order toappear before him, and he asked me whether I shouldlike to enter active service. That, I replied, was mygreatest desire, but I was afraid I was too old. Hekindly bade me not to worry about that, and onFebruary 3, 1912, I received the official dispatch:

"Count Luckner is ordered to the navy for activeservice."

By Joe, now I would have to study. I would have tolearn in a few months what cadets ordinarily learnedin three and a half years. The Emperor had heard ofme from Prince Henry and had interested himself inmy case. My tuition was paid for out of his privatepurse. If I did not make good marks in my classes,what kind of a Luckner ... well, by Joe. This wasthe climax of my whole unhappy career of study.

After an infantry course came a torpedo course. Atorpedo has a thousand complexities for the studentto master. There were four kinds of torpedoes. Onehad a hundred and fifty screws. You had to memorizethe names of all the parts and familiarize yourselfwith the apparatus so well that you could put ittogether without help.

"Luckner," I thought, "you will never learn allthat. You are as stupid as when you were in the thirdgrade."

I was afraid and felt pretty bad. I did not do so wellwith my studies.

One of my teachers was Lieutenant CommanderPochhammer, whose father was a professor of Italianliterature. His especial subject was Dante. He gavelectures to the naval students on the Divine Comedy.Strange, I hated study, but I liked these lectures onDante and I liked to study Dante. I did notunderstand much of it, but I found great pleasure in it.It was because of Beatrice, the Divine Maiden. Ithought she must be the same as my fairy princess.Whenever Professor Pochhammer spoke of her in hislectures, or whenever I read about her in the pages ofDante, I was reminded of that fairy princess I knewmust live on the green island the Niobe had sailed by,the fairy princess I had dreamed of aboard theCæsarea, when old Smutje had whistled "My HeartIs Like a Beehive" and I had taken up the refrain.The fairy princess, of whom I had had visions manyanother time, had been a blessing to me before, andsurely, in a singular way, she was a blessing to menow.

My interest in Dante and Beatrice, as propoundedby Professor Pochhammer, made an excellent impression,not only on the professor himself, but also on hisson Lieutenant Commander Pochhammer and myother teachers. For Dante's and Beatrice's sake theywinked at some of my most glaring deficiencies. Theybuilt up my confidence. I passed the necessaryexamination. The Emperor ordered that my commissionbe antedated, so that I might have seniorityrights of a longer service than I had actually rendered.

I was assigned to duty aboard the Preussen, andthere, during my leisure time, built models of sailingships.

One night, in a Hamburg café, I sat talking with afriend, a shipowner.

"When I crossed the harbour to-day," I said,"and saw the sailing ships. I remembered how I usedto sit on a spar while the sun was setting and listento a fellow playing a squealer. You know what asquealer is? An accordion. I wish I could be a sailorback on a ship again."

"Don't be foolish," my friend replied. "I havenever yet heard of a certified engineer wanting to goback to the anvil."

"But," I insisted, "I want to be a sailor again ifonly for a few days, and you must help me."

I made him give me a muster certificate for one ofhis ships, the Hannah, which was lying in port andtaking on a crew. I went to a seaman's supply storeand bought a pair of overalls, a shirt, a blue and whiteblouse such as sailors wear, a cap, a blanket, and amattress. The blanket and mattress I had sent to theHannah. The clothing I took with me. I took a cab,and bade the driver go to the docks. Inside, I tookoff my naval uniform and packed it in the bag I hadwith me, and donned my sailor's togs. At my destination,I got out. The driver, a decent old fellow, openedhis eyes wide.

"Are you the naval officer who got in?"

"Yes."

"Say, what are you going to do? You have changedyour clothes so they won't recognize you when theyfind you. You are going to drown yourself."

Rather baffled, I tried to assure him that I had nointention of drowning myself.

"No, don't tell me that. I know what you are goingto do. Please tell me your troubles. You should notthrow away your young life like that."

I had to give him a long and convincing story aboutsome confidential mission for the government that Iwas engaged in, the truth of which statement I had toswear to solemnly. Then he agreed to leave me andtake my satchel back to the hotel. As he startedhis horse, he turned around once more imploringly.

"You are surely not going to do it?"

I rubbed my hands in the dirt, rehearsed my old-timerolling sailor's gait, and tried to forget my finemanners. I practised an especial bit to see if I couldstill light my pipe and spit like a jack-tar. Hands inpockets, I sauntered on to the ship.

"Ahoy there," I called to the mate, and handedhim my muster certificate.

After a few questions, he bade me the usual welcome.

"All right, Phelax Luedige, come on and get towork."

"No. In the morning I start."

You can tell an old-time competent seaman by hisargumentative independence. The mate gave me abad look, but was convinced that I would not go towork until morning.

I strolled back to the galley. The cook, a broadfellow with a red beard, was standing there. I watcheda little fellow washing dishes, and thought:

"He is just as clumsy as you were once, Phelax."

In the fo'c'sle two fellows were sitting on a box,smoking their pipes. They were shirking work, just asI had shirked it. I wondered whether they would findanything strange in me, and walked up to them.One of them named Hein said:

"What's your name?"

"Phelax."

"I guess you have been ashore a long time."

"Why?"

"Your hair is cut so neat. Are you married?"

"No."

"Well, I am. My old woman was married threetimes before, but never got the right mate. Now shesays she has got the right one. How happy she is.She is a laundress, and when we are in port here shebrings me my warm supper every night."

Now comes the mate.

"Get out of here and get to work. Phelax canunpack his things and get to work."

"No, I told you not until to-morrow morning."

The captain came on board and asked the matewhat kind of help he had got.

"One who is mighty independent."

"Send him to me."

The cabin boy comes.

"Phelax, go over to the captain."

To the captain I say:

"Good-day, sir!"

"Good-day. How long have you been at sea?"

"Fifteen years."

"Do you know how to mend sails?"

"I know how very well."

"We have no time to mend sails at anchor. Butyou will have to do a lot of sewing at sea."

"I have done it often."

The captain sizes me up as a fellow who knows hisbusiness and good at the sail-mending which he isanxious to have done. He agrees that I do not haveto go to work until to-morrow morning.

Once again I eat bean soup, leaning over the tablewith a large enamel pot, my "mug." After dinner Ilie in my bunk, and ask:

"Is there no squealer?"

"Hein has one."

"Play, Hein, and I'll treat to a case of beer."

A motor boat selling beer is alongside. I buy a case,and we drink. The squealer begins to wheeze, whilethe evening sun shines on the water.

At half-past six Hein's laundress arrived. Shewas passably good-looking except that she was allpitted with smallpox and her hair stuck out like aflying jib. She certainly loved her Hein. She broughthim a pot of supper, some of which he divided amongthe rest of us.

I noticed that Hein had some paint and a brushsuch as artists use. Was he an artist? On the girl'sarm he painted a big heart with an arrow. In themiddle of the heart he signed his initials. He had tostop at times, because she could not bear the burn ofthe turpentine in the paint.

"She is a fine girl," said Hein. "She stands foreverything. She is as true as gold."

She did not exactly look it.

Night came on, the stars appeared, and Hein'ssquealer gave forth music. That was the life, a sailor'slife.

On the following day I worked. I could not getalong with the mate. He thought me too independent,and tattled on me to the captain, who restrainedhimself and had patience with me, since he did notwant to lose so experienced a sailor. At night Hein'slaundress came again, and the squealer sounded longand merrily.

On the third day my friend the shipowner came tothe boat to get me. I managed to say to him withoutbeing observed.

"Don't give me away. Have the captain meet usfor dinner at the hotel to-night."

The shipowner invited the captain, who acceptedwith alacrity.

That night at the Atlantic Hotel I dressed myselfin full uniform, and joined the shipowner and thecaptain in the dining room. In such a glitteringplace, the captain was bashful.

"Captain Erdmann of the Hannah—LieutenantCommander Count von Luckner."

Erdmann eyed me curiously and then looked downfor a long time, turning his wineglass around in hishand. Evidently he thought he saw a certainresemblance. In a little while, I stepped out.

"Is he a count?" the captain asked the shipowner.

"Yes."

"And just think, I almost made the break of tellinghim he looked like a sailor aboard our ship.They might be twins, though. You never saw such aresemblance."

"It would be dreadful indeed to say anything likethat," responded the other.

When I returned, we drank a little more and thenI said to the captain:

"Don't you recognize me?"

He squirmed.

"Well—yes—but——"

"You mean you don't recognize me?"

"But, Count, have I really met you before?"

"Of course, don't you remember me?"

He wrestled with a temptation to speak out, butfought it down.

"Yes, Count, you do look familiar to me. Butwhere have we met?"

He sat there, as the saying goes, with both feet inthe trough.

"Don't you know me from the ship?"

"Man, man, are you Phelax?"

"Captain, Captain," warned the shipowner.

"Oh, excuse me, excuse me," stammered the captain.

"Well, I am Phelax," I laughed. "I went aboardyour ship to see how it felt to be a sailor again."

"Well, well," stuttered the captain, "and now it ismy turn to treat."

I told him my story, how I had been born a count,had become a sailor and then an officer of sailingships, and now was an officer of the Imperial Service.He had tears in his eye.

"And my mate—think of it—my mate said youwere too independent."

The old fellow became so enthusiastic that heinsisted that we take a trip through Sankt Pauli withhim. We went, and had a high old time. The captaingot quite drunk, and he revealed a secret regret thatlingered in his mind. What a sail-mender he hadmissed!

"Who will believe it on board," he muttered,"when I tell them that that my fine sail-menderturned out to be a count?"

XI

IN THE CAMEROONS, AND THE FAIRY OF FUERTEVENTURA

I have told of how the Emperor transferred me tothe Panther, which was then assigned to our WestAfrican station, the Cameroons. If my being aboardthe Panther inspired, in itself, vivid recollections ofmy past life, my service as an officer of the shippresently brought me to another and far moredelightful memory of my sailing-ship days. This was anincident that not merely returned to me in imagination,but one that brought to me that rarest gift offortune, a dream come true.

The events that preceded the climax of which Ispeak were such as to provide the ever-strikingqualities of contrast. The African jungle, the pursuitof savage beasts, black warriors, an extraordinaryblack king, fantastic war dances and all theunearthly sights and sounds that are Africa, andthen...

The commander of the Panther was reluctant tohave his officers go big-game hunting in the interiorand, as he said, risk their lives uselessly. We wereforbidden to take rifles on shore with us. But a comradeand I smuggled our rifles out, and took a big canoeupstream. With a dozen Negroes at the paddles, weraced against the sluggish current of the MungoRiver, between giant, overhanging walls of trees.After eighteen hours, we reached Mundame. Our onlyworth-while trophy so far was a crocodile—andcrocodiles are hard to shoot, too, as they dive withsurprising speed. We had also shot a few vultures, seaeagles, and monkeys. We could not quite bringourselves to eat the flesh of the monkeys, which thenatives consider a great delicacy. When wounded, amonkey cries and screams just like a child, but whenskinned it loses its half-human appearance and lookslike a big squirrel, or a woodchuck.

At Mundame the black people greeted us witheager cries:

"Massa, massa, plenty elephant."

We proceeded on an elephant hunt in which myfriend Bryer and I must have cut rather poor figuresas sportsmen! Our chase of the great beasts did notturn out to be quite what we had expected.

The elephants had broken into a Negro's plantation,and were not far away. With each a Negro as aguide, we went into the thicket of banana plants.

"Massa," my guide whispered eagerly, "massa,look, elephant."

I looked but could see no elephant. My guide keptrepeating in tones of excitement that graduallyturned into despair.

"Elephant, massa, look, elephant!"

I could have looked for a year and would not haveseen the fraction of gray wall revealed between theleaves. Finally, the elephant began to move, and Isaw at least the great disturbance among the foliage.I walked toward it, hoping to find some definitepoint of the beast's anatomy to shoot at. Theelephant moved away at about the same speed, and Icould get no closer to it. I came upon one of thosehuge ant hills you find in Africa, and clambered uponit. I now had a much better view.

"Ostriches!" I exclaimed.

There were many elephants plucking up at thebananas. Their trunks reaching high and curving andwavering gave me the impression of giant ostriches.One of the great beasts came out of the thicket rightin front of the ant hill on which I was standing.Several others followed him. I remembered hastilythat I must aim at the head a little lower than theeyes. I point the gun, pull the trigger, and thencrash! The giant turned around in a circle giving atremendous bellow. With a roar and a great sound ofrushing, the beast plunged forward, right past thehill on which I was standing. The rest of the herdfollowed and passed very near me. I nearly fell offthe ant hill, and made the deplorable blunder oflosing sight of the elephant I had shot at. Fortunately,the natives, who were to get their share of the meat,did not allow themselves to become so readilyconfused. They followed the wounded animal, and foundit with its tusks rammed deeply in the soil. It tookseveral more shots in the head to kill the brute.

Nobody travelling in the Cameroons in those daysever passed up a chance to visit Banum Joja, themost intelligent chieftain in all Southwest Africa.He was an advocate of what modern improvementshe could introduce into his kingdom, and hadinvented an especial alphabet with which to reduce thenative language to writing. He was a great admirerof the Germans, and willed his beautifully carvedantique throne to a German museum.

We went the long distance by train from the coastto the interior territories of Banum Joja. The palaverdrums having advised him of our arrival, the chiefmet us with his staff. A long procession of cattle,goats, and other animals were paraded past us as asign of his wealth. The old boy himself majesticallyarrived in his royal conveyance, a hammock carriedby two slaves, slung on a long pole. We wereconsiderably surprised at the figure he made. He wore aglittering cuirassier's helmet, a tremendous battlesword, and a tight-fitting red hussar's tunic on thebreast of which was pinned the German Order of theCrown. His black, shiny legs, however, were bare.His pride as a sovereign increased visibly as heobserved our surprise at his appearance.

In his palace, a large thatched hall surrounded bya high wall of loam, Joja showed us vaingloriouslythe many smoke-blackened heads of his ancestors'enemies and a large elephant's tusk decorated withthe lower jaws of slain foes. Pottery is highlydeveloped in those parts, for everywhere we saw vesselsof clay. The only ornament in the palace, besides thegrisly trophies of war and massacre, was the top ofa European butter dish. It represented a setting hen.We drank palm wine, which was excellent.

In the courtyard of the palace, Joja ascended astairway in a great hollow tree. Placed in the brancheswas the war drum which only the King may beat.Majestically he clambered out to it, and under themonarch's hand a muffled beat resounded. The fourportals in the wall of the corral opened and files ofblack warriors rushed in, three thousand of them, amagnificent picture. They danced the war dance, amethodical evolution in which they rushed againsteach other with a tremendous clashing of shields.Then followed a spear-throwing contest withextraordinary displays of skill. The women entered, andthere was another ballet, the women dancing aroundthe men and then the men dancing around thewomen. Amid general rejoicings, the King treatedhis subjects to palm wine.

Joja arranged a buffalo hunt for us. A place ischosen where the grass is brown and dry and fallen,else it would be so high that a horse and rider mightdisappear in it. On this open hunting field a dozenwarriors take their place with big shields of buffalohide. By means of fire and beaters, the buffalo herd isdriven toward them. When they come to the openplace, the male stares from the thicket with his dullbrown eyes. He seems to study the black warriorswaiting there. Now he sends his cows to safety throughthe thicket surrounding the open place. Then heattacks. The warriors' spears pierce him in the front.He comes thundering upon them, but with a fabulousspeed they have thrown themselves on the ground,covering themselves completely with their staunchshields. The enraged beast passes over them withoutharming them. He is powerless now. The spearsprotruding from his front prop themselves against theground, making running difficult. He cannot attackwithout driving the barbs farther into his flesh. Heturns around. In a flash the Negroes are up, and thebeast receives spears from the back. He can neitheradvance nor retreat now. He raves, wants to attack,the sweat streams down him. He throws himself onthe ground. Some of the spears break off. But nowthe Negroes are on top of him, thrusting their spearsinto him. He receives the final blow and is still.

Religion was a much discussed question in Joja'skingdom. The German Evangelical missionary comeswith Protestant theology. He asks Joja's people topicture an invisible God. This they are unable to do.The Catholic missionaries come, visiting theterritories previously covered by their Evangelicalcolleagues. They talk little theology, but have agorgeous display. A miraculous image is mounted anddecorated with mirrors. The Virgin Mary with theChild Jesus sits in the centre. To the right are theThree Wise Men from the East. These wise men areparticularly interesting to Joja's subjects, becauseone of them is a black king. The priest, in gorgeousvestments, kneels before the beautiful display. Thenatives think:

"This is a real God. He is much richer than theEvangelical missionaries' God."

Joja was a skeptic toward the Christian religion.He asked me whether our God was black or white, butthought He could hardly be white, since He hadmade man in his own image and had made the blackpeople too. He asked me when Jesus had come toEarth. I told him. Then he asked when America wasdiscovered. I told him that. He asked me why Jesusdid not go there too and preach his gospel.

While I was in the Cameroons, a German squadroncircling the globe put in at Duala and anchored nearshore. It consisted of the Kaiser, the King Albert,and the Strassburg. The black chieftains from theinterior were entertained on the magnificent ships.They particularly admired the cannon in the turretsas they slowly swung around and fired. They askedwhether the guns would shoot over the Cameroonmountains. When this fact was affirmed, their respectwas great. The champagne with which they wereserved increased their respect.

The English instigated the Haussa, a mercantiletribe that roams the entire country plying trade, tospread the story that the ships were English shipswhich the English had merely loaned to the Germans.

Having to take the Panther back to Germany foroverhauling, we steamed north. Our first stop was tobe for provisions at Fuerteventura, one of the islandsof the Canaries, a vacationing and health resort. Iwas on watch. Straight ahead, a speck of landappeared on the horizon, Fuerteventura, the island forwhich we were bound.

It was a green island. Presently, through my glass,I could distinguish waving palms and white houses,white houses with green shutters and red roofs. Avague feeling made my heart jump.

"Luckner," I thought, "it is the same island, theisland you saw when you were a cabin boy aboard theNiobe, the island of the fairy princess."

It was. There could be no doubt of it. So clear wasmemory impressed by a great feeling that I couldrecognize individual houses I had gazed uponseventeen years before while I had leaned on the raildreaming a happy dream.

"Luckner," I said, "you are Phelax once again.They call you 'pig,' and you clean the pigs and thepharmacy. There is the island. Open your eyes wide.Is it not lovely and beautiful?"

It was as beautiful as when I had seen it from aboardthe Niobe. The houses still looked pretty and clean.There were terraces with gardens and white pathslined with palms.

"Phelax," I thought, "it is fit to be the home of thefairy princess. It is the home of the fairy princess.She must be there, with her delicate blue eyes andgolden hair, she whom you have thought about allthese years."

We put into port. I attended to my duties. Theother officers asked me why I was so preoccupied. Ianswered their questions silently to myself.

"Phelax, now you must go and inspect your island.Perhaps you may find your fairy princess."

I went ashore by myself, and sauntered over theisland all day. It was small, with gentle hills and anabundance of vegetation. Flowers were everywhere.It was truly an island of flowers. I went on throughperfumed valleys and over breezy hills, lost in reverie,lost in my former life. A kind of hypnotism was uponme.

"Phelax," I thought, "of course you do not see thefairy princess. She is hidden beyond the flowersthere. She will stay hidden. Is she to come to Phelax,a common sailor? Or even if you were a naval officer,would she come? She is too lovely for any mortalbeing."

So deep was I in fantasy that these thoughtsinspired me to a sad regret and resignation. Whenevening came, I returned to the ship happy and yetdownhearted.

That night we entertained on board members ofthe Royal Spanish Club and their guests. Some camefor dinner, some afterward. It was a jolly meal. Thenwe gave an after-dinner entertainment, and I wascalled upon to entertain and amuse our guests.During my days as a sailor I was often in demand toamuse the company. The tricks I had learnedamong the Indian fakirs in Australia I had retainedand cultivated. To this day I am somewhat skilfulat various kinds of sleight of hand. I put on Orientalrobes and turban. My face, freshly tanned by the sunof the Cameroons, needed no darkening. I had learnedfrom the fakirs the solemn mystical demeanour andslow impressive movements that they cultivated. Imust say that as I appeared before the guests in thesalon of the Panther I cut quite an Oriental,wonderworking figure.

I had performed several tricks and had come to theone in which I snapped a ring on to a cane held atboth ends by an assistant, when two newcomersarrived and entered through a door not far from me.

"Luckner," I thought, "are you going crazy?Phelax, there is she, your fairy princess."

She was on the arm of a stately old gentleman. Shehad the rosy lips, the short, pretty nose, the childlikeeyes, and the rich blonde hair that had haunted myimagination. She came close to me and watched mewith an expression of interest and something of awe.As I learned later, she thought I was truly an Indianfakir.

"Phelax," I said to myself, "she has come to you,your fairy princess. She knows you are on her island,and she has come."

I tried to go on with my trick, but my hands shookand were clumsy. I could not control them. Nor couldI keep my eyes away from the blonde girl who stoodthere.

"I'm sorry," I said to my assistant, one of ourofficers. "The other ones went all right, but I can'tseem to do this one. We've had enough anyway."

"Ladies and gentlemen," he announced jocularly,"the great fakir has reconsidered and thinks it wouldbe wrong to disclose this last marvellous trick. Hefeels that it is his duty to retain it and exhibit itfor the first time before his sovereign, the King ofEngland."

Everybody laughed. I went out and changed intomy naval uniform as quickly as I could. When Ireturned, I asked one of the other officers to present meto the blonde young lady. I have never felt so bashfulas when I made my bow before her.

She was much amused at having taken me for agenuine Indian fakir, and talked merrily. Herlaughter was very sweet. She told me her name was Irma.Her father owned great plantations on the island ofSumatra. She was with him at Fuerteventura on asojourn for his health.

The remainder of my stay on the island was perfecthappiness. Irma's father entertained us officers athis bungalow. Irma and I were together all of thetime. We took long walks among the white houses andthrough the green glades the sight of which had sogladdened poor Phelax long years before. When thePanther steamed north again, I was happy with theassurance that Irma had given me that she and herfather were sailing for home in a short time and thatI would see her there.

I did see her there, and we became engaged to bemarried. The Panther was to sail for the Cameroonsagain on July 17th. We were ready to start when wereceived an unexpected telegram from the Admiralty—"Donot start." On August 1st, Germany declaredwar on Russia, and the world was ablaze. I told Irmathat our marriage must be put off. It would bewrong to have her become the wife of a man whomight so soon leave her a widow. She wanted animmediate marriage, but I was determined.

XII

FAKE NORWEGIANS FOR A PIRATE CRUISE

It was in a gay café in Hamburg. In 1916, wartimes were growing hard in Germany, but still thecafés were astir with life and gaiety. A naval officeron shore leave could soon find surroundings thatwould enable him to forget the harsh life ondreadnaught and cruiser. My friend Dalstroem and I, overglasses of Swedish punch, chatted for an hour andthen another hour. But our confab had nothing todo either with battle cruisers going down or withdestroyers lifted out of the sea by explodingtorpedoes, or the other sights I had beheld offSkagerrak. We talked of sailing ships, by Joe, and of theyears I had served before the mast.

An orderly wedged his way through the crowd andhanded me a message. It was from the Admiralty,ordering me to report at Imperial headquarters onthe morrow. Such a summons to a mere lieutenantcommander was decidedly unusual, and of course Iwas itching with curiosity. I never was any good atwaiting.

The following morning found me in Berlin, enteringthe naval holy of holies, standing expectantly atattention before an old German sea lord with a face asstern as the cliffs at Heligoland. The orders I hadcome to hear were barked at me quick and short.

"You are to take command of a vessel," said theadmiral. "We want you to run the blockade and raidenemy commerce. Since we have no coaling stations,a sailing ship will be the best. Do you think you cando it?"

"Allow me," I felt like saying, "allow me to throwmy arms around your neck, my dear fellow."

"Yes, sir! I'd like nothing better."

Good health and high spirits had given me boundlessconfidence. I was the sort of fellow who believeshe can do almost anything—at any rate, anythingwith a sailing ship. The admiral replied that themission was mine. And it turned out that I had beenpicked for this venture because I happened to bethe only officer in the German Navy who had served"in sail."

But what if we should slip through? What then?What could one lone windjammer do against thenaval might of John Bull and his allies? What chancehad a romantic clipper ship in this era of giant oceanliners, of hush-hush armoured cruisers, of speedydestroyers, and against the combined strength ofJellicoe and Beatty's super-dreadnaughts? For thatmatter, what chance had a poetic sailing ship againstan ordinary tramp steamer?

Well, it may sound mad, but the sea lanes ofcommerce can even be disrupted by a lone sailing ship inwartime. But whether the idea was mad or not, I wasitching for action and ready for anything.

"What," the admiral asked, "should you considerof the greatest importance for the venture?"

"Luck," I replied.

"All right; then take the Pass of Balmaha. Shehas already carried British prisoners for us. She hasbeen lucky for us once, she may be lucky for usagain."

The Admiralty officials had picked the Pass ofBalmaha because she was a staunch ship, an Americanclipper, built in Glasgow.[1] They had also picked herbecause she had suddenly arrived in a German portwith an unexpected present of some British prisonersfor us. We sailors believe in good and bad omens, andwe are right. Some ships are lucky and some unlucky.If something has happened to indicate a certain shipis lucky for you, take that ship. You want Lady Luckon your side when you put to sea.

[1] See Note A, Appendix.

Now, about the past record of this Yankee clipperthat was to be converted into a German raider. ThePass of Balmaha had sailed from New York with acargo of cotton for Archangel. Her commander wasa Captain Scott, a well-known American shipmaster,a big-hearted, bushy-bearded, New England skipperwith a very red face. Off the Norwegian coast, aBritish cruiser hailed her. Uncle Sam was then aneutral, and the blockade was getting tighter everymonth. The British were becoming suspicious ofeverybody, including neutrals and themselves. Theovercautious commander of this cruiser, although hehad no grounds for suspicion, ordered the Pass ofBalmaha to turn back to the search port of Kirkwallin the Orkneys.

"Bah!" said Captain Scott, "here I am with acargo for your allies, the Rooshians, and you patrolfellows order me back to Kirkwall. What do yuhmean by such nonsense? The wind is agin me, it'lltake me three weeks to reach Scapa Flow and theOrkneys, and I'll be several months late in deliveringmy cargo to the Rooshians. Are you chaps trying towin a war or lose one?"

"Never mind," replied John Bull; "you do as youare told."

Leaving an officer and prize crew of six marines onboard, with her funnels belching columns of blacksmoke, the British patrol cruiser continued on herNorth Sea beat. As soon as the Pass of Balmaha hadturned her nose toward Kirkwall and Scapa Flow,the British prize officer ordered the American flagpulled down and the British flag run up.

"Go to blazes," bristled the irate Captain Scott,and he refused to obey.

"Right ho," said the Britisher, and he told hismen to haul down the Stars and Stripes and hoist theUnion Jack.

"I wish the Germans would come," raged theYankee skipper. And the very next morning his wishwas granted! A U-boat popped up to the surfaceabout a half mile away. Captain Scott waggled hisbeard in the Englishman's face.

"Serves you right! With the Stars and Stripes upthere, they wouldn't bother us. Now they'll take usall to Germany. So far as you chaps are concerned,the war is over right now. You will get co*cky, willyou?"

The Britisher was alarmed. He saw visions ofhimself locked in a Prussian prison for "the duration." Sohe climbed down from his high horse in a hurryand meekly placed himself in Captain Scott's hands,begging the Yankee still to try and save the day.

"I ought to let you go as prisoners, by Joe, but Idon't want to lose my ship," said Scott. "So gobelow with your men and hide in the hold while I putmy flag back where it belongs. Maybe they haven'tseen yours. Soon the submarine was alongside andone of her officers climbed aboard. The Germans hadseen the Union Jack, all right, but they hadn't seen ithauled down. Now they found themselves on a shipflying the American flag, and they were puzzled.

"What's this?" the submarine officer demanded ofScott. "First we see a British flag, and now it's anAmerican."

"You must be mistaken," replied the skipper,"this here ain't no Britisher."

The officer was bewildered and suspicious, soordered the Pass of Balmaha to head for Hamburg.Leaving only a German ensign aboard, he announcedthat his submarine would follow close behind. Ofcourse, this was only a threat, for the U-boat soonvanished beneath the waves.

Now the ensign grew worried. Something told himthat everything was not right on the Pass of Balmaha.Had he known there were seven Britishers on board,he would have been still more worried!

"Captain," said he, "I am going to stay at yourside all day and sleep with you at night. I've a handgrenade here in my pocket. At night I am going tofix it so that if anybody opens the door of our cabinit will explode."

Naturally Captain Scott lost no time in whisperingto his mate: "Fasten down the hatches and don't letthose Britishers come up. If they do, our goose iscooked. Don't say anything to them, or there will betrouble. This German smells a rat."

So the prize crew in the hold was kept there. Twodays later, outside the entrance to the harbour atCuxhaven, another party of Germans came aboard,so Captain Scott said to the U-boat ensign:

"You wanted to know what was wrong here? Allright, now I'll show you." Then he opened thehatches and yelled for the Britishers to come up. Thetall officer of the Royal Navy, one eye blinking andthe other be-monocled, put his head up first.

"I say, where are we now?"

"You're in Germany. If you had left my flag alone,everything would have been all right. But you areprisoners now."

So you see how the Pass of Balmaha turned out tobe unlucky for Englishmen and lucky for Germans.That was just the ship we wanted, by Joe.

The American flag that the Englishman pulleddown was still there when I took her over. So I keptit as a souvenir. We lost the ship in the South Seas,but not the flag. It served as mascot on two otherships that I lost. But on my present world cruise Ihope to visit San Francisco and return it to theoriginal owner and tell him what a fine raider hisclipper made.

Our hope was to run the blockade disguised as aneutral—a thing entirely fair according to the laws ofwar. Although on land a soldier must wear serviceuniform, at sea you can fly a neutral flag and wearordinary seaman's clothes. But you must hoist yourtrue colours before going into action with the enemy.

We altered that British-built Yankee clipper fromstem to stern, with concealed places for our guns,rifles, grenades, bombs, and other armament, withspecial quarters for prisoners, two ultra-modern500-horse-power motors to fall back on in case of calm orwhen in a big hurry, a tank holding 480 tons of fueloil, another tank containing 480 tons of sweet water,and provisions for a cruise of two years.

In addition to 400 bunks for prospective "guests,"I had special de luxe quarters made for "visiting"captains and mates. These were spacious cabins toaccommodate two or three. We also designed aseparate dining saloon for them, with an assortment ofbooks and magazines in French and English, and agramophone with late English and French records.War or no war, I still considered all sailors my pals,and had my own ideas as to how our prisoners shouldbe treated. A sailor is a sailor, no matter what hisnationality, and if I took any prisoners I wantedthem to feel as though they were my guests.

Then, of course, we had to arrange quarters for mycrew of fighting marines as well as for the regularseamen required on a clipper of this size. Moreover,we had to do all this so it would not be noticeable touninvited visitors.

When the work was done, below deck, the Pass ofBalmaha was an auxiliary cruiser, armed to theteeth. Above deck she was merely a poetic old sailingship loaded with a prosaic cargo of lumber.

Timber made the ideal cargo for our purposes, becausea ship carrying lumber loads her deck as well asher hold. The piles of lumber even cover your hatches,so no one can go below until you unload. Hence nosearch crew would be likely to inspect us carefully atsea. They would either order us to Kirkwall, or let usgo.

Norway exports lumber and Australia imports it.So we decided to pose as a Norwegian clipper boundfor Melbourne. Having served on various Norwegianships, I spoke Norse, and I knew I would have nodifficulty finding men for my crew who could speakit also. But first I had secret doors and hatches cut inthe floor of the closets in the officers' cabins, andanother under the stove in the galley. From keel to topdeck we converted this American three-master into amystery ship of trick panels and trick doors.

But what would happen if we were ordered intoKirkwall to have our deckload of lumber shifted and ourhold searched, you ask? Ah! we were ready for that.

Of course, if an enemy patrol vessel picked us up,a special prize crew of half a dozen men would be putaboard us to make sure we headed for the right port.I would have sixty-four men of my own to handle thesmall prize crew.

Dinner time would come. I would say to theBritishers: "Gentlemen, may you dine well."

"Cookie," I would call, "serve up the best we'vegot."

On their way to my private captain's quarters,they would leave their coats and weapons in thevestibule, within sight and just out of reach.

Right in the middle of the meal, I would signal tomy fighting men hidden on the lower deck. Seizingtheir rifles they would jump to their appointedplaces. At another signal, the crew above deck wouldclamber up the iron masts, open small secret doors,reach down into the hollow chambers where theirarms and uniforms were hidden, and a moment laterGerman jack-tars would appear where humbleNorwegian sailors had been a moment before. Wewould not attempt to recapture our own ship dressedin civilian togs.

Although the floor of my saloon where the prizecrew would be dining looked like any other floor,it was in reality an elevator! All I had to do was pressa secret button hidden behind the barometer in thechart room. Presto! down would drop floor, prizecrew and all.

Before a man jack could jump for a weapon theywould find themselves dining on the next deck below.With the difference that they now would be gazingdown the barrels of twenty German rifles.

Then I would step forward, throw open my greatcoat,and present myself as the skipper of a windjammer suddenly metamorphosed into thecommander of an auxiliary cruiser.

I had carefully arranged all this because I knew fullwell that British naval men will put up a stiff fighteven with all odds against them. Most naval men will.Of course, it would be easy to overpower a prizecrew of only six or seven men, but I wanted to avoidspilling any blood. It is better sport to capture menthan to take their lives. The Allies were calling usHuns, and I for one wanted to show the world howwrong they were.

And now, by Joe, suppose a British cruiser seizedus and then we seized the British prize crew. Thensupposing another cruiser should pick us up! Wemight have to do a bit of fighting, maybe take to theboats with our prisoners, and then sink our own ship.So we prepared for this by placing bombs where theycould be touched off at a moment's notice. We hadno intention of letting our raider fall into enemyhands.

I felt that it was so important to keep all of ourplans secret that I even fooled the workmen whowere altering the ship. Had they known what wewere up to, the rumour might have gotten out.There were spies everywhere. You must admire theBritish. They had a great espionage system, and theypaid their spies well. We Germans were stingy. Bah!That was one reason we bungled.

So I told everyone, including the foremen, that thePass of Balmaha was being transformed into anup-to-date training ship, to be used in trainingmechanics' apprentices who later on were to run motors onsubmarines and zeppelins. That alibi was to explain ourtwo motors. The war had shown that German cabinboys were deficient in knowledge of nautical rigging.So I also announced that one purpose of this sailingship was to give them a chance to learn a little abouthandling sails. As to the accommodations in the holdfor prisoners, and the bunks for our big crew, Iexplained that these were to be for apprentices andcabin boys. I even put up signs marking off one partof the ship "for 150 cabin boys," another "for 80Apprentices," and so on.

It would have looked suspicious for a naval officerto be directing work of this kind with such infinitepains, so at the ship yards I posed as Herr vonEckmann, Inspector for the Naval Ministry.

An old retired captain of the Ship InspectionService happened to be stopping in the same hotel. Hislove for his old profession caused him to take a mostembarrassing interest in my work. One day, he met abona-fide ship inspector and asked him whether heknew me.

"Von Eckmann? Let's see, I know everybody inthe service. There is no Von Eckmann on the roster."

"Then," blurted out the old captain, "he must bea spy. I always said he had a typically English face.I'll watch him."

Through mistake, two letters came for me withoutthe usual cover address. Both of them gave my fullname and rank. I argued with the head waiter, tryingto get him to give me the letters for delivery to"my friend, Count Luckner." The old captainhappened to be snooping near by, although I didn'tknow it. By now, anything I did was suspicious. Healready had me hung and quartered as his country'sarch enemy.

"What did that fellow want?" he inquired of thehead waiter.

"He asked me to give him the letters forLieutenant Commander Count von Luckner."

"Ha!"

I suspected nothing. That evening I took the trainfor Bremen. A detective entered my compartmentand demanded my papers. I gave them to him.

"Count von Luckner," he exclaimed, astonishedand embarrassed, "I must have made a mistake. Iam looking for a spy from Geestemunde."

I grew worried. Could it be that enemy secretagents were watching the work on my auxiliarycruiser?

"Where was the spy reported?"

"He lives at Beermann's Hotel."

That was my hotel. The spy was watching me. Itold him that I would take upon myself theresponsibility of saying that there were the most urgentreasons why this spy must be caught, and that hemust wire his principals that the utmost vigilancemust be used.

"We already have the railroad covered at bothends. But we will increase our precautions," hereplied. "The spy will surely be caught."

In Bremen at Hillman's Hotel I was again stoppedby a detective who demanded my papers. Again mypapers confounded and bewildered him.

"The description of the spy fits you exactly," hesaid.

Once more I urged that the headquarters of thesecret police be commanded to catch the secret agentat any cost.

At the Trocadero, I sat with a bottle of wine infront of me. A provost officer with two men inuniform came up to me.

"Come with us. You are under arrest."

I flew into a rage at these repetitions of stupidity,as I thought them to be.

"I am a naval officer."

"You are a spy. Come with us!"

The usual spy mania spread throughout therestaurant. Blows were threatened, chairs werebrandished, and there were shouts of "Kill the spy,kill him!" on all sides. If the officers hadn't fought thecrowd off, I would have been badly beaten.

At headquarters I was shown a description andeven a picture of myself. So there was no doubt butwhat I was their man.

"Under what name does this spy travel?" I demanded.

"Under the name of Marine Inspector von Eckmann.

"Why, I am he."

"But you just said you were Count von Luckner."

I was compelled, with great injunctions of secrecy,to take them into my confidence, and had themtelephone the Admiralty for confirmation.

The prying old captain at Geestemunde soon tookhimself to other parts—by request!

As I explained, my plan was to slip through theBritish blockade as a neutral and if possible disguisedas some other ship that actually existed. Therehappened to be a Norwegian vessel that was almost adead ringer for the Pass of Balmaha. She was scheduledto sail from Copenhagen. I decided that we wouldtake her name, and sail the day before she sailed, sothat if the British caught us and wirelessed toCopenhagen to confirm our story they would receive wordthat such a craft had left port at the time we claimed.This other ship was named the Maleta. For some timeshe had been discharging grain from the Argentine.From Denmark she was to proceed to Christiania andthere pick up a cargo. Why not a cargo of lumber forMelbourne?

I went to Copenhagen, donned old clothes, andgot a job as a dock walloper on the pier where the realMaleta was moored. That enabled me to study her.There was one thing that promised to be difficult tocounterfeit. That was the log book. This preciousvolume contained the life history of the Maleta,when she left the Argentine, what kind of cargo shecarried, what course she steered, the wind, theweather, observations of sun and stars, etc., etc.That log book must be in the captain's cabin and Imust have it. But a watchman was stationed aft, sohow could it be done?

I discovered that the captain and both mates werestill in Norway with their families. So it would besome days before the loss of the book would benoticed—if I got it.

So one night, in the uniform of a customs inspector,I stole aboard the Maleta. The watchman, as usual,was sitting near the captain's cabin. The ship wasmoored to the pier with ropes fore and aft. StealthilyI tiptoed to the bow and cut the ropes, not quitethrough but almost. A stiff wind was blowing. Theropes cracked and broke. The ship swung around.The watchman ran forward shouting, and at thesame moment I ran aft. Fumbling around the captain'scabin I at first failed to locate the log. Finally, Idiscovered it under the skipper's mattress. Shovingit beneath my belt, I slipped out.

On board now, and also on the pier, half a dozenmen were shouting and throwing ropes to haul herback so she wouldn't side-swipe a near-by ship. Ijoined in the shouting, pretended to help them for aminute, then clambered on to the dock and hurriedoff in the dark.

We now put on the final touches that were to turnthe Pass of Balmaha into the Maleta. We paintedher the same colour as the Maleta, arranged her deckthe same, and decorated the cabins with the sameornaments. In my captain's cabin, I hung pictures ofthe King and Queen of Norway and also of theirjovial relative, King Edward VII of England. Thebarometer, thermometer, and chronometer, and allthe other instruments were of Norwegian make. I hada Norwegian library and a Norwegian phonographand records. We had enough provisions fromNorwegian firms to last us through the blockade. Itwould hardly do to have any Bismarck herring, sauerkraut,and pretzels in sight if the British boarded us,would it?

The names of the tailors sewn inside my suits andmy officers' suits were replaced with labels fromNorwegian tailors. On my underclothing we embroideredthe name of the captain of the Maleta—Knudsen.

I had learned in Copenhagen that a donkey enginewas being installed on the Maleta. Very well, we got adonkey engine of the same make from Copenhagenand installed it on our ship. The log book of theMaleta was solemnly put in place, and the first entrywas made, "To-day put in a new donkey engine."

We got up our cargo papers in regular form, signedand sealed by both the Norwegian port authoritiesand British consul. We also had a letter signed byHis Majesty's consul at Copenhagen stating that theMaleta was carrying lumber for the use of theGovernment of the Commonwealth of Australia. The letterrequested all British ships to help us if any emergencyarose. To prove that this document was genuine, itwas even stamped with the British Imperial Seal(made in Germany!).

I also had a letter which a British officer hadsupposedly written to my shipowner and which myship-owner had forwarded to me, warning us againstGerman search officers, but advising us to place ourtrust in the British!

A sailor with the loneliness of the sea upon himnearly always takes with him on his voyages photographsof his people. Now the crews on British warshipsknow sailor ways, so I inquired all about theprocedure from captains of neutral ships who had hadtheir ships searched. They told me that the Britishalways inspected the fo'c'sle to see that everythinglooked right there. I immediately got together a lotof photographs to pass as those of Norwegian sailors'parents, brothers and sisters, uncles and aunts,sweethearts, wives and mothers-in-law. What did itmatter whether the sweethearts were good-looking ornot? Sailors' sweethearts are not always prizebeauties. We sent a man to Norway for the pictures inorder to have the names of Norwegian photographersstamped on them.

The British are smart people, by Joe, and theyknow how to search a ship. They attach specialimportance to sailors' letters. The sailor eagerly looksforward to the letter he will receive at the next port.He never throws the letters away either, but alwayskeeps a stack of them in his sea chest. Sometimesyou will see him reading a letter that his mother senthim eight years before. So we had to get up a wholeset of letters for our "Norwegian" sailors, each settotally different from the other.

Of course, the stolen log of the Maleta gave us a lot ofuseful information about her crew, and our fakeletters were made to tally with this information.Women in the Admiralty and Foreign offices whoknew Norwegian wrote them for us. We got oldNorwegian stamps and Norwegian postmarks andpostmarks of various ports the letters were supposed tohave been sent to. Then we aged the letters inchemicals, and tore and smudged some of them.

I picked as my officers men who like myself hadspent long years before the mast, who knew Norwegian,and were of the right spirit. First OfficerKling had been a member of the Filchner Expedition,in which he had distinguished himself. The officerwhom I selected to go aboard captured ships was aformer comrade of mine, a fellow of six feet four,whom I met by chance on a dock. In response to myquestion whether he wanted to accompany me, heasked:

"Is it one of those trips that is likely to send you toheaven?"

"Yes."

"Then I'm with you. My name is Preiss, and youare after prizes. So I'll bring you luck."

My artillery and navigation officer, LieutenantKircheiss, was a wizard navigator. Engineer Krausswas our motor expert. The boatswain, the carpenter,and the cook, the three mainstays of a voyage in asailing vessel, I picked with like care. Of the menwho were to go with me I only needed twenty-sevenwith a knowledge of Norwegian. There were justtwenty-seven aboard the real Maleta. In selectingmy men, I interviewed each candidate personallybut gave him no hint of why I wanted him. I tried toread these men's souls in order to discover in themthe qualities of courage and endurance that wouldbe needed.

Without giving them any clue concerning theadventure on which they were soon to engage, I sentthem home on furlough to prevent them from meetingone another and talking over the questions Ihad put to them. Not until the hour of departuredid I send for them.

Now we needed a name for our raider. We neededone that she could take for her official name as anauxiliary cruiser after running the blockade. Iwanted to call her the Albatross out of gratitude to thealbatross that saved me from drowning when I was alad. But I discovered that there was already a vesselwith that name, a mine-layer. Then I wanted to callthe ship the Sea Devil, the name by which I personallywas afterward to be called. My officers favouredsome name that would suggest the white wings of oursailship. So we compromised on Seeadler, or SeaEagle.

On a pitch-dark November night, the Seeadler,with a small emergency crew, raises anchor and sailsout of the mouth of the Weser into the North Sea.There, some distance offshore, we drop anchor.

At a remote place along the docks at Wilhelmshaven,men appear one by one. By the light of a dimlyburning lantern I gather my crew. None of them hasany inkling of what is afoot. I hear them ask:

"Where are we off to? What is it?"

We piled them into a little steamer, and off. Soonthey saw an imposing ship riding through the night.

"Hello, what sort of craft is this, a sailship?"

Aboard everything is ready, and everything isNorwegian. Their bunks are all prepared.Photographs are on the walls. Norwegian landscapes,photographs of Norwegian girls, Norwegian flagshang draped. A fully equipped Norwegian shipawaiting the arrival of its crew.

"Do you speak Norwegian, Karl?"

"Yes. Do you?"

"Yes."

"Strange business this!"

Some of the men do not speak Norwegian. Theones that do, have their bunks above deck. The onesthat don't, have their bunks below. Germany belowdecks. Norway above. Strange!

We were away from all communication with landnow. There was no longer need for secrecy.

"Boys, the British say not even a mouse can getthrough their blockade. But we will show them, byJoe, and under full pressure of sail. Then, once wereach the high seas, we will sink their ships, by Joe.Can we do it?"

"Sure, Count, we can do it! By Joe, you bet wecan do it!" Not a man quailed, and I was happy tobe in command of such a crew.

Next morning a scow of lumber lay alongside, andwe stacked timber to a height of six feet over allthe deck, and fastened it down with wire and chains.

Every man had his rôle. Every man must nowprove his mettle as an actor. Officers and sailorswere given the names of officers and sailors aboardthe Maleta. They had to get used to their new names.Fritz Meyer was now Ole Johnsen, Miller becameBjornsen, Hans Lehman became Lars Carlsen, andthey knew me only as Captain Knudsen. We had longpractice drills until the new names slid off ourtongues without getting stuck.

Each man also had to learn a lot about his nativetown that he never knew before! I had alreadyassembled as much information as I could about thetowns listed in the stolen log book, and the rest weinvented. Each man had to learn the names of themain streets of his town, the principal hotels, taverns,and drug stores, as well as the names of the mayorand other officials. Much of this sort of material hadalready been woven into the letters we had preparedfor the sailors. Each man had to familiarize himselfwith the set of photographs that had been allotted tohim, and the names of them all, the contents of hisletters, and fix in his mind a whole new past life,according to the life of the sailor of the real Maletawhose rôle he was to play.

One of the mechanics' helpers, Schmidt by name,I had taken for a principal rôle in our strategy. Hewas slender, beardless, and of delicate appearance,and could pass well enough in woman's clothes.Norwegian skippers often take their wives with themon their voyages. The captain's wife aboard the falseMaleta would seem natural and tend to disarmsuspicion, and, besides, British naval officers are alwayscourteous and considerate toward women. In thepresence of the captain's wife, a prize officer whomight board us would be more obliging toward us all.We had a blonde wig for Schmidt and an outfit ofwomen's clothes. We took great pains in schoolinghim to play the part of the captain's wife correctly.One difficulty was his big feet. Not even aNorwegian skipper's wife had such feet. There was,unfortunately, no way to make them smaller, so wearranged that the captain's wife should be slightlyill and remain seated during any possible search andhave a rug thrown over her feet to keep them warm.The other difficulty was Schmidt's voice. It was toodeep, and he knew no Norwegian. Well, the captain'swife can't talk because she has an awful toothache.A wad of cotton stuffed into Schmidt's cheek, andthere was the swelling. He did know enough Englishto say "all right." We trained him to say ahigh-pitched "all right" something like a woman with atoothache. Except for that phrase, he was to keephis mouth shut. We had a large photograph made ofSchmidt in his costume, signed it "thy lovingJosephine," and hung it in my cabin. Now theBritishers could compare the photograph of the captain'swife with the lady in person. So from now on poorSchmidt's name was "Josefeena" as the Norwegianspronounce it.

We were ready to sail when, by Joe, what comesbut a telegram from the Kaiser's aide. I am to reportimmediately direct to His Majesty. I guessed whatwas up. I had gone into the navy from the mercantilemarine instead of through the usual cadet route. Ihad been a common ordinary sailor, and this hadaroused a lot of antagonism in naval circles. Therehad been jealousy about my getting an independentcommand—highest of all naval honours. So attemptswere being made to have my assignment annulled.

And now they had gone to the Emperor! Maybe Iwould lose this fine sailship of mine. Already it hadgiven me a new lease on life, just by getting back intothe old life, the life that had been so difficult tosurvive and so delightful to recall. Maybe I would haveto go back to the navy, to the modern war of hissingsteel, and deafening guns of superdreadnaughts. Ihad an affection for them too, but it was theenthusiasm of the mind. Here on the sailship was myheart. Well, I would fight them.

"Luckner," I thought, "you always have to fight,or you sink. That's life."

The Emperor had been very kind to the man whohad risen from a common sailor to a naval officer.He had paid for my naval training out of his ownprivate purse, and had taken a personal interest in mypromotions. Many a time on board ship he hadcommanded me to tell stories of my adventures. I couldtalk to him. I could talk to him more boldly thanother officers dared. I knew that he understood me.

Even to appear in the Imperial presence was a tryingordeal for most officers. Many took refuge in rigid"attention." Well, I had never quite got used tohigh class manners at sea, and the ramrod"attention" left me more embarrassed than otherwise.Even in the Emperor's presence, I kept the samefree, brusque manner of an old-time seaman that wasnatural to me.

The Kaiser spoke bluntly.

"Well, Luckner, at the Admiralty they now tell me itis madness to attempt the blockade with a sailingship. What do you think?"

"Well, Your Majesty, if our Admiralty says it'simpossible and ridiculous, then I'm sure it can bedone," I replied. "For the British Admiralty willthink it impossible also. They won't be on the lookoutfor anything so absurd as a raider disguised as aharmless old sailing ship."

The Emperor looked at me with a frown, and thenhis face relaxed into a smile.

"You are right, Luckner. Go ahead! And may thehand of the Almighty be at your helm."

I knew now that there would be no more officialinterference. The true Maleta was now due to sail in aday, so we made ready to pull up anchor. Then awireless came from the Admiralty:

Wait till the Deutschland makes port.

Our giant merchant submarine, the Deutschland,was on her way home from her famous transatlanticcruise to America. In an attempt to cut her off, theBritish had set a double watch. So the Seeadler wouldhave to slip past twice as many cruisers and destroyersas otherwise. I still hoped that, if only detained aday or so, we might yet be able to slip across theNorth Sea ahead of the Maleta. But we lay there forthree and a half weeks, and the sad news came thatthe real Maleta had sailed and passed through theblockade. If we now attempted to use her name and asearch party boarded us, the jig would be up.

So we hurriedly examined Lloyd's Register in thehope of finding another Norwegian ship that mightcorrespond to us. We picked out one called theCarmoe. We had no idea where she was, but hoped shemight be in some distant port unbeknown to the waryBritish. It was a long chance, but we could thinkof nothing better. Now we had to change our shipfrom the Maleta to the Carmoe. Painting out onename and substituting another was easy enough, butchanging all our ship's papers was far more difficult.But with much use of chemical eraser we finallyaccomplished it, and we had papers that would pass ifthe visibility was not too bright during the search.Then, when we were all set again, we picked up acopy of a Norwegian commercial paper and foundthat the real Carmoe had just been seized by theBritish and taken to Kirkwall for examination.

"By Joe, and they said this Pass of Balmaha wasa lucky ship! We must have a Jonah on board!"

Now, if you haven't any luck, you must go andget some! All you have to do is know how to do that,and you will be a great success at sea, or anywhere!

So away with Lloyd's Register! Let's take life'sregister and name our sea eagle after the girl of myheart. Surely she will bring us luck. So, out with thepaint and on with another new name—the name ofmy sweetheart, Irma.

In that name was concentrated most of the beautythat I had found in life. It symbolized strangemoments of beauty that had crossed my path during themost trying days I had so far known. It seemed to bea lovely silken thread that had run through the yearssince that first voyage, when as a miserable cabinboy I sailed to Australia on that Russian tramp.

Of course, there was no such name as Irma listedwith Lloyd's, and all any British officer would haveto do would be to consult his Register and the jigwould be up. But somehow I had a premonition thatthe name Irma would bring us through.

When we applied eraser and ink to our shippingpapers and wrote in the name of Irma—disaster. Twoerasures were too much. The ink blotted. If we shouldbe stupid enough to take the British for fools, thenwe ourselves would be the real fools. Where was ourluck now? Fate seemed to be against us, but I hadno intention of giving up. Calling the carpenter Isaid:

"Come on, Chips, I am going to make you admiralof the day. Get the ax and smash all the bull's-eyes,windows, portholes, and everything."

Poor Chips! He thought I had gone off my head,but he obeyed. The smashing began.

"Bo's'n," I called, "half a dozen men with bucketsof sea water! Throw it around, drench everything."

And now the water flew in the cabins, in the drawersof chests, in the officers' bunks, all over myNorwegian library, water everywhere. I took my shippingpapers and put each page between sheets of wetblotting paper so that not only the name of Irmaand the other entries we had changed were blotted;but every line. I even soused the log book in a bucketof water.

Then I called the carpenter again.

"Now repair everything you have smashed, Chips.Nail everything."

He hammered planks over the smashed portholesand bull's-eyes, and put the smashed chairs togetheras well as he could.

Now, if the Britisher came aboard, he would say:

"By Joe, Captain, you must have had a hard blowto get knocked about like this."

And I would growl, "Yes, by Joe, everything isdrenched, even my papers."

Two days later a southwest wind sprang up. Themoment was at hand. To go raiding in a sailing shipand that sailing ship with the name of Irma paintedon her bows—ah, it seemed more like a dream thanlike setting out on a real adventure. It seemed asthough all the events of my life had been designedto converge to this one glorious point. Our onehundred-and-seventy-foot masts creaked. Our ninethousand square feet of sail bellowed before the wind.We sailed north under a full spread.

XIII

RUNNING THE BRITISH BLOCKADE IN A HURRICANE

Sails bellied and motor humming, we parted thewaves and left a path of foam in our wake. On deckwe devoted all our spare time to more dress rehearsals.My boys took a particular relish in putting methrough the "third degree," as you call it. One ofthem played the part of a British search officer.

"Now, Captain, what is the name of your ship?"he bellowed.

"She is the Irma, and as good a full-rigged shipas ever crossed the North Sea."

"Have you any brothers and sisters, Captain?"

"Oh, yes, a lot of them. There are Olga, Ingaborg,and Oscar who live in Hatfjelddalen. Dagmar andChristian are seamen like myself. Lars runs a salmoncannery in British Columbia, Gustaf and Tor arelumbermen somewhere in America. And then wehave another brother, Eric, whom we've lost trackof."

While trying to make the narrow channel of Norderauewe hit a sand bank. The ship creaked and themasts trembled, but somehow we pushed across—furtherproof that the Scots of Glasgow still knowhow to turn out a sturdy clipper ship.

At ten o'clock we passed the Horns reef andcontinued along the Danish coast. At eight bells wehoped to reach the Skagerrak, and then turn herwest to give the enemy the impression that we hadcome from a Scandinavian port. Shortly beforedaybreak, the wind shifted abruptly from southwest todue north. Against such a stiff breeze, we could makelittle headway. On our right were the low rocky fjordsand reefs along the coast of Ringkjobing and Thisted.To the left were British mine fields. We didn't darerun into a Danish harbour for fear of being interned.So we must either turn back or take a chance onslipping through the mine fields. It is always possibleto sail through a mine field—provided you sail undera lucky star with a guardian angel at the helm.

"Hard aport! We'll risk it, boys." With a fullspread of sail, we turned straight west.

Now, a tacking ship heels over. The more sail youcarry the more she lays over, and the less water shedraws. That was our chance. The mines were nearlyalways planted several feet under water, just out ofsight. Perhaps we could slide right over them. Lifeboatswere lowered, and every man adjusted his lifebelt.Before the mast, the sailors; aft, the captain. Butwe all kept to the foreship. We were lower aft thanfore, and if a mine went off it probably would be aft.But our luck held and we got through in safety.

Our course lay around the northern end of Scotland,along the usual shipping route from Norway tothe Atlantic. To be sure, we could have hugged theNorwegian coast, but the blockade was even tighterthere. That was the natural course for one of ourraiding armoured cruisers to take, so, if she wereheaded off by Beatty, she could turn quickly intoa neutral Norwegian port and accept internmentrather than capture. We didn't even keep to themiddle of the North Sea, but with the idea that ourone path of safety lay right under John Bull's nose,followed the coast of England and Scotland.

There were three lines of the blockade. The firstlay across the North Sea from the Scottish to theDanish coast. We must run this one first.

The wind grew stronger. The barometer fell.Anyone on the North Sea on the twenty-third ofDecember, 1916, will remember the hurricane thatcame. It was one of the worst storms of years. Thewind was cyclonic in force, and lashed the shallowNorth Sea into a cauldron. Running before it wecarried every foot of sail we dared, every stitchexcept the royals and gallantsails and smaller staysails.We could take chances. We had no shipowner toanswer to. Every mile through the storm now meanta mile through the blockade. The ship lay over sofar that all our leeboard was under water. Everyplank quivered from the strain on the rigging. Therigging sang like a violin. Heavy waves swept overus. It looked at times as if Niagara Falls weredescending upon us. Two men were needed to hold thehelm, and had to be lashed there. Some of our staysbroke and some of our canvas ripped. But we madefifteen knots, and that hurricane was a godsend tous, for we knew no British cruiser could search usor even keep track of us in such a heavy gale.

We sped right through the first line of the blockadewithout sighting a ship and as though the wholeNorth Sea were ours. Instead of going up, thebarometer continued to fall. Louder roared the storm,and more and more mountainous became the waves.We passed the second line of the blockade. Still not aship in sight.

"At twelve o'clock, boys, we will know whether weare going to get through or not. At this speed, wewill pass through the third and most important line.Half the Grand Fleet is said to guard this thirdstretch from the Shetlands to Bergen."

Midnight grew near, and still that wildheaven-sent hurricane kept up. We ran before it like afrightened bird, fearing every minute that our sails andmasts would go overboard. We lay on the yards andscanned the horizon with our glasses. Half-pasteleven! We were in the midst of the blockade line.Where were the cruisers and destroyers? All we couldhear was the whistling of the wind and the rushingof the water beneath our bows. All we could see,the blackness of the night. Twelve o'clock and stillno sign of the enemy. Even our binnacle and compasslights were out, for any ray of light might betrayus. By one o'clock we knew we had passed the lastline.

The British, warned by the falling barometer, hadtaken their guard ships to shelter in the lee of theislands. There was nothing else for them to do insuch a storm. Even if they saw a ship, it would behopeless to try to board her. And if Beatty's fleethad kept to sea, there would have been grave dangerof their running one another down. We couldn't helprecalling the old saying that it is indeed an ill windthat blows no one any good.

I thought now that, under cover of darkness andwith the aid of the storm, we might shorten ourvoyage to the Atlantic by cutting through the channelbetween the Orkney Islands and the Shetlands. Iwas about to order the helm changed, when thehurricane shifted abruptly from southwest to southeast.The change came so suddenly that the twisting windsnearly ripped our masts out by the roots. Somehow,that seemed to be a warning to us, a warning not togo through that channel.

A sailor believes in signs. And something told meto take a more northerly course, nearer the ArcticCircle and the Faroes. Later, we learned that theGerman submarine Bremen had tried to pass throughthat channel and was never seen again. The channelhad recently been mined. But for that sudden shiftof the storm, we too would have shared the fate ofthe Bremen. With sails still full spread, wecontinued north, nearer and nearer the Polar zone. Itgrew bitterly cold. The waves dashed over us, andthe water froze where it fell. Our timber cargo was socoated with ice that not a stick of lumber could beseen. The deck was like a skating rink, and the ship'sbow one huge cake of ice. Everything froze, includingthe sails. The ropes became coated and wouldno longer run through the blocks. We tried to thawthem with oxygen flame, but they froze again themoment the flame was removed. Unable to changethe sails, we were helpless. To turn on the motorwould only make matters worse, because that wouldcarry us toward the Pole all the faster. We knew thatunless the Hand of God intervened within a few dayswe would be hopelessly caught in the Polar pack andprobably never heard of again. So long as the windblew from the south, we were sure to continue onnorth. We were in the region of eternal night now,except for a few minutes each day. The sun rose ateleven and set at half-past eleven. If we continuedthis crazy, frozen voyage to the North Pole we wouldbe smashed in the ice, by Joe.

Christmas Eve came, and we prayed God to sendus the one Christmas present, the only one thatcould save us—a north wind to blow us south. Mymen in the hold, my fighting crew, huddled togetherto keep from freezing. They were prisoners, for thewaves and spray had swept over everything untilour secret hatches were frozen as solid as concrete.My false Norsem*n on deck slid about on the icyplanks, and every man suffered from frostbite. Noone tried to turn in to sleep. The tension on ournerves was too great. Only one thing was warm andsteaming—the kettle of grog. You landsmen have noidea of what grog means to a sailor under suchconditions. No wonder seamen call a glass of schnapps"an ice-breaker!"

At heart every sailor is a child, and he has a child'slove of Christmas. And how he enjoys a Christmaspresent! He turns it around in his hands, and says:

"By Joe, it's good to have Christmas."

And surely the present that came to us was thefinest that any sailor ever had.

As suddenly as it had come, the south wind dieddown and a breeze sprang up in the north. Ourfrozen ship creaked, laid over, and came around withthe new wind, and our hearts sang for joy. Each daywe seemed to thaw out a bit more. Soon we passedto the east of Iceland and reëntered the Atlantic.Axes and picks were busy chipping away the ice.It was hard work, but who cared now that we weregetting warm again? We were through the blockadeand out of the Arctic—and now to test the "Freedomof the Seas" and give the Allies a touch of high life.

"By Joe," I said to my boys, "and they call it ablockade!"

You would have thought the fellow in the lookoutwas answering me.

"Steamer ahoy," he sang out.

What? A steamer in these parts?

I climbed aloft with my glasses. Sure enough,there was a British armoured cruiser steaming towardus at full speed. She had the signal flying:

"Stand by or we fire!"

Such bad luck after such good luck! This secondChristmas present was not so amusing. But now forour test.

"Hustle you non-Norwegian chaps. Get belowdeck! Throw water everywhere to explain why ourpapers are blurred and wet. The storm we just passedthrough will make it seem the more natural. Schmidt,get into your finery. Remember, from now on youare the shy 'Josefeena' (Josephine), the Captain'swife. If they put a prize crew aboard, we will capturethe prize crew. If they suspect we are an auxiliarycruiser, bombs fore, midship, and aft, and we blow upthe ship!"

Now for a big quid of tobacco in my mouth. Ihave never had the habit of chewing tobacco, but aNorwegian skipper would not be true to type withouthis quid. Besides, a chew of tobacco gives youtime to think. If somebody asks you an embarrassingquestion, you can roll your quid around in yourmouth, pucker up your lips slowly, and spit deliberatelyand elegantly. I had practised rolling the quidand spitting until I thought myself a past masterat the art.

But that smell, by Joe! The unexpected alwayshappens to mar the best-laid plans—and help theworst. We had been running our motor full open.Because of the cargo of wood that sealed the deck,there had not been enough ventilation to get rid ofthe fumes. The characteristic reek of crude oilburning in a Diesel engine seeped up through the secretentrances placed in my cabin, and everything smelledof it. What will the search officer think when hesmells a Diesel engine aboard a sailing ship? No useto burn punk or sprinkle eau de cologne.

"Stuff a rug in the chimney of the kerosene stove,"I yelled, "and turn up the wicks of the oil lamps ashigh as you can."

Stench against stench, kerosene smoke againstthe fumes of the motor. In five minutes my cabinsmelled to high heaven of kerosene smoke.

The Britisher had hove to now, and we saw thatshe was the Avenger, an armed merchant cruiser ofsome 15,000 tons.

"How's that?" I thought. "Why are the gunspointing? We are a peaceable Norwegian sailing ship.Why the guns?"

She had her big guns trained on us, and her officerswere on the bridge looking us over with their glasses.

"Can we have been betrayed?" I asked myself."Of what use is the best mask, of what use are thebest men, if a traitor has done his dirty work?"

The thought of treachery always makes the fightingman tremble. I went into my cabin, and like thedrowning man who grasps at a straw, I rememberedhow before leaving port a friend gave me a parcel,saying:

"My boy, take this package with you. But neveropen it unless you are in a tight fix. Then it may saveyou."

Well, we were in a tight fix all right, so I openedthe package. I took off one wrapper after another.Ah! It was a bottle of rare old Napoleon brandy,almost priceless, made more than a hundred years ago.

"What was good for Napoleon ought to be goodfor me. He fought against the British, too. Maybethis is just what we need."

I took sixteen or eighteen swallows, and with eachgulp felt my cares getting lighter and lighter. Neverdid I thank God so much that I am not a teetotaller.

The cruiser had put out a small boat. Two officersand sixteen sailors were rowing toward us. We mustreceive them cordially, I thought. Going to thegramophone I put on, "It's a Long Way to Tipperary." Thatwill make the officers feel good. I also told thecook to stand in the door of the galley with a bottleof whisky in his hand. I know the British! I knowwhat they like, and I guessed that while the officerproceeded with his job, his jack-tars would go pokingabout to see if they might find anything suspicious.I also suspected that they would go to the galleyand sing out:

"'I there, Cookie, got any grog?"

Always give a British sailor a drink, or a Germansailor, or an American sailor, or any kind of a sailor,for that matter.

The boat was alongside. I began to swear at mymen. It was hard for them to forget their navalhabits, and, with an officer coming aboard, theywere standing as stiffly as if at attention.

"Take the line, by Joe. Give a hand, by Joe.Don't stand there like wooden men, by Joe."

Then, too, it would sound natural to hear aNorwegian skipper swearing at his men.

The search officer clambered aboard.

"Merry Christmas, Captain."

"Merry Christmas, Mister Officer," I replied,using the kind of broken English I thought aNorwegian skipper would use. I talk English with anaccent, luckily about the same brand you would hearin a Scandinavian port. "But," I continued, "if youwant to see what kind of Christmas we have hadcome along down to my cabin."

"A bit of a nasty blow this past week, eh, what!"agreed the officer, "and from the look of your deckyou've had more than your share of it. We went inbehind the islands and waited for her to blow over."

"Yes, luckily for us," I thought to myself.

"I must see your papers, Captain." He got rightdown to business. Just then the gramophone struckup "Tipperary," and he began to whistle the tunewhile his men made for the galley. I ushered the twoofficers to the cabin. The one who stuck his head infirst retreated holding his nose.

"What a hell of a smell!"

"Excuse me, Mister Officer, but my stove is outof order. I could not know you gentlemen weregiving me a visit to-day."

"Oh, never mind, Captain, that's all right, that'sall right."

I had purposely hung my underwear up to dry soit would be in their way and so that, in stooping toget under it, they would see the name "Knudsen"embroidered on it. As the chief search officer crossedthe cabin he suddenly saw my charming wife Josephine,with her blonde wig, her swollen jaw, and therug hiding her big feet.

"Oh, excuse me."

"That is my wife, Mister Officer. She has beenhaving a bad go with the toothache."

He was chivalrous, just as most Englishmen are.He might have been talking to a court lady, insteadof that rascal Schmidt.

"Sorry, madam, to intrude like this, but we mustdo our duty."

"All right!" said my lovely but somewhat distortedbetter half in a high falsetto voice out of onecorner of her mouth.

"By Joe, Captain, you haven't much cabin left,have you? You have been through some rough weather!"

"I wouldn't mind the rest, Mister Officer, but lookat my papers. They are soaked, too."

"I can understand that, after the weather you'vehad."

"Yes, Mister Officer, it's all right for you to seethem in this condition, because you saw the stormyourself, but later, if I meet some of your comradeswho didn't hit the blow that we had, they may nottake my word for it. That's what's worrying me."

"Oh, don't worry, Captain, I'll give you a memorandumexplaining the condition of your papers. Youare lucky to have saved your ship."

That memorandum was just what I wanted. Therewas no telling when we might be searched again.

I had the papers scattered all over the cabin todry, and each time I handed one to him I spat astream of tobacco juice on the cabin floor. Heexamined the papers with a practised eye and madeentries in his notebook. Each page in his book wasfor a ship, and I could see that thirty or forty pageshad been used already. Yes, he was an experiencedofficer.

When he came to the last document, the onesigned with the false signature of the British Consulat Copenhagen and sealed with a false BritishImperial seal, and read the formal statement that theIrma's cargo of lumber was destined for the useof the British government in Australia, he turnedto me suddenly.

"These papers are all right, Captain."

In the excitement of the moment I suddenly swallowedmy chew of tobacco. I was afraid this mightgive our whole sham away. So I coughed and coughedas though with a bad cold, trying to cover up whathad happened. What would a British search officerthink if a Norwegian skipper got seasick? My mateLeudemann was standing next to me holding the logbook. I had told him to have it ready in case theBritisher should want to examine it. Leudemannsaw there was something wrong with me, and wasquick-witted enough to divert the search officer'sattention, by handing him the book.

"Oh, yes, the log," exclaimed the officer, andopened the wet pages.

The quid of tobacco seemed to be moving upand down my gullet. I struggled with myself, and toshow an outward calm I said to Leudemann in Norwegian:

"I wish I'd had that officer's camel's hair cape andhood. It would have been fine to keep a fellow warmwhile up there north of the Circle."

"For rain and spray, too." The Englishmanspoke up in Norwegian to show that he knew thelanguage.

You must admire how careful those English are.The officer examined every page of the log.

"How is this, Captain?" he exclaimed. "Youwere laid up three weeks and a half?"

There was a discrepancy in dates which representedour wait after the Admiralty had ordered usnot to sail because of the return of the submarine,Deutschland, and the consequent increased vigilanceof the blockade. I had not thought of it. Here wasthe one detail that we had neglected to provide forin our elaborately detailed preparations. Even ifI had been in the best of health, I should not haveknown what to reply. With that tobacco quidrunning around inside of my body I could only pray toGod for help.

Again Leudemann saved the situation. He was alittle fellow and simple-hearted, but a greatcharacter. When bad times came, Leudemann was at hisbest.

"We didn't lie there for pleasure," he said in hisdry way as he looked up at the big Englishman. "Wehad orders from our owner not to sail until we gotword."

"How so?"

"Haven't you been warned then about German cruisers?"

"What's that?"

"Haven't you heard about the Moewe and theauxiliary cruiser, Seeadler?"

The search officer turned to me.

"What about this that your mate is saying, Captain?"

My stomach felt much better, now that Leudemannhad spoken. So I thought I might as well givethe Englishman a good dose.

"There were rumours at home in Norway that twocruisers and sixteen German submarines had put outof port."

The search officer's comrade, who had been lookingaround the cabin, came over to us when he heardall this.

"I think we had better be going," he spoke upsuddenly.

"Yes," replied the other, and they went on deck.

They made no attempt at questioning the sailorsor investigating the sailors' belongings.

"Your papers are all right, Captain," said thesearch officer, "but you will have to wait here for anhour until you get a signal to proceed."

"All right, Mister Officer."

One of my boys, who was of a pessimistic turn ofmind, heard this. As he walked away from my cabinhe said out loud to himself:

"Everything is lost."

Down below were the members of my other crew,waiting in the dark. They were right beneath thefloor of the deck, straining their ears to catch anyword that might give them an idea how things weregoing on deck. They heard the exclamation, "Everythingis lost," and took it for the official wordthat we were discovered and for the command to dowhat was to be done in that case. They lit the fusesof the three bombs that were to blow up the ship,and waited for the hatches to be opened to let themon deck to the boats. The fuses would burn forfifteen minutes.

The British were in their boat now, trying topush off. But you can't hold a sailing ship in oneplace like a steamer. She keeps drifting. And thesuction of the Seeadler as she drifted held their boatso it couldn't get away. What was still worse, itkept slipping aft, and if it got under our stern, theywould have been sure to see our propeller. A sailshipwith a propeller? Yes, sometimes, but we would havebeen done for, as there was nothing to that effect inour papers. Seizing a rope, I tossed it overboardtoward them.

"Take the rope, Mister Officer, take the rope," Ishouted as though clumsily trying to help them.

That made them look up, so that the rope mightnot fall on their heads. I heaved the rope just as theywere sliding around our stern and away. The officersthanked me, and one of them, angry with his menfor not being able to push the boat off, exclaimed:

"I have only fools on my boat."

"Yes, maybe you have," I thought, "and maybeyou are the worst-fooled one of all!"

My stomach was quite normal now. I was so happythat I even felt as though I could digest that quid oftobacco. The men on deck felt like cheering andsinging, but they had orders to go on about their jobsas though nothing unusual had been going on, untilthe cruiser was far and away. They just grinned,but so broad were the grins that I thought theywould split their faces.

My first thought was to bring the happy news tothe boys in the darkness down below. I went to oneof the secret hatches, which they had fastened fromwithin.

"Open," I shouted.

There were vague sounds below.

"Open up," I called again.

Then I heard a muffled voice say:

"Open the flood valves."

"What's that?" I yelled. "What's the matter?Open the hatch!"

The hatch opened. I saw troubled faces. I couldhear water rushing into the ship.

"By Joe," I shouted, "are you trying to sink my boat?"

I could hear men running below to all parts of theship. I climbed down roaring. One of the men spokeup.

"They are cutting the fuses and closing the flood valves."

"Fuses, flood valves, by Joe. How's that happen,by Joe?"

Then one of the men said: "But someone calleddown that all was lost! Afterward you called 'open'and we thought you meant open the flood valves."

The fuses had been burning for eight minutes outof their fifteen, and hundreds of gallons of waterwere pouring into the ship.

By Joe, I looked for the fellow who said: "All islost." He came forward at once and confessed.

"I wasn't calling to the men below. I merely saidit to myself."

"Why do you say 'all is lost,' by Joe, just wheneverything is fine?"

"Well, Captain, when the Englishman said thatwe would have to wait for an hour, I thought tomyself that the game was up. It means that he iskeeping us waiting while he sends a wireless toCopenhagen asking about the Irma, when there is noIrma."

"By Joe," I said, "that's right."

In our excitement, neither I nor my officers hadthought about the wireless. It had not occurred tous to ask ourselves why we had been ordered to standby for a whole hour. We didn't even think of Lloyd'sRegister. The search officer might have gone backto his ship to look up the Irma in the Register, wherethere was no Irma.

For days I had been on deck in the storm and inthe ice regions. For the past half hour I had gonethrough worse turmoil even than that. And now,when everything seemed clear, the sky looked blackagain and that quid of tobacco started getting in itsdirty work. I went to the rail and hung there on myelbows, staring through my binoculars at the Avengerand watching for the flag signal. My hand shook, andinstead of only one I could see three cruisers in myglass. I handed it to Leudemann and while he tooka look I leaned there with the code book in my hand,ready to decode the signal when it came.

I don't know how long it was, fifteen minutes or anhour, but finally three little flags went up the signalrope. Old imperturbable Leudemann steadied hisglass. At last he made out the signal:

"T-M-B."

I thumbed the book clumsily. It seemed as thoughI would never find T-M-B. But there it was. It meant"Planet." Nonsense. Read the signal again.

I was getting weaker and weaker, whether from theanxiety or from that quid, I don't know. This timehe read:

"T-X-B."

Pages, columns, and then the right place....Continue voyage.

I felt as though my heart had two valves insteadof one and was pumping madly through both. I satdown and breathed heavily. Instead of going abouttheir ordinary tasks, my men wanted to yell likeIndians.

Hello, what's this? The Avenger, with her 15,000tons driven by 100,000-horsepower engines, wasracing straight at us. Huge streams of smoke and greatflames like torches poured out of her three funnelsas her safety valves blew out from the over-pressureof her boilers. Just as she got on top of us she swervedoff. At her stern flew a signal. I did not need a codebook. I knew that signal by heart—Happy Voyage.We raised the signal—thanks—and dipped ourNorwegian flag three times.

The British had behaved like gentlemen towardus. I think the way they pointed their guns at us whenthey came up to us was a bit of a joke. The hour theymade us wait was, I think, to enable them to makewireless inquiries about the story we told of Germancruisers and submarines. The search officer did hiswork courteously and well. No seaman should try tomake another seaman ridiculous. We were disguisedso well that he could have suspected nothing. In hisplace, I should have been fooled exactly as he was,and so would any other officer.

"And now, boys, let's celebrate Christmas!"

We dumped our deck load of lumber into the sea,and cleared the deck for a big time. I had a Christmastree that I had brought from home. We set it up.Before the Seeadler left port, Fraulein Bertha Krupphad sent us a huge box full of Christmas presents,something for every man. We opened it and foundclothing, cigars, pipes, cigarettes, cigar holders,knives, liquor, soft drinks, and musical instruments.

It was the merriest Christmas of our lives. Singing"Yo-ho" and cheered up with many good bottlesof rum, we headed south to play our rôle asbuccaneers.

XIV

WE CAPTURE THE GLADYS ROYAL AND THE LUNDY ISLAND

"All hands on deck!"

Aloft my boys flew, into the rigging and up theratlines like monkeys.

"Loose the fore-taups'l!" boomed up from thequarter deck.

"All gone, the fore-taups'l," they sang out."Loose the ga'nts'ls and stays'ls!"

The sails were sheeted home and were filling out.We didn't lose much time in getting her away. Lyingover on her beam ends and running before the wind,we set our course for Madeira.

We knew that just off Gibraltar would be one ofour best hunting grounds, so we cleared away theremains of our Norwegian camouflage, and after afew days we were as spick and clean and orderly as aGerman auxiliary cruiser should be. We were theIrma no longer, but the Seeadler now, although I felta pang of regret at letting go the name that hadserved us so well and brought us luck.

There was constant labour on the motor. The lubricatingoil we had was of poor quality. Oil, like manyother things, had become scarce in Germany. Ourenterprise had the enthusiastic support of only a fewof the officials at the Admiralty. The others thoughtit certainly foredoomed to failure, and did not wantto risk too much on it. Among these were the headsof the department that supplied us with oil. A sailingvessel under the pressure of sail nearly always liststo one side. The work of the motor was hamperedby a leaning position. We sailed most of the timethroughout our cruise with the motor dismantledand under repairs.

We had only two guns, and only one at a timecould be brought into action against an enemy. Ourorders were to attack sailing ships only. Windjammeragainst steamship was considered a ridiculous idea.We would not need great broadsides of cannon incapturing sailing vessels. We tried to make up forour lack of gun power by skill and precision inhandling the guns we had. Our gun crew workedincessantly at drill and target practice, and schooledthemselves to such quickness and accuracy of firethat the power of our armament, in effect, wasdoubled.

Our lookout posts were excellent. We had a crow'snest with a comfortable seat high up on the mast.Only a man at ease watches well. A second lookoutwas on the foremast, where a petty officer wasperched. I offered ten pounds sterling and a bottle ofchampagne to whoever should report a ship first. Ajealous rivalry grew up between the lookouts. Ineach raged a tremendous thirst for that bottle ofchampagne. All day long eager eyes swept thehorizon.

On January 9th, off Gibraltar, the shout rang out:

"Ship ahoy."

On our larboard side was a large steamer headingtoward us. Flying our Norwegian colours, we turnedto meet her. She flew no flag and carried no name.The British were the only people who sent theirboats out without names. She looked of British build,too. Our orders were not to tackle steamers. Well,you can promise a lot. We raised the signal:

"Chronometer time, please."

A sailing ship long away from port rarely has thecorrect time. Our request was reasonable enough.The steamer signalled that she understood us, andcame to the windward so that we could heave to.I wore my great-coat to conceal my uniform. Thoseof the crew that had rifles hid themselves behindthe railings.

The steamer came near, ready to give the sleepyold Norwegian the time.

"Shall we tackle him?" I asked one of my sailorswho was crouched next to me peering through aloophole.

"Sure, let's take him. He's an Englishman."

I shouted the command, and the drum beat "clearfor action." A section of the rail could be lowered andraised as a gun shield. It dropped clattering andrevealed the muzzle of the cannon. Up with the Germanflag and fire, one across her bows.

It was the Seeadler's first shot against the enemy.

What's that, by Joe? Nothing happened, no movementon deck, no slowing down of the ship. Then aflag went up the mast, the British flag. It was likethe fantastic things that happen in a dream. Ithought I must be asleep. Another shot across herbows. She suddenly changes her course. Hello, shewants to get away. A shot over the stern, anotherover the smokestack, and now she hove to.

A boat was in the water rowing toward us. We allput on our best manners, and I welcomed CaptainChewn aboard the Seeadler. What did we want of him,he asked, so bewildered that he stuttered. "Well,first a friendly chat," I replied. He was an old saltwith a scraggly gray beard. I liked him right off.His ship was the Gladys Royal, bound from Cardiffwith five thousand tons of coal for Buenos Aires.I told him that, much as I disliked sending any shipto the bottom of the sea, nevertheless, we must sinkthe Gladys Royal.

"Oh, no," he argued, "we are bound for a neutralport and won't harm anything. It will be bad for meto lose my ship, and I have a wife and children athome."

"Do you believe, Captain Chewn, that, under thesame circ*mstances, a British naval officer wouldshow any mercy to a German ship?"

He made no reply.

We now got an explanation of the queer behaviourof his ship that had so puzzled us after our first shot.Captain Chewn, an old-timer at sea, simply thoughtwe were trying to compare time in the old traditionalway, by firing a blank mortar. He had raised his flagto serve as the mortar shot on his side. He wouldafterward lower it to give the exact moment. Thatis the way in vogue to-day. But when our second shotwas fired, the cook on the Gladys Royal saw the shellstrike the water and thought we had sighted a submarineand were firing at it. He gave the alarm, andthe captain started to zigzag. It was only after thethird shot that they saw our cannon pointed at themand the German battle flag at our masthead.

"By Joe," and the captain pounded the rail withopen admiration, "you fooled me bloody well. Itwas the damnedest trap I ever saw."

I sent a prize crew aboard the Gladys Royal withorders to have her follow the Seeadler. I wanted towait and blow her up after nightfall. Cruisers might beroaming somewhere in these parts, and it would beunwise to run the risk of attracting their attentionwith the sound of an explosion.

We photographed our capture carefully. At duskwe transferred the steamer's twenty-six men, whiteand black, to our ship. The captain brought hisbelongings aboard. I also sent Lieutenant Preiss to packup everything aboard the captured vessel that hethought we might need and ferry it over. Hedisplayed excellent judgment, too, and turned up witha welcome store of excellent provisions. We sailorscould be content with a sailor's fare whenever needbe, but we wanted our guests to dine well at all timesto help make up for the sorrow of losing their ships.

Preiss and his men planted a bomb in her hold,lit the time fuse, and took to the boats. Fifteenminutes passed. Then the Gladys Royal trembledfore and aft.

She went down stern first, and in ten minutes herforward quarter stuck straight out of the sea. Herbow remained above water for a long time. A steamerhove into sight. She carried side lights, and from thatwe judged her to be a neutral. Suddenly a secondexplosion, from the accumulation of air pressure, burstthe bow of the Gladys Royal. With a final quiver, shetook her last plunge into the depths and slid out ofsight, while we scurried away into the night withall sails set.

We wanted nothing of neutral ships. We would notbother them even if we thought their neutrality apretense. If we stopped one and searched her andfound her really to be a neutral, we could onlyrelease her, and she would spread the news about us.We had a trump card in our hand—nobody imaginedthat an old sailing ship could be out buccaneeringin this age of fast battle cruisers. It was our plan alsoto molest only those ships that we were fairly certaindid not carry wireless sets and therefore could notbroadcast our attack before we had boarded them.

Captain Chewn was agreeably surprised to find himselfassigned to a cozy cabin. His only complaint wasthat he had no one to enjoy it with him. This sociablemariner liked company. So we promised to supplyhim with companions as soon as possible.

Much as we wanted to please Captain Chewn andshow him that we were accommodating hosts, weallowed the next ship to sail by in peace. She wasa British passenger steamer bound through Gibraltar.We had room enough for all her passengers, but wedid not want to be bothered with women andchildren. Having lived at sea among men nearly all mylife, I regarded all women as flowerlike creatures sentto beautify and soften the harshness of this world.In my opinion, women should see nothing of war.Their lovely eyes should only gaze on the beautiful,the pleasant things of life. Women are too gracefuland delicate for the sights of war, with men shotdown, wounds and blood, and men dead and dying.I had resolved to carry out my raiding cruise withoutany killing, if I could help it, but in my nauticalcareer I had found many a thing I couldn't help.Anyway, to me women were synonymous with romanceand love—not with war.

At noon, with a heavy sea running, we sighted asteamer cutting diagonally across our course. Noflag, no name. We signalled her for information, butthere was no response. Surely she must be an Englishmanwith a hard-boiled efficient skipper. You knowhow a British captain often is, with his nose rightdown on his job, with no thought except his cargoand his lookout for submarines and cruisers? Well,evidently this chap couldn't be bothered with afunny old Norwegian windjammer. Sails set andmotor running, we held across his course and got infront of him. Now, at sea, a sailing vessel always hasthe right of way over a steamship because the lattercan manœuvre more rapidly. But that meant nothingto this steamship. She swerved not an inch, andseemed quite content to run us down.

"This businesslike skipper must have an importantcargo, since he doesn't care a rap, by Joe, aboutploughing into a clumsy old Norwegian bumboat,"said I to myself. And I could imagine how he wasswearing there on his bridge.

"Stupid blighter, by Joe," no doubt he was saying,"get out of my way or I'll ram you!"

We had to jib and let him go in the wind, or therewould have been a collision. The Englishman passedus at three hundred yards.

The German flag was climbing swiftly to our masthead.

"Fire," I commanded, "let's see if that will makehim change his mind."

The gun boomed and a shell went screaming overthe steamer.

"By Joe," I said, "he sticks to his opinions."

The steamer's stacks belched fresh clouds ofsmoke. Her course changed not at all. Another shot,this one, by way of emphasis, just over thesmokestack. The steamer turned into the wind.

"A wise baby, that skipper," commented Leudemannsarcastically. "He knows a windjammer can'tsail against the wind."

We, of course, couldn't catch him in a chase, butour range was still point-blank. A shot through thesmokestack and a couple into the hull. We could seethe crew running around wildly. A siren was screaming.A shell exploded on deck. The propeller stopped,and the steamer slowed down and lay rolling in thetrough of the sea.

"This new invention of war without killing, whatdo you think of it now?" Leudemann looked up atme satirically. "I guess you'll find there are acouple of casualties over there."

The Englishman must have known that he hadn'ta ghost of a chance to escape under fire at such closerange. First of all, he had been discourteous inignoring our friendly signals. Then he had violatedthe rules of ocean traffic in not giving our clipperthe right of way. And now in cold blood he hadendangered the life of his crew. According to theunwritten rules of etiquette among pirates and raiders,it was up to us to put out a boat and board a prize.But instead I signalled the steamer:

"Captain, come aboard!" Let him come over tous. If he's such a tough guy, we'll show him whorules the waves in this part of the Atlantic.

The latter day corsair in a poetic setting.

It was funny. Finally, I had to laugh. The shipwas the Lundy Island bound for France with a cargoof Madagascar sugar. An important cargo, sureenough. Sugar was scarce in all the countries at war,and we Germans, whose supply of sugar consistedmostly of a great longing for it, could sympathizewith the captain's eagerness to get his preciousmerchandise to port. When the first shot struck theLundy Island, the crew, black, brown, and yellow,fell into a panic. With shells falling, running the shipor staying with it meant nothing to them. Thecaptain roared and stormed, but that was all the goodit did. So he seized the helm, himself. Just then ashot hit the rudder chain, and when he turned thewheel nothing happened. The crew started taking tothe boats, and the tough old salt was left alone ondeck. Our signal for him to come on board left himhelpless. His boats were out there with the crewfloundering at the oars. The sea was pitching and rolling,and they were so frightened they could hardly row.He paced the bridge with his handbag in his hand,a solitary, woebegone figure. We finally had to senda boat for him.

On our deck he got a stern, formal reception.

"Any casualties among your men, Captain?"

"No, worse luck. Not a man scratched, by Joe, andthe blighters scurried around like rabbits at a dogshow. Look at them in the boats out there. Theyhaven't got here yet, the beggars. Let me at thatgun, by Joe, and I'll sink them."

It was hard not to sympathize with him, but stillhis conduct had apparently been inexcusable.

"Why did you endanger your men's lives like that,Captain? It not only was the height of folly, but itwas inhuman!"

Just then our ship's surgeon, Dr. Pietsch, camealong.

"Hello, Captain."

"Hello, Doctor."

They greeted each other like long-lost friends, savethat there was a shadow of uneasiness in the captain'sfraternal demonstrations.

Dr. Pietsch had gone out with our armoured cruiserMoewe on one of her freebooting expeditions. Amongthe captured captains of that cruise was our presentguest, who, while aboard the Moewe, had struck upa pleasant comradeship with the doctor. Now he,along with the other captains, had been released onparole. They had signed written promises that theywould engage in no further war activity. Believinghe had broken his parole, he thought the Germanswould hang him from a yardarm if they ever caughthim. When he saw we were an auxiliary cruiser, healready felt a rope tightening around his neck. Thatwas why he had tried so desperately to get away.

We amused ourselves with a formal discussion,after which I addressed our guest with suitablegravity.

"We are of the opinion, Captain, that your paroledid not cover your calling as a merchant captain.Only direct combatant service was included underthe heading of war activity. Therefore, we feelourselves under no unhappy necessity of hanging you."

Well, the smile on that hard, weather-beaten facewas like a sunrise. We now understood the all-too-humanmotives behind his actions, and we respectedhis plucky attempt to get away in the face of point-blankgunfire. Sailors ourselves, we could only salutethis skipper who, with a worthless, spineless crew,had to take the wheel himself, and then only to findhis rudder chain smashed.

"All right, Captain," I said, "it's the way thingsgo at sea when there's war on. God help us sailorchaps."

After he had roundly cursed his crew when finallythey came aboard, we took him below and introducedhim to his new quarters with Captain Chewn. Thetwo skippers found themselves mutually agreeableand became great old sidekicks. Some of the crewfound old friends among the sailors we had alreadycaptured, and none of them appeared particularlygrieved over the loss of their ship. We now hadfifty-odd guests, apparently representing half the raceson earth. The Seeadler was becoming populous andquite convivial.

The sea was so rough now that we did not senda bombing party to board the Lundy Island, but sankher by direct gunfire.

That night Leudemann and I sat over bottles ofbeer and talked about our prospects.

"Well, old chap," said I, "everything has begunwell. It's a fine cruise. But when will they sink us?"

"Not, at any rate," he replied, "until our hotel isfull."

You see our buccaneering raid was pretty certainto remain a secret until the time came when lack ofspace would compel us to release our prisoners andsend them to port. Then the news of our freebootingjaunt would be out, and cruisers would be hot afterus in every part of the world.

"And if we don't capture any more ships," Ireflected, "we can go on cruising indefinitely."

"Then let's catch some more quickly," laughedLeudemann. "It will be great sport to play hide andseek with cruisers."

That mate of mine was always itching for trouble.But then that was what we had all come through theblockade in hope of finding, so if we wanted plentyof excitement, then the sooner we sent the crews ofeight or ten ships into some port the sooner wouldthe alarm go out—"German raider in the Atlantic!" Then,too, Lloyd's insurance rates would start tosoar when the news got out, and ships with suppliesthat the Allies needed badly would be held in port.Also, a number of cruisers would no doubt bedetached from blockade patrol duty across the NorthSea. That was the interesting part of it—thosecruisers and how to elude them.

"Leudemann," I said, "the better the lookout,the more ships we will catch. We already have agood lookout, but I've thought of a way to have abetter one. A hundred pair of eyes are better thantwo pair."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, from now on, I'm going to change thatoffer of ten pounds and a bottle of champagne thatwe promised to the first of our two lookouts to spya ship. I'm going to open it to everyone on board!"

"To all of our crew?"

"Yes, to our crew, and to all of our prisoners, too!Ten pounds sterling and a bottle of champagne!I'll bet that'll send everybody into the rigging,including the captains."

"By Joe, you're right," said my mate, slappinghis knee, "particularly since they know that, assoon as we are full up with prisoners, they will allbe sent into some port."

"Exactly," I responded. "It won't be long beforewe have several hundred aboard. That will make afine flock of birds perched in the rigging, forces ofthe Allies on the lookout for Allied ships to sink!"

Leudemann and I roared with laughter the longerwe thought of it. I at once had notices posted up:

"Ten pounds and a bottle of champagne to thefirst man who sights a ship. Offer open to all."

You should have seen the rigging crowded withcrew and prisoners from then on. Every man whohad any kind of glass brought it out. There wereup-to-date binoculars, old-fashioned spyglasses, andcheap opera glasses. Even those without any glassestook their places on the yardarms, trusting to luckand the power of the naked eye. The two captains,with the dignity and poise that became their exaltedrank, climbed aloft and sat next to each other on ayard, sweeping the horizon with their excellentbinoculars.

Never had a ship such a lookout. I often stood andwatched the curious flock perched in the rigging, allcolours, sizes, and styles of beauty. And, believe me,they were wonders at spotting ships. Sometimes twoor three would spot the same ship at the same moment.Then there would be an argument, a riddle forSolomon himself to answer. Once or twice the argumentgot so hot that I had to pay two rewards fora ship, and then the champagne flowed freely. Thatnight, if the weather was balmy and a gentle breezewas blowing from the Gulf Stream, the deck of theSeeadler became a veritable beer garden, and ourguests frolicked like tourists on a Mediterraneancruise.

XV

RAIDING ALONG THE EQUATOR, AND AN INTERRUPTED
HONEYMOON

There are some memories that are painful to recall.To this day I can see the Charles Gounod goingdown, her bowsprit plunging first and her tall mastssinking slowly, first one spar disappearing and thenanother. It fills me with sadness, for she had behavedlike a gallant craft, and she was a large barque withall the air of an argosy, and as we bore toward her,she proudly saluted our Norwegian flag by raisingthe tricolour of France.

"What news of the war?" she signalled.

We steered close to her, unmasked our gun, andraised the German battle flag.

"Heave to," was our reply.

Incredulity, consternation! The officers and sailorson deck stood paralyzed for a long moment. Thenthe barque hove to.

Our prize crew went aboard and commandeered abatch of fine red wine from among the ship's provisions,and three fine fat hogs. The Frenchmen packedtheir belongings, and came aboard the Seeadler.They were a glum-looking, disgusted lot.

The French sailor bitterly hates to leave his ship.He is almost as attached to it as the average Frenchmanis attached to his native land. No French sailorwillingly serves on a foreign ship. The crews of othernations are made up of men from every corner ofthe world, from Chittagong and Malacca to Senegaland Jamaica, from Hull to Helsingfors, but noforeigner is taken on a French ship. The French sealaws are more severe than those of other nations.Desertion from a French ship is a very seriousoffense, while on most German ships it is punished bya mere fine of twenty marks.

The captain was painfully correct in his mannertoward us. He was a tall, impressive fellow with deepvoice and black beard. A man of fine education andstudious mind, he was scrupulously polite, but knewhow to make the hostility he felt toward us clearlyand rather amusingly evident. He was our prisoner.Very well, he conceded that. But we were theenemies of his country and the destroyers of his ship.Therefore he preserved a demeanour appropriate tothat attitude of mind throughout his entire voyagewith us. For our part, we could not but admire himfor his superb, unbending spirit.

His barque was loaded with a cargo of corn andbound for Bordeaux. Now, I don't know much music,and I don't care for this modern jazz school at all.Faust I enjoy. Give me the duet in the Garden scene,and, since I am called the "Sea Devil," I don't mindadmitting a secret fondness for old Mephisto and hisserenade beneath the window. Now I had to sinkmy favourite composer. The thought of it made mehum a phrase of Valentine's dying lament.

But the sinking of the Charles Gounod meant muchmore than any such superficial melancholy. Oneshouldn't ever have to sink a sailing ship. They arethe last survivors of the golden days at sea, cruelerdays and finer days. Take any old salt who has sailedbefore the mast, and ask him. The shipyards are notbuilding many of them any more, and the day of theschooner, the barque, the clipper, and the barquentineis fast passing. Every one that goes down to DavyJones is a loss that will not be replaced. I havean old-time seaman's love for sailships. A steamer?Train the guns and light the fuses. I could sink asteamer and laugh as she takes her last dive. ButI never did get used to sinking sailing ships,although we had to send many of them on their lastvoyage before our own final adventure in the SouthSeas.

Our bombs exploded in the hold of the CharlesGounod. She lurched like a living thing. Her tallmasts trembled. The majestic ship seemed to bowher head as she nosed down into the sea. The lastwe saw of her was a glimpse of her tallest mast andwaving from it the tricolour of France. With herdeparture, I somehow thought I saw the passing of thewhole age of sailing ships.

Three days later, a tremendous commotion in therigging. Six men were reporting "Sail ho!"

"Hold there," I roared, "let's have done withthe argument until we've settled with the ship."

She was a fine three-masted schooner. We thoughtshe might be an American. The Americans favourthat type of ship. And the United States was not yetin the war. However, the Canadians also have aweakness for the three-masted schooner. We raisedour flag, hoping to induce the skipper to raise hisflag, which would be the polite response for him tomake. But her skipper didn't seem to be in any moodfor returning compliments that day. Perhaps he hadhad a bad night and was saying to himself:

"What do I care for that old Norwegian tub?"

We backed our main-topsail and dipped our flagthree times as a salute, hoping that this exceptionalcourtesy would induce the schooner to follow theamenities of the sea.

It happened now that our freebooting led us tointrude unwittingly into the rose-covered field ofromance, where our rough pirate's boots were notadapted to walk among the delicate plants. However,buccaneers that we were, we were not without a highregard for the tender sentiment. Aboard the schooner,the captain had his newly married bride. The voyagewas their honeymoon. He saw no reason why heshould bother to raise his flag in response to ours.She, however, inspired by the enchantment of ahoneymoon voyage, was full of romance and thespirit of the sea. She remonstrated with herbridegroom for his impoliteness toward the Norwegianship.

"Oh, to blazes with the —— old Norwegian,"grumbled the bridegroom, and she thought him avery cruel and hard-bitten husband, and told him so.

When we dipped our flag three times and he stillproposed not to answer the salutation, she felt itwas an outrage. I don't know whether she broke intotears, as brides always do in books, but, at any rate,she talked a lot. He got angry, and they had a realrow—their first quarrel, we afterward learned.

Leudemann and I stood on the bridge.

"Better leave the lubber alone," I said.

Just then the ensign in the lookout on themainmast sang out:

"That's no American. They're raising the Britishflag."

Sure enough, there were the British colours. Upwent our battle flag! Across her bows went a shotfrom our gun. But it required a second shot beforeshe hove to.

"Hey!" cried Leudemann, "there's a woman."

The captain's bride was running around the deckin a tailspin, as aviators say. I don't know whethershe was afraid of shot and shell or the righteous ire ofher husband. Maybe he was chasing her.

Prize Officer Preiss had an added dignity as heclimbed into the boat with his boarding crew. Hewas always a great hand at quieting excitedpeople—especially the ladies. With his six feet four, hisdeep voice, and his imperturbable manner, he wasthe kind of man to raise his hand and calm thetumult of the howling mob. He had a certain streakof gallantry, too, which made him a second Siegfriedwhen it came to the task of quieting an excitedyoung woman.

The schooner was the H.M.S. Percy bound fromNova Scotia with a cargo of gaberdine. The captaintold me he saw our first shot splash into the waterin front of his ship, and thought it merely a whalespouting. With our second shot he heard the reportof the gun, and saw that we were an auxiliary cruiser.The Percy's cargo was so light that we did not usebombs, but shot her full of holes.

We were worried about having fair companyaboard. There might be rough work that would notbe good for the eyes of woman. And then a womanneeds attention. She must be treated with care andconsideration. Suppose this new and undesiredcaptive should start to complain. Women like tocomplain. Suppose she should grow angry at being kepta prisoner. What could we do? You couldn't put herin the brig.

"Well, Leudemann," said I, "the only thing wecan do is to treat her so well that she will be happyall the time."

"I treated a dame well once," growled Leudemann,"and then she ran off with another man the firsttime I left her alone."

The skipper's bride turned out to be the bestfellow you could want. She had one of those sunnytemperaments that simply spread mirth and goodcheer everywhere. She had a smile for everyone andin every circ*mstance. She took her stay aboard theSeeadler as an unexpected, exciting, and appropriatephase of her honeymoon, and resolved to get thegreatest possible fun out of it. We all made much ofher, did everything to make her comfortable, gaveher presents, and got up amusem*nts for her. Herhusband was a little annoyed with her at first forhaving caused the loss of his ship, but he could notstay angry with her for long, and when he saw whata reigning queen aboard she was, he became veryproud of her—and seldom left her side.

When she got back to Canada, she gave the newspaperslong stories about her stay on our terriblepirate raider, the Seeadler, and told what a delightfultime the freebooters had shown her. When I returnedto Germany after the war, I found an envelope fullof clippings from her awaiting me.

We lay in the waters off Africa five degrees abovethe equator and thirty degrees west longitude. Thatregion is right on the path of all sailing ships that runbefore the southeast trade winds and head north.The weather is seldom bad there, the air is clear,and from our masthead we had a range of vision ofthirty miles.

A Frenchman, no doubt of it. The ship wasscrupulously clean, her rigging trim and neat. Her hullwas decorated artistically with gunports, after themanner of an old-time war frigate. Only the Frenchkeep their ships so thoroughly shined up, and therewas one firm of French shipping owners whose customit was to decorate their vessels man-o'-war fashion.She was the four-masted brig Antonin. We came upbehind her diagonally, and then after her. Our motorwas having one of its off days, but we did not care.What's the matter with canvas? The Seeadler wasone of the fastest clippers ever turned out by anAmerican shipyard, and there was nothing I liked betterthan a race under sail. We'd see if this Frenchmancould outsail us. Fine chance he had. But if he did notexactly outsail us, he sailed with us. We could notgain on him. That bark was fast, and so we went on,mile after mile, quite evenly.

A sudden wind squall arose. It blew like a fury.The captain of the Antonin was a sensible skipper.He immediately lowered sail, took in his royals andupper gallant sails. That was where we had it onhim, for we had no miserly shipowner to be afraidof. Our masts wouldn't break, anyway.

"Keep every stitch on, boys! After her, myhearties!"

Of course, we gained rapidly on her now.

The wind continued to howl. The gale raged, andthe captain of the Antonin thought we were quitemad. Gallants and royals up during a wind squall—hehad never seen such a thing in all his days atsea. The sight was so funny that he wanted apicture of it. We watched him, standing in the sternof his ship and gazing down into the finder of hiscamera.

"Leudemann," I said to my helmsman, "we mustcapture that snapshot for our collection of photographs,if we have to take a trip to Davy Jones doingit."

We were attempting to keep a thorough photographicrecord of our cruise, for the Imperial archives,and a picture of the Seeadler running with all sailsset through a squall, particularly if that picture weresnapped all unwittingly by the captain of a prize,would indeed be a gem for our collection.

We were close behind the Antonin now. The captain'spicture seemed to have been satisfactorilysnapped. A machine gun began to rattle. We wereoften bored during those long days at sea. Anythingfor a bit of amusem*nt. It would be funny to watchthat captain's face when he heard the typewriter ofMars rattling in his ear and when he saw us sendinga stream of lead through his rigging. First he started,and then he glared. What did these lunatics mean?This kind of insanity was too much. His rigging mightbe injured, ropes cut or spars smashed. He began toroar at us in the most profane French. When aFrenchman swears, you can hear it far off. Then hesaw the German flag at our masthead. He staggeredback with a dramatic gesture that only a Frenchmancan achieve.

We sank the Antonin just as we sank the others,but first we seized that kodak and roll of film, byJoe.

We added another Allied nation to our list ofprizes when the Buenos Aires came bowling along.She was an Italian ship built in England, a finevessel but filthy dirty. Everything was untidy fromstem to stern. Her captain, a fat, unkempt man ofabout fifty-five with a bristly moustache and amonth's growth of scraggly stubble on his face, cameaboard the Seeadler carrying an umbrella! Can youimagine a skipper of a windjammer carrying anumbrella at sea? We couldn't, and my men all burstout in rude guffaws. I suppose he had it to protecthimself during a hurricane, eh? I had once seen aphotograph of the Italian commander in chief, CountCadorna, carrying an umbrella. So we immediatelydubbed our new skipper Cadorna. He was a genialfellow, full of good nature and fun. You should haveseen his astonishment when he saw the fine quarterswe provided for our captive skippers. He never didquite get over it. Apparently, he was better off asour prisoner than he had been before.

We sailed night and day. During the day wetacked south into the steady trades, and duringthe night we ran with the northeast trade winds.At nights, when we ordinarily could not see them(because in wartime they all sailed without lightseven in the Pacific), we went in the same directionas the ships bound for America, so that none passedus, and it was up to us to catch them. During theday, with our zigzag tacking, we were pretty sure tocome in sight of any vessel sailing along thatshipping lane in either direction.

* * *

One night, our lookout saw a tiny flash of lightastern. A ship was coming along behind us, andsomebody on her had looked at his watch with a pocketflash. We kept along on our way. No doubt in themorning she would still be close to us. Dawn came,and there she was, a magnificent French barque, theLa Rochefoucauld. We signalled her:

"Important news."

She hove to. The captain, who was on deck in hiscarpet slippers, saw our gun but thought we were themother supply for a squadron of British submarines.Seeing that he was under some illusion, I decided tohave a little fun with him. I called our capturedsailors to deck in batches. First up came the Chinamen.They lined up along the rail so that the Frenchmancould get a good look at them. Then I calledthe West Indian Negroes on deck. After them thewhite men. Now Chinese, now black men, nowCaucasians—the captain of the La Rochefoucauldthought he must be having a nightmare. And a mostdisagreeable nightmare it was when he saw theGerman flag run swiftly to the tip of our mainmast.You should have heard him swear.

He climbed on to the Seeadler's deck a picture ofwrath and despair. He still had on his carpetslippers, and had brought nothing with him. His namewas Lecoq.

"Don't you want to send for your belongings,Captain Lecoq?" I asked.

"If I have to lose my ship, mon Dieu, I want tolose everything," he replied.

"You don't want to take anything with you?"

"No, let everything go down with the ship."

I sent a couple of his sailors back aboard the LaRochefoucauld to pack his luggage and bring it aboardthe Seeadler.

One of my sailors came to me, saying:

"They met a cruiser a couple of days ago."

My men had orders to circulate among capturedsailors and talk with them to see what they couldpick up. This sailor had heard mention of a cruiserin the talk of the French sailors.

That was funny. I had asked Captain Lecoqwhether he had sighted any ships within the pastweek, and he had replied no. In his log I had foundno mention of being searched by a cruiser. One ofmy officers examined the log again and found thata page had been torn out. A thorough questioningof the French sailors brought out the fact that theyhad been thoroughly searched by a British cruiser.This warship had taken her position three hundredmiles south of us and was cruising back and forthacross the Pacific ship lane, examining every vesselthat passed. So you see, we, apparently, were pickingthem up after she had O.K.'d them. Captain Lecoqhad bidden his men to say nothing about the cruiser.Apparently he hoped that we would wander farenough south to run afoul of the Britisher and becaptured.

I was momentarily displeased with him for hisdeception, but, after all, he was a Frenchman, andwe were the enemies of his country. His action wasa bit heroic, too. If we ran into the cruiser, we mightbe sunk, and he would go down with us. I was destinedto have trouble later with this same irreconcilableCaptain Lecoq.

The South Sea island home of the shipwrecked buccaneers.

XVI

WINDJAMMER VS. STEAMER

Now the biggest ship we captured in the Atlanticwas a 9,800-ton British steamer loaded withchampagne—the Horngarth. That was our banner day.

She was well armed and had a wireless. She hoveinto sight one morning, and we could see that shewould make a tough customer for our sailing shipto handle. But why not have a good look at her?We set the signal:

"Chronometer time, please."

The way she paid no attention to the request saidvery clearly:

"Let that old windjammer go and buy a watch!"

But we had other devices. We had a smokeapparatus to send clouds rolling out of the galley, andon the galley roof was a dish loaded with a quantityof magnesium which when lighted produced awicked red flame. We set the smoke and fire going,and ran up distress signals. The Seeadler now wasthe most dramatic-looking ship afire you ever saw.Thirty of my crew armed with rifles hid behind therail, and Schmidt quickly dressed up as the captain'swife, the beautiful but simpering "Josefeena" of thebig feet. We had another piece of apparatus whichwe now used for the first time. It was a kind ofcannon made out of a section of smokestack. It wasloaded with a charge of powder, and you touched itoff with a lighted cigarette. It was quite harmlessbut made a terrifying noise. You would have thoughtit a super-dreadnaught's full broadside. I picked threesailors who had the most powerful voices aboard,gave them large megaphones, and stationed them onthe topmast yards of the mainmast and mizzen.

If that steamer was short on courtesy, she waslong on humanity. She came rushing heroically tothe aid of the old sailship that was blazing sodramatically just astern. She had a powerful wirelessset, and as I stood on my bridge watching her as shesteamed toward us I could not take my eyes off thefive-inch gun on her deck. What was our littlepopgun beside that piece of ordnance? One shot wouldblow us right out of the water.

The steamer had a big fat captain, who had his cappulled down over one eye. His voice, even when hewhispered, was a deep bellow. You should haveheard it through the megaphone! The steamerdrew near. The fat captain raised his megaphone.

"What the hell's the matter with you?" His voiceboomed across like the rumble of our old cannon.

We cut off the smoke and flame. It looked as if wehad fought our fire successfully. Schmidt, thecaptain's beautiful wife, tripped along the deck withcoquettish movements of shoulders and hips. Theofficers on the steamer's bridge eyed the fair visionand exchanged smiles with that rogue of a Schmidt.Nor was the fat captain insensible to femininecharms. He rolled his eyes and grinned with theexpression of a skipper who can easily "cut his officersout."

"Look at the wireless, Leudemann," I said, "andthe five-inch gun."

"Knock the wireless over," he replied, "and let'shave it out with the five-inch gun."

"Clear the deck for action," I roared.

Instantly, the beautiful Schmidt threw off hissilken dress, and in the uniform of a German gobkicked his blonde wig around the deck. The Britishersstared aghast. The German flag ran up, our riflemenarose from behind the rail, ready to pick offanyone who tried to handle the five-inch gun. Bang,crash, and our gun knocked over the wireless shack.A tremendous detonation, and our false smokestackcannon added its voice to the general effect.

The steamer's crew swarmed on deck and ranaround like crazy animals. The captain telephonedhis order to start the engines. His engine crew was ondeck as panicky as the others. He ordered the boatsswung out. His men were already doing that as wellas their fright allowed.

"Clear the deck for action," he howled.

That only gave the crew a greater scare than ever.

I shouted to him:

"Lay to, or I will sink you."

I had to admire that captain. The fat fellowdominated the frightened mob by sheer force of lungpower. His voice seemed to sweep the deck andmaster everything.

"Gun crew to their posts. By Joe, you scalawags.Gun crew to their posts, I say, by Joe."

We stood watching. I didn't think he could do it,but the panic stilled. The frightened men stood at akind of attention. The gun crew separated itselffrom the crowd. It looked as though there would be afight, his cannon against our rifles. Well, we couldpick them off, and that fat "soul of the situation"would be an excellent mark to shoot at.

We had one more device left. I gave the signal.From the mastheads boomed three voices throughthe megaphones in unison. The shout was in Englishand seemed to dominate the ocean to the horizon.

"Torpedoes clear!"

On the deck of the steamer a crazy yell arose:

"No torpedoes, for God's sake, no torpedoes."

Handkerchiefs, napkins, towels, and anything whitewas waved. The cook frantically waved his apron.

"Lay to," I shouted, "or we discharge our torpedoes."

There was no further sound. The fat captain waslicked, licked by the terror the torpedo inspired ineveryone who sailed on ships. He made no furtherprotest. He could not have done anything with hismen now, but I don't think he liked torpedoes either.He sat down on a deck chair, cursing and wiping thesweat off his face.

We still had to be careful. There were plenty offirearms aboard that ship, rifles, grenades, and whatnot. I kept our riflemen at the rail, ready to coverour boarding party and to shoot down anyone whowent near the five-inch gun. Still with the idea ofkeeping the men on the steamer overawed, I sentmy eight strongest men as the boarding crew underthe command of my giant prize officer. They hadbeen among the strongest men in Germany. Onewas the wrestling champion of Saxony, another thewrestling champion of Westphalia. One, a Bavarianwho had been a sculptor's model. He had been inmuch demand for posing because of his prodigiousmuscular development. Any one of these fellowscould bring up the 220-pound weight with one hand.They went with bare arms and shoulders. They hadlong bamboo poles with hooks at the end. Theyreached up with the poles, caught the hooks over theedge of the deck of the captured ship, and climbed uphand over hand. The men on deck looked down asthey ascended.

"What fellows, by Joe. No, by Joe, we're notgoing to fight with those fellows!"

Our prisoners came aboard. Among them wereeight British marines who had been assigned to thesteamer as a gun crew. The fat captain looked aroundour deck with a sort of belligerent curiosity. Hewalked up to our smokestack gun, and you couldn'thave told his face from a beet.

"Captain, is that the thing that made that hell of aracket?"

"Yes."

"Where are your torpedoes?"

"Torpedoes? We have no torpedoes."

"No torpedoes? That was a fake, too?"

"Yes."

"By Joe, Captain, don't report that, by Joe."

I promised him I would not report it, and told himheartily that he had behaved like a true Britishskipper, and no man could have done better.

Aye, things have changed on the sea. When I wentaboard that steamer, I had to sit there and lookaround and think. She was a freighter, and what werefreighters like when I was in the fo'c'sle? That wasn'tso long ago, twenty-odd years, but ships and customschange rapidly. I was in a magnificent saloon, withheavy carpets, glittering candelabra, and big, luxuriousclub chairs. Paintings in heavy frames hung onthe wall. In one corner was a Steinway grand pianoand beside it a music rack. There were other musicalinstruments, a melodeon, a violin, a guitar, a ukulele.Freighters nowadays often have better officers'accommodations than passenger ships. They have morespace for them and their voyages are longer, sometimesa year or more. The shipowners provide comfortsand luxuries to make the long periods at sea lessburdensome. The sailors, too, are put up in far betterstyle than formerly. In my time, even on the biggestfreight steamers, the officers had simple quartersand the seamen had little more comfort than they hadon the sailing ships. I remembered the various shipson which I had hauled at ropes and swabbed thedeck.

"By Joe," I thought, "if they had told you ofanything like this, you would have thought themready for a lunatic asylum."

The hold of the steamer was no less interesting thanthe officers' saloon. The cargo was valued at amillion pounds sterling. It included five hundred casesof rare cognac and twenty-three hundred cases ofchampagne, Veuve Cliquot. That was something.

"Ho! boys," I called, "lend a hand. There's a bit ofwork here."

We took the musical instruments, the piano, violin,'cello, melodeon, and all. We had aboard theSeeadler a pianist and a violinist, both excellentmusicians out of the German conservatories. We hadno room in our cabins to hang the paintings, so Igave them to our captive captains to take with themwhen they left our ship. Some of the expensive furniturefitted nicely in the Seeadler's cabins. Of thecognac and champagne we ferried aboard as muchas we could stow away. We opened the sea co*cks ofthe steamer, and she settled down peacefully beneaththe waves.

XVII

THE LAST CRUISE OF THE POOR OLD PINMORE

One night, the breeze having become light, weproceeded under a cloud of sail. It was a night suchas you rarely find anywhere but in the tropics. Thefour scintillating stars of the Southern Cross twinkledmerrily down upon us. Our sails were full, and thewaves murmured past our bow. The sky was a gorgeousspread of blinking stars, and Old Man Moon wasso bright that he seemed to be laughing and chuckling.The buccaneer's deck was crowded. We sat around ingenial fraternity, officers, prisoners, and crew, eachwith a goblet of champagne. Midship was theorchestra, violin, 'cello, melodeon, and Steinwaygrand. Perhaps it was the spell of the tropic night,but as I paced the quarter-deck it seemed to me thatthey played as well as the musicians at the StadtOpera in Berlin.

"Oh, lovely south wind, blow." The melody driftedalong on the wind of the Southern ocean.

How remote the war seemed then! The day was notfar when we would be shipwrecked, but to-night allthought of what might be our fate was wafted awayby the spell of the music, the champagne, and thepoetry of night beneath the tropic stars.

"What ho, a light!"

My night telescope at my eye, I saw a ship. On thehorizon, brightly outlined by the light of the moon,stood a stately three-master.

"Hard aport!" We were on the dark side of thehorizon, and she could not see us. After a bit ofscrutiny as we approached her, we guessed her to bean enemy ship.

Our flash signal flared out across the water."Heave to—a German cruiser." Unable to make usout, she little guessed that we were nothing morethan a sailing ship, from which she could easilyescape by slipping through the night. We were confidentshe would take us for an armoured cruiser easily ableto catch her and blow her out of the sea with a broadside.

We waited at the rail to see what would happen.Presently, we heard a splashing of oars. Out of thedarkness came a hail, the jolliest hail I have everlistened to. It was in nasal seaport French.

"What a relief! Instead of a Boche cruiser, I findyou are an old windjammer like ourselves. But whythe joke? Your signal fooled us completely. I supposeyou want to tell us something about the war."

I did not wonder at his surmise. Ships long at sea,particularly Allied ships, were always keen aboutnews from the various battle fronts, and it wascommon enough for vessels to stop and exchange news.

"Come on aboard," I replied. "We have lots of news."

We were in our shirt sleeves, and looked likeordinary seamen. On deck he said proudly:

"I am a Frenchman." As though we couldn't haveguessed it.

"A Frenchman? Fine. How is France doing?"

"Ah! France, she is victorious, or will be very soon.Ravi de vous voir."

He fairly bubbled over with delight when we offeredhim a bottle of champagne. Being homeward bound,he was in a frolicsome mood. A generous taste ofthe champagne, and he was ready to embrace us. Hethought our supposed joke, which certainly wouldhave been somewhat cruel, was the result of ourbeing tipsy. He slapped me on the back, as onecheery skipper to another.

"Captain, what a terrible fellow you are to havefooled me like that. But now I feel as though a stonehad dropped from my heart."

"Beware," I thought, "that your stone does notcome back twice as heavy."

He was such a cheery, convivial soul that I hatedto break the bad news to him. I left the progress ofevents to do that. He wanted to have a look over ourship. So I ushered him aft to my cabin, and threwopen the door. He took a step forward and recoiled.On the walls were pictures of the Kaiser, Hindenburg,Ludendorff, and Von Tirpitz, and a large Germanflag.

"Des allemands!" he groaned.

"Yes," I said, "we are Germans."

"Then we are lost, per Dieu!"

"Yes, per Dieu, you are lost."

He stood with his forehead in one hand. His despairwas both tragic and comic to behold. I tried as best Icould to say a few words of cheer.

"Well, Captain, you are not the only one to loseyour ship during the war. To-morrow I, too, may besunk, or the next day."

He replied in the most doleful tone imaginable.

"It is not so much the loss of my ship. But it'sthat I feel I have only myself to blame for it. InValparaiso, where I lay in port with my Dupleix,two of my fellow captains warned me not to startuntil they had cabled our owners for final instructionsand news about U-boats and cruisers. Possiblyour owners would instruct us to keep off the usualcourse, they said. But the wind was fair, and Ithought it best to take advantage of it. So, withoutwaiting for a reply from our owners, I sailed fromValparaiso ahead of the other two captains. And now,because I did not take their advice, I have lost theDupleix, my ship. Mon Dieu, what an ass I was!Now they will report it to my owners, and I willnever get a ship again."

"What were the names of your friends' ships?"

"The Antonin——"

"The Antonin under Captain Lecoq?"

"Yes. And the La Rochefoucauld?"

"Orderly," I called in German, which the captaindid not understand, "bring up captains numbers fiveand nine."

While we waited, I invited my mournful guest tohave some more champagne, but he refused andcontinued holding his head and moaning.

A knock at the door.

"Come in."

And in walked the captains of the Antonin andthe La Rochefoucauld. They had been on board tenand three days respectively.

The captain of the Dupleix gaped.

"Eh, tout la France!" he cried.

Full of ironical enthusiasm, he raised his glass ofchampagne and saluted them. Then with joy that hemade no effort to conceal, he clasped the hands ofthe two captains whose advice he had scorned andwho had encountered the same fate as he. Theyreturned his welcome with a grim humour.

The presence of these three captains aboard theSeeadler represented a loss of ten thousand tons ofsaltpetre destined for French powder mills, and asaving of hundreds, perhaps thousands of German lives.

* * *

One Sunday morning, we sighted a large Britishbarque and started after her. She thought we wereplayfully challenging her to a race, and tried to runaway. I don't know whether we could have caughther in a straight sailing ship against sailing shipcontest; at any rate, our motor gave us the edge.

A strange feeling came over me as we gained onher and as her lines became more distinct. It wasa sense of sadness and of vague, dimly dawningrecollection. Had I seen that ship before? Was itpossible...

"Signal and ask her for her name," I called.

Our signal flag went aloft. The reply came back:

"Pinmore"

Ah, my old Pinmore, on which I had made thelongest and most harrowing voyage of my life.Memories swept over me of those endless storms and of thedisease on board, beri-beri, scurvy. My whole beingseemed to leap back to the days of my youth.Homesickness seized me. I could not say a word toLeudemann, who stood beside me.

"No use, the ship must be sunk," a harsh innervoice told me.

It was hard for me to sink any sailing vessel, butdoubly cruel to have to sink my old ship. I felt asthough she were a kind of mother. No sailor with anykind of sailor's soul in him will raise a hand againsthis own ship.

We took her as we had taken the others. Whenher crew came aboard, I looked for familiar faces.There were none. The skipper, Captain Mullen,came up to me with a humorous, seamanly air.

"Well, Captain, our hard luck is your good luck."

"Lucky?" I felt like saying. "Do you call this lucky?"

He was a typical old seaman, afraid neither ofenemy in war nor storms at sea. The seven seas hadbeen his home. Like the sailing ship, the old-timewindjammer captain is vanishing. Captain Mullenwas indeed like the king of a vanishing race. Heswaggered down below, and saluted our other skipperswith a jovial air. He soon became the leading figureof the "Captains' Club."

When everyone had left the Pinmore, I had a boattake me over to her. I clambered aboard and sentthe boat and its crew back, telling them I would givethem a hail when I wanted them again.

"Why does the Count want to remain alone aboardher?" I heard one of them say.

I went to the fo'c'sle. There was my bunk, thesame old bunk where I had slept night after nightfor months and had tumbled out countless times atthe command "all hands on deck" while those endlessstorms bore down upon us. I paced the planks ondeck where I had stood watch so often. It seemed asthough I had never seen that deck save in a storm.Those gales had left so deep an imprint on my memorythat it gave me a sense of strangeness to see the sunshining on the Pinmore's planks and a slowly heavingsea around.

I remembered a cunning little cat I had once ownedon board her. The captain's wife wanted it. Thesteward got it for her. I told the steward that if hedid not bring it back to me I would go to the captain.The steward laughed at me. I determined to complainto the captain about the steward and his wife anddemand my cat back. I could see myself as I hadwrathfully strode along the deck to the cabin. Thesight of the door made me stop. I mustered up mycourage and advanced again. I ventured just farenough to peep in at the door, which was ajar. Theskipper was sitting there reading a paper. Oneglimpse of the master, and all of Phelax Luedige'sbravery oozed away. He turned and tiptoed away.I never did get my cat back, and forever after helda grudge against the steward.

I could still feel the old enmity. If I could have foundthat steward, I would have let him know how theend of a rope felt. I went to the cabin and halfopened the door. It was much as when I had seen itlast. The bright rainbow glow of the colouredskylight gave me an old familiar feeling. Somethingrestrained me from entering. I did not dare go inthen. I would not now.

At the stern I looked for my name which I hadonce carved on the rail. I found it, half effaced bytime and weather. I read it slowly, spelling it outas a child spells its first lessons: P-H-E-L-A-XL-U-E-D-I-G-E. I looked at the compass, besidewhich I had watched for hours. The compass is asacred place to a sailor.

"This ship," I thought, "carried me safely. Thestorms were wild all the way from 'Frisco around theHorn to Liverpool. They wanted to take us, everyman aboard, but the good old Pinmore fought againstwind and wave over leagues and leagues of drearywaste and brought us safely to port. Yes, she was ourmother, our kindly protecting mother."

The deserted ship with an unguided helm rolledback and forth. The rigging creaked and groaned. Itseemed to be a voice, a voice that hurt me. Everyspar seemed to say:

"So here you are, Phelax, back again. Where haveyou been all these years? Where is all the crew?What do you want here, alone? What are you goingto do with me?"

Little had I dreamed when I was a sailor on thisfine barque that one day I would walk her decksagain, not as a seaman, but as the commander of araider.

Returning to the Seeadler, I shut myself up in mycabin. In the distance I heard the roar of a bomb,and I knew that my old Pinmore had started on herlast cruise.

XVIII

THE LIFE OF A MODERN BUCCANEER

Ever taken a trip at sea where the company aboardwas dull and dead, the passengers uncongenial toone another, and everybody sitting around day afterday and bored to death? You have? Well, then, youknow what it's like, eh?

Give me a lively, companionable crowd of shipmates,and I don't care how long or how stormy thecruise. On land, if you don't like the company, youcan seek better mates elsewhere. On shipboard, doyour darnedest and you can't get away from 'em.You have to take your company just exactly as youfind it. You are married to it. A genial lot ofshipmates and a long cruise, say from New York toMelbourne, and what more can any man ask for at sea?

Although our old jolly-boat was a raiding auxiliarycruiser, she also degenerated into a breed ofpassenger ship, too. Our passengers were our prisoners.That made the situation somewhat unusual andadded a bit of spice. I've served as an officer aboarda dozen or more liners, and have seen all kinds andstrata of society aboard, including dull, delightful,ill-natured, jovial—both the quick and the dead.Yes, I have had some splendid passenger lists onvoyages where every hour was gay and bubblingwith fun. But no group of passengers on a liner everenjoyed such happy comradeship as did we aboardour buccaneering craft. The fact that we werecaptors and captives only seemed to make it all thejollier. We took the greatest pleasure in making thetime agreeable for our prisoners, with games, concerts,cards, and story-telling. We tried to feed themwell, and I think we did, which helps a lot, as you'llagree. We didn't throw it at them either. In fact,we served special meals for all the nations whoseships we captured. One day our own German chefcooked, and that boy was some cook, as you say. Thenext day an English cookie, then the French chef,then the Italian to make us some polenta. TheEnglish food was the worst. It usually is. On the otherhand, the Americans fed their sailors best of all. It'slong been a tradition on Yankee clippers. In the olddays, the American sailing ships were famous forfrightful work and much brutality, but the foodwas good. To-day the work is not bad and there is nobrutality, but the food is still good.

The prisoners seemed to appreciate our intentionsthoroughly. They wanted to do everything theycould for us in return. Feelings of patriotism shouldhave made them hope for our early destruction.But more elemental sentiments of gratitude andfriendship obliterated the more artificial passions ofwar hatred. I am sure that very few of our passengerswished us any ill or gloated in the hope of our beingsunk by the cruisers of their nations. I think it reallyhurt many of them to realize that the day probablywould come when we would be caught and go downunder a rain of Allied shellfire. That magnificentFrenchman, the captain of the Charles Gounod, keptaloof from the general fraternizing, and scrupulouslykept up his manner of cold politeness and statelyhostility toward us, but even he thawed out a fewdegrees, although he tried hard to keep from showing it.

There was only one of our prisoners who behavedhimself in any way that could be consideredimproper. That was Captain Lecoq of the La Rochefoucauld,that same Captain Lecoq who had cherishedhopes that we would run afoul of the British cruiser.You see, the skippers aboard were quite free to gowhere they liked on the ship, except that I askedeach one, as he came aboard, not to go into the forepart of the ship, and I explained why.

"My magazines," I said, "are in the forward halfof the boat. I do not want you to know exactlywhere they are placed. After you are released, youmight reveal the secret. Then, one of these merrydays, if some cruiser takes a shot at me, and if thelocation of my magazines is known, they'll aimright at that spot. A shell there and up in the air wego. I must ask you to give me your word of honourthat you will not go into the foreship, else I will haveto keep you confined."

Each skipper gave me his word, including Lecoq.

Captain Lecoq broke his promise. He not onlywent secretly into the foreship, but he made sketchesof the layout there. Captain Mullen of the Pinmoresaw the sketches, knocked Lecoq down, and reportedhim to me. I berated Lecoq soundly.

"And as a result of your dishonourable action," Isaid, "when I release my prisoners and send themoff to some port, there will be one Frenchman whowill remain behind, and that Frenchman will be you.You will continue your cruise with us. You knowwhere my magazines are, and I cannot trust anypromise that you now give me."

He turned a bit green around the gills at that, butthere was nothing he could say in reply.

Our only woman aboard, the skipper's little bride,grew melancholy. We did everything we could tomake the time pleasant for her, but she pined for thesociety of other women. It was rather a trial for herto be so long the only woman among several hundredmen.

"Count, I do so wish there were a woman aboardthat I could talk to," she said to me a bit coaxinglyone day. "Why don't you catch me one?"

I always like to oblige a lady, particularly one socharming and agreeable as she, but catching anotherwoman was a game of chance with us. You don'toften find fair company aboard freighters, especiallyin tropical waters. However, I said:

"Madam, we will do our best."

At times I used to amuse myself by joining thecrowd on the lookout in the rigging. It was a mistyday, and nobody had much of a chance of seeinganything. Then it cleared a little in the west, andBoarding Officer Preiss, who was beside me, thoughthe saw a ship. I instructed the helmsman to steerin than direction, and after fifteen minutes a largeBritish barque appeared through the mist. As wedrew near her, I saw a white figure on the deck. Sureenough, a woman.

"Madam," I shouted, to the Canadian skipper'sbride, "get ready to welcome your companion.She'll be paying you a call in a few minutes."

Everybody, prisoners and all, swarmed on deck towitness the exceptional capture. The Seeadler boredown on the unlucky barque.

The captain looked curiously at the crowdedfigures standing at our rail, of every colour and race.They waved gaily. Our gramophone blared out, "It'sa Long Way to Tipperary."

"Hello," he shouted through his megaphone,"collecting volunteers?"

He thought we were picking up war volunteersfrom the Atlantic islands.

"Volunteers?" I called in return. "Oh, yes."

Our prisoners laughed a bit.

"Any news of the war?" he asked.

Officers and sailors and the woman on his deckcraned their necks for a reply.

"Much news of the war," I responded. "I will signalit."

They stared, awaiting the signal.

"C-I-D," our signal flags went up; "heave to orI will fire."

I could see the captain rapidly thumbing the pagesof his book. His head jerked up suddenly. Hisbinoculars focussed themselves on our mastheadwhere the German flag now waved. Our gun maskdropped, and the cannon peered forth. By Joe, but itraised a commotion on the deck. When she saw it, thewoman darted into her cabin. The sailors ran to theboats. Even the helmsman deserted the wheel. Thecaptain was the only one who kept his head. Heseized the helm with a firm hand, and the ship hoveto.

Our guests were always interested in the prospect ofhaving new additions to their company. They had anever-ready, cordial welcome for fresh arrivals. Thistime, the coming of a second feminine passenger madethe occasion a gala one. Everybody put on hisbest manners. The members of our "Captains' Club"marshalled their forces on deck, ready to greet theofficers and the lady from the captured craft withsuitable dignity and formality.

Our little woman put on her best clothes and askedme for a nosegay from a supply of artificial flowerswe had captured. The newly arriving woman, whoscarcely knew what to expect aboard our dreadfulpirate craft, was surprised when she was greeted notonly by our Captains' Club with all of its statelycourtesies, but also by a brightly smiling youngwoman who presented her with a bouquet of flowersthat made up in brightness of colour what it lackedin sweetness of perfume, since they were imitationones.

The two women immediately became the best offriends, and the convivial spirit aboard made ourhappiness complete.

The captured barque, the British Yeoman, carrieda rare store of provisions, including some live pigsand chickens. She also had two pets, a curious pair—arabbit and a pigeon. We promptly adopted themand called the pigeon "the dove of peace" in honourof the spirit aboard our raiding ark. That rabbit andpigeon were inseparable. If the rabbit strayed, thepigeon would coo and coo for it to come back, andthe rabbit would obediently respond.

Then we also had two dachshunds aboard, Piperleand Schnaeuzchen. Piperle was a friendly little rascaland most intelligent. He seemed to understand whatour work was, and grew most enthusiastic. He wentout with the boarding parties, barked furiously ifanything seemed to go wrong, and wagged his tailwith a tremendous enthusiasm when things turnedout all right. He seemed to take it as his especialtask to give a friendly welcome to prisoners broughtaboard. He would bark and leap upon them, asthough saying:

"Hello, you'll have a good time here."

Schnaeuzchen was an ill-natured specimen ofdachs bitch. She looked on satirically at Piperle'sdemonstrations, and people had to make manyamicable overtures before she became friendly. Sheand Piperle were of discordant temperaments. Theygot along together in a resigned sort of way, withmany a quarrel in dog language, something likehusband and wife. I think she nagged him a lot.

We gave the rabbit and pigeon quarters in Piperle'skennel, which delighted the good-natured dog. Hewelcomed his guests with cordial demonstrations. Helicked the rabbit's fur continually, which at first madethe pigeon jealous. The bird sulked and made angrysounds. The unfortunate rabbit seemed in a quandary,torn between his liking for the new friend and theold. He must have been a diplomat, though, forpresently he found a way to reconcile the pigeon tohis fondness for Piperle, and the three becameexcellent friends. When the three were asleep in thekennel, they made an edifying picture of harmony,Piperle on his side, the rabbit huddled against hisbelly, the pigeon perched on his side.

Schnaeuzchen, malign and crafty, watched thisbeautiful friendship with a jaundiced eye. She wasthe villain of the piece. She often made attempts todevour the rabbit or the pigeon or both, or at least totake a bite out of them. She was quick and cunning withher snapping jaws and sharp teeth. I spent a greatdeal of time trying to convince her that she had betterleave the three pals alone, and Piperle had to be onthe alert all the time to protect his two friends.One night Schnaeuzchen, with bold and bloodyresolve, raided Piperle's kennel. I suppose shereasoned that she had better end the obnoxious situationwith one fell blow. She got in before Piperle knewwhat had happened, and the rabbit barely escapedher jaws. Piperle turned on her and chastised herproperly. After that she resigned herself to theinevitable. She kept the peace with the other pets, andwhile she never became really friendly with them, thepigeon and rabbit were at least safe.

Talking about animals brings to mind one remarkablepiece of good fortune that blessed our entireadventure. Before it was over, we were destined to sufferpretty nearly all the hardships that the sea canbestow upon the sailor—arctic ice and tropical sun,storm and calm, frightful labour and deadeningidleness, shipwreck, life as castaways on a desertisland, the terrors of weeks in an open boat, hunger,thirst, and scurvy. But we never had any bedbugs.I had had enough experience with those vermin in myearly days before the mast. I was determined to havenone of them now. Bedbugs are a constant pestaboard sailing ships, and doubtless some of thevessels we captured had plenty of them. But aboard theSeeadler we had a magnificent fumigating plant, andevery article that was brought aboard was given athorough treatment. That fumigator was one of ourmost treasured possessions. Without it, we wouldsurely have been in a fix. We could not have putcomfortably into a port and called for the verminexterminator, and if we had taken aboard any bedbugguests, our long voyage would have given themplenty of time to multiply and overrun our ark. Wewould have been eaten alive.

I remember a time during my jack-tar days whenwe had a magnificent collection of bedbugs in theforecastle. A comrade and I went to the captain, amean old German skipper, and told him we werebeing eaten alive and begged him to go to the slightexpense of getting a vermin exterminator.

"Bedbugs," he grunted, "Gott im Himmel, catch them."

We did catch them. We caught a match box fullof them, and put them in his bunk.

The next day the vermin exterminator came aboard.

XIX

HOW WE MADE OUR PRISONERS WALK THE PLANK

Our floating hotel was about full. If we wanted totake any more guests aboard, we would have to getrid of our present company. The old pirates wouldhave had a plank-walking ceremony. That was a sureway to prevent inconvenient information from gettingaround. Undoubtedly, it would have enabled us tokeep our existence still secret. We were buccaneersin a sense, but not quite that bad. We would have totake other measures. When our prisoners got to portand our freebooting career became known, cruisers,of course, would set out after us. They would makethe narrow Atlantic much too hot for us. We wouldhave to seek other waters. The broad Pacificremained. We did not want to hold our prisoners forthe always rough passage of Cape Horn, where, inaddition, there were likely to be cruisers on watch,keeping a guard for suspicious ships that might betrying to take the shortest route from Europeanwaters to the Pacific. We might be shelled and sunk,but it would have been scarcely humane to take achance of going down with all our prisoners on board.So we arranged it in a way that would enable us toget a good start on our trip around Cape Horn beforethe cruisers could get word of us.

The French barque, the Cambronne, came along.You should have seen her heave to and her yardscome banging down when our German flag went upand we signalled the inevitable: "Stop or I shall fire."

Her captain exhibited all of the usual Gallic despairat the prospect of losing his ship. We looked thecraft over. She was large and roomy and had aboarda large stock of provisions.

"No," I said to her skipper, "we are not going tosink your ship. She will go right on to port."

"Eh?" He was immensely surprised.

"She will take our prisoners."

"I will be delighted, monsieur, to have them as myguests."

"They won't be your guests, Captain. You will bethe guest of the new captain of the Cambronne."

"I will not command my ship?"

"Not at all. I have a Captains' Club aboard. You,as a prisoner, are now a charter member. Your shipis my prize. I will select a member of the Captains'Club as her skipper."

He was very angry. It hurt him nearly as much to beremoved from the command of his ship as to have hersunk.

It was a touchy matter to select a skipper fromamong a dozen captains, each of whom was full ofsensitive dignity and thought he was the bestnavigator of the lot. The French captains thought aFrenchman should be selected, since the most numerousnationality among the prisoners was the French.The traditional principle of seniority, however,pointed to the selection of the oldest skipper. Mybelief in that principle was confirmed by the factthat the oldest skipper was Captain Mullen of thePinmore. He had shown himself to be the finest ofgentlemen, and then there was the memory of my oldship, which I had been compelled to sink. I appointedCaptain Mullen master of the Cambronne. Since hewas a Britisher, it was reasonable that his ship shouldsail under British colours. That necessitated theceremony of hauling down the French flag and hoistingthe Union Jack. The French captains did not likeit at all.

I was rather glad that it was not I who wouldcommand the Cambronne. With all those captainsaboard, especially the disgruntled French captains,the skipper of the Cambronne was certain to have anuncomfortable time. One skipper always knows morethan any other skipper. Nor is any skipper everreticent about the mistakes of another. The skipperof the Cambronne had better navigate with a perfectcorrectness, or there would be plenty of talk aboard.

We lopped off the Cambronne's upper masts, sothat she could set only her lower sails. She could notmake any speed now, and it would take her from tento fourteen days to get to Rio de Janeiro, which wasthe nearest port. Then I exacted a pledge fromCaptain Mullen:

"Captain," said I, "we are releasing our prisoners,and they are under your command. I understandperfectly well that when you get to port our existencewill be known. We will be a sailing ship in a world ofarmoured cruisers. We will be chased like a wilddeer. We need a start. We have taken care that youdo not get to port too soon. One thing remains,though. You may meet a ship within a week or withina day—it may be a steamer with a wireless plant. Iask for your word that you will not communicate withany ship until you reach port. We have, I hope,treated our prisoners fairly, and I ask this of you inreturn. I must have your solemn word on it."

"Count," he replied, "I give you my word that theCambronne will not communicate with any shipuntil she is in port at Rio."

We shook hands on it, and my mind was at rest.It was no risk to take the word of the Pinmore'sold skipper.

He played his part nobly. He passed severalsteamers on his way to Rio, but steered clear of them.One comical thing happened. A big steamer cametoward the Cambronne one morning, and then hercaptain noticed the crowd of prisoners on the ship'sdeck. He was a cautious soul. It looked suspicious.The steamer turned and fled at full speed.

There remained the case of Captain Lecoq of theLa Rochefoucauld, who had broken his word to meand whom I had promised not to release with theother prisoners. He tried to dissuade me. He wasaghast at the thought of being kept aboard theSeeadler throughout her long cruise, the end of whichno one could foretell. He vowed by all the saints thathe would keep the position of the ship's magazineslocked sternly within his bosom. I would not listento him. I told him that the others would go but hewould remain. I intended to hold him until we hadcaught and released our next batch of prisoners. Heenlisted the other captains to intercede in his behalf.They came and asked me to relent.

"Gentlemen," I replied, "I have just now restedthe safety of my ship on Captain Mullen's word. Youare all ship masters. You know a captain's duty tothe vessel he commands. Very well, I know thatCaptain Mullen's word is good. I have taken the othersof you at your word, and you have not failed me. ButCaptain Lecoq broke his word. Can I trust him notto break it again?"

They argued so hard for their unfortunate fellowskipper that I finally gave in. After all, even if he didbreak his word again and tell of the position of mymagazines, it did not necessarily mean disaster. Imade him sign a promise and made the other captainssign as witnesses to his promise. Then I gaveorders that he should go with the rest.

We paid our prisoners off, just as if they had beenworking for us. Each received wages for the time hehad spent aboard, and each was paid the wage heordinarily received from his shipowner. By Joe, thatmade them happy. We had a final banquet. The sailorsfeasted in their quarters. I entertained the officersand ladies in my cabin. Toasts of champagne weredrunk, and at the end there were cordial handshakes.We transferred the crowd to the Cambronne inboatloads, and each boat, as it pushed off, gave threecheers for the Seeadler.

Evening was coming on. The Seeadler lay watchingwhile the Cambronne raised sail. Now the statelybarque was sliding through the water. Hands wavedand farewells were shouted. The two ships salutedeach other. With her snow-white canvas bellied outby the brisk wind, the Cambronne sailed toward thehorizon. Aboard the buccaneer, we watched till thelast tip of her mast disappeared below the skyline.

We had been away from port for eight weeks andhad sunk eleven vessels, representing a total of morethan forty thousand tons of Allied shipping. TheAtlantic had given us its share. Now to the Pacific. AndGod save us from the cruisers.

XX

THE BATTLE OF THE FALKLAND ISLANDS

Through an oily sea we sailed south and west towardthe Falkland Islands. Many a time had I passedthis way in the old days when bound for Cape Horn.These islands of the South Atlantic have long beenthe base for whaling schooners. But to every Germanthe Falklands will be forever memorable as the sceneof a one-sided naval engagement in which one ofour best beloved admirals was overwhelmed by aBritish fleet.

Had you seen our deck as we sailed south duringthese days, you might have wondered what we wereabout. Along with other plunder, we had lootedcaptured ships of several great sheets of iron. We hadripped them from iron walls and roofs of forecastlesand stowed them on our deck. Now the mechanics ofthe Seeadler's motor crew got busy with acetylenetorches, and from those sheets of metal they weldeda great iron cross, ten feet high.

We drew near a spot on that lonely ocean just abit to the east of the Falkland Islands. My navigationofficer and I figured out the point carefully onour chart, and when our instruments told us wewere there, I called all hands on deck. Somewherefar below on the floor of the ocean were the bodies ofhundreds of our comrades and the battered hulks of aonce proud German fleet. It was in these very watersthat our gallant Pacific Squadron under Count vonSpee sank in three thousand fathoms. For here it wasthat our light cruisers, the Scharnhorst, Gneisenau,Nuremburg, and Leipsic, with odds against them,fought it out with a more powerful British squadron.

With flag at half mast, we stood at solemn attention.The sky was gray and melancholy. The searolled with a gentle swell. In our mind's eye we couldpicture that disastrous day when, outranged by theguns of the great British warships, our cruisers,two large and three small, had fought a losing andhopeless fight. One, a scout cruiser, escaped. Theothers went down. Pounded from the distance, theytrembled under the blows of the shells that raineddown upon them. Exploding projectiles raked thedecks and pierced the hulls of the ill-fated vessels.As if in a last struggle, trying to keep afloat for onemore shot at the enemy, they staggered, lurched,and then, one after the other, plunged into thedepths, entering port on their final voyage far belowon the ocean floor, eighteen thousand feet beneaththe surface. Every man aboard three of the shipswas lost. A high sea happened to be running at thetime, so the victors had little chance to rescue themen from the doomed ships. Two hundred and fiftymembers of the crew of the Gneisenau were picked upand got to the Falklands alive.

As if in a dream, I thought of the last time I sawmy friend Count von Spee. It was in the days beforethe world went mad. The Navy Yard at Kiel was ingala mood. Every warship in the harbour had sentthree hundred men. They stood at rigid attentionwhile Von Spee and his staff strode by. Then headdressed them.

"By order of the Emperor, I am to take commandof our cruisers in Chinese waters. My officers andmen sail with me to-morrow."

The sailors all give three cheers. They think theAdmiral and his men are merely going for a pleasantvacation to the Orient. It is in 1913. No war is insight. Yet a darker note intrudes: Even then militaryand naval men were unable to escape the thoughtof war:

"We are leaving home and country for two years.We who part from you to-morrow will do our duty,knowing that every man at home will do his. If warshould come, we will be across the world and you willbe here. We will be too far away to lend a hand toyou, and there is little that you will be able to do forus.

"Ours is a young navy, but we have had a greatteacher. When England built her mighty fleet, shetaught us how to build ours. The English have greatnaval traditions, and both their fleet and traditionshave been our model. If war should come before wemeet again, we along the far-off China coast may bebut a few ships against many enemies, but from youof the High Sea Fleet we expect great deeds."

We of the German Navy knew and constantlygave expression to the thought that Britain was ourguide on the sea. Her great seafaring tradition wasour conscious and admitted pattern. We Germannaval men liked the English and were in sympathywith them. Our navies were alike in spirit. TheFrench Navy was somewhat different. Its morale wasperhaps not so good. French naval officers all comeup from the ranks. The British and German comefrom cadet schools and are recruited mostly from thefirst families. That is best. It provides a finer corpsof officers. I, myself, came up from the forecastle,but I believe that, unless you have officers and menfrom different worlds, your men will have little respectfor their commanders. It must either be that, oryour officers must inspire respect with their fists asin the old sailing-ship days. The French Navy nolonger has a rich tradition. It is true that the Frenchhad far greater sea fighters than we in past centuries,and they had their fine old naval traditions. Butduring the Revolution the old Royal Navy of Francewas swept away and remained abolished for twentyyears. At the end of that time, a new navy wasformed, but by then the fine old French traditionsseem to have been forgotten and new traditions hadto be formed. We Germans, with a new fleet, tookover the old, solid tradition of the British and madeit our own. We did everything we could to implant itin our men, and make it a real, living thing ingrainedin our people. Our sea leaders understood theimportance of a tradition. That was why we weredetermined to keep a fleet after the war. When ourgreat ships went down at Scapa Flow, our Socialistsfavoured the total abandonment of the naval arm,but fortunately enough of our people came out oftheir post-war trance long enough to prevent such afatal error. Perhaps it might be only a few smallships that we could retain, but it would serve tokeep traditions alive until we could again build up afleet as great or even greater than the one we lost.

Von Spee was a sailor's admiral. He was a seamanby temperament, open, honest, and jovial,uncomfortable on land and only himself when on thebridge of his flagship. Too many of our professionalfighting men, I regret to say, were more ornamentalthan useful. They were good at wearing gold lace andthat is about all. But not Von Spee. He was at hisbest on a quarter-deck in a storm. I still can see himpacing back and forth, with his bushy brows andpiercing blue eyes.

The day after he said auf wiedersehen to us at Kiel,he and his officers and men left by transport for theOrient, there to relieve the officers and men aboardthe cruisers of our small Pacific Squadron at TsingTao. What was to have been their two-year termoverseas began as commonplace, quiet routine. Itended under the salvos of British guns off theFalkland Islands.

Von Spee's plan, when the war caught him 15,000miles from German waters, was to harass the Alliesin the Pacific and then try to slip back through theNorth Sea to Kiel. Lady Luck smiled on him for alittle while and then deserted him. After crossingthe Pacific, he caught Craddock, the British admiral,off the coast of Chile. Von Spee's star was in itsascendancy at this time and Craddock's on the wane.A German secret agent in Chile flashed a wireless toVon Spee giving him the information that Craddockwas waiting for the arrival of the big but oldbattleship Canopus that was rounding the Horn. Withoutthe Canopus, Craddock's forces were weaker thanVon Spee's, and Von Spee instantly dashed to theattack so as to engage Craddock before the Canopuscame up. Craddock and his men met their fate liketrue British sailors. Outgunned, the British cruiserscontinued to fire until they sank. Only one, a smallboat, got away. But their conqueror's days werenumbered.

Von Spee now began his long race toward Kiel.Only two routes were possible, one by Cape Hornand the other by the Cape of Good Hope. Of course,he knew the British would be laying for him atboth places. He knew also that they would be afterhim with swifter and more powerful ships than hisown. His one chance was to beat them to Cape Horn,lose himself in the broad Atlantic, make a run for it,and probably fight his way through the blockade.

By now he was short of both munitions and coal.A wireless from Germany brought the good news thata supply ship had slipped through the blockade andwas now on its way out to meet him. What atremendous voyage he might now have made! What ahair-raising dash at the Allied blockade line he mighthave made! But he never got the chance.

As he rounded the Horn, Dame Fortune temptedhim, and he made what proved to be a fatal error.He stopped a British collier and took all her coal.This delayed him for three days. Meanwhile, afleet of Britain's mightiest battle cruisers had arrivedat the Falklands. He still might have run by themunnoticed had he not determined to shell and destroythe wireless station on the Falklands. Thus he stumbledinto that nest of battle cruisers. He tried to run,but they caught and sank him. That day the Britishhad their sea giants, the Indefatigable, the Invincible,the Indomitable, and along with them a number ofother battle cruisers, that later were to fight gallantlyat Jutland, and then find their way to rest on thefloor of the North Sea.

Only one of Von Spee's ships, the light but fleetcruiser Dresden, showed her heels to the Britishleviathans and slipped back around Cape Horn,But the Fates were merely playing with the poorDresden, and a few days later she was sunk by themore powerful British cruiser Kent off San JuanFernandez, Robinson Crusoe's island, in the Pacific.She was lying in neutral waters and should havebeen sheltered by the laws of war. Her captainsignalled to the commander of the Kent:

"We are in Chilean territory."

"My orders are to sink you on sight," replied theKent, "and no matter where you are."

The captain of the Dresden blew up his ship, andwith his officers and crew swam ashore. The islandwas not quite so deserted after this shipwreck as itwas in Robinson Crusoe's day!

That in brief was the story of the plucky Von Speeand his gallant men. Hence this dreary waste ofwaters off the Falklands was sacred to us. We hoveto, and from my quarter-deck I presided over abrief memorial service above the watery graves ofour comrades and their ships. First I told my boysthe story of my friend Count von Spee and his men,and every one of us knew that we, too, might soon beon our way to join them. But with the differencethat we might not even have a chance to fight it out.

On German ships, the captain is also the chaplain.Every Sunday aboard the Seeadler we had our hourof prayer and song. When we had "guests" aboardfrom enemy ships, we invited them to join with usin the worship of the Great Ruler of the Waves. Ourservice followed the ritual of no particular creed. Itwas as simple as we simple seamen could make it.The table which bore the ship's Bible was draped notonly with our German flag but also with the flags ofall the Allied nations whose ships we had capturedand under whose colours our prisoners had sailed. Iwanted to make our prisoners feel that the servicewas as much theirs as it was ours, and that we did notfeel ourselves any more a chosen people before theAltar of God than any other people.

My life has not been altogether a pious one. On thecontrary, it had been decidedly blasphemous. Mycharacter was then, and still is, far from saintly.However, I may not have been wholly unfit for theoffice of ship's chaplain. I am religious at heart,easily swayed by sentimental appeal. Had I notbeen a member of the Salvation Army in Australia?Those testimonial meetings in Fremantle were stillvivid memories to me. So I was not exactly agreenhorn at conducting a prayer meeting.

Before concluding our little memorial service, Iaddressed our comrades three thousand fathoms belowus. No mounds were raised over their graves, nogreen grass or kindly flowers had been placed tocheer them on their journey to the land from whichno traveller has yet returned. Only the waves of thesea. I spoke to them as though my voice couldsomehow find its way to their resting place among themountain ranges at the bottom of the South Atlantic:

"Glorious fallen comrades, we bring you a messagefrom home. Your comrades have kept their promiseto your commander. On sea and on land they arefighting for the Fatherland. We of the Seeadlersalute you and solemnly swear that we, too, willendeavour to live and die as gloriously as you. We, too,are hunted on the sea, even as you were. So perhaps itwill not be long ere we join you down there in DavyJones's Locker. If we do, our one hope is that we willbe able to fight our last fight as gallantly as did you."

I then led the sailors in a prayer that we repeatedaloud, and while the chorused invocation travelledsouthward on the winds that blew toward the Antarctic,four men came forward bearing the great ironcross.

"A decoration for the graves of heroes!"

At this signal from me the massive emblem slid intothe water with scarcely a splash and flashed swiftlydown, down, three thousand fathoms, to carry ourmessage to Admiral Count von Spee and his men.

XXI

RACING THE ENEMY AROUND CAPE HORN

"Ahoy, shipmate," I said to Leudemann, "youare the fellow who likes yacht racing. By Joe, it'sto be a race now—a race to see who gets to CapeHorn first."

We knew that, as soon as our former prisonersmade port, the news of our presence in the SouthAtlantic would be flashed abroad. Then the Britishwould send their cruisers on the double-quick downthe coast of South America to keep us from doublingthe Cape. To be sure, we had taken care to giveourselves a mighty good start. But in a race ofwindjammer against swift cruisers, what is a start of athousand miles or so? With decent weather, we hadhopes of making it. So far we had had fair winds andhad made good time. But the most difficult stretchof sea in all the world now lay before us. The stormsfor which the Horn is famous often delay sailing shipsfor weeks.

"And then," responded Leudemann, "even if wedo get to the Cape before any cruisers that may besent down from the North, they may have a cruiseror two nosing around at the Pacific end of theStraits. Unless we round the Horn before thosechaps reach Rio, the jig may be up."

Just south of the Falklands, we caught a wirelessfrom a British cruiser, a warning message to Alliedmerchantmen.

Steer clear of Fernando Noronha. German cruiser Moewereported there.

"Moewe" means "sea gull" in German. "Hail toyou, far-distant Sea Gull, may you fare as well onyour warlike flight as we hope to fare in our SeaEagle!"

A feeling of homesickness for the old Moewe cameover me, as it does over any sailor at the mention ofa ship on which he has sailed. My service aboard theMoewe had been neither long nor eventful, butalready she had made for herself a heroic reputation. Ihave always regretted that I was not with her on herraids. She made several, slipping out through theblockade, sinking quantities of Allied shipping, andstealing back into German waters.

She was built just before the war, and originallydesigned to carry the exotic banana from SouthwestAfrica and "German East" to Hamburg. Plans hadjust been made to flood Germany with them. Hersister ship in the banana trade was the Wolf, and she,too, became a famous raider.

All manner of ingenious devices were invented infitting out the Moewe for her career as a raider. Shewas altered so that she could disguise herself andchange disguises while steaming at full speed justlike a quick-change actor. One day she would be athree or two funnelled steamer, the next she wouldlook like a slow tramp with one funnel. The line ofher deck could be changed in a few minutes also.She also had fake superstructures that could beraised or lowered at will. She could even be madelonger or shorter in a few moments by means of afake section that slipped out from her stern. Oneday she would be a tramp, the next, with fake bulls'-eyes,a liner. These startling metamorphoses were agreat success and enabled her to dodge many an Alliedcruiser.

Of course, the British soon got on to the Moewe'squick-change habits, and were not to be fooled bythem. On one of her adventures, the Moewe wastrapped off the eastern coast of South America. TheBritish cruisers Glasgow and Amethyst were warned bywireless that the Moewe was steering south fromFernando Noronha to take coal. So they rushed outfrom Rio de Janeiro to trap her. Presently, theGlasgow spotted the Moewe on the horizon. TheGerman ship had on one of her innumerable disguises,and the captain of the Glasgow could not recognizeher. He was wary, however, and on to the Moewe'stricks, so he wirelessed her to stand by to be searched.The Moewe turned and ran south. The Glasgow couldmake twenty-five knots and easily outrace her. TheMoewe was well armed with guns and torpedoes andwould fight, but she would be no match for anarmoured ship. The men aboard the Moewe seemedas good as at the bottom of the sea. The Glasgowknew that the fleeing ship must be the long-sought-forraider, and prepared to sink her.

The two ships steamed with straining boilers, andthe Glasgow was fast creeping up on the Moewe.When almost within range, the hunted raider ran intoone of those sudden rain squalls that sweep over theocean. Like the Biblical cloud, it hid her from thepursuing cruiser. Of course, the Glasgow followed herinto the squall. But as the Moewe ran through theswirling storm, she passed another steamer, this onesteaming north. The cruiser saw emerging from thesquall this new ship. She had three masts. The Moewehad had but two. The captain of the Glasgow thoughtonly of the Moewe's ability to disguise herself. Hepresumed that the Moewe had taken advantage ofthe squall to run up a third mast and then doubleback on her trail in the hope that the Englishmanwould not recognize her and that she might passsafely and even have an opportunity to torpedo theGlasgow. The cruiser instantly opened fire, and blewthe poor, inoffensive cargo steamer out of the water.It was only when they examined the wreckage thatthey discovered that they had made a mistake andsunk a British freighter! Meanwhile, the Moewe hadescaped once more.

Nor was that the only ship the British sank bymistake. They shelled two harmless sailing vessels topieces, mistaking them for our Seeadler. It all cameabout because of one of those familiar war rumours, arumour to the effect that we were already somewhereoff the Australian coast. An Australian cruiserencountered a Scandinavian three-master, and theyseemed to think she was behaving queerly. Wordhad been passed around that the Seeadler carriedtorpedoes. So the cruiser thought she had better notrun any chance of being blown up. She opened fireat long range. Only ten men aboard the Scandinavianship were saved. Later on, the armoured cruiser Kent[1]sank another sailing vessel under similarcirc*mstances in the Pacific.

[1] See Note B, Appendix.

Sailors since Magellan, by Joe, have talked aboutthe storms around Cape Horn. Sea stories usuallyhave something about the tough times rounding theCape. I had seen those storms myself when I hadsailed in the forecastle, and as a naval officer I hadmany a time told tales to my brother officers ofgales and tempests I had witnessed in an old windjammerrounding Horn. But our trip this voyage wasto be the most unusual of all. If the storms held usback, the cruisers would be almost certain to catchus. We had sailed south in fine time, and if wemade a quick passage round that boisterous tip ofSouth America, we might slip into the wide Pacificand continue our raids.

Well, we ran into the dirtiest weather off theHorn, gales and hurricanes. Why, there were dayswhen even with our motor running we could make noheadway at all. It took us three weeks to beat ourway through the gales and around the point. Bythat time, the cruisers lay there in wait for us, notjust one or two, but a whole half dozen of them.

Ordinarily, a sailing ship tries to hug Cape Horn asclosely as it can, keeping quite near land. If you veertoo far to the south, you run into icebergs. Navigatingamong icebergs with the wind whistling through yourrigging is enough to give any skipper the chills. Sothe storms had held us up, and now our best chanceprobably would be to steer as wide a course to thesouth as possible, whether safe or not. The mountainsof ice were there, and a hurricane was blowing. Butwe considered the ice the lesser of two evils. TheBritish watch to the far south was bound to be lessvigilant than up nearer the Cape. We must try to sailaround them. So, ho for the Antarctic!

On our way through the blockade, we had steeredinto the Arctic. Now here we were heading into theAntarctic.

To make it pleasant, by Joe, the weather, whichhad been quite decent to us on the way south,changed in order to give us a regular Cape Horn welcome.It turned into a veritable hurricane. Nevertheless,we were determined to carry as much sail aspossible. Risky, but we had to take chances in thehope of getting through. As the tempest increased,not even the Seeadler dared carry more than a ragor two of lower sail. With this we tried to hold ourway. Through the mist we saw a great wall. It camemoving toward us. A vast wall of white, an iceberg.The wind was driving this white spectre throughthe water, and we had to veer off in order to avoidcollision.

To the north were the cruisers, and here, but a fewhundred yards away, an equally relentless enemybearing down upon us, as though determined to turnus into the arms of our pursuers. A shout to thehelmsman. Determined as we were to go no farthernorth, we knew we could do no more than hug theAntarctic ice field.

The mountain of ice nearest us seemed comingcloser and closer—nine times as much ice below thewater as above. As every schoolboy knows, if a berglooms up two hundred feet above the waves, its baseextends eighteen hundred feet below the surface! Howfar its sharp hard edges and spurs may extend oneither side you never can tell unless one of themrips open your hull. The best way to avoid runninginto a spur is to turn and run the other way. Aniceberg carries neither lights, lighthouses, buoys, norsirens. She is a cold, calculating, merciless Circe, andthe wise mariner gives her a wide berth. Some of usthought the berg was six thousand feet long whileothers thought it much more than that. We were sonear it that we could hear the clattering and squawkingof the thousands of sea gulls that swarmed aroundthe ice mountain. In the wild, heaving sea, the bergrolled like some mammoth ship. There were crackingsounds as the heaving ice strained and split. Once,under the stress of the movement, one whole vastcorner broke off with a tremendous rending and tearing.The block, as big as a skyscraper, crashed intothe sea, and before it could start off on a cruise of itsown the waves dashed it into the berg with a noiselike thunder, and this continued time and again asthe parent berg drove its husky offspring before it.

Suddenly, there came an even more ominous scrapingsound. The Seeadler quivered, and our bloodfairly froze. We had grazed a submerged snout of ice.In such a sea, there would have been no chance tolaunch lifeboats. Although we had not staved in ourhull, nevertheless, the ship had sprung a leak. Nomatter who was captain. Everybody to the pumps. Itook my place with the sailors in the hold, and we allfought to keep the water in check. The brush with theice was a warning. We veered a bit more to the north,and with pumps working madly, passed the berg.The wind wrenched us, the waves struck us hard,but we kept on, beating our way to the Pacific andpumping.

"Cruiser ahoy!"

I saw through the storm a 23,000-ton auxiliarycruiser. I believe it was the Otranto, a convertedpassenger liner, fast and well armed, capable ofblowing us out of the water before our little gun couldthrow a shell halfway to her.

"Hard aport," I shouted.

The ship shook as the helm was forced over, andthe wind nearly turned us bottom side up. Storm orno storm, we were all dead men if that cruiser evercaught us.

"Set all sails."

We must risk it and run with all our canvas beforethe hurricane, and perhaps, somehow, we knew nothow, in the shelter of the storm, we might be luckyenough to evade the cruiser.

Only men who have been to sea in windjammerscan imagine what it is to set sail in a hurricane. Thecanvas whipped as though a devil had taken hold of it.The masts bent under the force of the wind as itblasted against the sails. The ship and its riggingcreaked and groaned as though crying out against thesudden strain.

"The cruiser is coming," Leudemann shouted inmy ear. "She is making straight for us."

"More sail on, by Joe," I sang out to the men aloft.

Never mind the hurricane. To the south we go.We'll bury ourselves in the Antarctic ice before welet them catch us, if the wind doesn't snap off ourmasts.

So, with the combined force of the gale and our1,000-horsepower motor, we scudded southward.Suddenly, a flooding rain broke over us, a providentialsquall if there ever was one. It was like a gift ofheaven. It blotted us out from the cruiser, just likethe squall that rescued the raider Moewe.

"It is the hand of God," I shouted. "Our hourhasn't struck yet."

Under cover of the squall, we got away from thereas fast as we could go, and after a few hours we feltcertain we had given our pursuer the slip. In reality,we had not been pursued at all. The cruiser hadn'teven seen us, and our lookout had been sharper thanhers. We learned this from later reports. The ironicalthing now would have been for us to have impaledthe Seeadler on an iceberg in that mad sprintsouthward. But luck was with us again. The storm blewitself out.

Still, we were not out of the danger zone. Days wentby before we were safely out of that boisterous regionand spreading our wings on the broad expanse of thePacific. Cruisers were still watching for us, and wehad to keep a constant lookout. Our problem nowwas how to put them off the scent.

The Seeadler carried twenty lifeboats and acorresponding equipment of life preservers. These weremuch more than enough for our crew. We had takenten of them off captured ships to accommodate ourprisoners in case of necessity. Now we threw all theseextra lifeboats overboard, taking care that on eachboat and each life preserver was painted Seeadler.Our hope was that some of them would be picked up,and that the report would then be sent out that wehad gone down off the Horn. That was exactly whathappened. Two days later we picked up a wireless.It carried the news that a coastguard cutter hadfound one of our little boats. Later, two more werepicked up. Then three. All along the coast of SouthAmerica we were now given up for lost. The cruisersabandoned the chase and steamed north.

This left the way clear for us, and now we sailed outto continue our adventure on the greatest of all theseven seas.

Fourteen days after rounding the Horn, we pickedan interesting and rather puzzling wireless out of theair:

Seeadler gone down with flags flying. Commander andpart of crew taken prisoners and on their way toMontevideo.

"What's that?" I thought. "By Joe, Johnny Bull istelling a whopper."

Now, when old John Bull tells a fib, you can bet,by Joe, that he has good reason for it. We tried tofigure it out, and came to the conclusion that it hadsomething to do with the scare we had created. Thenews that our prisoners had given out at Rio hadsent Lloyd's rates skyward and caused many shipsto lie in harbour until the danger from the Germanraider had blown over. The British, in order to bringLloyd's rates down and to liberate all the shippingthat had been tied up, took pains to spread a highlycoloured report of our disaster dressed up withsuitable imaginative trimmings to make it moreconvincing.

"Well, Johnny Bull," I thought, "we'll fix you."

Our wireless operator, a very capable fellow, workedout a scheme with me. "Sparks" sent out the followingmessage purporting to come from a British ship:

SOS—SOS—German sub....

He cut the message short, as if interrupted, tomake it seem as if at that moment the ship had beentorpedoed.

After a suitable interval he sent out another call, thisone merely reporting German submarines off thecoast of Chile.

Did Lloyd's rates go up again? And did thoseships that were getting ready to put to sea put backto their berths? Well, you can bet your boots they did.And we sent out other submarine warnings every sooften just to keep our little joke alive.

These were all small injuries, but we had been sentout to harass the enemy, and this was one way ofdoing it. What more could you expect of a lonewindjammer? And then, it's these injuries all addedtogether that more often than not win the day. It wasgood sport for us, anyhow.

XXII

RAIDING THE PACIFIC

The wireless continued to be interesting. We pickedup many messages from the cruiser Kent,[1] which wasright in our waters; in fact, much too close forcomfort. Our course was northward, with the Chileancoast and the Andes almost in sight. We steeredalmost to the Galapagos Islands, and at RobinsonCrusoe's island, San Juan Fernandez, we trimmedour sails and turned our bow west. We sailed forweeks on the broad expanse of the Pacific withoutsighting a ship. Except for the occasional crackle ofthe wireless, we were alone in the world.

[1] See Note C, Appendix.

Our wireless antennæ kept us in touch with thelatest phase of the international situation. Nor was itparticularly pleasant on those long idle days at sea tosit and meditate on the fact that the United Stateswas going into the war against us. We sailors knewbetter than some of our people at home the tremendouspower of the great republic of the West. Therewere closeted statesmen and generals who might talkas they pleased about the American lack of militarypreparedness and the impossibility of Americantroops being mustered and sufficiently trained intime to be of any service in the critical hour of thewar. We sailors had travelled. Many of us had beenin the United States and had served on Americanships. All fine technical points aside, we had hadopportunity to sense the might of the North Americangiant with its numerous and virile population andits incalculable wealth. With such strength behind it,even an awkward, poorly aimed thrust was enough topush almost anyone over.

We caught one radio dispatch that caused us to sitand gaze hopelessly into the sky. It told of the famousZimmermann note. What madness had dictated thatextraordinary state paper, which proposed to Mexicothat she join Germany in the war and receive inreturn a slice of American territory including Texas?I had served as a soldier in the Mexican Army, andknew something of its probable prowess in a war. Afew American regiments on the Rio Grande couldhold back the Mexican Army as easily as I can hold achild. And did our statesmen think the Mexicanswere such fools? The folly was one that could onlyenrage the people of the United States and make theMexicans laugh. We of the German fighting forcescould only curse the luck that had given our countrysuch diplomacy. All it succeeded in negotiating wasnew enemies and fewer friends.

The American declaration of war came as a blowexpected, but hard nevertheless. Some of the morepessimistic of us could spell the doom of Germany init. It altered the position of our buccaneeringexpedition somewhat, too. It reduced the number ofneutral ports into which we might sail. It alsoincreased the number of cruisers we had to look out for.However, neutral ports did not enter into our calculationsmuch. All ports really were hostile, anyhow.Neutrals would limit us to a short, inhospitablestay, the wireless stations near by would broadcastour presence, and the cruisers would come flocking.The American naval ships didn't mean much either.They would doubtless be kept, nearly all of them, toguard the Atlantic shipping lanes for the passage ofAmerican troop transports and leave what patrolof the Pacific was necessary to the British andJapanese. The principal change of circ*mstance forus was that now we could take American prizes.

We steered across the Pacific past the Marquesas,far to the south of Hawaii. We made the waters nearChristmas Island our cruising ground. There, nearthe equator, the eastbound and westbound routes forsailing ships crossed. We sailed backward and forward, crossing the equator two and three times eachday.

We captured three American ships in these waters,the A. B. Johnson, the R. C. Slade, and the Manila.Our prisoners numbered forty-five men, one woman,and a pet opossum. The captains were not half soastonished and bewildered as the former captainswhen we unmasked ourselves as a buccaneer. Theyknew that the sailing ship raider was abroad. So wewere deprived of some of our former amusem*nt ofastounding and befuddling officers and crews bysuddenly hoisting the German flag, unmasking ourcannon, firing a machine gun into their rigging, andsimilar pleasantries. Everything went off accordingto routine.

On one occasion we ran into a most intricatecomplication. We had expected the complications of warand piratical strategy. That was part of the game.But at the time to which I refer we were faced witha new and tender complication, a romantic complication.

"He's got his wife along," Boarding Officer Preissinformed me.

He referred to an officer of one of the ships. Indeed,we had noticed a woman aboard the captured ship.

The officer in question presently introduced meto his helpmate, and a knockout she was, pretty,petite, and—well, just a bit roguish.

"By Joe," I thought, "the sailors of these daysare marvellous fellows. Where do they get theseswell-looking wives? When I was in the forecastle, itwas different."

In those days, an officer's wife was something torun away from, usually fat, usually savage, andalways sloppily dressed. I thought of all the windjammercaptains under whom I had sailed, and I couldn'tthink of one who had a wife that looked like a chorusgirl. Well, times do change! There was the captainwe had captured in the Atlantic who had such apleasant little bride, and now here was this officerand his sprightly beauty.

I guess I can also add myself to the list. Here I am,skipper of a peaceful windjammer now, taking mythree-master the Vaterland around the world, and Ihave my wife along. I have already described Irma,the fairy princess of my green island in the Canaries.Yes, sailors' wives have improved in looks these days.

Aboard the Seeadler we greeted the pretty littlelady with great cordiality. Our former fair companyhad been so pleasant that we anticipated anothersimilar brightening of the dull monotony aboard.The monotony was indeed broken somewhat! Butin a decidedly different way than we had expected.The officer had not been long aboard before he tookme aside and made an awkward and somewhatembarrassed confession. He had been thinking thingsover.

"Count," he said, "in your reports you may saysomething about my having my wife along."

"Yes," I replied.

"Well, by Joe," he continued, "I wish youwouldn't say anything about it. Don't say anythingabout my having a wife along. My real wife mightfind it out, and then there would be hell to pay."

"Oho," I exclaimed, "so that's the way the windblows, eh?"

"I said she was my wife," he continued lamely,"because I thought it might help to save her fromyour sailors. But I don't want my wife to find it out."

"All right, sir," I said, "I won't report it, andI won't let my officers or crew know anything aboutit. That will be best. Treat the girl as your wife. Iwill keep my mouth shut, and you keep your mouthshut."

It was a difficult point of morals aboard ship. Ifthe sailors found out that the girl was not the officer'swife, but only a kind of stowaway, they would loseall respect for her, and there was no telling whatthey might try to do. Sailors are not angels, butusually, in fact, a lot of rogues, but they are highlyrespectable. They have a very fine code of honour, and awoman who is off the line is simply off the line tothem. Certainly, I did not want them to know thatthe officer's wife was not the officer's wife.

One of my prisoners turned out to be an acquaintanceof the officer of the ... I told him that theofficer of the ... had his wife along, and introducedhim to the girl. He laughed so hard he nearly fell over.He wanted to tell the joke all around. It was awkwardfor a moment, but I got the two men aside and talkedearnestly to them.

"We must be gentlemen in this matter," I said."She is a girl. We are men. We must protect her.The sailors must not know about it. You must bothgive me your word of honour that you will keep mumand tell nobody."

They both promised.

Everything went all right until this other prisonertook a shine to the girl, too. It was funny business.She kind of liked him. I kept an eye on the wholeaffair and saw what was happening. Here was moreworry and trouble. I took the two men aside andsaid to them:

"I don't care what arrangements you two fellowsmake with your fair playmate, but it has got to bekept quiet. The sailors must think that she is thewife of the officer of the ... and that ... is only afriend."

They made some kind of change, I believe. I nevercould figure just how it was. I never was much goodat mathematics or at figuring out anything, for thatmatter. At any rate, they kept it quiet. The otherprisoner was married, too, and he didn't want anythingof the complicated romance to get around either.

I had come to expect my prisoners to be goodcompany. Our former Captains' Club had been one ofthe most delightful social organizations ever formed.These two sentimental swains, however, were notmuch good for comradeship. It was difficult to gettogether with them for a pleasant chat or game ofcards. They were always thinking about the girl,and, although they were acquaintances in captivity,their feelings toward each other had become slightlystrained. There is something about the air down therein the South Seas, I guess.

One of the captains made up for the companionshipthat had been lacking. He was a fine fellow. Hewas jovial and intelligent, and a thorough seaman ifthere ever was one. We became fast friends and hadmany a long and sympathetic talk about the war.

Weeks passed, and we did not see another ship.The idle days became very boresome. It was broilinghot, and we had little exercise. Our water turnedstale, and we had no fresh provisions. Our prisonersdid not find their stay with us so pleasant now, butwe could not find a vessel on which to ship them. Onedecided that he could not stand it any longer, Hewanted to put his feet on land at any price. He cameto me with a strange idea. Would I not land himon a desert island and leave him there a castaway?Anything was better than shipboard. But the principalpart of his plan was more subtle. He would bereckoned dead at home, and his people would collecthis insurance money. Perhaps I would be so kindas to make it seem certain that he was lost. Yes, no?On the island he could live as a Robinson Crusoe, akind of existence which he fancied would be quiteagreeable. Unfortunately for him, I felt obliged todecline. I was not interested in swindling insurancecompanies.

XXIII

SHIPWRECKED IN SOUTHERN SEAS

We amused ourselves by playing with the sharks.The landlubber can scarcely imagine the hatred thesailor feels for those bloodthirsty monsters. We had aparticular grievance against them. A swim now andthen would have provided us with needed baths andwould have been a pleasant and vigorous diversionfrom the endless monotony of cabin and deck, ourwooden prison. Many a time I looked down into thecool, refreshing element, and a shark would idlebeneath my gaze, as though waiting for me there. Thesailors passed the time by angling for the voraciousmonsters. They would catch a couple, tie their tailstogether and throw them back into the water. Thesharks, unable to agree on the direction of theirmutual movement, would have a great tug of war.The sailors thought the plight of their loathedenemies quite comical.

Or they would take a large shark, tie an empty andwatertight barrel to his tail, and heave him over. Thefish would dart downward, but the barrel would stayrelentless at the surface. Now would ensue a desperatestruggle which we could follow by watching thegyrations of the barrel. The sharks displayed anexcellent eye for chunks of bacon with hand grenadesin them. When the bomb went off in the creature'sstomach, pieces of shark would go flying in alldirections.

We had been in the Pacific for five months now,and had sailed 35,000 miles. With our stale waterand the lack of fresh food, scurvy was breaking outamong our men, and then beri-beri, which "turns theblood to water." Limbs and joints were swelling.We imperatively needed fresh water and food and arest on shore. But where could we go? All the islandsof the Pacific were in the hands of the French, British,and Japanese. We certainly felt it keenly, now thatthe whole world was against us. There was noinhabited place that would welcome us. It made us feelvery lonely.

"Well," I said to my boys, "we will pick out somenice deserted island where there will be no hand raisedagainst us and no wireless to call the cruisers, and wewill get water and some kind of vegetables and maybeshoot some game and have a fine shore leave. Then,after we have rested up, what ho, boys, and awayfor more adventure."

Buccaneering in the Pacific, with only three shipssunk in five months, seemed much too unprofitable.I planned that, after a brief sojourn on some peacefulSouth Sea Isle, we would sail for the Antipodes. Thenwe would destroy the English whaling station and oiltanks at South Georgia, sink a few ships, capture oneon which to ship our prisoners, and, if we got awaysafely, continue our cruise in the prosperous waters ofthe Atlantic.

Our first plan was to sail direct to one of the largerCook Islands. But we gave that up for fear of findinga wireless station there that might give us away. Wedid not want to move east of our present longitude,for that would have taken us against the trade windand compelled us to use our motor. It was necessaryto save the engine as much as possible and not have itwear out on us. We hoped we would need it for furthercaptures and escapes. Mopelia, one of the SocietyIslands (some geographies include it in the ScillyIsles), seemed about right for our purpose. It was aFrench possession, and, so far as we knew,uninhabited. It was one of those isles of the South Seasso fantastically beautiful and so awkward for thesailor to approach. Only seldom does he find onewith a decent anchorage, and nowhere in the worldare the winds and currents more treacherous.

On the morning of July 29th, we sighted Mopelia,and steered toward it. Words fail me when I try todescribe its beauties. From the blue ocean rises amass of green palms. The sunlight glows in the green.It somehow even seems to turn the sunlight green.Against the dark blue of the sea and the light blue ofthe sky, the sunlight seems to be drawing the greenisland out of the water, and the soft south windcarries the scent of flowers far out to sea. It is thegreeting of the island, and we inhale it deeply.

Here was a typical coral atoll—the kind you dreamabout. A circular reef studded with waving palmsand within the reef a lovely, placid lagoon. The coralshore was snow white, and, with the sun's raysreflecting from it, it looked like a sparkling jewel set inan alabaster ring, like emeralds set in ivory. Therewere coral terraces below the water. The shallowerones were white or pale green, and as you peereddeeper into the water you saw every conceivable tintof green and blue, sea green, emerald green, bluegreen, azure blue, sapphire blue, navy blue, violet.

As we sailed nearer and nearer that alluring coralshore, we saw flowers among the palms, flowers of allcolours, and immense numbers of orchids. The huesof the flowers were reflected in the water over thewhite coral that deepened and turned green. Withinthe circular reef the lagoon seemed fully as deep asthe sea outside, only at perfect peace and smoothlike a mirror. It would have made a perfect anchoragefor us, save that it had one entrance so narrow thatonly a small boat could pass through it.

A strong current ran through the opening. We castour anchor on the coral and tethered our ship to itwith a long cable. The pull of the current kept herfar enough offshore. I was afraid, for a while, that ashift of the wind might blow her on the reef, but wesaw, after a while, that she had dragged anchor. Ifthe current were strong enough for that, why surelyit would be strong enough to keep her from blowingashore. Leaving several men aboard as a watch, wewent on land for a glorious shore leave, sailors,officers, prisoners, and all.

What would we find? We wanted water and freshfood. When we got inside of the lagoon, we found toour astonishment that it was a breeding place forturtles. There were hundreds of them in the waterand on the shore, huge fellows weighing two or threehundred pounds. The water was full of beautifulfish. I recognized the moray, a fish like the eel, whichis a great delicacy and will provide you with asubstantial meal, too. It weighs from fifteen to twentypounds. They say the Romans used to feed theirslaves to this fish. There were big lobsters withoutclaws that promised to be the best of food. The atollwas alive with birds, hundreds of thousands of them,with nests and eggs everywhere. They were so tamethat one of my boys whom I sent to collect enougheggs for an omelette returned, saying:

"I didn't get an egg. The birds were so tame andtrusting that I hadn't the heart to disturb them andtake their eggs."

Nor was the island without human inhabitants. Wefound three Kanakas, Polynesians who had beenleft there by a French firm to catch turtles. Theywere greatly frightened when they found that we wereGermans. The French had told them frightful talesabout the Boches. We, however, quickly madefriends with them. They were much relieved whenthey found that we did not intend to injure them, andwhen we made amicable overtures, they were only tooglad to respond.

First, my boys ran hither and thither to satisfytheir curiosity about this strange island. Then theyquickly settled down to useful occupations. Someset about catching fish and lobsters. Others gatheredbirds' eggs. A few brought armfuls of cocoanuts.Three boys turned a big turtle on its back and pulledit along with a rope. There were wild pigs on theisland. We shot a couple. Soon the boat put out tothe ship loaded deeply with a huge collection ofepicurean delicacies. That night the mess was fitfor the table of a royal palace—turtle soup withturtle eggs, broiled lobster, omelettes of gull's eggs,roast pork, and, for dessert, fresh cocoanut.

For days we lived a delightful poetic life, dining ina way that millionaires could not afford. We smokedquantities of fish and pork and stowed it away. Wefound fresh water on the island and refilled our tanks.Our traces of scurvy and beri-beri disappeared, andwe were rapidly getting ready to continue our cruiseand work of havoc in Australian waters.

On the second of August, we made ready to leavethe ship for another day ashore. At nine-thirty Inoticed a strange bulge on the eastern rim of the sea.I called my officers' attention to it. At first wethought it a mirage. But it kept growing larger. Itcame toward us. Then we recognized it—a tidal wavesuch as is caused by submarine earthquake andvolcanic disturbances. The danger was only tooclear. We lay between the island and the wave.

"Cut the anchor cable. Clear the motor. All handson deck."

We dared not raise sail, for then the wind woulddrive us on the reef. So our only hope of getting clearof the island was our motor. The huge swell of thetidal wave was rushing toward us with breakneckspeed.

The motor didn't stir. The mechanics were workingfrantically. They pumped compressed air into theengine. We waited in vain for the sound of theignition. Now, right at the critical moment, our motorhad failed us, just as it had so often failed us before.By this time, the tidal wave was only a few hundredyards away. We were lost. To our frightened eyes itlooked like a whole mountain range of water. Itmust have been thirty or forty feet high. It camerushing with a roar that drowned out our voices.

A gigantic, violent hand seemed to grasp the ship.The wave swung her on high and threw her forward.It flung us crashing on the coral reef. Our masts andrigging went over, broken like matchsticks. Theshattering impact of the ship smashed the coral, andpieces flew in all directions like shrapnel from anexploding shell. The swirling water seized greatpieces of coral and whipped them around, beatingthem against the ship. The Seeadler had heeled overuntil her deck was almost perpendicular. The waterswept over the deck, and the swirling eddiesbombarded us with chunks of coral. I clung to an ironpost near the lower rail. The rail saved me from thetons of shattered coral that were hurled up by theblow of the falling ship. In a moment, the wave hadebbed away, leaving us high and dry. It had passedover the circling reef and the lagoon, though notover the main part of the island. And on its way it hadswept hundreds of thousands of birds' nests into thelagoon.

I arose, scarcely knowing whether I was alive ordead, and stood alone with one foot on my slantingdeck and the other on the rail. For a moment, Ithought I was the only one saved.

"Boys, where are you?" I shouted weakly.

"Here," came the reply, "still standing like anoak."

My men and the prisoners had taken refuge inthe bow, and had been sheltered by the rail, as Ihad been. Not a one was injured. For that at leastwe could be thankful. For that and not much else.The Seeadler was a total wreck. The jagged coralwas rammed deep into our hull.

We stand like an oak! I adopted the reply ofmy sailors as our motto henceforth. We were castawayson this coral atoll in one of the loneliest andleast-visited reaches of the South Pacific.Everything lost, but "we stand like an oak."

XXIV

CASTAWAYS ON A CORAL ATOLL

The last German colony! We founded it on thisbeautiful, isolated coral atoll in the middle of thePacific. The Imperial German flag of war flew fromthe top of the tallest palm. I was the viceroy, bychance and not by desire, of course, and my sailorsand our prisoners were my subjects. The only visitingnationals from elsewhere were the three Kanakas,the turtle catchers. "The White King of the SocietyIsle of Mopelia," my mate facetiously called me.One of the Yankee captains put it differently. Hecalled me "the Sea Devil King of the South Seas." Andhe caustically described our lovely isle as "apoisoned paradise." Everybody was good-humoured,despite our hard luck.

But our little South Sea colony passed its firstnights uneasily. For sleeping places, we slunghammocks between the palms. At intervals, a cocoanutwould fall from a height of fifty or sixty feet and gowhizzing close by a man's head. While our fellowcountrymen back in the cities along the Rhine werecomplaining about the night raids of the French andBritish bombing squadrons, we had our bombingproblem also. It didn't make much difference whetheryou were bumped off with a falling cocoanut or afalling bomb. The result was all the same. After onewhizzed by your ear, you would very likely go downto the open beach to quiet your nerves. Then if youtried to sleep there, the land crabs would soonconvince you that the beach was no place for a wearywar veteran either. Patrols of fighting marine crabswould raid that beach every night. After beingchased out by the crabs, you would go back to yourhammock and lie awake wondering when the nextaërial cocoanut bombardment would commence.So life during those first days on our tropic isle wasnot all skittles and beer or orchids and cocoanutmilk. You can bet we worked hard getting up huts!Luckily, there were no casualties from either crabsor cocoanuts. We cleared a large space for ourvillage, and built huts out of timbers, sailcloth, andpalm leaves. The first one up was a queer-lookingthing, but our architecture improved with practice.Our prisoners, who were all Americans, helped us agreat deal. They understood the art of pitching tents.They built a special town for themselves, and gavethe streets such names as Broadway, State Street,Pennsylvania Avenue, and the Bowery. In time wecontrived to arrange quite decent dwelling places.We had plenty of furnishings. From the wreckedSeeadler, which remained perched forlornly on thecoral reef, we took everything we could carry. Weeven built a chapel, took the Bible from the Seeadler,and from parts of the wreck we built a fine altar andcrucifix. Of course, we also installed our wireless setashore in order to keep in touch with passing shipsand events happening out on this side of the world.Nor did we neglect to take ashore a heavy arsenal ofarms and ammunition, including rifles, Luger pistols,hand grenades, and dynamite. In short, we had aperfect little town with everything except acalaboose. Some of our men who had romantic tendenciesconstructed "country homes" for themselves a fewhundred yards away in the jungle. Then we namedthe place Seeadlerburg, Sea Eagle Town.

There were gull's eggs everywhere along the shore,but the birds were brooding now, and most of theeggs we collected had half-formed little gulls in them.We got around this by clearing a large section ofbeach and throwing the old eggs into the lagoon.Then the gulls flocked back and laid more eggs,and thus a supply of fresh eggs was assured.

Our American prisoners were nearly all cheery fellows.Some of them fitted in with the new life betterthan my men. They seemed to know all about theart of fishing, and taught us Germans things we hadnever dreamed of. They were accustomed to what inthe States, along the Gulf of Mexico, is calledspearing eels. They fastened iron barbs to shafts of woodand with these speared big fish in the coral lagoon.They also showed us a clever way of catching fishon a grand scale. They took some forty men andboys and, just as high tide was turning, formed ina line about fifty yards offshore. Then the line camesplashing in, driving the fish before it towardshore, just as the natives round up tigers for a rajahin India. Many of the fish floundered into shallowwater, and a few minutes later were left stranded bythe receding tide. You see, the water, as it backedoffshore, left large pools on top of the irregular coralreef, and there the fish were trapped. Sometimes wecaught five or six hundred pounds a day, and it wasexciting sport.

One night, while we were sitting around our fire,we heard a scratching sound. It seemed to come fromeverywhere. We looked and found a lot of crabs withbig claws. They were hermit crabs. We caughtseveral and put them in boiling water to cook.Meanwhile, the crab invasion continued, and more frombehind kept pushing the rest forward. We tried theones we had cooked, and they were delicious. Theywere as good as the best lobster.

"By Joe," I said, "boys, let's get busy."

We spread out a large sail and filled it up withcrabs, like a sack. We must have had severalthousand of them. For days we lived on them, until mostof us couldn't look a crab in the face. We had 'emboiled, broiled, and in soup. Then that invasion ofthese hermits passed as mysteriously as it had come,and we never saw them again. But the turtles werealways with us. We caught a number of them andkept them in a coral basin at one end of the lagoon.

The wild pigs on the island provided us with morefun and more food. They fed on cocoanuts, which isthe best kind of fodder to make good pork. Theseanimals were said to be the descendants of swinebrought to the South Seas by early explorers longago. They are found on many islands, and NewZealand is a regular paradise for them and for thehunter who likes to chase wild pigs. After generationsof living on cocoanuts, they had changed a lotand had developed a special kind of tusk and jaw.

There were snipe on our island, too, and we huntedthem with great success, thereby varying our seafood and pork diet. Using cocoanut shells for fuel,we smoked what flesh and fish we could.

By way of vegetables, we had cocoanuts, andbread made of cocoanut flour, which the Kanakastaught us to prepare, and hearts of palms. This latteris one of the rarest of delicacies, and outside thetropics only multimillionaires can afford it. Theprice, when you get palm hearts in Europe, is higherthan that of Russian caviar. For the most part, itis reserved for castaway sailors and buccaneers likeourselves. It is the core taken from the very tip ofthe cocoanut palm, right where the new leavesform. For each heart, weighing about ten pounds,a noble palm has to be sacrificed. The taste isbetween that of hazel nuts and asparagus, only finerand sweeter than either.

But I must tell you more about that invasion ofhermit crabs. It caused the first and only fatalityin the course of all our adventures. My dog Schnaeuzchenhad all of the prying, curious nature of thedachshund. The island, with its teeming life, was anendless source of wonder to her. She investigatedeverything, forever had her nose sniffing somewhereor other. The swarming hermit crabs, which coveredthe ground almost like a carpet, sent her into aperfect spasm of astonishment. She jumped and barkedand yelped. She co*cked one eye and studied thestrange creatures, and quite obviously did not liketheir looks. They crawled on all sides of her, and shewas filled with bewilderment and fright. She wasfurious with them, but kept nimbly out of their way.Finally, however, the pugnacity of her dachs naturegot the better of her, and she felt she must attacksomething. A particularly large and villainous-lookingcrab excited her ire. She leaped upon it todevour it. The crab raised its great, ferocious clawsto strike at her. Schnaeuzchen gave a strange yelpof fright, and rolled over in a spasm. She kickedconvulsively for a few moments, and then wasstill—dead. Poor little Schnaeuzchen! The exotic life ofthe South Seas had been too much for her. She wasonly two years old, and on the island she had for thefirst time found an opportunity to give vent to herpassion for hunting. We gave her a fine grave, andplanted a cocoa palm on it. Her comrade, Piperle,looked around disconsolately for her and was sadfor a long time.

Piperle had an adventure with the birds. He undertookone day to invade one of the densely populatedrookeries. Somehow or other, he contrived toantagonize the birds. I suppose he tried to raid a nest.The angry gulls swarmed above him. One seized oneear. Another seized the other. Several struck at hiseyes. One hung on to his tail. Piperle howled andstruggled. It was at this point that one of our mensaw him execute an intelligent bit of strategy. Therewas a clump of underbrush near by. He struggledtoward it, taking the birds with him. He draggedhimself into the brush and thereby shook off thebirds. He returned to camp a sadly mishandled dog,and never went near any of the rookeries again.From then on he confined his courage and daringto chasing the wild pigs at night, which he did witha prodigious barking and yelping. The pet opossumthat our prisoners had carefully rescued from thewreck picked up an excellent living on the island,and came into the messroom every night, askingfor water.

If our new home teemed with useful, edible creatures,it was not lacking in pestilential forms of life,either, these both of native origin and imported fromships. A thousand kinds of insects were everywhere.If you awakened thirsty at night and reached foryour glass of water, you were likely to find that itcontained more co*ckroaches than water. You hadto reconcile yourself to getting up in the morningand finding your toothbrush alive with ants. Theants were particularly pervasive. We could onlyguard against them by putting the legs of tables,chairs, and other articles of furniture in cups ofwater. We slept at night to the ceaseless shuffle of rats,huge insolent fellows, running about on the tops ofour tents. Piperle waged war against them, but theodds were too great. It would have taken a wholeregiment of terriers to end that plague.

Flashing birds of paradise flew from palm to palm.Gorgeous humming birds with green and yellowbreasts darted among the branches. With everyflower there seemed to be a great butterfly. The wholeisland was aglow with butterflies. They floated onwide, beating wings of greens, violets, and reds.

Once, in the middle of the night, I was awakenedby a small, sharp, repeated sound—knick, knick,knack. It was the opening of tropical flowers. I wentoutside and there I saw the lovely Queen of Night,which blossoms by the light of the tropical stars.It is a great, gorgeous bloom, eight or ten inchesacross. There were thousands of them. Scores ofglowworms, far brighter than any we know, hoveredabove each, eager to catch the magnificent perfumethat the opening Queen of Night gives forth. In thedarkness I could see the flowers only by the light ofthe glowworms. On every side were these eerienocturnal lights, a dancing lamp of gathered glowwormsilluminating each flower. In that unearthly gleaming,like a kind of moonlight only stranger, the odorouspetals shone with the ghostly nuances of theirnaturally flaming colours, white, crimson, sapphireblue, violet blue. In the South Seas, the flowers havelittle scent by day, while the sun shines on them. Atnight, when the dew falls, perfume awakens. It is trulya perfumed night. And the nostrils of man are excitedby the rich and almost oppressive blending of odours.The Queen of Night gives off the perfume of vanilla.Mingled with it comes the scent of hyacinth, orchid,mayflower, and heliotrope. Sweet-smelling breezesblow, and above is the tropical sky with its clusteredflashing stars and gorgeous Milky Way. Hangingabove the horizon is the far-famed Southern Cross.

XXV

LET'S GO RAIDING AGAIN

My "subjects" somehow managed to get along onterms of general amity. Our American prisoners tookno exception to my mandates handed on to them byLeudemann, my prime minister. They said that, sincethey had been treated so well aboard the Seeadler, theywanted no other command over our colony. The twocaptains and their lady had made mutually satisfactoryarrangements among themselves, and, so far as weknew, there was no unpleasant incident, although, forthe purposes of my tale, it would have helped a lot ifthey had fought a duel with swords or cocoanuts orchunks of jagged coral on the shore of our tropic lagoon.

The three Kanakas proved to be thoroughly goodfellows and helped us in many ways. We got alongwith them in pidgin English at first until one of thempicked up a little German.

In the middle of the camp we made a sort of plaza.The Seeadler's batteries furnished electric light forit, and there we gathered every night. We still hadplenty of champagne and cognac left from thecapture of the champagne ship. So, in the cool of theevening, we sat out there on the edge of thisequatorial Potsdammer Platz sipping drinks out of wineand brandy glasses, just as we might have at theAdlon in Berlin. There was plenty of pipe tobacco,and Dr. Pietsch had taken care to rescue from thewreck a store of his endless cigars. The wind blew,the stars shone, and the orchestra alternately playedGerman classics from the operas and American ragtimemelodies. Ah, yes, this last bit of the onceglorious overseas German Empire wasn't such a badlittle paradise at all. We castaways out there in thesolitude of the South Seas felt as though we werethe only people left in the world, like Noah and hisfamily on Mount Ararat.

But after about three weeks of thisGarden-of-Eden-without-an-Eve existence, the monotony of itbegan to get on our nerves. Of course, there wasthe "wife" of the officer of the ... but shewas far too busy to be interested in the rest ofus. We hadn't been sent out to colonize the SouthSeas and take life easy. So we cast about for a wayto go buccaneering again. Our first need was for aship to take the place of our unfortunatethree-master impaled out there on the coral reef. TheKanakas told us that a French sailing vessel visitedthe island every year to take away turtle meat.The best guess that they could make was thatit would be another six months or so before shearrived. Well, after six months, we would havea ship. We could always fall back on that. But, byJoe, six months was a long time to wait. The warmight be won or lost by then. And it was highlyunlikely that any other ship would stray into thosewaters for Heaven knows how long. We all grewimpatient. Few sailors are keen about remaining castaway on a tropical isle for long, and especially on anatoll as small as Mopelia. We felt the itch to get outto sea again. I was particularly anxious to setsomething stirring. Before long the tropical sun and lazylife would sap my men's vitality, and all they wouldbe good for would be to loll around.

We still had our lifeboats, and the hurricane seasonwas not on. So why not put to sea in one of them?We devised rigging and sails for our best lifeboat,mast, jib boom, main boom, gaff, stays, and backstays. We scraped, caulked, and painted her. She wasnot in any too good condition, and despite ourlabour she continued to leak a bit and needed constantbailing. Even in calm weather, we had to bail fortypails a day. We loaded her with provisions for halfa dozen men over a long voyage. She was eighteenfeet in length and only about fourteen inches abovewater amidship. Into this small space we storedwater, hardtack, machine guns, rifles, hand grenades,and pistols. The only luxuries we allowed ourselveswere a few tins of pemmican, a side of bacon,and an accordion. The music of the squealer was tobe our solace during a cruise the length of whichnone could foretell. The great question was, could ourtiny craft survive a storm? At any rate, she couldsail, and that was something. We christened her theKronprinzessin Cecilie—without, however, paintingher name on the stern.

Of course, everybody wanted to go, but therecould be only six of us at the most. So I picked themen who seemed to be in the most vigorous healthat the time, Mate Leudemann, LieutenantKircheiss, Engineer Krauss, Boatswain Parmien, andYeoman Erdmann. This left the colony on the atollin the hands of Lieutenant Kling.

Our overloaded co*ckleshell with a crew of sixwas the smallest auxiliary cruiser in the war. Forcruiser we were, and we were setting out to capturea ship, sail back to Mopelia, pick up our comradesthere, and continue our raid. To find and take a shipon the high sea was a doubtful proposition, but wemight get to some of the other islands, not too wellpopulated and guarded, and find a vessel at anchor.We could board her at night, overpower the captainand crew, and sail off with her. We planned first ofall to visit the Cook Islands, some eight hundredmiles distant, and if we found no ship there,continue on another thousand miles farther to the FijiIslands, where there were sure to be ships loadingwith copra for the ammunition factories of Europe.We figured on making around sixty nautical miles aday, so that, if we had to go all the way to the Fijis,it would take us approximately thirty days. Thus weshould be back with a ship in three months at most.We discussed our tactics thoroughly for the expectedcapture. We would steal aboard. Half-pastthree in the morning was the best hour. Men sleeptheir soundest then. A couple of us would go to theofficers' cabins, the rest to the forecastle. We wouldshow our pistols, disarm them, and herd them below.It would be good to sneak to their clothing first andtake away their belts and snip the buttons off theirtrousers. Then, when you have them put on theirclothes they stand, without belts, suspenders, orbuttons, holding up their trousers. Thus they arehelpless. We had a few bombs loaded only withpowder, harmless, but capable of making a terrificnoise. If there is any trouble, you throw one. Ithurts nobody, but the terrible explosion creates ageneral panic. A couple of men with their headsabout them can do wonders with dozens in a panic.Another good thing is to have a couple of fellowsoutside shout suddenly and make a great disturbance.That creates excitement and throws peopleoff their guard. I said to my bo's'n:

"Don't hurt anybody unless you have to. We don'twant to spoil our clean record by killing anybody.But, by Joe, if a captain or a watchman raises a rifleor a pistol, don't wait till he shoots. Get him first."

On a bright summer morning—August 23, 1917,to be exact—we all shook hands. There was nocheering, merely quiet, earnest words of friendship andgood luck. It was the first time that we sixty-fourseamen had parted since the Seeadler had set sail torun the blockade eight months before, and it wasonly now, at the moment of saying good-bye, thatwe realized how closely attached to one another wehad become. We who were going could see a broodingquestion in the eyes of those who were stayingbehind:

"How will that overloaded co*ckleshell stand heavyweather?"

Never mind, we would probably find out soonenough. The understanding was that, if we did notreturn in three months, something had happened tous. They should wait for us until then. Afterward,Kling and his men were to get away from the atollas best they could.

We sailed out of the lagoon, through the coralentrance, into the open sea. The hulk of the Seeadlerlay there helpless on the reef. The tide was high,and the breakers swept over the coral. She was a redbrown now from rust and weathering. Each floodingbillow raised her a bit, and then she sank backhopelessly with loud groans and creaks of despair on thecoral bed. As we passed her she seemed to call overto us:

"Come aboard, I want to take you on your voyage.Don't desert your old friend."

And as a wave raised her it seemed as though shewere struggling to get on an even keel again andcome to us, only to find that the coral held her in arelentless grasp. Tears filled our eyes.

"Good-bye, Seeadler" I called; "perhaps we shallnever see you more. And even if we do, you cannever sail again. Nevermore will songs resound onyour decks. Nevermore will you raise your sails andfly a flag from your masts."

A brisk wind carried us westward with a swellingof our sails. The happy island receded. The lastGerman colony and the wreck of the Seeadler slowlydropped out of sight over the rim of the horizon.

To-day the Seeadler still remains on the reef atMopelia. After we had gone, Lieutenant Kling,afraid that the stumps of her mast might attract apassing warship, blew them out with dynamite.The explosion set a fire that burned away part ofthe woodwork. A quantity of ammunition stillaboard blew up and cracked the forepart of the hulk.Afterward, when the Seeadler's history becamegenerally known, the Harris-Irby Cotton Company ofNew York, which had originally owned the ship asthe Pass of Balmaha, investigated the possibilitiesof salvaging the ship. A party of engineers was sentto Mopelia. They reported that the ship wasunsalvageable. In my cruise around the world aboardthe Vaterland I shall stop at the island and surveywhat once was my tropical domain. And again Ishall board the old Seeadler on which we sailed andraided. So, until then, old ship! Auf wiedersehen!

XXVI

FROM THE SOCIETY ISLANDS TO THE COOK ISLANDS IN
AN OPEN BOAT

It has been something of a sport of recent years tocross the Atlantic and even the Pacific in a smallboat, sometimes under sail and sometimes undermotor power. Tiny craft have done it, and at bestit is not a comfortable kind of voyage. In sportingevents, your ocean-going small boat always had acabin, or an imitation of one. That is what we shouldhave had, but we were not so lucky, and, besides,the load we carried made existence aboard ourlifeboat that had been converted into a cruiser acramped affair indeed.

There was only one place we could trust to be dry,the buoyant air tanks at the sides of the boat. Inthese we packed our hardtack, a few pieces of clothing,photographic apparatus, and the all-importanttobacco. It affected the buoyancy of our craft, butwe had to keep some things away from the sea water.In the body of the boat were placed the water tanks,our large supply of weapons and ammunition, cordagefor the rigging, and several spare sails. Canvasshields at the side, which could be drawn over atthe top and be made to form some kind of tent,sheltered us somewhat from waves and dirty weather.Without these we should have been practicallydrowned. Four mattresses could be stretched on thebottom, where four men could sleep while two keptwatch. As a concession to civilization, we had sixpairs of knives and forks, six mugs, a coffee pot, and$5,000 in silver, gold, and paper, much of it in poundssterling.

At six in the morning, the two men on watchfilled the coffee pot and applied fire to it from asoldering lamp. With the slightest breeze and arocking of the boat, it was impossible to bring the waterto a boil. Then we were glad to get tepid coffee-beansoup instead of coffee. After toilets had been madewith salty sea water, we squatted in the co*ckpit forbreakfast of coffee and hardtack. Navigation wasdifficult in so small a boat. It was impossible to spreadthe charts out properly, and with the slightestcarelessness the wind might take our pricelessnavigation papers overboard. We had to use the sextantand other navigation instruments in a boat thatoften pitched so much we could scarcely stand. Thepapers, charts, tables, logarithms, and so on, gotsopping wet, and when we dried them in the sun theygrew swollen and difficult to handle.

It was cool at night, but not unpleasant so longas our clothes were dry. The weather was fair, but anoccasional whale would come alongside and douseus with the spray of his spout. Then, in our dampclothing, we felt the chill of the night. The days werebroiling hot, but even while taking advantage ofwhat little shade we had, we grew heavy and torpid.We had, above all things, to be careful of ourwater supply. We never dared drink enough toquench our thirst completely, and were, in fact,continually thirsty.

By way of amusem*nt, we had readings aloud fromthe one book we had brought along, Fritz Reuter'scomic story, A Trip to Constantinople, and at nightthe squealer wheezed and blared, and we whiledaway the tedious hours singing old German folksongs.

After three days we sighted Atiu, the first island ofthe Cook group and a British possession. There wasno ship in sight. Too bad, but perhaps a ship mightbe expected soon. Anyway, we had to make portand get fresh food. Aside from the danger of storm,if our voyage continued for any length, we fearedmost of all beri-beri and scurvy, which our diet ofhardtack would inevitably bring upon us unless wevaried it with fresh vegetables.

A crowd of natives, fine-looking Polynesians,watched curiously as our little craft drew up to thedock. Kircheiss and I went ashore and straight to thehouse of the British resident. He lay stretched out inhis shirt and trousers on a Borneo long chair on hisporch, and didn't even get up when we approached.He was a good-looking fellow, but lazy as the devil.The lassitude of the South Seas had certainly got him.

"My name is Van Houten," I began, "and this ismy chief officer Southart."

The resident looked at me suspiciously. It was atrue British mistrust. Ordinarily, your Englishmanis the best of fellows, a pleasant chap to meet, aperfect host. But in wartime you had to admire them.They were on the lookout for everything. Theirbrains seemed made only of suspicions. Kircheiss,who spoke English better than I did, continued:

"We are Americans of Dutch birth. A few monthsago we made a bet at the Holland Club in SanFrancisco that we would sail from Honolulu in anopen boat via the Cook Islands to Tahiti and backto Honolulu. The wager is for twenty-five thousanddollars. Would you, my dear sir, kindly give me acertificate that we have been here in accordance withthe terms of our bet? Also, we should like to lay ina supply of fresh water, canned goods, and freshfruit."

The resident yawned, looked us over with awatery eye and replied:

"Well, a man must be a hell of a fool to go in forthat kind of sport."

"Sure," Kircheiss said politely, "but, just thesame, we should like to have the certificate. Won'tyou give it to us or tell us who will?"

"Oh, to hell with you, don't bother me. I've justhad dinner and want to take my nap."

Even his British mistrust, with which he firstregarded us, subsided into the indescribable somethingthat comes over a white man who yields to the softenervation of the tropics. He now looked at usmerely as mad fellows who wanted him to dosomething too crazy to merit his consideration.

"Any news from the bloody war?" he asked. "Whyare they so stupid as to carry on with this fightingbusiness? In the end, it will only help these yellow races."

He continued like this and spoke highly of theGermans. Naturally, we did not express anypro-German sentiments.

"We simply must get this old bird to give us thatcertificate," I said to my comrade in Low German,pretending that it was Dutch.

"Yes," he replied in the same dialect, "it maycome in mighty useful later on."

The resident, as he told us, had served in the BoerWar, and should have known better, but he took ourPlattdeutsch for the language of Holland. Presentlyhe scribbled a note saying that we had called on himin the course of our sporting cruise.

"Any ships expected in port soon?" Kircheissasked quite casually.

"How in hell do I know?" the resident respondedwearily. "Everything goes to the bloody war, andwe don't see anything around here but theseKanakas." He continued in this strain and cursed hisboredom on the island.

The resident was still rambling on in his lazymonotone when along came a man who wore a cassockand had a beard down to his waist. He was aFrench missionary priest who was overjoyed whenwe saluted him with a few words of French. Theresident and an English trader were the only twowhite men on the island besides himself, and neithertalked any French.

"Allons, allons," he shouted, "by Joe, boys, youmust pay me a visit."

And straightway he seized our arms and took usover to his mission house. There he poured outglasses of excellent wine.

"You are Americans," he cried, "you fight for laFrance? You are Hollanders? Ah, it is too bad thatyour country is not in the war with France. But Ican see that you love la belle France."

With that he put on the gramophone a record ofLa Marseillaise, and had us sing it along with him,which we did with all our lungs. Since it had beenwritten and dedicated to my great-grandfather, Ididn't mind a bit. He chattered in Frenchincessantly, in an ecstasy over having someone withwhom he could talk his native tongue. He embracedus a dozen times and made us sit down to dinner. Itwas an excellent meal. The wine was particularlygood. The conversation made us squirm a little. Thegood father was the best fellow possible, butpatriotic to the very finger tips. He treated us to somechoice denunciations of the Germans.

After another rendition of the Marseillaise, wetook our leave.

"What will be your next stop?" asked the jovialmissionary in parting.

"I think we will put in at Aitutaki," I replied.That was the nearest island and the next field ofaction in our hunt for a ship.

"Fine," exclaimed the priest cordially. "I have afriend there. You must call on him. Just mention myname. He will be delighted to see you. He is aHollander, too."

A Hollander, too? And our knowledge of the Dutchlanguage was so strongly salted with a Germanaccent! In that case, when we got to Aitutaki wecertainly would be anything but Hollanders, probablyNorwegians.

Everywhere on the island were trees and fruits,cocoanuts, bananas, mangoes, and oranges. On thestreets of the village, with its thatched huts, wereSouth Sea beauties who wore wreaths of flowers andhad dark, flashing eyes. They gazed with interest onthe foreign sportsmen, the story of whose cruise ona bet had spread among the natives. We took aboardwhat provisions we needed and set sail for Aitutaki.

The weather turned miserable, by Joe. It rainedevery day, those drenching tropical downpours. Oursailcloth covering was not tight enough to hold thewater out. The sea was heavy and continually washedinto the boat. Often we bailed as many as twohundred and fifty pails an hour. Everything not stowedin the side tanks got wet. When the rain stopped fora while, the waves and spray kept things from drying.We were soaked to the skin and never did getdry. Our blankets and mattresses were dripping wet.When we lay in the sodden bedding, we were freezingcold, and could sleep scarcely at all. Often it was arelief to be called to go on watch. Then at least wecould thresh our arms about and get warm. Cookingwas almost impossible now, and we seldom evergot coffee anything like hot.

Once we saw a waterspout forming right beforeour eyes. A fine, whirling drizzle close to the waterattracted our eyes. It revolved ever more rapidly,seizing wider masses of water. In the sky was a littleblack thundercloud extending downward in the shapeof a funnel. The whirl of spray on the water ran upswiftly. The cone of the thundercloud stretcheddown to meet it. They came together and united. Aroaring and sound of bursting, a tremendous suctionof water, and sky and sea were connected by awhirling column. Gyrating and swaying, it movedin our direction. Our boat lay in a calm. Not a breathof air around us. Will this wandering giant strike usand break upon us, deluge and swamp us? AutomaticallyLeudemann at the rudder tries to steer us.Without wind our boat cannot move, much less steer.But the roaring monster collapses with a deafeningclap. Its mass of water falls upon the sea, and fromit a circular swell spreads out. We rock uncomfortablyand thank heaven. During our voyages amongthe islands we narrowly escaped several similarspouts.

After three days we found ourselves steering ourway through the maze of reefs, very beautiful butperilous, that extend out in front of the landing placeat Aitutaki. Again there was no ship in sight, butagain one might be scheduled to arrive within somereasonable time. That was our hope. A crowd ofnatives gathered to watch us come in, also half a dozenwhite men, among whom was the British resident.He was a tall, lanky fellow who wore glasses, andlooked a perfect picture of President Wilson. Wefound this resident to be full of the same Britishsuspicion. Unlike his colleague at Atiu, he was in nowise lost in tropical indolence, but was active andshrewd. We saw that he entertained the liveliestdoubts about us. Might we not be wanderingGermans? Of course, he could not venture any forciblemeasures to investigate our case, such as searchingour boat, for if we really were Germans we woulddoubtless be armed to the teeth, and in that casewhere would he be? He had no force to match ours.We tried our level best to quiet his suspicions byour offhand natural behaviour. We thought oursporting voyage explanation and our request for acertificate, such as we had got from the resident atAtiu, plausible enough. It was too bad that we couldnot use the other resident's certificate, but in it werewritten our supposed Dutch names, and now wewere Norwegians.

The resident began by saying to us that we wouldno doubt be delighted to meet a fellow countrymanof ours. This "countryman" turned out to be aNorwegian carpenter. We surmised at once that he hadbeen instructed by the resident to talk with us andsee whether we were really Norwegians. MyNorwegian was bad, but Kircheiss spoke the languagelike a native. I kept severely out of the way, and letKircheiss have a long, friendly talk with thecarpenter. Kircheiss convinced his man that he wasas Norse as the Vikings. The carpenter wasdelighted to meet a fellow countryman so jovial and,as Kircheiss represented, so wealthy. He promptlyreported to the resident that we were the truestNorsem*n alive and could in no wise be Germans.

Alfred Kling, second officer of the Seeadler, was left in
command at Mopelia. A passing French schooner, the
Lutece, saw the wreck, came near to investigate, and was
captured. Then Kling and his companions re-named the schooner
the Fortuna and set sail for Easter Island.

The resident, with his inscrutable PresidentWilson face, invited me to his house for dinner. Iaccepted. A British merchant named Low invited mylieutenant to his house. We suspected it was a dodgeto separate us. Seemingly, the Norwegian's assurancehad not fully allayed the mistrust of theseuneasy Britons. Kircheiss and I made every excusewe could to keep together, but the hospitality was sopressing that we could not refuse any longer withoutpractically giving ourselves away.

"Even if we are apart," I said to Kircheiss on theside, "we have our pistols and hand grenades, byJoe. We will keep our eyes open, and we can takecare of ourselves single-handed. If anything lookswrong, we will fight our way to the boat."

At the resident's house, a fine stone structure, Ihad a much-needed bath and shave. When Irejoined him, the resident studied my smooth jaws.

"Why," he exclaimed, "you are shaved."

"Yes, thanks to you, and I feel a hundred percent. better."

"But one doesn't shave on a sporting trip, does one?"

He did not believe in anything, that Englishman.He was a true sceptic.

We dined pleasantly enough. The resident talkeda lot, although he did not seem to be naturally atalkative kind. He asked me many questions, which Ianswered cautiously. A native servant brought hima note, and he scribbled a note in return. After afew minutes, the servant brought him anothermessage, and again he answered it. This happenedseveral times.

"Important messages?" I asked.

"Oh, no," he replied hastily, "they are from myfriend Low. He wants to arrange to have us all takecoffee at his bungalow."

It was very queer. I was prepared, though, andthanked my stars for the pistol and hand grenade inmy pockets. I learned later that their scheme was,in fact, to question Kircheiss and me separately. Thepurpose of the notes was to arrange questions to beasked of us, so that they might check up our separateanswers to the same questions. These answers, ithappened, had jibed fairly well, although not wellenough to disarm suspicion altogether.

I thought it an imprudent time to ask when a shipmight be expected, and hoped that some voluntaryinformation on the subject might be vouchsafed.None was, however. I resolved to let the subjectwait. People suspected of being a boatload of armedGermans might too readily be suspected of beinginterested in the arrival of ships.

When the time for leaving came, the resident toldme that, if we would return on the following day, hewould give us the certificate we desired, certifyingthat in the course of our sporting voyage we hadcalled at the island of Aitutaki. The delay about thecertificate was, of course, to detain us a day longer.

Away from this unsatisfactory interview, weencountered the Norwegian carpenter who informedKircheiss that the natives believed we wereGermans. The British had been recruiting soldiery amongthem for service in France, and for the purpose ofgetting recruits had stirred them up with a bit ofwar fever. The islanders therefore hoped that we wereenemies so they could seize us. They planned to getour boat ashore and capture it. Upon hearing of this,I ordered that two men be on watch all the time,ready to repel any attack.

"Any ships expected in port?" Kircheiss asked thecarpenter.

"There may be one to-morrow," was the reply,"or it may not be here for a month."

We held a council of war that night. Should we sailstraight on? That would make them certain that wewere Germans, but there was no wireless station onthe island, and they could not warn the other islandsuntil a ship arrived to take away the news. Or shouldwe capture the island, which we could easily do withour extensive armament, and then wait for a ship?Or should we still try to convince the resident thatwe were the Norwegian sportsmen we pretended?This latter temporizing measure we adopted, anddecided to call on the resident the following dayand try to get our certificate from him. In preparationfor the visit, I instructed the men who remainedbehind to be ready for trouble ashore. If we neededthem, they would hear a pistol shot. They shouldimmediately open fire with machine guns and handgrenades. They should shoot into the air and throwthe grenades into the water, where they wouldmake the most noise. The row would create adiversion, and then they should hurry ashore withmachine guns, rifles, and grenades to rescue us if needbe.

The following day provided us with plenty ofthrills. When Kircheiss and I went to the resident'shouse, crowds of natives followed us. The residentgreeted us with a worried expression but camestraight to the point.

"I shall have to examine your boat and papers,"he said sternly.

"How so?" said I.

"The natives think you are Germans. I know youare not, but I must inspect your boat to satisfythem."

He vacillated between the desire of not lettingus get away and the fear of a fight.

Outside, the Polynesians were gathering from allquarters. They made a menacing, ugly-looking mob.Left hand in pocket, I attached a carbine hook tothe fuse of the grenade. With that mob of heathenson the rampage, there was no use in trying to carrythe deception any further.

"It is true," I said to the resident, "we areGermans. But don't you think it would be better if weremained friends? We are white men. I am with youin front of these natives. Act the part that willimpress them. Come and examine our boat."

"Very well," he replied, growing pale, "but youwon't take me with you?"

"No, upon my word, no."

When we stepped out on the porch, the islandersraised a howl. I never thought there were so manyPolynesians in the world. I had never before stood inthe face of a mob. Sailors or soldiers would not havemade me so afraid.

"Don't be a coward," I said to myself. "On, byJoe, on."

Kircheiss and I stayed close together. The residentled us through the mob, which was overawed by hispresence. We were halfway to the boat when anative in Colonial uniform stepped up. He had seenservice with the British in France, we were afterwardtold.

"Shall I arrest them, sir?" he asked.

"Arrest what?" I shouted. "Shut your trap. Whyshould a fool like you try to arrest Norwegians?" ThenI muttered to the resident: "If that fellowmakes any fuss, I'll shoot him dead."

"Don't talk that way," he replied nervously,and waved the native soldier away.

The crowd followed us to the landing. A smallrowboat picked us up.

"You won't keep me with you?" the residentasked again.

I assured him that we would not. So we rowed overand climbed into my boat, impelled less by his owndesire than by the attitude of the natives.

"Here is the log," Kircheiss, with an impassiveface, handed him a log we had taken from one of ourcaptured ships. He perfunctorily turned the pages andcame upon a chronometric diary we kept in the book.Above was stamped in fat type: KAISERLICHEMARINE.

"What is that?" he stammered.

"Something in Norwegian," Kircheiss grinnedsardonically. "I don't understand it."

The resident saw: GAND UND STAND.

"What language is that?" This time he was atrifle ironical.

"Oh, Norwegian, of course," said Kircheiss.

The resident raised a tarpaulin, but dropped itquickly. He had seen rifles. He raised another. Therewere neat rows of hand grenades, as easy to pickup as apples.

"Keep those covered," he exclaimed, as pale asashes.

"Well," I asked, "how do you find everything?"

"Quite all right—quite all right." He smiled a veryacid smile.

"Won't you tell your people here that everythingis all right?" I suggested.

He turned to the crowd on the pier.

"Everything is in order," he called. "Thesegentlemen are Norwegian sportsmen, as they say."

"And now the certificate," I reminded him.

He wrote a note just as the resident at Aitu haddone.

"You don't intend to take me with you?" he repeated.

"No," I responded, "but I should like to haveyour company until we can get some fruit and tobacco."

I stood chatting with him on the pier while Kircheisswent to procure the fruit and tobacco. Hadn'twe better take the island and wait for a ship insteadof sailing off? I debated the question with myself,and then decided we had better go.

The last scene of this little drama was played asthe resident and I shook hands and bade each otheran apparently cordial farewell. He was a decentfellow, even if he had been suspicious, and I had eatenan excellent dinner at his house. I was glad that wedidn't have to humiliate him before the natives, adreadful fate for an Englishman.

As we hoisted anchor and raised sail, a cheer wentup from the natives lined along the shore. Theywere trying to make amends for having treated us soshabbily and for having taken us for Germans!

But there at Aitutaki I had made the greatmistake of our cruise. We should have captured thatisland. Three days later a schooner arrived. Wecould have taken it, rejoined our comrades, andcontinued our raids. Instead, the resident told theofficers the story of our visit. The schooner sailed thenext day and in a little while met a steamer to whichit transferred the news about us. The steamer inturn radioed a warning to the whole South Seas. Sowe were now in for a warm welcome.

XXVII

THROUGH A SEA OF FLOATING BRIMSTONE TO FIJI

At Rarotonga, another island of the Cook group,we had a fright. By Joe, we were scared. It wasnight. We suddenly saw, right before us, in theshadow of the shore, a big steamer. She had no lights.She must be an auxiliary cruiser. Hard on the helmand every stitch of canvas up. We turned and sailedthe other way as fast as the wind would carry us.We expected every moment to be spotted by theirlookout and then see the ghostlike searchlight beamfingering toward us through the dark.

"Our luck is with us," I said to Leudemann, whenfinally we were far enough out at sea to considerourselves past danger.

Months later, while discussing our adventures witha group of ship's officers, I was told by one of themthat the supposed auxiliary cruiser that had frightenedus at Rarotonga was really nothing more thana wreck. Several months before our approach to theisland, a steamer had gone aground on a reef justoffshore, and had been abandoned. The position of thewreck was such that at night it might readily betaken for a ship lying at anchor.

But we had decided when we got well away fromRarotonga that the Cook group of islands was noplace for us. At Atiu we had found no ship to capture.At Aitutaki no ship either, only a lot of trouble,including the misfortune of being recognized asGermans. And now at Rarotonga we had nearly sailedinto what we supposed to be an auxiliary cruiser inthe dark.

"By Joe," I said to the boys, "we'd better clearout of here and try our luck in other waters."

"Aye, but where? The Fijis?"

"The Fijis," I responded. "We'll find plenty ofships there."

We had all along figured that we might have to goto the Fiji Islands, where a constant stream ofsailing ships was always taking aboard copra for themunition factories in the United States. But wealso were fully aware that sailing in a little openboat from the Cook Islands to the Fijis might easilybe a perilous venture. Our voyage so far had gonefairly smoothly. There had been no hurricanes, andwe thanked God for that. Our itinerary from ourstarting point at Mopelia in the Society group to theadjoining Cook group and among the islands ofthe latter represented jumps of several hundred mileseach and quite a few days at sea. On to the Fijis,however, meant a sail across twenty degrees of longitude.The first half of the jaunt, or about a thousandmiles, was over a vast open space of sea where therewere no islands on which to find fresh food or onwhich to take refuge in case of need. In fact, we wereto sail for thirteen days out of sight of land. We hadexpected, when we left Mopelia, that the leg to theFijis would be a hard one, even if we had fairweather all the way. But now the weather turned againstus for a whole week, and we began to think we hadrun across St. Swithin's day. We had forgotten—ifwe had ever known it—that this was the time whenthe equinoctial storms broke in those waters. Hadwe known it, we never would have headed for theFijis.

For ten days we sailed through a drenching downpour,the rainy season. The sea was choppy. The windwhipped the spray and the crests of waves over usin driving sheets. In our co*ckleshell, things wereafloat, and it was bitter cold o' nights. We threwour mattresses overboard. In their soaked conditionthey were far worse to sleep on than the wet planks,and there was no use keeping them any longer.When the sun occasionally shone, our drenchedclothes would dry quickly and stiffen like boards ofsalt. They rubbed and scratched the skin off ourbodies. When they got wet again, which theypromptly did, the salt would soak into the raw fleshand inflame it. Our bodies felt as though they wereon fire. We had no regular sleep. Instead, a manwould doze away suddenly at almost any time. Eventhe helmsman would drowse off like that, and, witha free rudder, the boat would veer around crazily.

One morning, when dawn came, we could hardlybelieve our eyes. The sea had turned from its normalblue to yellow. On scooping up a pail of it we founda scum that we concluded must be brimstone andash. We were sailing through a field of brimstone.For three days we saw from horizon to horizon thisyellowish expanse of volcanic dust. It no doubt camefrom some submarine eruption, perhaps the one wecould thank for the tidal wave that had wrecked theSeeadler. The waves carried the gritty dust into theboat. It penetrated everything. Every surfacebecame like sandpaper. Our skin grew rough and cakedwith it. Our blankets were like sandpaper, and sowere our clothes.

As the voyage grew longer, we had to be moreand more sparing with our drinking water. The supplybegan to run low. We could no longer collect rainwater in our sails. They were coated with salt. Wetried to wash them out in the rain, but then thespray and the waves kept washing in and kept thesails salty and added a further salting to any waterwe collected. Our supply of fruit that we had pickedup in the Cook Islands ran out now, and about allwe had left was hardtack, not in itself athirst-quenching kind of food. We also had a side ofdelicious bacon, but of course we dared not touch itfor fear of increasing our thirst. You have oftenheard of the torments of thirst at sea? Well, theyare not exaggerated, for exaggeration is impossible.When the rains stopped and the blazing tropicalsun beat down on us all day and we still had daysto sail on and on, then the torments of the damned,the torments of thirst smote us with a fiery agony.Our gums dried out and were like rough iron. Wesucked our fingers and gnawed at our knuckles tobring a flow of saliva and refresh our burningmouths.

And then came the sailor's worst enemy, scurvy.Our diet of hardtack, lack of exercise, and generalhardships brought it on. Our knees swelled up sobadly that we had to cut our trousers. The rockingof the boat knocked them together or against thewooden sides, and then the pain was almostunendurable. Our lips were black and broken. Ourtongues were swollen and hard. It was as if you hada stone in your mouth. Our gums became snowwhite and seemed to recede. Our teeth felt as thoughthey were sticking far out of our jaws. They hurtconstantly and were loose and felt as if they weregoing to drop out. With these shaking teeth we ateour hardtack. I never before knew how hard hardtackwas. We had unending headaches, and it seemedas if something were pressing our eyes right out oftheir sockets. We got water in our legs, and couldhardly stand any more. We had to slide around theseats to do what had to be done in navigating theboat. In scurvy, the blood turns to water, first inthe legs and then upward. When it reaches the heartyou die. Where the blood is water the flesh is white,and you can see the line of the white creep slowlyup. We wondered who would be the first—the first tohave the line of white rise to the heart. My boysmade marks to show the line clearly and mark itsdaily progress upward. It was a kind of sport. Itwas keeping a daily log, a log of death. Parmien wasthe youngest of us, but he seemed to be on his wayto win the race. The line was higher on him thanon the others. He joked about it. There was nothingterrible in it. We were all in a deep apathy. Ourbrains were like balls of cotton. Nothing mattered,certainly not death. Death would come, we thought,as a relief from these sufferings. The prospect of itsarrival became more and more attractive.

"Boys," I said, "let us take pieces of ballast ironand tie them around our necks. One plunge and in afew seconds all of our pains will be gone."

"Yes. All right." There were mutterings of assent.

But Parmien, the youngest, the one who was nearestdeath, picked up the comic volume, Fritz Reuter'sTrip to Constantinople, and began to read a funnystory. We all laughed. That book had eased many ahard hour before, on this ghastly voyage, and now,perhaps, it saved our lives.

And so we continued on with but one instinct leftin us, the sailor's instinct to navigate his craft.Mechanically, without any particular hope, withoutany particular thought, we trimmed the sails, guidedthe helm, and calculated our position as best wecould. Nautical science was at a low ebb among usnow. We were too far gone to reckon exactly wherewe were, and were only vague in our steering. Allwe knew was that we should steer to the west wherethe island groups were.

You have read in many a sea story about thedelight, the almost insane ecstasy, of castaway menadrift in open boats who are dying of hunger, thirst,and disease, when, at last, a rescuing ship approachesor they see land. No matter how the writers describeit, even the greatest of writers, they can tell you onlya tiny bit, only a grain of sand. So, I won't try to sayhow we felt when we saw a speck on the horizon andthe speck grew bigger and turned into the familiargreen of a tropical island. We had been so much likedead men, who had thought that nothing could evermake us glad again. By Joe, that sight gladdened ourhearts, though. We grew even weaker, but it was theweakness of happiness. As we drew near, we thoughtof nothing but land, fresh water, and soft food, asoft banana, for our loose, shaky teeth. Never mindships or capturing ships. Never mind being takenprisoners. We headed straight toward a crude pierthat stuck out into the water.

A crowd of a hundred natives, perhaps less, weregathered at the landing place watching our approach.They were ferocious-looking black warriors. We hadnow passed from the region of the brown, indolentPolynesians to those of the black, warlike Melanesians.

"What ugly customers," I said to Leudemann."They look like cannibals."

The forbidding battle array on shore stirred a newstrength in us. It certainly looked like a cannibalisland, and miserable as we were, still we could notescape the thought of our skin and bones beingfattened up in preparation for an old-time SouthSea banquet.

"Clear the boat for action!" I ordered. Even inour present straits, we could still remember our oldnaval ways.

The German flag went jerking to our masthead,and rifles and machine guns were displayed.

A shout went up on shore and a babel of talk.Voices yelled in pidgin English.

"You Germans? How you get here from way off?Come on. Germans great warriors."

Still wary, we drew near the landing pier andtalked with the natives. They were unmistakablyfriendly, very cordial. From what they told us theyhad, in the first place, grievances against theirmasters, the British. Then quite a number had beenrecruited and sent to the trenches in France. Theresome had been killed and some wounded, and mostwho survived had contracted tuberculosis from theunaccustomed climate and had been returned tothe island worn-out shells of men. One of their mostinfluential chiefs was particularly concerned aboutthe war. He was on the pier, and he reasoned thus:

"White man send missionary. Missionary say wemust not fight. Because all men children of God. Allmen brothers. They say we can have war no more.Then they say we must go fight. They have war.We no fight for ourselves, they say, we fight for them.How, if men are brothers? Our men killed. Our mencome back sick with cough. Cough never goes away."

These people were of a warrior race. What theBritish had told them about how bad the Germanswere had not made much impression. What stuck intheir minds was the fighting power of the Germans.They had heard about it from the British, and thosewho had been in the trenches of Flanders knew aboutit first-hand. The sudden appearance of armed Germansat their remote island could but increase theiradmiration. Morality among them had principallyto do with a man's fighting spirit.

They said there were no white men on the island,and we longed to go ashore. With our scurvy-swollenlegs we could hardly stand, however. It wouldn't doto be hauled ashore as cripples. It would notincrease these warriors' respect for Germans as fightingmen: Cripples do not fare well among savage peoples,and we thought it best not to reveal our impotence.So, we refused the natives' invitations to partake oftheir hospitality, told them we must hurry on tofight the British, and asked for fresh water andbananas. They brought great gourds full of waterand bunches of bananas. We drew up to the dockand they handed these precious supplies down for us.

We had our fill of bananas and water, and, withshouts resounding from the shore, set sail again.This lucky spot was Niue, an outlying isle of the Fijigroup. The sun blazed down upon us, but a fair windcarried us along briskly. The first day after leavingNiue we felt better. The second day we were onthe road to high good health. It is amazing thecurative effect of fresh fruit, especially bananas, whenyou are suffering from scurvy. They seem to putnew life and blood into you and draw the sicknessright out of the body as though some huge andmarvellous poultice had been applied.

Our cure was completed at the isle of Katafanga.It is quite a large isle and inhabited by morenatives. But we hit upon a stretch of shore that seemedpermanently deserted. At any rate, we remainedthere for five days and saw not a soul. When we wentashore, we all walked with a comical staggering gait.You know the characteristic rolling gait of the sailoraccustomed to having a deck under his feet? Ours wasan exaggeration of it. After two weeks in ourconstantly pitching boat and never a foot on land, wecould not get our legs used to solid, unmoving earth.Even after five days of extensive pedestrianism on thebeach we rolled along rather than walked. There wasplenty of fruit around, and many streams ran downto the sea. We ate enough fruit to expel all the scurvyin the world and bathed luxuriously in the clearwater.

On the island was a deserted house. We inspectedit and saw that it had been owned by a Germanplanter. We afterward learned that, at the outbreakof the war, the planter fled to the interior of theisland, and an Englishman had taken possession ofhis house, then, not liking the island, had left itpretty much to itself. Among the rubbish in thehouse was a German mercantile magazine, and onthe first page that I turned to I saw an advertisem*ntof the paint firm of Erdmann and Kircheiss.One of our sailors was named Erdmann and mylieutenant was named Kircheiss. No relations of thepaint firm, but we took it as a good omen. At anyrate, coming upon the planter's house was certainlygood luck. It had gone to seed a bit, but there stillwere Christian beds in it. For the first time sincesailing away from Mopelia, we slept comfortably,and between sheets, too.

We were now getting near the larger islands of theFiji group, where the sailing ships loaded with coprawould be encountered. If we did not succeed incapturing a ship here, we never could hope to captureone. We found a handsome little sailboat belongingto the Englishman who had taken over the German'shouse, but we left her where she lay. She wasmore comfortable than our battered old lifeboat—butthe latter was a last relic of our old Seeadler.She had brought us this far, so we wanted to keepher until we had captured a ship. We raised sail,knowing that, for better or for worse, we were on thelast leg of our voyage in the lifeboat.

We came to the main body of the Fijis, and sailedinto a large gulf surrounded by distant islands.It was night, and we decided to wait till morning tosee how many ships were passing and what islandthey were bound for. We reefed our sails and threwout our sea anchor, that sacklike drag of canvas thatkeeps a boat from turning broadside to the wind andwaves and from drifting too fast. We lay down fora decent night's sleep. We would need all ourenergies for the morrow.

A sudden shout. I awakened. It was just daybreak.Straight ahead was a wild white line of surf. It brokeover a long, low coral reef, and just behind it was ahigh cliff. We had run into a strong current duringthe night. Krauss had awakened just in time to seethat it had carried us perilously near the reef. Thewind was sweeping us toward the breakers.

"Raise sail," I shouted.

We scrambled frantically and raised the canvas.The wind was inshore. We could not head into it.We were being blown slowly, inexorably on to thereef.

People accustomed to the surfs along ordinarycoasts have no idea of what breakers are like off theislands of the South Pacific. The surf all over thePacific is particularly strong. But when it breaks overa mid-oceanic coral reef nothing can live in it. Thestrongest swimmer is sure to be dashed to piecesagainst the jagged coral.

The Sea Devil is caught again. With bayonets
at his back they strip him of his weapons.

And there wasn't the slightest hope of our movingagainst the wind and backing away from the reef.Slowly, slowly we were nearing it. The breakersroared like thunder. In a few moments, we wouldbe flung into that death trap of water and coral.

Pistol in hand, I shouted something to the effectthat I didn't intend to be ground to death by thebreakers on that jagged coral.

The others looked for their pistols. One could notfind his. Between the pull of the current and thepower of our sails, we were drifting along the reef,edging toward it. The wind gave us an extra push.We were in the backwash, only a few yards awayfrom the breakers. And still one man could not findhis pistol. Instinctively, we all waited. And that waswhat saved our lives. Suddenly we saw the reefdrop away, slanting back at a sharp angle, and amoment later we were drifting parallel to the coral.

It was then that I discovered there were two kindsof breathing. In times of terrible danger, the breathcomes in short, quick puffs. The danger gone, youbreathe deeply. By Joe, when we got clear of thatreef I breathed such a breath that it seemed to goright down to my heels. I sat looking at my boys'faces. When we got our pistols ready, their faces hadset tense, as if cast from bronze. With the dangerpast, their faces held the same set expression. Itwas an hour before their old expressions came backagain. Two of my fellows found patches of gray intheir hair afterward. (Maybe they had been therefor years only to be discovered now!) Another's legwas absolutely blue in spots. In those frightfulmoments he had, without knowing it, grasped his thighin a clutch like a drowning man. I tell you, by Joe,it was the hand of God that put the curve in thatreef! When one of the boys, I don't know which,said in surprise, "We are clear!" I knew it was thehand of God.

XXVIII

CAUGHT BY THE BRITISH AT WAKAYA

The island was Wakaya. Several old sailing shipswere in the harbour. We gazed at them with hungryeyes, and eager plans of capturing one ran throughour minds. Natives on shore spied us, took us forshipwrecked sailors, and put a boat out to meet us.It suited our plans to let them go right on thinkingwe had been shipwrecked. That might make itmuch easier for us to get some information aboutthe vessels at anchor. Leaving a couple of my boysin the boat, the other four of us accompanied thenatives to their huts, where they treated us hospitably.They were a simple, trusting people. Severalhalf-breeds and a couple of white men, however,looked at us suspiciously. One half-breed wasparticularly offensive and insisted on asking us manyquestions. We did not like his behaviour at all.

Kircheiss and I took a walk along a path in thewoods to talk over what seemed another menacingsituation. A white man came galloping by on horseback.He was pale with excitement. He slowed downfor a moment, gazed at us, responded curtly to ourgreeting, and went on. Thoroughly alarmed, wehurried back to the village. Some curious businesswas afoot, and we were determined to find out whatit was.

"Our last half gallon of rum," Kircheiss murmuredregretfully.

"Yes," I responded, "it is too bad, but it will goto a useful purpose."

We got hold of the half-caste who had been soinquisitive. The white man we had seen on horsebackwas with him. Something, indeed, was afoot.We talked casually with them and then suggesteddrinking. They were interested, and becameenthusiastic when we produced our half gallon of rum.In the half-breed's hut we staged a drinking bout,which lasted half through the night. Nothing likerum to make men friendly and conversational. Thehalf-breed got so conversational that he blurted out,

"Why, you're all right. But at first we thought youwere Germans. We could get fifty pounds if youwere Germans."

Now, as an American sailor would say, you've gotto "hand it" to the English. They know how tospend money when it is useful. We Germans areusually more nigg*rdly, or "careful" some might callit. We will try to save a mark and then losethousands. Having received the wireless warning fromthe resident at Aitutaki of mysterious armedGermans in the South Seas, the authorities in the Fijishad passed word among the natives to be on thelookout for us, and had offered a two-hundred-and-fifty-dollarreward to anyone who turned in definiteinformation about a party of Germans posing asneutrals.

It was clear enough that the half-breed and thewhite man had been plotting to hand us over to theauthorities, but how far they had gone we did notknow. We didn't find out that night. It was not untillater that we learned the white man's horseback ridehad been to give a warning about us to the captainof a cutter in the harbour, and that the cutterhad at once shoved off to carry the message to theofficials on one of the larger islands a day's sail away.Not knowing this, we used a good deal of persuasionto put the idea firmly into the heads of the two menthat we could not possibly be Germans. It may havebeen our eloquence, or, more likely, the genialinfluence of the rum, but, at any rate, they seemed tolose all of their suspicions and became convincedthat we were the truest Norwegians from Scandinavia.Kircheiss and I, somewhat the worse from oursession at detective work, slept at the Englishman'shouse.

The four others were offered quarters ashore forthe night, but two of my boys remained in the boatas a precaution. It was well they did, too. Duringthe night, native swimmers went out to her and cutthe anchor rope. They were put up to it by a Malaypolice officer who was suspicious of us. Not knowingany or my men would remain on board her, sinceshe was only an open lifeboat, he planned to searchher. So he sent his swimmers out to pull her ashoreand beach her. The wind was inshore. The anchorrope cut, the boat drifted in. Our two men wereasleep, and only awakened when keel jarred againstbottom. Dark figures were around in the water,trying to pull the boat on the beach. Our men, pistolin hand, drove them away and then pushed out intoopen water.

On the following day, we made our final costlyerror. The ships in the harbour weighed anchor andraised sail. We picked the one that seemed the newestand arranged with the skipper to take us along withhim to Suva, on the main island Viti Levu. Of course,our plan was simply to sail a few miles out to seawith him and then take the ship ourselves afterdonning our uniforms and getting out all of our weapons.A sudden squall blew up and forced the vessels backto port. We returned with her. And now we shouldhave taken her while she lay at anchor. The peopleashore would have seen what was going on, but wecould have held up the island and then put to sea,storm or no storm. That was our first impulse. Weshould have followed it. Always trust your firstimpulse—at any rate, if you go into the piratebusiness. It is the boldest and best. Instead, we chosea more cautious course. Prudence ceases to be avirtue when you are on an adventure like ours. We hadbeen bold enough heretofore, and I have no satisfactoryexplanation for our caution now. It may havebeen that we were not quite ourselves. Our voyagedown from the Societies and the Cooks to Fiji, withthose days of hunger, thirst, and scurvy, had sappedour strength and vitality. Perhaps, although we feltquite well, we had not yet got back our full vigourof body and mind. Perhaps we were low on redcorpuscles. At any rate, we resolved to wait untilthe following day and capture our ship when it hadgot out to sea. While we waited, another vesselarrived.

She was a beauty, too, and would have delightedany seaman's eye as she came sailing into theharbour. She had just arrived, we were told, from Suva.She ran regularly among the islands, carryingmerchandise to the traders. She was a handsomethree-masted schooner with auxiliary motor power, new,clean, and trim, just the kind of ship we wanted.

"By Joe," I said to my boys, "there's our ship."

We immediately dismissed all idea of the oldwindjammer we had intended to capture, and devotedourselves to this new beauty. A council of warwas held, after which Kircheiss went to the captainof the vessel, which now had docked, and told himthat we were Norwegians who, while making a cruisein a lifeboat, had missed our ship, which was takingcoal from Australia to Suva. Could we not takepassage with him to Suva instead of on the other slowerold craft, so that we could get back to our ownship? We would pay regular rates for the passage.

"All right," replied the captain, a jovial,unsuspecting fellow. "Come aboard at eight o'clock thisevening. We sail in the morning."

It was our plan again that, once aboard thislovely ship and out at sea, we would suddenlyappear in our uniforms and hoist the German flag.

We made ready to abandon the lifeboat. Ourbelongings required careful packing. We put rifles,machine guns, cartridges, and grenades in our canvasbags, wrapped our naval uniforms around these, andthen rolled each bundle in a couple of blankets andtied it securely. A casual handling would not revealthe armament inside. Each of us took a pistol in onepocket and a hand grenade in the other. At eighto'clock we went aboard the schooner. Our manœuvreshad been made carefully, and we had attracted noundue notice of the people who were suspicious of us.

Aboard, the captain received us hospitably, andwe went around looking over what we expected tomake our next prize of war. And a prize she was,just a year out of the shipyard and beautifullyfinished in every detail.

"Look at the saloon," I muttered to Leudemannas we wandered around, "think of what meals wewill have here. No more hardtack with loose teeth tobite it. And look at those cabins. Won't those bunksbe comfortable when it blows and rains? And what afine big level deck to walk on, so different from thebottom of our lifeboat."

The schooner had two new motors capable of drivingher along at a lively clip. They would enable usto cover a lot of the wide Pacific and run down manya copra-laden clipper.

The captain told us he had aboard a miscellaneouscargo of cloth, white shoes, helmets, silk underwearfor the wives of planters and traders, silk stockings,and so on. He was provisioned for a cruise ofsix months, and had aboard large stores of preservedfruits and vegetables and six thousand poundsof fresh meat. I said to myself:

"Just what we want, by Joe."

Here was the perfect prize. What would ourcomrades marooned back there on Mopelia say when weturned up with this beautiful schooner in tip-topshape, with powerful motors, well-provisioned andall? Already we could hear the lusty cheers, as, withthe German flag at our mast, we drew up and castanchor off the coral reef. I looked up at the trimmasts and spars and around at the freshly scrubbedwoodwork of the deck and spoke silently to theschooner, calling her by a new name.

"Ho, there, Seeadler-the-Second! You'll like it asan auxiliary cruiser. We'll have a lot of funtogether, by Joe."

I could hardly wait for her to raise anchor and setsail. But we had counted that brood of mentalchickens before they had hatched, by Joe.

A steamer slid into port!

The skipper of our clipper who was standing nextto me said he supposed she had brought over theproprietor of the island. The new arrival lowered aboat. In it were a military officer and four Indiansoldiers. The boat rowed straight toward our ship.We surmised at once that they were coming for us.Having received the message sent by the suspicioushalf-breed and the white man that there were sixGermans on the island, the authorities had sent aforce of military police to arrest us. There had beensome delay in this, as the only available boat onwhich to send the police was a cattle steamer, theAmra, and she could not raise anchor for some hours.She had arrived now right in the nick of time, hadcommunicated with the shore, and been informedthat we were aboard the schooner.

The storm had cleared during the early morning.The palm trees ashore were ablaze with the tropicalsunshine. The water under us was of the deep bluethat you see only in the South Seas. A brisk,refreshing wind blew from the west. The boat with theofficer and four soldiers came rowing with long,powerful strokes. The Indians wore puttees and thosefunny little pants that leave the knees bare. Theycarried no arms other than bayonets. The officer hada sword and a revolver. We could easily have shotthem down with our pistols, or thrown a hand grenadein their boat, or held them up at pistol pointwhen they came aboard. Then we could have capturedthe ship and sailed away. The steamer wouldhave been powerless in the face of our machine guns.There were mutterings among my men. They werefull of fight. We should, they urged, make thecapture and get away.

I passed an uncomfortable moment of indecision.Our uniforms were packed in our bundles, stowedbelow. We would have to fight off arrest and takethe ship in the guise, not of naval soldiers but ofcivilians, and as civilians we would have to raise ourweapons against soldiers. That not only went againstthe grain, but it went against the unwritten lawsof the game. There are many sporting traditions thatare carefully inculcated in every German navalofficer. If we could have fought in our uniforms, itwould have been as honourable naval men. In theend, the odds would be all against us and the chanceswere at least a hundred to one that we would becaptured before getting back home. If we fought asnaval men and were later captured, we would beentitled to the treatment due honourable prisonersof war. If we fought in citizen's clothes, we werenothing more than international bandits and assuch almost sure to hang finally from a yard arm.They say that all is fair in love and war, but this doesnot alter the fact that there are things you can dothat are not playing the game. Of course, each sidehas its spies, and a spy, if caught, expects no quarterand gets none.

But during the War of 1870, and during the latewar, too, we Germans were most severe with franctireurs,civilians who sniped at soldiers. It has beenone of our cardinal principles that war must bewaged by uniformed soldiers. In the World War,both sides were charged with introducing newmethods of warfare that were not in accordance withthe ethics of the game. But you will recall that evenAllied cargo and passenger ships armed with guns tofire on submarines made it a general rule to carry guncrews of uniformed marines to handle the guns.

"No," I said to my men, "in the uniforms of ourcountry we can fight. As civilians we cannot. At anyrate, we are not going to drop a bomb down thereand kill that poor defenseless police officer and hismen in those short pants! There would be neitherfun nor glory in that."

My officers were with me, and the men also sawthe point, but agreed with much reluctance.Certainly, none of us wanted to go to a British prisoncamp. But there seemed no help for it.

It was the twenty-first of September, just two daysshort of a month since our departure from Mopelia.The lieutenant and his four men in those shortpants and bare knees came aboard. Followed by hismen, he stepped up to me.

"I've got to arrest you," he began decentlyenough. "Who are you?"

"Allow me," I responded, "to introduce myself.I am Count Luckner, commander of the Seeadler.These men here are part of my crew."

"Are you Count von Luckner?"

"Yes."

He gazed around bewildered, frightened, and certainlynonplussed. I imagined I could see his legsshake. Apparently, he was digesting the fact that heand his men were practically unarmed and thecertainty that we must be armed to the teeth.

"We have," I continued, "hand grenades and firearmsenough to send you and your knee-pants armyhere to Kingdom Come, and if we were in uniform,you would be our prisoners. However, be that as itmay, you have caught us in civilian clothes—butlook here."

We took our weapons out of our pockets. I had hadtwo of our men bring up our bundles. We cut themopen and displayed the grenades, pistols, andmachine guns. The lieutenant stared, still aghast inspite of my reassuring speech. The soldiers werefunny. You could see the goose pimples on the skinbelow the lower edge of those short pants. They edgedto the rail, evidently ready to tumble overboard. Thecaptain of the schooner and his crew now knew whatkind of guests they had welcomed aboard. They stoodgaping.

"I must ask you to stand back a moment, Lieutenant,"I exclaimed, "while I destroy my war material.Overboard with it all!" I called to my men.

Pistols, grenades, and machine guns droppedsplashing into the water.

"And now, Lieutenant," I saluted, "at your service!"

"Right ho, Count," he replied, "you men havemade a great name for yourselves on your cruise,and now you have played cricket with me. You willreceive decent treatment. You have my word as aBriton for that." He emphasized the word "Briton."

Aboard the Amra we heard a different tune piped.They had an old black stewardess aboard, aparticularly bad-tempered scold. The moment she sawus her shrewish tongue began to wag.

"Just look at those Huns, and look at their muddyboots, soiling our clean deck. And then the blackmen are supposed to scrub it after them. These Hunsshould be painted black, and with tar. I'd rather beblack than one of those Germans. Sinking ships withwomen and children is all they can do. I'd like to geta gun and shoot every one of them."

She certainly had been filled right up to her earlobes with this war of frightfulness propaganda, andthat old Jezebel knew how to do her bit of spitefultongue-lashing. A ducking in cold water would havedone her no harm. But we were prisoners now, andthe berating of an ill-tempered old Melanesian womanwas likely to be the smallest of our troubles.

I had no doubt as to what our first ordeal was to be.Unless the British had more recent news than weconcerning our comrades whom we had left at Mopelia,which was not probable, we would be questioned asto the whereabouts of the Seeadler and the remainderof her crew. I told my men that they should give thesame reply to all interrogations, namely that I hadbidden them to keep silent and that I would answerfor all. That would prevent us from tripping oneanother up. We had taken care to throw away anynotes or papers we had that gave any hint as to wherewe had gone ashore in the Society Islands. Theycould search us as much as they liked, but theywould find nothing. One mischance, though, befellus. I was to learn in a few days that one of mycomrades had dropped a notebook, which presently wasfound. In it he had a brief diary of the Seeadler'svoyage. I questioned the diarist who had kept theunfortunate record, and he told me that his notesabout Mopelia were very sketchy. He rememberedclearly that he had written we had captured thesailing ship Manila. After that was a single entry.

"Landed stores at Mopelia."

There his diary broke off. There was no mentionof our having sunk the Manila or of our having lostthe Seeadler at Mopelia or taken refuge on the island.

"And now," I said to my men as we came in sightof Suva, "you keep your mouths shut, by Joe. Letme do the lying. They've got us, but they must notget the boys back at Mopelia."

XXIX

JAILED IN FIJI WHILE THE OTHERS ESCAPE
TO EASTER ISLAND

Our arrival as prisoners was the event of the yearat Suva, the capital city of the Fiji Islands. Ourcapture was the only warlike happening that had comealong in those parts to break the monotony of lifein the dreary South Seas. The newspaper got out alurid special edition filled with a harrowing accountof the capture of the captain and a part of the crewof the desperate raider, the Seeadler. It gave the hourwhen we were expected to reach Suva. So a hugecrowd, that is, a huge one as crowds go in Fiji, hadgathered at the pier to look us over. A company ofinfantry lined both sides of the approach to the pierwith bayonets fixed. They certainly were acomic-opera-looking lot in their hot-weather knee pants.

During our march down the street between thegauntlet of bayonets and the crowd behind them, ahalf-caste fellow, seeing us unarmed and helpless,stepped forward and spat in the face of one of my boys.I jumped out of line and gave him a blow straightfrom the shoulder that sent him down in a heap. Hisfriends had to carry him away. I had acted on theimpulse of the moment and expected to be runthrough with a bayonet, but the officer in commandof the soldiers shouted:

"Serves him right! Good for you, Count!" Thenaddressing himself to the crowd he added: "Thesem*n have done nothing to deserve such treatment."He said it as though he meant it, too. That Englishmanwas a real fellow, I tell you.

We were promptly questioned. Where were theSeeadler and the remainder of its crew? Of course, myboys kept mum. I, on the other hand, invented astory about accidentally getting separated from therest, who were still aboard the Seeadler—where, wedidn't know. The story, of course, was not believed.

At first they kept us at the Governor's Rest House,a fine place with a garden, where visiting white peopleoften stopped. Our meals were borne to us by cooliesfrom the local hotel. The temporary commandant ofthe Rest House was a Lieutenant Wodehouse, a finefellow. After a day or so he was replaced by aLieutenant Whitehouse, whom we didn't like so well. Hewas what the British themselves would call "a bitof an ass, y'know." Whenever he talked with me hekept his hand on his pistol. He apparently thoughtme a sort of ogre, a bad man sent to frighten niceyoung lieutenants. Presently he came, hand onpistol, and announced:

"General Mackenzie wants to see you, all of you."

"More questions, by Joe," I thought.

Appearing before a general was an event of somemoment. We felt we had to look worthy of theGerman Navy. We had our uniforms, which were somewhatfaded after the long trip at sea. But we slickedthem up as best we could and generally madeourselves as presentable as possible. They loaded us intostinking cattle cars. For a visit to a general? Qurre!we thought. They led us to a stone building andushered us in. It was a jail!

"Is this your General Mackenzie?" I sneered atWhitehouse. "You're a fine British officer."

He walked away, ashamed, himself, of the dodge hehad used to get us to the jail without the desperateattempts he, in his stupid timidity, expected us tomake.

But the jail was not so bad. We got our meals froma restaurant. They separated me from my men, whichI did not like. Nor was it exactly military ethics toconfine prisoners of war in a common calaboose.But the authorities were nervous. They believed theSeeadler was lurking somewhere near by, and theyexpected our comrades to come raiding ashore andtry to rescue us. Of course, they kept on trying toget us to tell them where the Seeadler was, but theylearned nothing.

Lieutenant Whitehouse was still our jailer. Keepinga good hold of his pistol, he came up to me again.He spoke very politely this time:

"A Japanese admiral wants to see you, sir."

I laughed at him.

"First it was General Mackenzie, and now it isthe Japanese admiral. Ho! Ho! What tricks are youup to this time?"

"No, really, upon my word, really, Count, theJapanese admiral wants to see you."

"By Joe, Lieutenant, I was fool enough to get allslicked up to see your General Mackenzie. But I'llbe hanged if I'll budge an inch to see your oldJapanese admiral."

I didn't know what kind of foolishness it was thistime, and intended to protest and stall as long as Icould. He went away rather sheepishly. In a fewminutes another lieutenant showed up.

"There is a Japanese admiral who really does wantto see you, Count Luckner, you know," he said.

"Oh, since you say so, Lieutenant, it must be so,"I replied.

I brushed up my uniform and accompanied himthrough the courtyard to a pier. A splendid cruiser,the Ysuma, lay out there at anchor in the harbour.A boat manned by Japanese sailors was waiting therefor me at the landing. Aboard the cruiser, themagnificent deck contrasting with the dingy jail that nowwas my home, I felt like a man who, long confined indarkness, suddenly walks into sunlight.

My feelings changed to those of discomfort as theAdmiral welcomed me. He was a grave, courteouslittle man, clad in an immaculate white uniform. Myown uniform had once been white, but in spite of allthe washing I had given it, it was now a dingy gray.The gold braid had turned green from the corrosionof the sea water. So I tried to make up in dignity ofbearing what I lacked in perfection of dress. Heintroduced me to his officers:

"Here is the man we have chased for threemonths." And then turning to me:

"I am sorry, sir, to meet you in this situation. Iwould rather it had been in a good, square fight."

"I should far rather be your prisoner, Admiral,"I answered, "than the ignominy of living in thisbeastly Fiji Island jail."

The Japanese had not known of the jail part of it.The officers looked in cold astonishment at theBritish lieutenant, who was much embarrassed.

In the luxurious saloon I was extended gracious,indeed ceremonious hospitality, the hospitality ofJapan. The admiral offered me cigars and cigarettesand poured out the champagne for me. I took acigar, but refused the wine.

"I am a teetotaller," I said, "a prohibitionist, asthe Americans would say."

I suspected that I would be questioned about theSeeadler, and didn't want my tongue lubricated withchampagne!

The admiral placed three books before me. Thefrontispiece of one was the picture of the Emden; ofthe other, a picture of the Moewe. He turned thepages. Both were filled with Japanese writing. Thethird book was empty. The admiral placed this bookbefore me and presented me with a pen.

"Write something about your cruise," he asked."In our country we write about the deeds of theenemies we have met. We tell what they did for theircountries, so that it may fill our youth withenthusiasm to do as much for our country. Write downone or two things that I can use."

"Gladly," I replied, and began to write brieflyof our experiences while rounding Cape Horn.

"Just a question first," interrupted the admiral."Did you put to sea from a neutral port, the UnitedStates, Argentine, or Chile?"

"We sailed from Hamburg," I responded. "Weflew the Norwegian flag and were searched for anhour and a half by a British cruiser."

"Examined by the British?"

"Yes."

Those grave Japanese faces lighted up with smilesof exquisite amusem*nt.

After I had written my short piece, the admiralspoke again.

"And now, Count, tell me where you have been."

"Admiral," I responded, "that is a question Ishould prefer not to answer right away. First tellme where you looked for me."

He brought out a big chart. A quick glance, andI saw the island of Mopelia. Around it was a faintline in pencil. That told me what I wanted to know.Undoubtedly, they had found the diary my boy hadlost, the last entry of which mentioned Mopelia.

The admiral pointed to the Tasman Sea, betweenAustralia and New Zealand.

"I was on your trail here, Count, but I lost younear New Zealand."

"I am sorry to say, Admiral, that my ship wasnever within six thousand miles of those waters."

"But," he responded, "the ships you sank in thePacific were all to or from Australia."

"I know, but—" A little judicious hesitation.

"But where were you, Count? Tell me."

"I cruised back and forth south of the HawaiianIslands over the waters where the Australia-SanFrancisco ships, the eastbound and westbound,pass." There is nothing like the truth.

"You are right, Count. I should have thought of it."

"I am glad you didn't," I replied, "or you wouldhave captured me."

He dropped the questioning for a while and askedme about the Battle of Jutland, which always seemsto interest Japanese naval men tremendously. WhenI said I had been through the battle, they made metell them every detail I could remember. They wereinterested in everything. The admiral's comment onwhat I told him was interesting.

"Another proof," he exclaimed, "that the smallerfleet was superior per ship to the larger."

And now the admiral came square to the point.

"Tell me, Count, where your Seeadler is."

I was in a tight hole. I must strike a blow for mycomrades out there on Mopelia. The elements I hadto work upon lay in the fact that the diary whichhad been found mentioned merely that we had putstores aboard at Mopelia and told of the capture ofthe Manila and said nothing of the fact that wehad sunk that ship. Then, also, the truth is rarelybelieved. I proceeded to skate very near the truth.

"The Seeadler," I replied, "was lost."

"How was it lost?"

"We got on the coral reef at Mopelia. We tried ourbest to get off, put our stores ashore to lighten theship. But it was no use."

"What did you do then?"

"We went aboard the Manila."

"The four-masted schooner, Manila?"

"Yes, we captured her and took her along with us."

"Where is the Manila now?"

"She is waiting for me off Mopelia. My men arehaving a good vacation on the island until I comeback."

"I say, Count, we Japanese are not such fools. Youhad the four-master Manila, and you sailed fromMopelia to the Fijis in a small boat."

"Yes," I replied. "There was not room enoughfor all of us aboard the Manila."

The admiral looked at me with a sly Oriental smile.Fine, I thought. I had figured out their mindscorrectly. They had not set straight out for Mopelia,in spite of their knowing that we had landed storesthere, because it seemed wildly impossible that Iwith my five men had sailed from Mopelia to theFijis in an open boat.

"Count," exclaimed the admiral, "I will tell youwhere your crew is. You did not leave a four-mastedschooner and sail twenty-three hundred miles in alifeboat. You sailed here in the Manila, and, havinggot here, you put out in your lifeboat to captureanother ship in a near-by harbour. You tell meyour crew is at Mopelia, hoping I will get up steamimmediately, go hurrying away for a few thousandmiles on a wild-goose chase, and leave them in peace.The Manila is in these waters. In four days, yourcrew will be my prisoners."

He respected me too much to think that I wouldever give my crew away. He knew I would try tothrow him off the scent. His object was to outwitme, to get my story and read between the lines.

"Very good, Admiral," I thought, "let us see howit will work out."

We parted the best of friends. He was an excellentfellow. Our meeting had been one of mutual deceitwith lies that no gentleman would tell in ordinarytimes. Now they were quite respectable, as ruses ofwar.

The ironical thing was that my men, who underthe command of Lieutenant Kling were still livinglike lords at Mopelia, were destined to have muchbetter luck in getting a ship than my little party hadhad through all our terrible hardships.

They caught a wireless message one day telling ofour capture. So, fearing that their own whereaboutsmight soon be discovered, they hastily began tobuild a boat to sail away in, but, with the materialsat their disposal, they were unable to constructanything like a seaworthy craft, capable of carryingthat whole crowd. Then Dame Fortune smiled onthem.

A French square-rigged schooner sighted the islandand the wreck of the Seeadler.

"By Joe," exclaimed the captain, "we passed heresix months ago and there was no wreck here! Wemay find castaways on the island. It looks as thoughwe may find a good profit, too."

You see, a captain gets a third of the value of anywreck, ship, or cargo, that he saves. The schoonerquickly veered toward the island.

It was a Sunday morning. On the island the menwere sitting around, washing clothes, writing diaries,and so on. The chef was shooting snipe for dinner.Then the cry:

"Ship ahoy."

Kling took out a lifeboat with a boarding party,the strongest men he had, some of them the championwrestlers. As they approached the schooner, thecaptain leaned over the rail and shouted down tothem:

"Don't row so hard, boys. We will come for you."

Our sailors swarmed aboard. Pistols out.

"Hands up!"

The Frenchmen recognized the German uniform.

"Mon Dieu—des Allemands. I turn off my courseto save castaways and I am captured by the Boches!Mon Dieu!"

The schooner was not big enough, nor had aboardprovisions enough, for both the Germans and theprisoners. Kling decided to leave the prisoners,including the crew of the schooner, on the island, wherethey would be comfortable enough. When he was aweek or so out, he would send a wireless that wouldbring ships to their rescue. So, the whole ofSeeadler-town was given over to the prisoners, and theschooner sailed away. She was named the Lutece,but my men discovered that she had been the Germanship, the Fortuna. She had been seized by the Frenchduring the war. So she got her old name back. Shewas German again—a German auxiliary cruiser. ForKling fully intended to go right on buccaneering.

Three days after the Fortuna sailed, our formerprisoners saw a cloud of smoke on the horizon.Steaming at full speed, her funnels belching smoke,the Japanese cruiser, Usuma, steered to the island.On her bridge the admiral swore in Japanese.

"By Joe, the Count fooled me all right. He toldme the truth. There is the wreck, and there are hismen. Everything except the Manila. He tricked mewith the tale about the Manila."

The Japanese found only men of the Allied nations.

"Where are the Germans?"

"I'm sorry," replied the French captain, "butthey sailed away three days ago in my ship, theLutece."

The Japanese admiral was thoroughly disgustedat that, but of course he took the whole crowd aboardand took them back to the Fijis. It was of no use togo racing about the immense spaces of the Pacificlooking for a solitary sailing square-rigged schooner.

Kling's plan was to sail around Horn into theAtlantic, sink a few ships there, and then try to stealthrough the blockade and get back home. His coursetook him to Easter Island, a small, remote possessionof Chile where there was no wireless station.There he intended to overhaul the ship, which was inbad condition, and take aboard supplies and freshwater. On October 4th, they sighted the island, butwhile sailing into the harbour struck an uncharted,sunken rock. The Fortuna was old and worm-eaten.The rock crashed right through her planks. The shippounded and quickly broke up. The men had to swimfor it.

The lives of some of them, at least, were saved in acurious way—by two pigs. These animals we hadbrought from Germany aboard the Seeadler toserve as fresh pork. They soon became pets, however,and we kept them. They were quite companionableand romped around the decks with the men.Kling had them aboard the Fortuna. When the shipsank, the swimmers, including the two pigs, foundthemselves among sharks. These seemed to preferpork to human flesh. They seized the two pigs andbegan to fight over them among themselves. You betthe men in the water swam as hard as they could.They were quickly picked up by native canoes thathad put out as soon as the wrecking of the ship hadbeen seen from shore.

The cargo of the Fortuna consisted of Parisianfineries, silk stockings and underclothing, handkerchiefs,parasols, tennis shoes, brilliantine, scentedsoaps, perfumes, and such. It had been destined forthe natives of the South Seas, to whom the Frenchbring a truly Parisian elegance. In the breaking upof the ship, many cases filled with these swankytrappings of civilization remained afloat. The nativessalvaged them, and pretty soon it seemed as if thewhole island had been on a shopping tour throughParis and had visited the women's shops chiefly,or the Galeries Lafayette. Men and women alikearrayed their dusky selves in all manner of silk andlingerie! The population was delighted. Kling and hismen were the bringers of this treasure. Theygraciously told the natives they could have anythingthey found, and in return they were granted all thehospitality the island could muster. The Chileangovernor, an excellent fellow, placed a house at thedisposal of the officers, while the sailors were soughtafter by the natives as guests in their huts.

They remained on the island for nearly two monthsenjoying life and surveying the strange monumentsthere, huge monoliths that tell of an ancient, forgottencivilization of people who long since have passedinto oblivion. On November 25th, a Chilean steamerthat made regular trips to the island hove in sight.When it raised steam for its return voyage, our menwere aboard. The Chilean authorities on themainland received them with friendly hospitality,regarding them as shipwrecked sailors and thereforenot interning them. They lived as guests of Germancolonists in Chile from then on until the end of thewar.

XXX

THE ESCAPE FROM NEW ZEALAND TO THE
SMOKING ISLE

The thought of every prisoner is—escape! That waswhat we thought about, by Joe, and what wedreamed about. Occasionally, I'd wake up with astart, dreaming we were still in our small boat andabout to be dashed against that coral reef. Usuallymy sleep was not troubled with such nightmares. ButI often dreamed of getting away, capturing anothership, and continuing our cruise. This did finally comeabout, but not for many months.

No opportunity of escape presented itself duringour stay at Suva, which was not long. Kircheiss andI were shipped from the Fijis to a little isle off thecoast of the north island of New Zealand, right nearthe entrance to Auckland harbour. The other fourwent to the island of Somes, where they had a hardtime under a bad camp commander, a Major Matthis.No chance to escape came their way, but with Kircheissand me it was different. We had a highly excitingtime, and thus were spared the mental and physicalstagnation that is the lot of the average prisonerof war.

The public of New Zealand was inflamed againstus. When we arrived there was a great outcry anddemand that we be shot. This amazed us, but wediscovered the reason a few days later. You see theinhabitants of these islands thought that we had sunkthe big New Zealand passenger steamer Wairuna,with all on board. As a matter of fact, we knewnothing of the Wairuna and hadn't even heard of her.Later, it developed that she had been captured by ourfast auxiliary cruiser Wolf, sister ship of the Moewe,and her crew taken aboard as prisoners. But so far asthe New Zealanders were concerned, their ship andall on board her had vanished as though swallowedup by the sea. So they were frantic about it, and myboys and myself nearly lost our lives as a result. Aftercarrying out her raid, the Wolf slipped through theblockade again and back into Germany. At the timeof our arrival in New Zealand from Fiji, nothing wasknown of the Wolf, and it was supposed that we hadsunk the Wairuna with her passengers and crew.The rage of the public was such that the authoritieshad to hide us away in their naval barracks at theDevonport Torpedo Yard, and then transfer ussecretly to a prison camp on the island of Motuihi,near by. Meanwhile, the populace clamored for us tobe turned over to them so they could lynch us.

The little island of Motuihi, a beautiful strip ofland, had long been the internment place of manyGermans who had been captured when the Britishseized our possessions in Samoa and in other parts ofthe South Seas. They were all civilians, from ten toseventy years of age, traders, plantation owners, andofficials. They greeted us with pride and affection,but more particularly with anxiety. They said we weresure to be shot. I laughed at this. "By Joe, who wantsto kill us? On what grounds could mere prisoners ofwar be shot down in captivity?" I asked.

But things looked a little less rosy when,forty-eight hours later, we were taken by boat to Aucklandand then whisked by automobile, under cover ofnight, through valley and forest to a freight trainpulled up in a wild, remote place. They locked us upin a freight car, where there were two beds. They toldus it was to protect us against the public. The trainpulled out and, after an all-night journey, stoppednear the outskirts of the city of Wellington, thecapital of the islands that comprise New Zealand.Here they put us into another automobile andrushed us to the Danish Barracks in Wellington, anold jail, an almost prehistoric relic of more primitivedays in New Zealand. A native keeper who led usalong a corridor tugged at my coat and pointed intoa cell. There were my boys, Leudemann, Krauss,Parmien, and Erdmann. They were in chains. Wewere all to stand trial together. We spoke to oneanother for a minute, and then Kircheiss and I wereled to our cells.

On the following day, Kircheiss and I were takenaboard an old cruiser in the harbour and usheredinto the saloon, where there were about a dozen menwho wore black coats and four-cornered caps withtassels. Our four boys were standing in a corner. I wasboiling mad.

"What's this?" I said. "Is justice becoming ridiculous?Why are we put in jail like this and some of myboys in chains? Is that for prisoners of war? Andwhat man of you is able to judge of our warfare?You are civilians. Are we to be judged by civilians?I will answer only to naval men."

Just then Sir Hall Thompson, British navalcommander in New Zealand waters, came down thestairway. I turned to him.

"I am glad to see you, sir. Why are we treatedlike this? And are prisoners of war to be tried bycivilians?"

"Count," he replied, "public opinion forces it.The public has demanded that within three days ofyour arrival in this country you must reveal whereyou sank the Wairuna and why you sank her withoutsaving a single life, and also where your ship Seeadleris."

"But I know nothing about the Wairuna," Ireplied. "I did not sink her. In every single capturethat we made, I took the crews aboard my ship, keptthem there until we were overcrowded, and then sentthem home."

"You say you didn't sink the Wairuna?"

"No! Nor ever even heard of her!"

"Will you give me your word of honour on this?"

"I give it to you now."

"Very well, Count, that is good."

"But why do you keep my men in chains?"

"We want to know where the Seeadler is."

"I want to tell you, sir, that my men will die beforethey will say anything. They have orders from me notto talk. If anyone is to tell anything about theSeeadler, it is I. You would give your men the samecommand under the same circ*mstances, and youwould want them to obey as my men are obeying."

"You are the one to ask, Count, about informationof the Seeadler?"

"Yes."

"Then tell me where she is."

"Captain, may I sink deep in the earth if I everbetray my crew. I respect you. I would not put sucha question to you if you were my prisoner."

"Count," he replied, "your men have set anexample to our sailors. I understand and appreciateyour attitude. So long as your men show themselvesto be disciplined sailors, they will have excellenttreatment. And I hope that you, yourself, will have apleasant stay with us and find nothing of which tocomplain. Gentlemen," he addressed the judges,"the court martial is over."

My four men were taken back to their island, andKircheiss and I to ours.

At Motuihi things were not so bad. The food wasgood and discipline was not too strict. The campcommander, Turner by name, seemed very proud to havea couple of real war prisoners in his charge. He hadreally excellent cause to be pleased. Now that he hadenemy naval officers in his camp, he was raised to therank of Lieutenant Colonel, and his force of guardswas increased to eighty men. It likewise seemed toadd to his dignity that he had among his captivessomeone whom he could call Count. The principalannoyance now was the strict watch they felt obligedto keep over us to prevent our escape. Headquartersat Auckland had to be telephoned every other hourand told that everything was all right. Colonel Turnerwas also provided with a fine new motor boat, sothat, if anything went wrong with the telephone wire,he would still have a means of swift communicationwith the mainland.

"By Joe, what a fine motor boat," I exclaimed whenI saw it.

"Maybe we could use it," commented Kircheiss.

You couldn't blame the authorities for being a bitnervous. They still did not know where the remainderof the Seeadler's crew was, and were worried about apossible raid to liberate us. Likewise, Kircheiss andI had the idea of escape buzzing furiously in ourheads. In fact, the prisoners on Motuihi before wearrived had already thought of a jail break. Theyhad formed no definite plan, but had gatheredmaterials that might be useful. One had contrived tofilch and hide away a number of tools. Another hadfound a derelict floating mine and taken the fusesfrom it and also a large quantity of guncotton, whichhe stowed in his mattress. He slept on the guncottonevery night. Another had succeeded in "finding"charts of the harbour with the location of the minefields. In any plan of flight, I could, by including themen who had collected them, have these materials atmy disposal.

The motor boat was, of course, the centre of allscheming. The idea was to sail away in it with anable-bodied company of prison camp comrades, capture asailing ship, and go buccaneering again. One of theprisoners, a young fellow, was a motor expert. Thecamp commander had assigned him to look after theengine of his motor boat. So he was one man whomwe would have to have with us. I didn't think therewould be much trouble in getting away with the boat.Although there were sentries all over the island, wewere sure we could invent some way of outwittingthem. We would have to stow the boat with a largeamount of supplies. This, our motor expert could dowhile pretending to tinker with the engine. Hecould hide the material away in the air chambers ofthe boat. Much more difficult was the job of collectingall the food, weapons, and other equipment. Thistook a long time, and all the patient manœuvringthat is traditional of prisoners and their schemes ofescape.

First it was necessary to quiet the uneasiness ofthe camp commander. He apparently expected meto go breaking out of his camp breathing fire frommy nostrils. The camp doctor was a German Pole,quite intelligent, but of degenerated spirit, who wasused by the commandant to spy on the prisoners.He made the friendliest sort of overtures to me, andI, having been told that he was an informer, made itseem as though I were being completely taken in byhis smooth ways.

Nearly everybody in the camp suffered severelyfrom rheumatism. I was one of the few who had thegood luck to escape the malady. But I pretended toget it badly, so badly that I was only able to walk withcrutches. The commandant was pleased when hefound that I was almost helpless. For how could acripple attempt an escape? The doctor pretended totry his best to cure my supposed ailment, but gaveme a kind of treatment that was designed to make itworse. His hoodwinking was complete when I askedhim to help me to get word to my people in Germanyto send me five thousand pounds, and promised himpart of this in return for his aid. I kept thehypothetical five thousand pounds dangling before his nose,and his avarice blinded him so much that I was ableto make a ready tool of him.

My crew for the projected flight consisted of ninemen, seven of whom were North German Lloydmerchant-ship cadets captured by the British in Samoa.When war broke out, they happened to be at theAmerican South Sea port of Pagopago. Slippingaway in a small boat, they got to German Samoa,only to find it in the hands of the New Zealanders.

I did my recruiting secretly. The plan of escape waskept from the other prisoners. Always to keep yoursecret among as few as possible is a good rule evenamong prisoners. You never know who is a spy. Thefellows I chose were all lively lads, ready for anything.

One day a couple of the prisoners said to me:

"Count, let's get up a show for Christmas, a play."

Show, play, theatre—that was an idea for me.

"Certainly I will," I replied. "I often got upshows in the navy. We will have a theatre here atMotuihi that will beat the best in Berlin. But youmust leave everything to me. I will direct everything."

"All right," they said.

I got permission from the commandant to producethe show. In fact, he waxed quite enthusiastic aboutit. Not only would it give the prisoners something todo, but it would also provide amusem*nt for thejailers. Life on the island was mighty boresome to allof them.

In a little while, the prison camp was hummingwith preparations for the grand spectacle I was goingto stage. This was the cover under which my fellowsand I prepared all of our equipment for our escape. Itdeluded the guards, and also fooled the prisonerswhom we couldn't take with us. When we wantedmaterial, always apparently innocent things, weasked for it and said it was for the show. When webuilt anything, it was for the show.

We even built a wireless set out of things supposedto be for our grosses shauspielhaus. We made bombsout of tin cans and the guncotton that had alreadybeen procured. The bombs had fuses that could belighted from a cigarette. One of my men worked on afarm in the interior of the island, and got a lot ofdynamite and blasting powder used in blowing upstumps. We stole a couple of pistols from the camparsenal. We made a fake contrivance which lookedlike a perfect Lewis or Maxim machine gun, but itworked well enough and it looked even more formidable.Cadet von Zartowsky took odds and ends andmade a sextant that afterward took us fifty nauticalmiles off our course, pretty fair, considering thecirc*mstances.

We had no great trouble in hiding away a considerablesupply of food in the air chambers of the motorboat. Of course, I not only had talked of elaborateplans for the supposed theatrical events that I wasdirecting, but I also had the prisoners prepare a lotof bona-fide stage props, more even than could beused. These were made up by the rest of the fellowswho were not in our plot. Most of the actual materialneeded for our escape and subsequent raiding cruisehad to be fixed up stealthily by the boys who were tomake the dash for freedom with me.

One midnight, a guard happened to notice three ofmy men busily at work. One was painting a largeGerman flag. Another was making a red pistol holster.The third was sewing a sail out of bed sheets. Weintended hoisting a sail on the motor boat in order toconserve fuel if we had to cruise about in that littleboat for a long time. The guard reported what hehad seen to the commandant.

"Oh, it's all right," said Colonel Turner, "it's stufffor the theatre."

But next day he came and questioned me:

"Look here, Count, I can understand how youmight need a flag and a pistol holster for your show,but what about the sail?"

"Oh, that's the curtain!" I replied.

Of all the people I met in New Zealand, there wasbut one for whom I had a complete contempt. Hewas a fellow named Hansen, a German by birth anda naturalized New Zealander. In spite of hisnaturalization, he had been interned. He happened to noticethat the motor expert, while supposedly working onthe engine of the Pearl, the colonel's boat, hadcarried something suspicious aboard. Anxious to curryfavour with the commandant, he reported that wewere acting suspiciously. The commandant wascontemptuous of a rat like that in the first place, andthen he was utterly infatuated with our theatre.He said that whatever we were doing could only bein preparation for our show. Nevertheless, he triedto investigate, but found nothing to confirm whatthe squealer had told him.

After weeks of hard labour, we were ready. Atnight we cut the wires connecting the island withthe mainland and set a barracks afire. That createdthe diversion we needed. Everybody, guards and all,flocked to put the blaze out. I was among the foremost,and attracted all attention to myself. I seemedto have a passion for fighting fires. My boys werewith me. When the excitement was at its highest, westole away singly and boarded the motor boat. Theengine purred, and we were away in the darkness.

We were safe from pursuit for a while, anyway.There was no other boat at the island, and Motuihicould not communicate with the mainland. It wasonly when the wires were repaired or when themainland was due to get its next report that the chaseafter us could begin. When our escape did becomeknown on the mainland on that night of December13, 1917, every kind of craft available went out tolook for us. Private owners took up scouting for usas a sport. Boats chased one another and shot atone another, and one steamer went on the rocks.Finally, a false rumour spread that we had capsizedand drowned, and the weary pursuers were glad toaccept it as true and return home.

We had our difficulties in finding our way in thenight through the Hauraki Gulf on which Aucklandlies, but at an hour or so past midnight we sawsweeping shafts of light. The authorities at Auckland werelooking for us with a searchlight, a ridiculousprocedure, but one calculated to impress the population.We steered by the searchlight beams now, and pickedour way along easily enough.

Of course, it would take a separate volume torecord all of the details of our work of preparation andour final escape. I am only giving you a descriptionof the high spots. But, by the way, I almost forgotto tell you how we were dressed. We all had NewZealand uniforms. Mine was the most interestingof the lot and provided material for Australianhumorists and cartoonists for many weeks. As thecommander of a man-o'-war, even of a twelve-footwooden one, with the unwarlike name of Pearl, Iabsolutely had to have a sword. One of my boys, justan hour before our escape, slipped into the wardrobeof the prison camp commandant. Not only did hetake Colonel Turner's best dress uniform, but he alsoswiped his sword and scabbard.

We lay off an isolated bay of Red Mercury Island,northwest of the Bay of Plenty, for two days, duringwhich we had a couple of narrow escapes from searchingboats. A government cutter had almost sightedus when she damaged her propeller on the rocks andhad to limp back home. The third day we put out tosea, and as we bounced about on the waves I sworein the cadets as regular midshipmen of the ImperialNavy and promoted Vice Corporal von Egidy to therank of naval junior lieutenant. As commander of awar vessel, even though she was only the colonel'smotor boat, I had the authority to do this. Then eachhelped the other cut his hair short in naval fashion.

Two sailing vessels came by. We decided to seizethem both, sink one, and keep the other. We wentafter the first one, but a sudden puff of wind carriedher along at a great rate, and we could not catchher. This was very unfortunate, for she reported ourcapture of the second boat, which she witnessed.Bombs poised, machine gun pointing, and Germanflag raised, we swiftly approached the Moa. She hoveto. My boys and I clambered on deck. With ColonelTurner's sword in my hand, I ordered the captainand crew herded below, the captain, an excellent oldsalt, growling:

"You're escaped prisoners, eh? Our boys are doingtheir bit in France, and at home they can't evenguard prisoners."

The Moa was a fine craft but as flat as a match box.Intended for coastwise trade, she had no keel anddrew only three feet of water, but she had huge masts.A storm blew up, and we scudded before the wind.The Moa's captain rushed up bristling with excitement.His boat, he protested, was not adapted forsailing on the high sea, much less through a storm.We were risking our lives, he expostulated. Weshould take down sail.

"We are sailing for our lives, by Joe," Iresponded, and kept all canvas up.

The skipper stayed on deck all night and pouredout oil to quiet the waves. We went on our watches,undisturbed. Ordinarily, we would have beensomewhat worried, but the storm was taking us alongswiftly—away from pursuit. The waves began tobreak over our stern, and the Moa bobbed up anddown. She had a deckload of lumber. Overboard withit. We started to work and were ably assisted by abreaker that crashed over us and in an instant sweptmost of the lumber into the sea. We were towing themotor boat we had taken from the commandant atMotuihi. A wave swamped her, and she tore loosefrom the towline and sank.

We steered to the Kermadec Islands, an uninhabitedgroup where the New Zealand governmentkeeps a cache of provisions for castaway sailors.Curtis Island, one of the group, came in sight onDecember 21st. It appeared in a cloud of smoke, a landof volcanoes and geysers. Presently we spied thesheet-iron shed where the provisions were stored.Kircheiss and four men landed on the inferno-likecoast and in due time returned, their boat loadeddeep with provisions. The New Zealand governmentwas kind enough to provide many useful things forshipwrecked sailors and sometimes for escapedprisoners of war. There were tools, oars, sails, fishingtackle, blankets, bacon, butter, lard, canned beef—inshort, everything. We had intended to leave ourprisoners on Curtis Island, but that den of steam andsulphur fumes seemed unfit for anyone. So wedecided to take them on to near-by Macauley Island,there put them ashore with a supply of provisions,and send a wireless message to summon aid for them.

"Smoke to the north, behind island," sang thelookout.

Two men were still on the island. I sent hastilyfor them. The Moa raised sail and ran before thewind. The steamer was in sight now. She sailed towardus. We changed our course. She, too, changed hercourse. The skipper of the Moa recognized her as theNew Zealand government's cable steamer, Iris, anauxiliary cruiser. She had cannon, and we had none.Our goose was cooked.

We still tried hopelessly to run away. She gainedon us, and signalled us to stop. We kept on. A flash,a distant roar, a hissing in the air, a splash in frontof us. She was firing on us.

"Heave to," I commanded, and we were prisonersonce again.

The Iris was manned, not by naval men, but bya nondescript crowd that put pistols to our backs aswe came aboard, and searched us to the soles of ourshoes. Then these gentry robbed us of our personalpossessions. They were wildly jubilant over theirvictory. I gathered from them that the ship thathad escaped us having brought the news of ourcapture of the Moa to Auckland, the authorities therehad surmised that we must be headed for the cacheof supplies at Curtis Island. When we arrived atAuckland, the New Zealanders had their own littlevictory celebration. Sightseers in all sorts of boatscame out to have a look as the Iris with the Moa intow steamed into harbour, the victor of the Battleof the Kermadecs.

We were jailed at Mount Eden, the local prison ofAuckland, as a punishment for our flight. For acalaboose, it was not bad. After twenty-one daysthere, we were distributed among various prisoncamps. Kircheiss and I went to River Island nearLyttelton on the south island of New Zealand. Eventhe yard of our prison in Fort Jervois was a veritablecage. It was screened not only around but also acrossthe top with lines of barbed wire. The commander ofthe camp, Major Leeming of Tasmania, was one ofthe best fellows I have ever met. He, too, felt himselfa prisoner here on this lonely island and soon becameour third man at cards, which we played to whileaway the hours during the long evenings.

A drawbridge that had been smashed by a hurricanewas being repaired, and we prisoners had accessto the waterside for a while. In the yard stood a rowof empty tar barrels. One of the barrels fell over, andI happened to notice that it was picked up by a smallcoastwise schooner that often lay at dock fartherdown the shore. I threw in another barrel. It floated.The boat picked it up. My plan was made. I couldarrange one of those barrels so that I could float outin it. I would pick the time when the little schoonerwas at shore. Then I would get into the barrel androll myself off the dock. The boat would pick thebarrel up. It might seem a bit heavy, but they wouldthink it had tar in it. The barrel once aboard, its lidwould open and a man armed with a knife would stepout, like a jack-in-the-box. Thus I would have aboat. I would pick up Kircheiss, who would bewaiting, and we would go sailing and perhaps get to someneutral island.

I had everything, and waited. Major Leeming hadbeen so kind to me that I did not want toembarrass him by escaping under his command. He,expecting an addition to his family, was to take afurlough. I would do my jail-breaking while he wasaway. But soon after Major Leeming went on hisfurlough, Kircheiss and I were ordered back to theprison camp at Motuihi. Of course, there was a newcommandant at Motuihi now, a Major Schofield.Most of the prisoners there received us withenthusiasm. Even the treacherous Polish doctor broughtme a bottle of champagne, hoping that I wouldnot mention our former little business transaction inwhich he was to get a percentage of that $25,000.

Some of our own countrymen who had spent somany hours learning parts for that theatrical showseemed to hold it against us. But, after all, had Inot treated them to a far better melodrama fromthe life of a sailor?

Presently, several fellows came to me and askedif I did not think something could be undertaken.They had already contrived to get a few pistols andbuild a folding canvas boat. We could not very wellgo to sea in that. But if we could contrive to stationourselves at some other part of the island, we couldwait until a sailing ship came along, put out in ourflimsy little craft, and attack her. We consulted withthe former governor of German Samoa, Dr. Schultz-Ewarthby name, who was a prisoner at Motuihi.He with his personal servant, a giant fellow, formerlya German baker, was allowed to wander where hepleased on the island. It was his man who hit uponthe idea of hiding in the interior of the island bybuilding a cave in the side of a dry river bed that hehad discovered, the cave to be so disguised thatsearchers would not notice it. We could easily get outof the camp and into the other parts of the island,and, at the same time, give the impression that wehad escaped over a cliff to the shore and been pickedup by a boat. We could keep to our retreat until thesearch had died down, and then we could watch fora passing sailship and attack it. The plan seemedan excellent one.

We gathered more weapons, while Dr. Schultz-Ewarthand his man, on their long rambles, beganthe construction of the cave. Things progressedrapidly. Then the Armistice came. If it had beendelayed a week, there would have been another escapeat Motuihi.

After the Armistice, we were prisoners for fourmore months on the north island near Auckland, butwere allowed visitors. One day, a Maori chieftain'swife from the tribe of the Waikotas, a people whomade a name for themselves as warriors against theEnglish in their heroic struggle for freedom in1860-61, called with her retinue. This lady, whose namewas Kaihau, handed me a letter. It was written inMaori, and translated read as follows:

I come to you, O illustrious chieftain, and pass on toyou for the future preservation of an old tradition the matof the great chieftain Wai-Tete.

As she handed me the letter, she brought forthfrom under her dress a mat that she had hiddenthere while passing the prison guard.

My surprise was great, and I nudged Kircheiss,but he was as mystified as I. Fortunately, there wasa German lady present who had been living in NewZealand for some time. She understood the customsof the handsome aborigines who once ruled in NewZealand, and explained to me that I was about toreceive the highest honour that the Maoris canbestow upon anyone.

The chieftain's wife began to dance around me withgreat rapidity and wild abandon. The name of thisdance was the Haka-Haka, or something like that, andat the conclusion of it she presented me with a greenstone found only in New Zealand. Again she spoke.

"O great warrior from across the seas, we greetyou as a chieftain of the Waikatos, and among mypeople you shall be known henceforth as 'Ai-Tete,'meaning 'Holy Water.' We believe that the spiritof our Maori hero Ai-Tete has returned to us in you."

I accepted the stone and pressed the Maori woman'shand to express my gratitude. As she was aboutto take her departure, she requested that I hide themat and stone and carry them to Germany withme, which I did. But before concealing them, I hadmy picture taken wearing nothing but the garb ofa Maori chieftain, this simple mat. Except for theabsence of full war paint and the usual tattooing,my friends said I made a perfect aborigine. Perhapsso. Even in Germany there are those who look uponme as more of an aborigine than a civilized being.

When the day on which we were to sail drew near,the president of the Soldiers' Mothers' Leaguevisited me and wished me a pleasant trip on behalf ofthe mothers of 80,000 soldiers. She said she camebecause New Zealand's sons who had been warprisoners in Germany had returned home in goodhealth to their mothers. Therefore, she considered ither duty to pray God that I, too, might soon berestored to my mother's arms.

So at last we sailed away from New Zealand, "theland down under," where we had had the last of ouradventures, enjoyed a few hardships, spent manyweary and delightful hours, and met many hospitableand kindly people. On the whole, I have happymemories of the Antipodes.

In July of 1919, I stepped on German soil again andhurried home, just in time to pass a few more weekswith my father, who died on September 3d. The oldwarrior held steadfast to his faith in the Fatherlandto the last. But to his dying hour he was filled withregret because his government would not let him takean active part in the Great War.

On January 3, 1920, all my men returned—that is,all save one. Their clothes were faded from thetropical sun and corroded by the sea water, but theyreturned without a stain upon either their honour ortheir loyalty.

The only gap in our ranks after those longadventures was the excellent Dr. Pietsch, our shipsurgeon. The news of Germany's collapse reachedthe remote part of Chile where he was living. Whenhe heard it, he fell dead of heart failure.

Returned to my beloved Fatherland, I found somany things changed and different from what Ihad hoped. In this connection, there is one memoryalways before me. It is of my mother. I was sittingat her sick bed when even the doctors had givenup hope. Only then did I realize how much I lovedher, but I also realized with sorrow and regret howmuch more I should have done for her. Exactly thesame feeling I have to-day when I find my countrylying low. Never have I loved my homeland somuch as now.

To the youth of America I would like to send amessage: Europe is one continent attached to stillanother even greater land mass. That other is thecontinent of Asia, filled with many strange races,all speaking different languages. Even Europe itselfis split up into many nations speaking more thanthirty different tongues. This I believe is largelyresponsible for the constant wars that are the curse ofEurope. As an old sailor who has sailed before themast around this world many times, I want to tellyou Americans how lucky you are to live in a greatcountry occupying a large part of this continent, withthe wide Atlantic for a barrier on one side and thePacific on the other. Yours is a great inheritance.You should be proud of it. You should makeyourselves worthy of it.

As a sailor who has sailed under many flags andwhose friends and pals are the citizens of manycountries and many climes, it is my dream that one daywe shall all speak the same language and have somany common interests that terrible wars will nolonger occur. But keep your bodies fit, and if yourcountry needs you, just remember the motto of thesea:

"Don't jump overboard! Stay with the ship!"

To all my countrymen, wherever they may be, Iwould like to say: Look up to the bright sun and notinto mouse holes where it is dark. Take my lads foryour example. When their ship was wrecked on thecoral reef of that atoll in the South Seas there wasone thing that was not wrecked—their courage.Even when the Seeadler met her fate, from stem tostern went up the cry, taken from an old refrain,"The German oak still stands."

AUF WIEDERSEHEN!

Mopelia

Mopelia, a coral atoll of the Society Islands, where the Sea Devilplanned a brief sojourn, and where the Seeadler was wrecked by a tidalwave. "A circular reef studded with waving palms and within the reefa lovely, placid lagoon. The coral shore was snow white and, with thesun's rays reflecting from it, it looked like a sparkling jewel set in analabaster ring, like emeralds set in ivory."

APPENDIX

(Note A, see page 107.) Lloyd's Register of 1917-18 describesthe Pass of Balmaha as follows: Steel ship (captured and taken toCuxhaven), built 1888 by R. Duncan & Co., Port Glasgow, grosstonnage 1571, length 245.4, breadth 38.8, depth 22.5.

Until the World War, she was British-owned, and up untilher fatal voyage her master was Capt. "Dick" Lee of NovaScotia.

* * *

(Note B, see page 209.) Author's note: Since the War, it hasdeveloped that the Count was mistaken regarding the identity ofthis cruiser. Instead of the Kent, she was the Lancaster, and hercommander was Captain Phillips, now of the British battleshipQueen Elizabeth. Recently an American newspaper man, RobertH. Davis of the New York Sun, met him in the Mediterranean,loaned him a copy of one of the early editions of this book, andasked him: "Is it romance or truth?" "Quite accurate, I shouldsay," replied Captain Phillips, "and in accordance with therecords."

* * *

(Note C, see page 216.) "Count Luckner is to be congratulatedon getting his ship through without being seen. Every effort wasmade to intercept him.... Those messages came from the cruiserLancaster and not from the Kent. I was commander of theLancaster. The raider must have passed within 200 miles of us on theinside waters as we lay off the west coast of Chile," said CaptainPhillips of the British Navy.—New York Sun, May 24, 1928.

[Transcriber's note: several spelling variants have beenpreserved as printed.]

*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 73765 ***