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COUNT LUCKNER,
THE SEA DEVIL

BY

LOWELL THOMAS

LDS F RAE EO NSS
F.ROM: PHOTCGRAPAS

GARDEN CITy

1927

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XII.
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CONTENTS

We MeEeT a Fiyinc BuccaNEER

Fe.t1x Runs OFF To SEA

SAVED BY AN ALBATROSS

SALVATION, KANGAROOS, AND FAKIRS IN
AUSTRALTA;° > S «?

WRESTLING CHAMPION OF SANKT PAULI
Tue Tracic CRUISE OF THE “Czsarea”’

THe Beacu ComBer’s ADVENTURE WITH
THE. “Ranther>. “<&

PITFALLS FOR THE SAILOR, AND THE CANARY
Tuat Spoke Low Deutscu

Tue Runaway Comes Home

From Pic-Stry CLEANER To KalIsEr’s Pro-
TEGE 3

IN THE CAMEROONS AND THE Farry OF
FUERTEVENTURA

Fake NORWEGIANS FOR A PIRATE CRUISE

RUNNING THE BritisH BLOCKADE IN A
HuRRICANE

be Stuns THE “Ghady Royal” a ND
E “Lundy Island”

RaipING ALONG THE ae AND AN
INTERRUPTED HONEYMOON

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29
40
44

147

160

SRS ie dletevererbs trib ctabshass Sorereyoqeyaubelss
fpreepeertneiesrrs Hise tem feet Te erent rire te ee “CONTENTS

XVI. WINDJAMMER VS. STEAMER . . . - I7I

XVII. Tue Last CruisE oF THE Poor OLD
<SPINIMOLe oo 0M id ie eo ee ee

XVIII. Tue Lire or a Mopern BuccaNEER. 185

XIX. How We Mape Our Prisoners WALK
THE CLANK ©. tno, «9 5) ee

XX. Tue Batrre oF THE FALKLAND IsLANDs 198
XXI. Racinc THE ENEmMy ARouND CarPE HorN 206
XXII. Rarine THE PaciFic Oe ee ee

XXIII. SHIPWRECKED IN SOUTHERN SEAS ae

nearer rete eran eee

3
DCXTV., CASKFAWAYS ON A CorRAL ATOLL . +; "230
Doxey. ‘Lers.Go Raminc AGAIN! . . =. «9 297

XXVI. From THE Society IsLANDs TO THE CooK
ISLANDS IN AN OPEN BoAT . . . 243

mpactrtymtedhy preety

XXVII.. THrovucH A SEA OF FLOATING BRIMSTONE

PD On tc ay es eras! | ag 257
XXVIII. Caucur BY THE BrrrisH aT WAKAYA 268

XXIX. Jamep in Fryt Ware THE Oruers Es-
CAPE TO EASTER UStAND < = = «= 279

XXX. Tue Escare From New ZEALAND TO THE
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BEYOND THE KHYBER PASS
BOY S LIFE OF COLONEL LAWRENCE, A
COUNT LUCKNER, THE SEA DEVIL
EUROPEAN SKYWAYS
THE FIRST WORLD FLIGHT
WITH LAWRENCE IN ARABIA

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THE SEA DEVIL
Count Felix von Luckner, the most romantic and mysterious figure
on the side of the Central Powers in the World War.

Re oe Se

eeeeearers

eet adLIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

The Sea Devil, Count Felix von Luckner, the
most romantic and mysterious figure on the

side of the Central Powers in the World War

Frontispiece

FACING PAGE

Old Peter, the venerable salt who instructed the
lonely waif in the ways of the sea

Difficulties with his studies caused young hase:
ner to leave home and seek a ges ona earings
ship at Hamburg .° . . :

Too awed to climb into the rigging, the lad” S
first job on the Russian windjammer bound
for Australia was keeping a pig sty clean

The champion wrestler of Sankt Pauli .

On board the Cesarea, the skinflint captain and
Dantarnis Glew... ges has, Te

The wreck of the Czsarea

The dingy street where Count Tgekner as
‘“‘Phelax Leudige,” the burly sailor, had his

career as a bar keeper . ‘
The Pinmore on its frightful: eclcinien
VOWAPEt hee

The runaway sailor came home at ete ae not
until he had worn the Kaiser’s cnttar with
Ronout eats a ee Be

38

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Vill LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

        

FACING PAGE

The prosaic American clipper, Pass of Balmaha,
bound for Russia with a cargo of cotton, by
the alchemy of war became the pee
Seeadler . : ; ; . . . : : :

The Seeadler, that carried the modern Ses
caneer

Engineer Krauss ad the mechanical crew
picked for the pirate cruise

The false Norwegians who were to fool the
Bnitish if caught while attempting to run the

blockade
The false Norsemen wearing their true colours.

The skipper of the raider and his beautiful wife,
Josephine of the big feet

The British steamer Gladys Royal heaves to
and launches her boats

The Gladys Royal goes down to ea Jones’s
Locker

The Sea Devil ov eye eae isc: ae
The end of the Charles Gounod

The fake armament of the raider frightens a
Canadian schooner into submission

.

Along came the Antonin on her w ay from Chile
to France with a load of saltpeter.

The old Pinmore, on which “ Phelax Leudige”
had served, appears on the horizon

The modern buccaneer sends his old ship to her
last port .

The latter-day corsair in a poetic setting

107
II4

IT4

ISI
166
166

167

167

186LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

The stately Cambronne, commanded by an
equally stately skipper

Captors and captives aboard the tise enjoy-
ing the plunder of the champagne ship

Mopelia, a coral atoll of the Society Islands,
where the Seeadler was wrecked by 2 tidal
wave .

The South Sea island home of ite Hine ered
buccaneers

The raider lying outside the entrance to the
coral atoll where Von Luckner ruled as the
viceroy of Germany’s last colony.

In the Society Islands the pirate ship was
caught by a tidal wave and smashed on a reef

After bringing most of their supplies ashore,
they set the wrecked ship afire, but her char-
red hull still hangs on the jagged reef

Here on a tiny island in a remote corner of the
South Seas the castaways established a tent
Clty 8

The shipwrecked buccaneers and their motley
crew of prisoners grew weary of life in their
“poisoned paradise”’

The only inhabitants of the coral atoll were
a few Kanakas who had come over from an-
other island to catch mammoth turtles

Beneath the waving palms of Mopelia the
castaways held their final reunion

For more than two thousand miles they rowed
and sailed in an open boat across the South
Seas

1X
FACING PAGE

194

194

    
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
    

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x LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

   

FACING PAGE

The six men who made the perilous voyage in
the tiny Cecelie from the Society Islands to
the Cook Islands and then south to Fij1.

At Wakaya in the Cook Group they had their
first narrow escape from capture .

A passing French schooner saw the wreck at
Mopelia, came near to investigate, and was
capuiived

Just off Easter Island heir’ prize Hip ripped
open her hull on a submerged rock

German prisoners in the internment camp on
the little island in Hauraki Gulf .

The New Zealand prison camp motor launch in
which the Count made his getaway

The Sea Devil and Kircheiss as prisoners on the
New Zealand isle of Motuihi

The New Zealand colonel in whose uniform
Von Luckner made his sensational escape

The Sea Devil in the New Zealand uniform that
he wore on his escape

In the prison camp launch they overtook and
captured the sailing ship Moa.

The Moa, off Curtis Island

Within a few hundred yards of a large crater on
the smoking island a, found a cache of pro-
visions

The Sea Devil is eaiene again. W rch pavonets
at his back they strip him of his w eapons

The modern buccaneer and his bride, Countess
Ingaborg von Luckner, photographed on
their post-war cruise around the world to

visit the scenes of the Seeadler’s adventures

267

267

294

294
295

i)
\O
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uo
Oo
toCOUNT LUCKNEER
THE SEA DEVI

WE MEET A FLYING BUCCANEER

It was on a flying field in Central Europe that I first
saw the ‘‘Sea Devil.’’ We were on our way from Lon-
don to Moscow by air, and had come as far as Stutt-
gart with stops at Paris and Basle. While waiting
for the mechanics to tune up the big Fokker mono-
plane in which we were to cover the next stage to
Berlin, we lunched in the little tea room on the edge
of the flying field, kept by the widow of a German
pilot killed in the war. Suddenly, through an open
window, from off to the east in the direction of
Munich and Ulm, we heard a familiar drone, and a
moment later a silvery monoplane darted from a
billowy cloud bank, the rays of the afternoon sun
glistening now from one wing and now from the
other. In a series of sliding swoops, with motor off
and noiseless except for the whistle of the propeller,
it dropped gently on to the turf and sped across the
held.

Uniformed aérodrome attendants ran over, leaned
their spidery metal ladder against the glistening
duraluminum fuselage, and opened the cabin door.
Two passengers descended, a giant of a man and a

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2 COUNT LUCKNER, THE SEA DEVIL
dainty slip of a woman. The former, who climbed
down first, was tall, of massive frame, with huge
shoulders, ‘and altogether one of the most powerful-
looking men I had ever seen. After him came the
little blonde, who looked for all the world like a fairy
who had arrived on a sunbeam. Putting her slipper
to the top rung of the ladder she jumped into her
escort’s arms.

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

As they came toward us, he walked with a rolling
seaman’s gait. In his mouth was a nautical-looking
pipe, and his jovial weather-beaten countenance sug-
gested one who goes down to the sea. He wore a
naval cap cocked over one eye, and a rakish light
brown chinchilla coat, called a ‘* British Warm.”

Every pilot and mechanic on the field stopped work
and saluted the couple. The mariner who had dropped
from the sky saluted in all directions after the
cheery but somewhat perfunctory manner of the
Prince of Wales. One could see that he was accus-
tomed to doing it, and presumably was someone of
more than local fame. He even saluted us, as they
passed into the little restaurant, although he had
never set eyes on us before and we had not saluted
him. But the newcomer seemed to take the whole
world, including strangers, into the compass of his
rollicking friendliness. We were still sitting on the
veranda when they came out and drove off for Lake
Constance. He called, or rather bellowed, “ Wieder-
sehen, wiedersehen,’ to everybody, as he squeezed
into the door, and the frame of the limousine bent
under his w eight. The man simply radiated personal-
ity, and turning to the commandant of the Stuttgart
Flug Platz, who stood near me, I said:WE MEET A FLYING BUCCANEER

“Who is that?”

“That? Why that’s the Sea Devil.”

“And who may the Sea Devil be?”’

“Why, the Sea Devil is Count Luckner, who com-
manded the raider Seeadler. The young lady is his
countess.”

I remembered the Seeadler vaguely as a sailing ship
that had broken through the British blockade and
played havoc with Allied shipping in the Atlantic
and Pacific during the latter part of the war. Cer-
tainly, this Sea Devil looked the part of a rollicking
buccaneer. I thought the age of pirates had vanished
with the passing of Captain Kidd and the Barbary
Corsairs, but here was one of the good old “‘ Yo-ho,
and a bottle of rum” type.

My wife and I continued our aérial jaunt across
Europe, via Berlin, Konigsberg, and Smolensk, to
the capital of the Bolsheviks, but later on, while
flying back and forth across Germany on our way
from Constantinople to Copenhagen and from
Finland to Spain, whenever we dropped down out of
the skies in Germany we heard more of this Sea
Devil. That first encounter with this modern buc-
caneer had aroused my curiosity, and each new yarn
that I heard made me keen to see more of him. In-
cidentally, we found that he and his dainty countess
were doing almost as much flying as we were, al-
though entirely within the borders of Germany and
Austria. Cities were declaring half holidays in his
honour, and apparently this Sea Devil was more of a
popular hero than even the great Von Hindenburg.
As for the youth of Germany, they fairly idolized
him, and crowds of boys met him at every aérodrome.

There were other German sea-raiders during the
World War that most of us remember far more
vividly than we recollect the Seeadler. They were the

SORT SSE We SI NCCE PRTC en aa la4 COUNT LUCKNER, THE SEA DEVIL

Emden, the Moewe and the Wolf. But these three were
either modern warships or fast auxiliary cruisers,
while this giant count with the foghorn voice and the
sea legs had run the blockade in a prehistoric old-
fashioned sailing ship. That, together with an al-
most unbelievably adventurous personal story, made
romance complete. Added to which we discovered
that he had the unique and enviable reputation of
disrupting Allied shipping without ever having taken
a human life or so much as drowning a ship’s cat.

U pon returning home from his buccaneering cruise
the Count of course received a score of decorations,
and his own government signally honoured him in a
way that has ‘tarely happened i in German history. He
was presented with a cross that places him outside
the scope of German law. Like the kings of old, he
“can do no wrong’’—at any rate, not in his own coun-
try. He was even called to Rome and decorated by the
Pope as “‘a great humanitarian.”

When we encountered him at Stuttgart, he was on
a sort of triumphal tour of Germany, exhorting the
youth to prove worthy of their inheritance, and in
cheery seaman’s language he was telling the boys and
girls to keep up their courage, “stay with the pumps,
and not abandon the ship.” They in turn seemed to
look upon him as a modern Drake or John Paul Jones.

Upon our return from Moscow, we learned more
and more of this Count Felix von Luckner: that he
was a member of an old and famous military family, a
descendant of a Marshal of France, who had run
away to sea as a boy, and then served for seven years
before the mast, roaming the wide world o’er under
an assumed name as a common jack-tar, suffering the
beatings, starvation, shipwreck, and other hardships
that the sea visits upon its children. We heard how
during his turns ashore he had even joined the Sal-

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vation Army in Australia, had become a kangaroo
hunter, a prize-fghter, a wrestler, a beach-comber
and a Mexican soldier, standing on guard before the
door of Porfirio Diaz’s presidential palace. Long
since given up as dead, he had been listed by the
Almanach de Gotha as missing.

Then, one day, after he had fought his way up
from a common seaman to the rank of an officer of
the German Navy, he returned to his family. A se-
ries of life-saving exploits had brought him fame,
with the result that he became the protégé of the
Kaiser. As an officer aboard the Kron Prinz the fin-
est ship in the Imperial Navy, he had survived the
Battle of Jutland.

Then came his golden chance. Shortly after Jut-

land, he was commissioned to perform the audacious
feat of taking a sailing ship through the British block-
ade in order to raid Allied shipping.
- The Seeadler maintained a destructive career for
months, ranging the South Atlantic and Pacific,
dodging cruisers and sinking merchant vessels. She
scuttled twenty-five million dollars’ worth of ship-
ping, and wrought incalculable damage by delaying
hundreds of cargo vessels from venturing out of port,
and raising the rates of marine insurance. After a
cruise as full of excitement and thrills as the voyages
of Captain Kidd and Sir Francis Drake, the Count’s
raider was wrecked on the coral reefs of a South Sea
isle. From then on, the Sea Devil and his crew adven-
tured from atoll to atoll in the far-off Southern ocean,
passing from one surf-beaten shore to another in
open boats or in ships they contrived to capture.

We were sitting in the lobby of the Hotel Adlon
in Berlin, one evening, when again I saw that magni-
ficent nautical figure. A mutual friend introduced us,
and that evening my wife and I listened to great

    
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
   
 

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6 COUNT LUCKNER, THE SEA DEVIL

stories of the sea, told with a manner of inimitable
vigour, sailor-like jollity, and dramatic inflection.
After that, we met often, sometimes on board his
trim schooner the Vaterland, on which he was set-
ting out to sail round the world, and again at my
home near New York, where the Sea Devil and his
countess came. On these occasions, I got the com-
plete story of his life and his buccaneering experi-
ences on the most adventurous cruise of our time.

The Count is a born actor; in fact, I verily believe
him to be the finest actor I have ever seen. If he had
not run away to sea, what a career he might have had
on the stage! But his inborn flair for pantomime
was only to be heightened by life at sea. Sailors are
vigorously expressive men, full of mimicry, and blus-
tery actors of parts. You seldom see a sailor with the
phlegmatic stolidity that you find in lumpish land-
lubbers. When the Count tells you he raised a mar-
linespike, he jumps to the fireplace, seizes a pair of
tongs, and illustrates with it. When he tells how he
knocked a man cold in Fiji for spitting in a sailor’s
face, he acts out the whole affair.

As a sailor, he had spent long years before the mast
under the Union Jack and the Stars and Stripes. So
he told his tale to me in racy sailor’s English. He has
one amusing peculiarity of speech. Nearly every
other word is the expletive, “By Joe!” In explaining
this, he remarked that the language of the sea con-
sists principally of a blistering string of oaths. He
said these oaths had become so much a part of him
after seven years before the mast that for a long time
afterward he was unable to express himself without
using sulphury profanities. Of course, this caused him
much embarrassment and trouble when he returned
from his long voyages and attempted to qualify as a
naval officer. It caused particular consternationWE MEET A FLYING BUCCANEER 7
when, after his years at sea, he returned to the
bosom of his stately and highly respectable family.
In fact, he had to submit himself to a long and rig-
orous course of self-discipline to extract the blazing
nautical oaths from his common speech. He achieved
this in his English diction by a resort to the expres-
sion, “By Joe.’’ Whenever one of these hair-raising
oceanic apostrophes came leaping on to his tongue,
he had trained himself sO well A it automatically
changed itself into “‘By Joe.” This habit still clings
to him as a salty reminder of fore c’sle days.

At the time when Count Luckner was raiding the
seas, I had been thrown in contact with the most
picturesque adventurer that the World War had
brought forth—Lawrence of Arabia. Here, in the Sea
Devil, was his naval counterpart. They were the two
great adventurers of the two respective sides during
the World War. While Colonel Lawrence, mounted
on a ship of the desert, led raids across the sands of
Araby, Felix von Luckner scoured the seas in a wind-
jammer. Lawrence led Bedouins on fleet Arabian
horses and racing camels, romantic people travelling
in the most romantic way known to land. The Sea
Devil commanded sailors before the mast on a sailing
ship, romantic people travelling in the most romantic
way known to the sea. In each, adventure climbed
close to its highest summit.

Lawrence was a man slight and frail, diffident, si-
lent, and soft-spoken, who might have been taken
offhand for the most bashful of youths, a most eru-
dite scholar, an archeologist whom the war caught
practising his profession among the antiquities of
Assyria and Babylon. War and its forays must seem
the last degree removed from this studious and ut-
terly cerebral spirit. One could find no greater con-
trast to him than in this brawny sea rover with the

  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
    
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
   
 

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8 COUNT LUCKNER, THE SEA DEVIL

booming voice and blustery manner, who raided the
seas from Skagerrak and Iceland to Fiji and the
Marquesas.

The ex-Kaiser, the ex-Crown Prince, Hindenburg,
Ludendorff, Von Tirpitz, and sundry ‘others of our
late enemies, have given us their’personal accounts of
the part they played in the World War. But none had
a tale to tell like Count Felix von Luckner. With
me the story lies close as a companion piece to the
story of Lawre nce of Arabia, and I pass it on to you
in the words of the Sea Dev ul and, I hope, with some-
thing of the tang of the sea.’

*The reader will notice ‘that in Count von Luckner’s narrative, the
precise chronological order of events is occasionally not bose i. ah
map used as lining paper in this book shows the route of the Seeadler

and the names anc i dates of ships sunk, and other events in their chron
ological sequence.Il

FELIX RUNS OFF TO SEA

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

“By Joe!” I thought, “that’s something. 7

It was a romantic thing all right in this day and
age, when the sailing ship 1 is getting to be something
of a relic of the fine old times, the heroic age of the
sea. But it wasn’t because I had read a lot of sea
stories and had become fascinated with the old
world of rigging and canvas. I had been there myself,
had been there good and proper.

The reason I was assigned to the command of the
Seeadler was because I was the only officer in the
German Navy who had had actual experience with
sail. | was born Graf Felix von Luckner and was now
a lieutenant commander, in the Imperial Service,
but I had spent seven years of my early life as a com-
mon jack-tar before the mast. The fo’c’sle was as
familiar to me as charts are to an admiral. That was
why this windjammer cruise of war meant so deuced
much to me, why it hit so close and was so pee

I cannot make that part of it clear without telling
you something of my early life at sea, a thing or two
about the old days when sailing before the mast
was all they say—and more. It’s a yarn about ship-
wreck, storm, and cantankerous captains. So, sit
yourself down there, by Joe, while I light my pipe
and weigh anchor.

feeeese PO apart mae PN NCSI aaaShenae ethan be Miata ao SA ines Fa haea oats

en re en i rma aR Salina oh a ah, A Sa iam bad ER aS

et tele

ae
Ee
i
i
hi

10 COUNT LUCKNER, THE SEA DEVIL

My first mental picture of life at sea dates away
back to the time when I was a little fellow living in
quiet, charming old Dresden. I saw a bill of fare
from the liner, Fuerst Bismarck. By Joe, there were
fine delicacies on it. I read it until my jaws began to
move. So that was how people feasted at sea? Ah,
then, how wonderful it must be to be a sailor. Per-
haps, some day, I might become the captain of a
great steamer where they had meals like that. The
more I thought of it, the better I liked the idea, and
from then on I had my mind set on going to sea. I
read of the voyages of the wily Odysseus and of Sind-
bad the Sailor. On the river near our home I built a
boat of an old box and christened it the Pirate.

“Oceans, straits, and gulfs are all very fine, but
of what concern are they to a Von Luckner?”’ asked
my father. “You are to be a cavalryman.”

You see, my great-grandfather had started the
cavalry tradition among us Von Luckners. They had
tried to make a monk of him, and had put him in a
monastery. But he didn’t like that job, and among
his fellows at the monastery he was called ‘ ‘Luckner
libertinus.”” When he was thirteen years old, he ran
away and joined the army of the Turks, in a war
against the Austrians. In those days, the cavalrymen
all had boys to feed and look after the horses, carry
munitions, and clean rifles. So, while still a mere
lad, my great-grandfather became a_ professional
soldier, a soldier of fortune. After he had learned a
lot about the Turks, he left them and joined the Aus-
trians. That was when he was fifteen years old. Later
on, he joined the Prussian Army, as a lieutenant of
cavalry, under Frederick the Great.

Fmally, he formed his own regiment, which became
famous throughout all Europe as “Count Luckner’s
Hussars.” They had their own specially designedFELIX RUNS OFF TO SEA II

brown uniforms, and as mercenaries they fought in
any war that came along. In those days, it was the
custom for soldiers to fight for whoever could afford
to pay them. The King of Hanover was in the habit
of buying regiments, and my great-grandfather sold
pi his on the condition that it was still to be known

s “Count Luckner’s Hussars.” The King broke his
et, So my warlike ancestor went to the King’s
castle, boldly charged him with treachery, then took
off his mantle and tunic covered with the decorations
that the King had given him and threw them into
the open fire.

o ariesecieneh I will fight against you,” he shouted.

Shortly after this, he joined forces with the King
of France, and then, during the French Revolution,
he continued to serve the new French government as
the commander of the Army of the Rhine. When the
Marseillaise was written, it was dedicated to him be-
cause he happened to be the commanding general in
the region where this immortal song was composed.
After winning a number of important victories in
Belgium, he was made a Marshal of France.

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

From then on, all Luckners became cavalrymen. It
seemed to be in the blood. My grandfather, an ofh-
cer, was accidentally killed while on a hunting expe-

    
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   
  

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alecedbtesererororitadiiebalelarersyeqnytebetdmnerey 8s

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NN pat LL nee a nara rae antes BSR SRE RRE DA Rae 0 does

Senne ht arene een Sieber le

er errs

I2 COUNT LUCKNER, THE SEA DEVIL

dition. My father fought in all the wars from 1848
down to the World W ar. In 1914, when he was
ninety, he wanted to join up again. He insisted that
he was still able to do patrol duty, because his eye-
sight was unimpaired and he was still a horseman.
When the general staff refused his request on the
ground that he was too old, he was very angry.

“It is because I am so old that they should take
me,” he said. “‘Let me serve as an example to the
younger soldiers. I have fought in many wars, and
will be living proof to them that the surest way to
live a long and healthy life is to be a soldier.”

Ships, harbours, the seven seas had nothing to
do with a Von Luckner. My father scoffed at my talk
of becoming a sailor, so | never spoke to him any
further about it. He tried to tell me what a fine
cavalryman I would make, and asked me to promise
that I would wear the Emperor’s uniform with hon-
Our.

Now, in Germany, unless you had a good educa-
tion, there was no hope of your ever becoming an
officer. And the courses were stiff. Instead of study-
ing, I preferred to read your American Indian stories,
especially those of James Fenimore Cooper. I knew
the names of many of your famous Indian chiefs,
and as a youngster I dreamed of voyaging to America
to hunt buffalo.

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

“It 1s no use; the boy doesn’t learn. There is a
devil in him.”’

Next they put me in a private school in the coun-
try, thinking that association with other boys would
fill me with ambition to learn. Instead, I learned how
to fight. Although only ten years old, T was a huskyFELIX RUNS OFF TO SEA 13

young devil, fond of sports, and ready for anything
that would provide a thrill. My father thought the
teacher was too soft for me, so he sent me off to
another school, where the teacher was a strong man
and something of a ruffian himself. By Joe, how that
man used to pound me! My father also gave me many
lickings, and I considered he was entitled to do so.
But this other man? Well, I stood it from him just
once. Then, when the second beating came, I ran
away. For eight days nobody knew where I was.
I lived in the fields like an animal, eating apples and
other fruits. Then they found me. My poor father
was ready to give me up as hopeless, but I still had
a true friend, my grandmother. She told my father
he had been far too stern with me, and said to him:

“Give me the boy, Henry. A little kindness may
still 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 made
a bargain with me. There were thirty-four boys in
my class at school, and in my studies I always stood
thirty-fourth.

““My lad,” she said, “‘study conscientiously and
I will give you fifty pennies every time you advance
a place. I will continue doing this until you are at
the head of the class!” -

I couldn’t figure right then how much [ stood to
make. I never was much at arithmetic. But I guessed
it would be considerable, and I considered Grand-
mother a good fairy.

I studied with all my might. The next examination
came, and others were ahead, but not I. I was in
despair. My grandmother encouraged me, ‘and |
studied still harder. Another examination came, and
I moved up four seats! She gave me two hundredscsabathen aah!

Dede i cee ae eA

eee en nnn atte B Dita le ba ba etree ac Same Si eabareehc aris arene aE REMUS at aD area nh

ree ee

eee ee eee errr at

et
ie
Li
f
‘i
i

   

14 COUNT LUCKNER, THE SEA DEVIL

pennies, and I felt like a millionaire. But at the fol-
lowing examination I dropped back two seats. She
was not discouraged with me and said she hardly ex-
pected me to go ahead without a few rebuffs. I was
afraid she would demand a rebate for the places |
had lost, but she did not. I now saw myself clear of
all financial difficulties. By going ahead with an
occasional dropping back, my income would be end-
less.

I turned into quite a despicable swindler, but it
was not out of pure avarice. I had formed the idea
of breeding rabbits and had set my eye on a fine
rabbit sire that would cost me several marks. To get
the sum needed I would have to be promoted several
seats which, I reasoned, could be easily done, es-
pecially with occasional slidings back. But I had bad
luck and got no more promotions. What was to be
done? I needed the money. So I told Grandmother
that I had been promoted two places. I got the pen-
nies. Another week I[ told her I had gone ahead three
places; another week one; and still another week
four. The intricacies of finance and greed led me to
a series of fake promotions that soon landed me at
the head of the class. I had the cheek to put on that
I had gained that honour.

Of course, Grandmother was happy and very
proud of the success of her policy of kindness with
me. One day, she happened to meet my school su-
perintendent and could not resist expressing her
elation.

“And what do you think of our Felix? Here he has
progressed to the first place in his class by that simple
method of mine of giving him fifty pennies for every
form he moves up. I tell you, there is nothing like
kindness. It takes a grandmother to handle a boy.”FELIX RUNS OFF TO SEA 5

In utter astonishment, the superintendent replied:

“What, Felix in first place? That’s some mis-
understanding. So far as | know, Felix is in thirty-
fourth place.”

My grandmother rushed home and began to over-
whelm me with reproaches. It happened that she had
two bulldogs, one thirteen and the other fourteen
years old. They suffered from asthma. The wheezing
dogs started a commotion in the next room. That di-
verted her attention from me, and she bustled out
to see what was the matter. When she returned, her
flare of temper had subsided, and she merely said
laconically 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, for
fear it would make her ridiculous. All he knew was
that, when Easter came, I was promoted on proba-
tion, with the accompanying suggestion that it would
be best if I left school. So he sent me to a school in
Halle, a city of Prussian Saxony, and engaged a
private tutor to coach me in addition.

The end of my school days now came speedily.
My father, perhaps taking a leaf out of my grand-
mother’s book, resorted to a promise. If I were
promoted, I veil be allowed to visit my cousin, who
lived on an estate in the country, a thing that [
wanted very much to do. When the examinations
came, my father was away. He had left me with the
tutor, who was to permit me to depart for my cousin’s
estate if I gained the promotion. As usual I flunked the
examination, and came home angry and sullen. The
tutor met me, eagerly asking suerte I had been
promoted. I bit my lips and lied impudently. I said
I had been promoted, but that the superintendent was
away and had not been able to sign my report, which

5 ee ‘ SR eSe Seer Memes thtndedatecsdLotog reap ta turytd tated Rceepe pe) newt slénse cea tee ts Hegre Ew AES ted sake
ee ee es rs ors

eee eSEseSE Leer ree ene et

este ee

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meresa ara ar nnn Ee rar ny rer en rT dein Ln mtorr Ene been ae ea ere LS ieee neene tt eeeete meee mentennne co eran

Nee nn ne arieiahl iets

eee ets

16 COUNT LUCKNER, THE SEA DEVIL

would be mailed later. The tutor, delighted that his
coaching had been so successful, gave me immediate
permission to leave for my cousin’s.

I took my father’s big boots, his water boots, his
little coat, his trousers, his sport shoes. I was big for
my thirteen and a half years, and they would ft me.
My brother and I each had a savings bank. | had
eighty marks in mine. He had one hundred and ten
marks in his. I took my savings and forty marks of
his. I would repay him later.

I was away. Where? If I had a devil in me, surely
it must be a sea devil, because I now dreamed of
nothing but the sea. I had promised my father to
wear the Emperor’s uniform with honour. I would
not return home until I wore the Emperor’s naval
uniform, and with honour. I was firm in my decision
about this.

I was all excited when I stepped off the train in
Hamburg. Here was the great seaport town, and here
was I, a lad going to sea. In the railroad station I saw
a large sign advertising the Concordia Hotel with the
prices of accommodations listed, from fifty to sev-
enty-five pfennigs a cot. That seemed a little high to
me, but never mind. A porter took my baggage. I was
well dressed, and he treated me with a good deal of
respect. When I directed him to the Concordia, he
looked at me.

“So you are one of those fellows driving out to
sea?’ He changed instantly from polite German to
common, vulgar, Low German in addressing me.

I had stumbled on the sailors’ favourite hotel, but
sailors didn’t seem to be held in much respect by
porters.

When I got to the Concordia, I soon discovered
that sailors do not frequent palatial hostelries. It was
a ‘rear house,” situated in a back yard. Here inFELIX RUNS OFF TO SEA 17

America you would call it a “‘sailors’ flop.”’ I asked
the clerk for a cot, for seventy-five pfennigs. He
showed 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 other
people. He laughed and replied that if I was not
satisfied with five companions he would give me a
fifty-pfennig room with forty-nine companions. I
chose the five.

My first evening I spent along the famous Ham-
burg water front, Sankt Pauli, known to sailors the
world over. There was the gigantic “Vanity Fair,”
or White City with all its lights and excitement.
Here I saw all manner of seafaring folk, from
Malays to West Indians. In front of some of the
amusement halls stood African Negroes in weird cos-
tumes.

At the shipyards, where I offered my services as
a cabin boy, I was told that, since I was only thir-
teen and a half years old, they would have to have
a written permission from my father before they
could engage me. So I decided I had better address
myself directly to captains aboard their ships. When
I went to the part of the harbour where sailing ships
rode at anchor, I found it an immense basin with a
forest of masts, and the vessels moored at consider-
able distance offshore.

While gazing longingly at them and wondering
what to do next, I came upon an old man and got into
conversation 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 up
at the lofty masts all around us, old Peter told me

    
  
  
  
  
  
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
    

ppePer Nee eT alee

Party ee Sen eee ee oe eee

Oe - eee —
Leaee ee eae saser er etre Tt fe saree were eee re eee

Ree Ta eter Ts

peer eray ere rt tetenerete Teton ee Tor Teeen en eee

eee eee

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ara ernest ane Re ahi be hai

Pe ee

      
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
  
 
 
 
  
  
   
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
    

18 COUNT LUCKNER, THE SEA DEVIL

that sailors had to climb these in storms when it was
impossible for a greenhorn to hold on.

| went aboard several ships, but the captains also
insisted on my showing them permission from my
father. After | had been turned down, old Peter
saw that’my spirits were at low ebb. When I admitted
to him that I had run away from home, it seemed to
touch the sympathy of the old wanderer. But when
I told him my father was a landowner and a count,
he looked at me in awe.

““ count? Why, that ranks next to a king!”

He could hardly get over it—a count’s son running
away to become a sailor before the mast! The tragedy
of it made him take such an interest in me that we
instantly became warm friends, and he asked me to
come and share his humble quarters. From then on,
for a week, I spent most of my time with old Peter
Boemer.

“For thirty-five years, for my whole life,” he
pleaded in his broad Hamburg dialect, “I was a
sailor. What have I now? All I am is captain of this
little rowboat, carrying people for a few pfennings a
trip. Go back to the Count, your father, and when
he gives you a licking for this, thank him for every
lick.”

I must go home. He was certain of that. He must
persuade me to go home. But the idea of notifying
my parents never occurred to him. That would be
squealing, and squealing is not a virtue among
sailors. | saw him every day for a week, and not-
withstanding all of his unanswerable arguments, still
I refused to go home. At last he saw that it was hope-
less to plead with me any longer, so he agreed to help
me get on a ship without having any papers.

He got me a post as cabin boy aboard the Niobe, a
craft the memory of which grows more vivid with theFELIX RUNS OFF TO SEA 19

passing of the years. Then he insisted upon seeing to
it that I was properly outfitted for the sea. Under his
direction, I expended the last of my money for warm
underclothing, oilskins, a sheath knife, tobacco, and
a pipe. I was very proud of the pipe. He took me to
his 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 he
had painted it himself. In a cage was a parrot, as
old and dishevelled as Peter. He had brought it from
Brazil, and it spoke only Portuguese. On the bureau
were Chinese curios and other souvenirs of long
voyages.

‘And this is my sea chest,” he said, as he hauled
forth an ancient weather-beaten but staunch box,
and emptied out of it various examples of his own
weaving and knitting.

“Every sailor needs a sea chest,’”’ he continued.
“It is watertight and will float. For thirty-five years
it travelled with me around the world. It is yours
now, by Joe, and I hope it will serve you as well as it
served me.”

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

He put me aboard the Niobe, that never-to-be-
forgotten argosy, showed me to my bunk, and fixed
my mattress and bolster.

“You are born a count’—he shook his head—
“and you become a sailor. Count and sailor don’t
go together. It is like a Paris shoe on a Russian peas-
ant’s foot. You are Count Felix von Luckner no
longer. You must change your name.”

Then and there I rechristened myself, took the
name of my mother’s family, and called myselfCe enero tai ma) en ee ae eae nena TOTO nT as

yi

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20 COUNT LUCKNER, THE SEA DEVIL

Phelax Luedige. Under that name I sailed the seas
for seven years.

My last gift from old Peter was a motto. Putting
his 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 hold
on with one hand and work with the other. But the
motto had a wider meaning than that. In every
channel, sea, or backwater of life—one hand for your-
self and one for the ship.

I stood at the rail while the tug towed the Niobe
out of the harbour. Old Peter, with his marvellously
skilful stroke, sculled alongside the slowly moving
vessel all the way out past the piers of Sankt Pauli.

“My boy, God speed you,” he shouted. “This is
as far as I can go. I will never see you again. It’s
hard on old Peter to see you go away.”

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

Peter had carefully packed my sea chest, and
when I opened it I found his picture right under the
lid. Across the bottom he had scrawled, “Don’t
forget your old Peter.”

The low coast gradually melted into the haze.
Years were to pass before I should return to my
homeland and to the friend who had helped me get
to sea.Iii
SAVED BY AN ALBATROSS

Tue Russian full-rigged ship Niobe, bound for Fre-
mantle, Australia, was an old craft, dirty and mean.
I have seen many another like her, but she was a clas-
sic. Her captain, too, was something of a classic.
When old Peter spoke to him about taking me, al-
though I had no permission from my parents, he
replied: «< .

“I will take him provided he doesn’t want any
pay!”

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

I knew no Russian. The others knew no German,
except the captain. He knew it brokenly, just enough
to abuse me. The helmsman spoke a little English.
I had learned a few words of English in school. I
never did learn Russian. That language has always
been a puzzle to me. During the long trip of eighty
days on the Niobe I was among people whose talk
between themselves, and nearly all of whose speech
addressed to me, I couldn’t understand.

[ discovered the helmsman’s knowledge of Eng-
lish the first day out. I was delighted to find that
here was at least one sailor with whom I could con-
verse. He asked me questions. What was my father?

“A farmer,” I replied.

21

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22 COUNT LUCKNER, THE SEA DEVIL

“Well,"then,” quoth he, “it will be just the right
thing if I appoint you chief inspector.”

That sounded important, and I walked a little
stifly as he led me down the deck. We came to a
pig pen where there were half a dozen large and par-
ticularly filthy porkers. The chief inspector’s office
was that of cleaning the pig sty.

“And besides,” the helmsman added cordially, “I
will appoint you superintendent of the starboard
and larboard pharmacies.” I promptly discovered
that in the language of the sea a pharmacy was a
latrine.

In cleaning the sty, | was not allowed to let the
pigs out. I had to go in there with them, and it
was very narrow quarters. The unspeakably dirty
animals rubbed against me constantly while I la-
boured with pail and brush. The sewage was so deep
that it filled my shoes. I had only two pairs of trous-
ers. Soap and water were not to be wasted. I grew
fIthier than the pigs. And then there were the
“clinics.” .

Everyone kicked me because I looked like a pig and
smelled like one. They called me “Pig.” For food I
had to go around and eat what the sailors left on their

lates. They said that was the way pigs were fed.

or breakfast, instead of coffee and rolls, there was
vodka with stale bread to soak in it. I got the leav-
ings of this. The salted meat, of which I got the
scraps, was so strong that | could scarcely force it
down my throat. I often thought of that bill of fare
from the Fuerst Bismarck, which had lingered in
my thoughts. I had made a mistake there, by Joe.

I was afraid of the masts. I dreaded the thought
of going aloft. But I said to myself that I must get
used to it. So I climbed desperately every day, a little
higher, a little higher, always practising. Finally,SAVED BY AN ALBATROSS 23

one day, I got to the crow’s nest, halfway to the top.
I thought that was fine. I felt so proud I called down
for the others to see where I was.

“Any old sea cook can get that far,” the helms-
man shouted back scornfully.

That hurt me and made me all the more deter-
mined to learn how to go aloft as the sailors did. I
kept trying, and I watched the other apprentices
skipping 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 been
reefed except the storm sail, and we were ready to
set the main topsail. Eager to show how much I
had learned about going aloft, I climbed up to help
unfurl the canvas. I forgot old Peter’s advice: one
hand for the ship, the other for yourself. The sail,
filled with a sudden gust of wind, blew out like a bal-
loon. I fell. I grabbed hold of the gasket, the rope
that holds the sail to the yard, but it burned through
my 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 ship
heaved with a swelling wave, and I was thrown out
into the sea.

The Niobe was tearing along with a speed of eight
knots. I came up astern. The wash in her wake
switled me around, but I could see a sailor throwing
me a life preserver. I couldn’t find it. The waves
were too high. I sank, and when I came up I saw the
ship a long, long distance away, it seemed. I threw
off my heavy oilskins and sea boots, although there
seemed little use trying to save myself by swimming.
Even if they did put out a lifeboat, they would never
be able to find me in that heavy sea.

Above me hovered several albatross, those huge
white birds that seem to think everything floating is24 COUNT LUCKNER, THE SEA DEVIL

for them to eat. They swooped down upon me. I
was ready to sink, but still had enough strength to
fight at them, waving with one hand and then an-
other. A great white form swooped down. A bird’s
talons seized a human hand. And I in turn clutched
at it. A drowning man grasps a straw, even a bird.
The albatross beat the air with its wings, frantically
trying to rise. I still kept my erip on its claw. The
huge bird was keeping me afloat. Then the albatross
began to strike at my hand with its beak. It hurt
and wounded me badly. I have the scars on my hand
to this day. Still I held on.

“Phelax,” I said to myself, “you will never get
back to your ship, but maybe another ship will find
you if you don’t let go.”

The other albatross were flying above, circling
around, watching the strange proceedings

It seemed to me as though my hand had been torn
away by the repeated striking of that beak. Then,
all at once, a swell lifted me high above the other
waves, and I saw a lifeboat coming. I let go of the
albatross, and he was glad to get away, by Joe. He
shot up into the air to join his companions. That
bird had saved my life, and so had his friends. The
sailors could never have found me had they not seen
those birds hovering above me. They knew that I
must be swimming there.

In the boat I said to myself that I supposed the
captain would be happy to see me back again. When
we came alongside, he stood up there above, pointing
down 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,

ig BROOK KASS) sSembas Lino ark a rere Matt Seat ear Seabee)

Ne eee

 

 

Sete cL ee Se a aaa ha aa Se TTT SE ne aaa

y
iG
iH
Pia
a.
ca
4
3SAVED BY AN ALBATROSS 25

he had lost two sails. I sat down there in the little
boat with the blood flowing out of my hand and
trembling. The sea was high, and the lifeboat danced
up and down while the sailors made vain efforts to
swing it over the davits. In a wild toss the boat rose
as high as the ship’s gunwales. I was so excited that I
made a crazy jump, hit the deck, and was knocked
unconscious.

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

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

“You German dogs like to guzzle. Wake up and
take some of this!”

He put the neck of a vodka bottle in my mouth
and let the liquid fire trickle down my throat. Next
day I was too sick to stand on my feet. The captain
ordered me out of my bunk and to work. I tried but
couldn’t get up. Then he beat me, saying I was a
drunken loafer.

Later I learned that when I had fallen overboard
the quartermaster immediately called for volun-
teers to man the lifeboat. The captain, who had
never dreamed of sending help to me, shouted to
him, shaking a harpoon:

“If you lower the boat, you will get this harpoon
in your belly.”

As a matter of fact, they were not obliged to send
a boat for me. A captain need not attempt the res-
cue of a man overboard if it is liable to endanger
the lives of others of his crew.

   
 
 
 
 
  
  
   
  
  
 
  
  
  
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
  

Peper aeDC NERS nO POY Seer eta

Pe peast ete sar meters aoe:
ee tiene ees 5 oy

rer eferer terre Te26 COUNT LUCKNER, THE SEA DEVIL

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 of
nervous spasm which made my hands shake. I was
like that for four years, and even to-day I sometimes
have 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 been
Count Felix von Luckner, of a titled, landowning
family, descendant of a long line of military officers
and of an illustrious Marshal of France. Now I was
a mere cleaner of the pig sties and the latrines, fed
like a pig on scraps left by others, cursed and beaten
and considered by the captain to be carrion not
worth saving from the sea. I said to myself:

“You put yourself in this fix, by Joe, and you’ve
got to take your humiliation and punishment like a
man.”

So this was the life at sea? Certainly, 1t was not
what I had expected. I wondered if I had made a mis-
take. Well, mistake or no mistake, I had promised
my father to wear the Emperor’s uniform with hon-
our, and I would not go home until I wore the

Emperor’s naval uniform with honour. But how far
away from me now seemed epaulettes and gold braid.

The Niobe did not put in at a single port on our
way out. After we passed through the English Chan-
nel, until we reached Western Australia, we saw noth-
ing save sky and sea, the sky light or dark, the sea
in quiet or in storm. In fact, we only came in sight
of land once. This was when we sighted an island
somewhere off the African coast. I could see palms,
rows of palms, and white houses with red roofs and
ereen shutters. I stood at the rail and gazed. What
a joy it must be to walk and breathe on that green

eet eaeeneeet oe Inene

ee een renee er

ee

Ss Rl bn ee a ener rer) pet eter ee

eat anes

iio
bt
ay
2
FHSAVED BY AN ALBATROSS 27

island. It seemed an abode of all happy things. I
was sure that living there must be a fairy princess.
I was very much of a boy, and I had been reared on
German stories. I was wretched, and yonder was a
land so fair. It must be the haunt of a fairy princess.
I stood with my elbows on the rail and my chin
on my hands and dreamed of her.

Singular that I should have then thought of a
fairy princess. A few years later, I visited that same
isle. By then I had become a naval officer of the
Kaiser. I wandered all through its palm groves, re-
membering how once I had sailed past it, the miser-
able cabin boy of the Niobe, and had had visions of a
fairy. This time I did indeed find a fairy princess
there, and promptly lost my heart to her. We be-
came engaged, and a little later she became the
guardian angel of the raider in which I sailed the
seas. She was a visitor on the isle, and her name was
Irma.

But my fairy princess was only a wild fancy as I
stood at the rail of the Niobe. The dreamy bit of
land with its graceful palms and pretty houses grew
small in the distance as the wind bellied out the
mainsail and swept us on toward Cape Verde. Fin-
ally, | was left sazing at a speck that vanished on
the horizon. And still I remained motionless and in
my trance, until a howl cracked my ears and a kick
nearly split me in two.

“Get along there, you loafer,” roared the captain.

But the latter part of the voyage was not so bad
as the first. | was getting used to mistreatment, and
was rapidly developing into a hardened seaman.
The captain remained brutal, and so did most of
the men, but there were several who grew kind
toward me, among them the boatswain and the
helmsman. So I began to experience some of that

    
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
   
 

PoURarpe a Umasaetee Se IE a ebony ENTREES OMEN Seen et re

eT REL RAI Beware et aero

eer revere eet sti tem ee Teme Tele sere Sereneaera eeernes tions

Ta ee creeedne rt ear lia ee ee a ea

Sn a ed

re a rene

|

B4
2
cS

4
Fi

;
ae
t tore
He
Fi
Fi
3,
Fy
Bi

28 COUNT LUCKNER, THE SEA DEVIL

comradeship of the sea for which a sailor will endure
many a hardship.

Finally, after eighty days at sea without touching
at a single port, we sailed into the harbour at Fre-
mantle. | had always thought of Australia as a land
of kangaroos, of black aborigines with bows and ar-
rows, and of bushrangers. But Fremantle turned out
to be as commonplace and bleak a port as you could
hope to see. However, I met some sailors off a Ger-
man ship, and the sound of my native language and
association with my countrymen made me happy.
They took me to the Hotel Royal. They went there
to drink beer and I to share their company. But the
proprietor had a daughter, and I transferred my in-
terest to her. She was what you call a bonnie lassie,
and she listened to my chatter. After I told her my
story, she urged me to desert from my ship. She even
talked to her father about me and got him to take
me on as a dishwasher. That was all mght. Dish-
washing had been perhaps the most elegant of all the
jobs assigned to me on the Niobe. But | could not
abandon old Peter’s sea chest. So the German sailors
helped me to smuggle it off the ship. The Nzobe
sailed presently. Luckily, the captain did not ask
the police to find me, as he had a right to do. Maybe
he considered himself lucky to get rid of me.IAW
SALVATION, KANGAROOS, AND FAKIRS IN AUSTRALIA

Asout the only amusement I could find in Fre-
mantle was listening to the Salvation Army band.
They had a hall where they had preaching and where
bums and sailors stood up and told lurid tales of
their experiences. Then they all sang songs. It was
the songs I liked. I couldn’t tell much about the
words, but the tunes were lively and the big drum fas-
cinated me. This music was altogether different from
the music back home in our churches at Dresden.
But what interested me most of all was that this
Salvation Army post had a gramophone. I had never
seen one before. | had come to Australia expecting to
find a wilderness of kangaroos and savages, and here
was this marvellous product of civilization.

“By Joe, Felix,” I said to myself, “everything
in the world is different from what you thought.”

] couldn’t shake off the notion that this gramo-
phone was a hoax. thought somebody hidden must
be talking into that horn. | could not get near enough
to investigate. The place was always crowded, and
only those who “got religion” were allowed up front.
So I persuaded a friend of mine from a German boat
to keep me company, and we went up at a big meet-
ing and offered ourselves for salvation. We gave
testimony of our past sins and told what bad sailor
lads we had been, and then we signed a pledge never
to touch strong drink.

vere?

EE NFO ete eer re

sane — PSUERET Lee oT eee
TT ee ne eeeceaneenanainanepanaianmaeiaaamitaisiemummnnae
IEA Sepa ntererne ereetea oS ae See a Seeretare eaters

See any ere Sere oe
te ak ee ae ee ee

Rael a a te ee

§.;
i:
i
i

   
   

30 COUNT LUCKNER, THE SEA DEVIL

The gramophone was O. K., I found, and that
made the Salvation Army O. K. with me. I became
enthusiastic, somehow, or other, with the songs and
excitement. I actually “got religion.” I joined up,
and they gave me a job putting moth balls in cloth-
ing donated by charitable people. At any rate, | no
longer had to wash dishes, and here was an army in
which I might become a lieutenant. I remembered
how my father had wanted me to become a lieu-
tenant in the German Army. Why not become a
lieutenant in the Salvation Army instead? I used to
daydream and build castles in the air like this while
placing those moth balls in the piles of old clothes.

Since I was converted and saved and stood on
holy ground, I felt I should tell the whole truth. So,
one night at a meeting, I got up and testified and told
my fellow soldiers of the Salvation Army that my
right name was Count Felix von Luckner. That
made a sensation. They immediately used me_for
advertisement. ‘“Halleluiah! We have saved a Ger-
man count from perdition,” they announced. “Be-
fore he came here he drank whisky like a fish. Now
he is a teetotaller.”’

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

They put me in a uniform and sent me out to sell
the War Cry. I sold a lot. People didn’t mind buying
the War Cry from a count. I thought I could become
a captain. It was no trouble to leave whisky alone,
because I had never tasted it in my life. But I did like
lemonade and ginger ale, especially ginger ale, which
I thought contained alcohol because they offered it
to me in the bars where I sold the War Cry and be-
cause it tasted so delicious. I thought I was putting
something over. They got on to it in the saloons and
had their joke with me.IN AUSTRALIA 31

“Count, have a ginger ale,’”’ they would call when-
ever they saw me, and I would wink and drink it
down. I thought they were laughing because I had
put one over, and [ laughed too.

I got tired of it. I got tired of everything except
the sea. I was a sailor, I reasoned, and the only
lieutenant I could ever be was a naval lieutenant and
the only kind of captain a ship captain. The Salva-
tion Army people were very good to me. They said
I was too young to be a sailor, but that they would
get me a job somewhere near the sea. So they found
me a job in a lighthouse. It was almost like being at
sea, they told me. All day I could look out and see
fair weather or storms with ships sailing at peace or
rolling and heaving.

I became assistant to the lighthouse keeper of the
Cape Leeuwin Beacon, which is south of Fremantle
and the biggest light on the southwest Australian
coast. “Assistant” —what a fine title! And “bea-
con,” a word that meant everything to the ships
driven by the fury of the storm. Wasn’t I a sailor
who knew all about that from experience? Well,
they put me to cleaning the “windows’’—that 1s,
the lenses. The thousands of prisms of the reflector
astonished me not a little. Each day I wound up the
weights for the revolving apparatus. The rest of the
time, when I was not sleeping, I kept watch. There
were three other lighthouse keepers, who lived in
little houses on the cliff. They passed the days
playing cards and fishing. They had pushed all of
their duties on to me. For doing their work I got
ninepence a day!

The daughter of one of the lighthouse keepers
was named Eva. She was pretty and very charming.
One day I kissed her. It was an innocent kiss, but
we were in a bad place, a room with a locked door,pete ete ttt ti ernear)

et sere head be bret heat at hd at De he sereserts

pee Oo neretne eet erarte errereea cal be

Oe Lee a eters beoeeeeeet h cebe DR De Renae Dad

iaasnshegeceiasesneag a gscndniientccnicananasteean tetas —orgeyneiene=

32 COUNT LUCKNER, THE SEA DEVIL

but which was open on the side of the sea and looked
down on the beach. One of the men was fishing there
and saw us. He hurried to Eva’s father. Soon there
was a cursing and knocking at the locked door. We
were terrified. The threats and banging grew more
violent. I threw the door open, dashed out and away,
frightened half out of my wits.

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

I rode to Port Augusta, and for a time worked in
a sawmill. The work was frightfully hard. The pay
seemed good, thirty shillings a day, but the cost of
living was so high—one had even to pay for water
—that it 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 to
save sixty shillings and then couldn’t stand it any
longer.

One day I met a Norwegian hunter who had been
shooting kangaroos and wallabies and selling their
skins. I gave him my money, and my watch that
I had brought from Germany, and he gave me his
rifle. Then I went into the forest and became a hun-
ter, or at least tried to. After a month, the solitude
got on my nerves, and I left the kangaroos in full
possession of their native bush.

In Port Augusta I watched a steamer discharge
its passengers.

“Oh,” I said, “what kind of a crowd is that?’

They were a troupe of Hindu fakirs. Unable to
withhold my curiosity, I went up and talked to them.
When they learned that I was a sailor, they said l

,IN AUSTRALIA 33

was exactly the man they needed for pitching their
large tents, currying the horses, and distributing ad-
vertisements, and the like. They explained that their
trade was similar to mine, since they were always on
the move, only they travelled on land.

They had with them several dark-eyed Hindu
girls who looked betwitching. I joined the fakirs.

We travelled from one end of Australia to the
other. I pitched their tents and booths in public
places. Handling the canvas did remind me a little
of my work as a sailor. In Fremantle, when I went
around 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 your
very eyes. It is one of the classic tricks of India.
It was my task after the show was over to clear the
place where the tree had miraculously grown. I
could never find any sign of preparation. A bowl of
water would be brought in and shown to the spec-
tators. The fakir would sit down in such a way as
to hide it from the audience. In a little while he would
step aside and the bowl would be filled with live gold-
fish. 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 it al-
teady. I have it on my finger.”

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

There was a little Malayan girl with whom I
flirted, thinking I could learn the secret of the tricks
from her. At first she was very shy, but then became
more friendly. She did tell me how some of the magic
was done, but only some of the minor effects. I
learned them quite well, and to this day can performerences

en ne a Seo na a babar ache eer a TCE RRR

eT eC al aah cam br Sa ecb iaeal

B
a
5
Fie
2
i
Pa

34 COUNT LUCKNER, THE SEA DEVIL

them. The major spectacles, she, herself, thought
were miracles. It seems to me impossible for any
European ever to learn the more important secrets
of these sorcerers. The old masters, accustomed to
be worshipped as beings endowed with supernatural
powers, hold themselves inaccessible. The two chief
fakirs of our company, with their long beards and
a poise made perfect by lifelong training of the will,
made a sublime picture.

One Sunday morning I sat on the beach washing
my clothes. Three men came up, stopped and gazed
at me. They looked me over as though I were beef
on the hoof. I have always been big-framed and
powerfully muscled, with an arm like iron, and shoul-
ders 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 how
to spar, I would be less likely to get a thrashing.”

hey took me to a school of boxing, where I was
submitted to another examination. [hey gave me
six pounds sterling and agreed to train me for the
prize ring. In return, I was to box for Queensland,
exclusively.

That began a strenuous time for me. I was put to
work with all kinds of gymnastic apparatus to har-
den my body, particularly chest and stomach, to re-
sist blows. I went through three months of that kind
of training before I was allowed to try a boxing

ass. Then I practised sparring with an experienced
baie. I was told that, after I had progressed far
enough, I would be sent to San Francisco for addi-
tional training and would make my début there as
“the Prize Boxer of Queensland.” It all looked very
rosy. I liked boxing and do to this day.IN AUSTRALIA 35

An American craft was in port, the Golden Shore
a four-masted schooner plying between Queensland
and Honolulu. She was later put on the San Fran-
cisco—Vancouver—Honolulu run. They needed hands
and offered to take me as an able-bodied seaman at
the excellent pay of forty-five dollars a month. From
cabin boy to able-bodied seaman in one jump—that
was an inducement, by Joe. The usual line of succes-
sion is: cabin boy, yeoman, ’prentice seaman, able-
bodied seaman. I guess I] was made to be a sailor, be-
cause that promotion looked bigger than anything
else in the world. I quit my boxing and shipped
aboard the Golden Shore.

In Honolulu I came upon a mystery, a fantastic
mystery. It sounds unbelievable. I, myself, cannot
explain it. Someday I hope to meet someone who
can. One of the cabin boys aboard the Golden Shore
was a German named Nauke. He was a violin maker
by trade who had lost all his money and put to sea.
We became fast friends. At Honolulu, Nauke in-
vited me to go ashore with him. He brought along a
can of condensed milk, a delicacy he knew I liked. We
went sightseeing, and one of the sights was that of
royalty. We stood outside of the palace grounds
and watched the Hawaiian potentate while he had
tea. He sat in a reed chair, and a couple of his wives
stood beside him. A well-dressed gentleman who
seemed to be on a stroll came up to us and began
to 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-hula
was just what we did want to see.

The gentleman asked whether we had any better
clothes to wear, to which we responded that we had
not.

   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
    

ie ea PSR ITI enn T eS et ea Ma weeeree reer h et

ae Orerasurtes Peet eee TaeSe een ee tes reece eet ropes Cite ieee ora

Teen ee ee nn nnn nn nn Se ear Ls babe tse tau a elaine onal RESELL ates ob pera Eb .

een eee eae a

ee eT en tan nn eel ee

eee eee here

ie
ie
He
ey
rH
a

36 COUNT LUCKNER, THE SEA DEVIL

“Tt doesn’t matter,” he said,
with a suit each.”

He took us to a carriage drawn by four mules, and
we all got in. I remarked to Nauke that the gentleman
seemed to be a man of means. The gentleman turned
his 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 had
an air of distinction. Young colts grazed within a
fence. Through the large windows of the stately villa
I saw a row of large black tables such as are used in
Germany, in a lecture room. Our host told Nauke to
wait outside, and got a piece of cake for him. I whis-
pered to Nauke not to go away.

I felt very strange on entering the house. The man
showed me into a room next to the hall with the
many tables. He was about to lock the door. I asked
him not to. In the room was a long black table like
those I had seen in the other room. The man said he
was going upstairs to get a measuring tape. While
he was gone, I noticed that under the table were two
long narrow boxes with heavy locks on both sides.
What if I should end in one of those boxes! But I was
confident. What had I learned boxing for?

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

“Thirty,” he announced, repeated it once, and
muttered several other numbers between his teeth.

He pulled my coat halfway down my back, thus
hindering my arms. He remarked that the light was
poor, and turned me so that my back was toward
the outer door. I could hear a creaking that told me
someone was moving behind that door. I noticed on

“T will provide youaE erent ert ree

Old Peter, the vener-
able salt who instructed
the lonely waif in the
ways of the sea.

ee ed Puen Sentra Sen oe

 

The runaway lad gazed at Sankt Pauli’s forest of masts. Difficulties
with his studies caused young Luckner to leave home and seek a job
on a sailing ship at Hamburg.

Fa
3
g
Ee?
¥[oo awed to climb into the rigging, the lad’s first job on the Russian
windjammer bound for Australia was keeping a pig sty clean. Later
in the voyage he fell from aloft and his life was saved by an albatross.

:
e
ie
‘je
i

:
| :
| %
i

The champion wrestler
of Sankt Paull.

Seen OreeD errant rennet ere eee

peenee a Deen re eeren ett tere ee

ee ee ere eee aesIN AUSTRALIA 37

the floor below the lower part of the table a disorderly
pile of old clothes which looked as though they
might be sailors’ togs. The gentleman took off my
belt and laid it on the table. Attached to the belt
was my knife case. It was empty. I wondered where
my knife might be. I remembered having it that
morning. I had peeled potatoes with it. My blood
froze as between empty bottles on the window sill
I saw a chopped off human thumb with a long sinew
attached. The gentleman was about to let down my
trousers, which would have kept me from running.

II jerked my coat back into place, knocked “the
man down with a heavy blow, grabbed my empty
knife case from the table, kicked open the nearest
door to the open, and jumped out, shouting for
Nauke. He appeared, still munching his piece of
cake. We ran out into the plantation and threw our-
selves down among the cane. There was the sound
of a whistle and of galloping horses and running
men. They were hunting for us along the roads. We
groped our way among the fields, and, after losing
our way several times, “finally reached the beach.

We looked up an English- speaking policeman and
told him our story. He shrugged his shoulders and
said it would take a special force of detectives to dis-
cover how many sailors had mysteriously disap-
peared on the islands-~Our captain merely remarked
that we deserved a good thrashing for going ashore.
We sailors on the ship laid a plan to take the planta-
tion by storm on the following Sunday, and gath-
ered our weapons for the raid. But on Friday a quar-
antine was proclaimed, due to some infectious disease
that was spreading, and the raid was off. In later
times, I often inquired about the strange circum-
stance, and heard tales of white sailors disappearing
on the islands, but never a solution of the mystery.

    
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
   
    
     
  
 
   
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   
  

BOGS CASO Se IC eee Ne aeaeneareae
Cag eerereanastrer prerweerer se meet ee

Serre eee

rerePapen ener ne eT relates

eee trea

ae
B .
E
att
5
i
Ey
H
4

SRnrerereers trons

Sear eee eens eet reer

an rere OTN edad rere eens

ae ee a eee ae ait ed

eee eee ty

38 COUNT LUCKNER, THE SEA DEVIL

On board the Golden Shore was a lad named August
from Winsen on the Luhe, in Germany. He and lL
talked over the ever-beguiling idea of serving a mas-
ter no longer, but of being our own masters. We
knew that fishing was considered good on the west-
ern coast of North America, and we determined
to go into business for ourselves as_ fishermen.
The Golden Shore took her course to Seattle, and
there we were informed that the fishing was best
around Vancouver. At Vancouver we looked things
over and came to the conclusion that the ideal thing
would be to live in a boat and hunt and fish by turns.
That would be a state of perfect independence. We
used what money we had to buy a rifle. Now all we
needed was a boat.

At the fishing village of Modeville, a number of
sailboats were moored off shore. They belonged to
Indians and half-breeds, whose camp fires we could
see and whose savage dogs barked out fierce alarms.
It was about dusk. Cautiously, we launched one of
the canoes on the beach and paddled out to one of
the sailboats that had taken our fancy. We got
aboard quietly and cut the anchor rope. The boat
was set lightly for drying. There was only a slight
breeze, and we drifted very slowly. Somebody ashore
saw the boat drifting. A canoe came paddling out in
leisurely fashion. We gave the sail a hoist to get
up more speed. The men in the canoe noticed this at
once. They yelled and paddled hard. We were in a
fix. But as we passed out of the lee of the high
mountains, we got a windfall, the sail bellied out,
and the boat scudded swiftly along. From the shore
they fired at us with rifles, but we were away.

We sailed to Seattle, and there the sailors of a Ger-
man boat gave us a supply of iood and some white
lead with which to paint our boat. We hunted andIN AUSTRALIA 39

J

fished and got along, and then grew tired of it.
We were honest lads, and tried to return our boat
secretly to Modeville. We were caught and haled
before a Canadian judge. He was lenient and put
us on probation for a few weeks.

That was my first adventure at piracy.

In Vancouver I signed on the four-masted English
ship, the Pinmore, on which I was now to make the
longest uninterrupted voyage of my life. It took us
two hundred and eighty-five days to sail from San
Francisco around the Horn to Liverpool. We had
rations for a hundred and eighty days, and sea water
got into our water tanks. We lay in calms for long
periods on our way south, and then were held back
by long-continued storms off Cape Horn.

It was as though that ship harboured a devil. We
did not meet a single craft that we could ask for pro-
visions. None of the rain clouds that went drifting
past came near enough to provide us with water.
Between the half rations and the brackish water in
our tanks, six men died of scurvy and bert-beri, and
the rest were so ill with these dread diseases that
their abdomens and legs swelled up as though with
dropsy. We used only the storm sails. None of us was
able to climb into the rigging. When at length we
sighted England off the Scillys, the last portion of
peas had been distributed, and when the tug hove up
to 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 never
to see her again. Strange how coincidence turns. I
did see her again, a long time later, from the deck
of my raider Seeadler.re eC ee na eererererh a marera DEM TIT RL rors ar ne Salah

Tern emeenrres

FL UT a ae a aa oe a aa an ete

   
   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   

V
WRESTLING CHAMPION OF SANKT PAULI

Wuen a German sailor came back from a cruise
with a bit of money burning holes in his pockets,
Hamburg and the bright lights of Sankt Pauli were
his goal. When I left the Pinmore, I had a thousand
marks in my jeans. This was a new thrill, and I had
it all changed into silver, so that I could feast my
eyes on it. Proudly I strutted down Sankt Pauli
water front, a full-fledged sailor, back from his first
cruise around the world. I swaggered like a veteran
old salt. But my thoughts were not of the gay
amusement parloursof Sankt Pauli. There was another
mission that had brought me to Hamburg.

I went to the old house at the Brauerknechter-
graben and climbed the creaking stairs. The name
Peter Breumer was still on the door. A broken old
woman answered my knock and ushered me in. From
the roof hung the flying fish. On the wall was the
painting of the ship. The ragged parrot was in its
cage.

“Peter? He is dead. I live here now. I am his
sister.”

“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. I
got a big iron anchor and had a brass plate fixed on

40WRESTLING CHAMPION OF SANKT PAULI 41

it with the engraving: “I did not forget you.—
Your boy.”’ Then I placed it on Peter’s grave, a
fitting monument for a sailor.

Since the raids of the Seeadler the grave of old
Peter has become a kind of shrine where people
visit, especially German children.

It was in December, and the festival called the
Hamburg Dom was being held. In Sankt Pauli were
many diversions and shows. In one show, Lipstulian
the wrestler held forth. Fifty marks were offered to
anyone 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 conspicu-
ous. On the platform the wrestler drew himself up
in his tights and taunted me.

“My lad, you had better bring along a bag in
which to carry home your bones.”

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

“Step inside, ladies and gentlemen. We have
found 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. Attendants
escorted me to a little booth, where they dressed me
in a red and white shirt and pants and a belt. When
I stepped on to the platform Lipstulian looked at
my bare arms and bécame pensive.

It was not real wrestling, but merely a test of raw
strength. Lipstulian tried to jerk me to him and tip
me over before the signal had been given. That made
me angry. I seized him, but could not lift him.
The sailors howled encouragement to me. One of
my shipmates offered me an additional fifty marks
if IT downed him. On the third attempt I lifted him.
He tried to support his foot against a tent pole, but
slipped. I threw him to the floor.

SSE el ES Serpe ener nT Nees Feces e
ee EPAPER CY

Re reer er42 COUNT LUCKNER, THE SEA DEVIL

The barker howled that I had not put the cham-
pion on his back. That found little favour with the
audience. There was a tremendous din. The sailors
were ready for trouble. The manager paid me in
silver. He gave me, however, twenty instead of the
promised fifty marks. I did not protest. I felt good-
natured. My shipmates were hoisting me on their
shoulders. They carried me to the nearest saloon,
where, as the victor, I treated the crowd again and
again.

My shipmates took me to a photographer, where
they had a picture made of me in wrestling togs with
the inscription on it—the Champion Wrestler of
Sankt 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 wanted
to write to my parents. They must think me dead by
now. I was ashamed to have them hear from me as a
nobody. But now... I looked at the picture again.
On the back of that formidable representation of
the Champion Wrestler of Sankt Pauli I wrote:
“’To my dear father for remembrance, from his faith-
ful son*Felix, 1902.” I addressed an envelope.

Then my courage left me. The difference between
that photograph and our life at home, between the
‘Champion Wrestler of Sankt Pauli” and the stately,
severe Count Heinrich von Luckner, my father, came
vividly upon me and made my heart sink. I put the
picture back in my sea chest.

The remembrance came back to me how my father
expected me to become an officer in the Imperial
Service, and how I had vowed that [ would never go
back until I was a naval officer in the Imperial Ser-
vice. Let them think me dead until I was able to go
home clad in the Imperial naval uniform.

TR ee le area nine Babar hans oar CMEC OCRNA Sane 2d recat ahaa

See el een rere een

Serer ners

eee Oe eee ead aioe

eeaeneet

ret

eee eer

Bo
iH
uy
i;
2
;

2WRESTLING CHAMPION OF SANKT PAULI 43

When I did return home as a naval officer, I
jokingly showed my father the photograph of the
Champion Wrestler of Sankt Pauli. He took it from
me and for years carried it proudly in his wallet.Cresent tcorts

nen ene Ser ns

mewnge gine

eee ire

   
   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   

Tae Da ea eral hee Perera cures tos al LAB iad ae heer earns Tete be eat reraeai aris

NN ee een eae ake eee hh Laide id

VI
THE TRAGIC CRUISE OF THE CZSAREA

By Jor, I’ve got a real sea yarn to tell you now. Wait
a minute till I light my pipe, and I'll tell you about
the voyage of the Cesarea.

She was my first German ship. With a cargo bound
for Melbourne, we set sail from Hamburg. My
friend Nauke was aboard, and again we were com-
rades. The captain was a clever sailor, but an old
skinflint. 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 Monday
we got peas, on Tuesday beans, on Wednesday, for
a change, yellow peas, on Thursday brown beans, on
Friday “‘blue Henry,” which looked like coffee beans,
but smaller, on Saturday corned beef (bully beef),
and on Sunday, as a Sabbatical delicacy, we got a
special dish called ‘‘plum and dumplings.” The fare
never changed, and we were always hungry. Very
good, Smutje, you were an excellent fellow at heart,
but that penny-squeezing captain made a son-of-a-
gun of a sea cook out of you, and you are the hero
of this tale.

One day I was sitting on a topyard. I could hear
Smutje down in the galley whistling ““My Heart Is
Like a Beehive,” which was a song hit of those days.
I whistled along with him. My heart was like a bee-

A4CRUISE OF THE “CZSAREA” 45

hive, and girls were the bees and one of them was the
queen bee. I could see her floating in front of me. Yes,
it was the same fairy princess of my dreams whom
I had seen in imagination from the deck of the
Niobe on that first voyage when we sighted the Isle
of Fuerteventura in the Canaries. My fairy princess
lived on that distant tropic island of waving palms
and white houses. So I whistled as loud as I could
the same tune that Smutje was whistling, “My Heart
Is Like a Beehive.”

“What is that?”

I couldn’t trust my eyes. I saw two arms thrust
from the galley. They supported a big tray, which
they thrust on to the skylight of the galley. The tray
was heaped with a big stack of pancakes. What? A
thousand miles out at sea, and pancakes fresh and
warm!

I slid down the rope, and tiptoed to the galley.
I took that stack of pancakes from the plate and
slipped them inside my shirt, against my breast. Then
I climbed to the yardarm again. Whew! By Joe,
those pancakes were hot! They were burning into
my flesh. When I was halfway up the mast I thought
I should fall down, but I kept saying over and over,
“Phelax, you are a sailor now, and a sailor never
winces.”’ When I was aloft I laid the pancakes on
the yard, and ate them as fast as I could. There were
fourteen of those pancakes.

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

Two arms were thrust out of the galley, and very
carefully, so the flapjacks might not slide off, the
empty platter was lowered. Next a long shrill whistle

and then a smothered cry:
“My flapjacks!”

    
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
   

SED Msaparer near eee Raper NUTR NC ac ceaeecaaes

renee

Se eee Fyre eee eee aetmnaale

Speer arate re ere hres pr erTe eee Cee Deere eee46 COUNT LUCKNER, THE SEA DEVIL

Smutje came climbing to the roof of the galley,
thinking that perhaps with the rolling of the ship
the 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 working
up there. But did you see anybody take my flap-
jacks?”’

“No, I haven’t been looking that way, Smutyje.”’

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

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

“*T will tell you. Phelax. You are the only honest
fellow aboard.”

“T know that, but go ahead.”

“Tt is the captain’s birthday to-day, Phelax. No-
body aboard can make him a present except me. I
fixed fourteen flapjacks for him. Is that too much for
the captain’s birthday?”’

ONT . aes ”

No, Smutyje, 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 say
nothing if some son-of-a-gun stole one flapjack, but,
by Joe, I say the one who took the whole fourteen
is a son-of-a-gun, by Joe.”’

“T agree with your opinion, Smutje, he is a son-
of-a-gun, by Joe.”

“You are an honest fellow, Phelax, and I always
give you the best. That cranberry compote is no use
to me now, anyway. You can eat it because you are

petted Cerner ee ts tea ceec ata greece iataraa

ne ee ee eet ois

sataieetste phie nied

ee ee ee rr rs

ee TOT erT eeer en te

a

een

j

i

FI

i

t

;

ve.
a
% oY
ae
ee
i
ti
ot
Fi
i,
a
P

z

fsCRUISE OF THE “CSAREA” 47

honest and because you will help me to find the
thief,”

The compote was just what I needed, what I had
missed. It should have been spread between the pan-
cakes, 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, because
you are honest, here is the cranberry compote.”

It was delicious.

That night I reported to Smutje that each of the
other men had eaten approximately an equal amount
of peas. It was not part of the bargain to report that
I had scarcely eaten any. I promised to continue the
hunt for the culprit, and Smutje was confirmed in
his opinion that I was the only honest man aboard.

The Cesarea docked in Melbourne, and there an
important event occurred. The captain invited the
German consul to dinner, and then took counsel with
Smutyje.

“We must have something good when the consul
comes.”

Smutje immediately fell in with the suggestion
and replied: “Yes, on such an occasion nothing is
too good.”

The captain restrained his enthusiasm.

‘But there must not be too much expense.”

“No, certainly not. Let us have ducks. That 1s
something good and does not cost much around here.”

I heard the captain inviting the first mate to his
table.

“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 mate
grinned all over his face.

    
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
    

POPSENr arte PaPGT NE EIESE omar ter ener v tne IE SSeS ee Serr fete eae

Sar viene tance ee Serene ERD LCT COS nrOn Tet TT

erence Tr nemen etnereren et eterno

Serer eer eretenn ee

48 COUNT LUCKNER, THE SEA DEVIL

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
   
 

Then the captain tackled the second mate.

“T invite you to supper to-night at eight bells.
The consul is coming.”

“Thank you, sir, thank you.” The second mate
wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

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

I didn’t see the captain. He was sitting onthe
bridge reading his newspaper, apparently. He had
made a hole in the middle of the page, through which
he looked down into the open door of the galley and
kept his eye on the ducks. At first he did not see me.
The mast was in the way. Then he happened to lean
to one side, and caught sight of me near the porthole
industriously mending my trousers.

Suddenly, a marlinespike came flying past me.

“You loafer, by Joe. What are you snifing around
the galley for? And so you brought your pants along
for wrapping purposes!”

I promptly moved on.

At night the consul came. The captain and the
mates were all dolled up. They had even cleaned their
finger nails. In the cabin the consul was the only one
who was given a napkin. On the skylight sat Nauke
and I. We watched the ducks on the table. We had
brought along a boat hook, waiting for the moment
when the consul should leave.

The consul ate well, but the captain seemed to
have very little appetite. He took only one small
helping of the duck. The two mates held back out ofCRUISE OF THE “C4SAREA”’ 49

politeness. It would have been bad manners for them
to eat more than the captain.

When the duck course was done the captain would
not let the birds be taken away, but kept them in
his sight. When the consul left, the captain had to
escort him to the gangway, but he ushered the mates
out first, so that they would not have a chance
to 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 the
bull’s-eye. We waited till Smutje had gone to his
bunk, and then stole our way to the bull’s-eye. I
reached in. Good luck. The pantry was open. Smutje
must have forgotten to close it. The unfortunate part
of it, however, was that it was the captain who had
left the pantry door open. He had stolen down to
have his fill of ducks, and at this moment was sit-
ting at a table with a bird before him. His back was
turned to the pantry.

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

“My bird!”

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

““Let go that bird,” he howled, twisting my arm.
I let the bird go, and kept silent in spite of the

    
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
   

echt CP etme Re ER Ser ern eit

ete eee ee

epepee tapapaaer pret ee Were a emeeet eeeee

tte er

pt teeedengradeeerny teearererrreye pt ag tekestegte mts ety

Liseee-peeeeepereeseteigigagmemneeneesnnyMnentrhyt giqlamameersatene eter”

ee nee nee eae TOONONOR Pree Dee id

SRN nn nn eer eA iain eee AE ale

rere ent

50 COUNT LUCKNER, THE SEA DEVIL

pain, hoping that he would let me go without learn-
ing who I was. He reached for a rope and spliced my
arm to the brass handle of the drawer. Nauke reached
into my pants pocket and took out the stufhng to
save it from destruction during the coming licking.

The captain came out.

‘Oh, it’s you, Phelax. You don’t like ducks, do
you? But you like the rope’s end.”

With that, he gave me an awful beating with a
rope’s end. I howled, by Joe.

Limping and sore, I went forward to get my share
of 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 the
society of thieves had corrupted the only honest
fellow aboard.

We took on a supply of sausages made out of pem-
mican that were to be sewn up in canvas and white-
washed so they would keep. For this work younger
seamen are used, they being considered more honest
and unspoiled than the older hands. I was not in
line for the job. However, we slipped appropriate
advice to the yeomen on the sly. Broomsticks were
cut up in lengths a trifle shorter than the sausages.
The two ends of sausages were cut off and spliced
to the ends of the pieces of broomstick. The dummies
were then tied up in sail cloth in such a way that the
ends could be inspected. After this they were white-
washed. When the captain carefully counted the
one hundred and sixty sausages and inspected the
unmistakable sausage ends of each one, he said:

“Thank God, boys, that you are still honest.”

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

We contrived to swipe a number of hams out ofCRUISE OF THE “CZSAREA” 51

the galley. The captain accused Smutje, which made
that honest sea cook so indignant that he deserted
the ship at Newcastle. Now there was no cook, no
Smutje. The captain asked for volunteers, but none
came forward. Ships’ cooks as a rule think themselves
indispensable and irreplaceable, and make the sailors
think so, when in fact they often cannot do more than
cook pea soup and fry doughnuts.

“If nobody wants to be the cook,” said the cap-
tain, “I shall have to commandeer one. Phelax, can
you boil water?”

Saves: isin:

“Into the galley, then, and beware if you burn
the peas.”

I did not know how long my new job would last,
so I immediately began to eat until I was ready to
burst. My first pea soup was a great success. I took
care, and, to make myself popular, put in a hambone
and half a bottle of the captain’s red wine. The cap-
tain and the crew all said:

“What a soup, Phelax! You are a master cook.”

The next day the bean soup burned. I had heard
that in a case like that the thing to do was to put
some soda in. I didn’t know how much, so I tried
two handfuls, and then added half a bottle of the
captain’s red wine. The soup still tasted good, and
they said:

“*Phelax, you are a born cook.”

At six bells the soda had done its work, and I was
fired from the galley. The captain was sick for three
days. Nauke was ordered into tne galley, and pro-
ceeded to do pretty well.

Four weeks after Smutje left us, we got him back.
The harbour police found him in a hotel where he
had been hired as a chef. He should have waited
for deserting until the last day before sailing time,

  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
   
 

ere ; ; ert, : ; : a Be oe
- aati « os PORTE eer TY ree ae ere
a 2 ee et eae eee me
eb agave eng gin Peeters hese

Seeeeerere Thera eet ee52 COUNT LUCKNER, THE SEA DEVIL

as most men do when they clear out. There is less
chance of recapture then.

After discharging cargo at Melbourne, we took
on a shipload of Australian coal and set sail for Caleta
Buena in Chile. I’ll never forget that part of the voy-
age, because I managed to pass New Year’s in a Chil-
ean dungeon. After a spree ashore, I determined to
go back to the ship in a certain particular direction.
I went in that direction until I came to a wall. I
climbed over it and fell into a pig sty. Hearing the
grunts of the porkers, the owner of the place, a very
dignified gentleman, came out. I told him I wanted to
go to my ship.

“T will escort you to your ship,” he offered with
grave politeness.

With no less politeness, I accepted his kindness.

He led me to a house, in front of which stood a po-
lice guard. I was astonished, but he invited me to
enter. I did.

“This thief has tried to steal my pigs,” he told the
police officers inside.

“T want to get back to my ship,” I protested.

They threw me into a cell, where there were a
number of others, sailors among them, who had been
celebrating New Year’s Eve too well. I fell asleep
on a bench. I awakened. A woman was being hurled
into the cell. I fell asleep, and when I became con-
scious again, I found that the new arrival had taken
a place beside me, and fallen asleep with her headin
my lap. I raised her from my lap, to place her on the
bench. She yelled, ‘‘ Robadores!—caramba.” The guard
.came in, and the sefora, still shrieking, told him that
I had beaten her. They seized me and threw me down
a dark stairway into a dungeon. I fell over a mule
harness into a pile of saltpetre dust. I put my head
on the harness and fell asleep again.

Sree renee neo tie Lert eoe sree nvere Cte Seatiaaa

Oe aaa cecart a rarer ara SiR TORE eee octal cone

Oral eer

ee ee mma

eer rere tienen tore

enn eer Cren rest cr renter eS ial

Te Prd Emacs bbe Senge n tee.

i
Hi
i
ei
&.
|
nd

éCRUISE OF THE “CA4SAREA” 53

I stayed there, in the company of many very tame
rats, for three days. Then the mate came and got
me out. The captain had been informed on the first
day that I was in the calaboose, but he said:

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

With a cargo of saltpetre, we headed for Ply-
mouth, and off the Falkland Islands were caught in
a dreadful hurricane. At first we were able to run
before the wind. The Cesarea was good at scudding,
a fast boat with the wind behind her. The pull of the
water at the stern varies greatly with different ships.
With some it drags back heavily. With others it falls
readily away. On the other hand, you must not run
before the wind too long, or you may be unable to
heave to at will, and your ship may be overwhelmed
by seas overtaking her from astern and raking her
deck from stern to bow. Well, aboard the Cesarea
we were caught in just this peril. The seas were break-
ing over her. We hung out all the hawsers we had to
catch the waves astern.

Then we reached the centre of the storm. From
that howling hurricane of wind and rain we passed
suddenly into a deathly calm. In the sky above the
stars gleamed down. The sea was like a kettle of boil-
ing water. Stirred up from the outer edges it came
pouring in toward the centre. The danger is greatest
in the vortex of a hurricane. The water rushes upon
the ship from all sides. Lacking wind, the vessel can-
not be steered. It lies helpless and tossing. The rig-
ging cannot forever bear the strain of the tremendous
and convulsive jerking and rolling. We lost our top-
masts and topgallant masts.: ‘théy: Kad:-stopd in
the blasting wind and the head-on plunging of the’
ship, but could not sustain the dizzy, reeling atthe
centre. For a full half hour we stayed in that citcle of

   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
    

ros Pere eee ee  eemieniiaas

ae eee Tene

ee tc = . es eT Perse nEee enna Mee eran Tee
Prete te tree ere wet tere eeseees rest Teens e
oat Were teeeret Te rereee yvcccstoees54 COUNT LUCKNER, THE SEA DEVIL

death, with its peaceful air and starry sky. It seemed
as though the ship were turned inside out. Then,
with a sudden blow, we were in the rush and wild
fury of the wind again. The remainder of the rigging,
now thoroughly weakened, came down, except the
mainmast and its lower yards. The wreckage fell
over the stern and tangled with the rudder. The deck
was flooded and there seemed little hope of our rid-
ing the storm, when, as suddenly as it had burst
upon us, the wind shifted eight points, and soon we
were out of the hurricane.

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

“Phelax, God knows whether we will ever see
each other again. We have been good comrades
ever since that scoundrel stole the flapjacks. You are
an honest fellow. Therefore, let us go ashore and
have a ‘pain expeller.’”

‘All right, Smutje,” said I, and we went ashore.

At a bar the cookie ordered up two big “pain ex-
pellers.”’ The glasses had just been put in front of us,
when I thought to myself, ‘“‘Phelax, if you are an
honest fellow, surely this is the time to show your
honesty.”

““Smutje,” I said, “I know who took your flap-
sacks. <

“You know? Who was it?”

ce Me.”’

one

“Yes, me,” ‘

rere teeeet eaveeeter nee tes Cee rtoooes

Sapenw en a eee enter eiibe reer!

ee ee end

Sete ere k eet are kel res

He took his, stick; took his hat, turned his back on

_ sre; andswalkéd right out, never touching his pain

‘. expeller. I locked at the two glasses, and thought to
mupayselfce 358 P|

  

PN ene = TEL ee nn

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2On board the Cesarea, the skinflint captain and part of his crew,

Phelax Leudige standing fifth from the left.

 

lhe wreck of the Cesavea.

Searraeray ere ren Tete rons

   

Ct
¥The dingy street where
Count Luckner, as “‘Phe-
lax Leudige,” the burly
sailor, had his career as
a bar keeper.

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reer rere rete

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peerteest rete) eto need

The Pinmore on its frightful, devil-ridden voyage.

    

Tee ere erate ereCRUISE OF THE “CESAREA” 55
“Phelax, it is the reward of your honesty. First
for your honesty you get the compote of cranberries.
Now you get two pain expellers instead of one—
for your honesty.”

Eleven years later, as an officer in the Imperial
Navy, I went from Kiel to attend a dinner in Ham-
burg. At the Hamburg railway station, as I called
for a taxi, I heard a voice quite close to me.

“Hello there, Phelax.”’

“Hello, Smutje.”’

‘How have you changed, Phelax! Are you an of-
ficer in the Imperial Navy?”

“Yes, Smutje.”

“How have you changed, Phelax! Do you still re-
member 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 finest
in Hamburg. Bellboys came to open the door and
usher us in. Cookie looked around.

‘This too, Phelax?”

» Yes, Smutyje.”’

‘“How have you changed, Phelax!”

I ordered champagne and cigarettes brought to a
private room. There Smutje and I sat talking over
old times. The waiter brought the wine. Cookie
looked at the waiter’s evening clothes in awe and then
looked at me.

‘‘ How have you changed, Phelax!”’

He essayed to grow friendly with the waiter, and
ventured a familiar, joking remark. But the pompous
waiter disdained to talk to. such a fellow, ignored
him, and turned to me.

“Do you wish anything else, Count?”

    
   
  
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
   
   
   

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emcee,

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Seer rt reenter ny

Sen ewer iis

Perret On nenret t erra

Seer te heeded

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56 COUNT LUCKNER, THE SEA DEVIL

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

““VYes, Smutje.”’

“How have you changed, Phelax!”

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

“You swiped my fourteen pancakes, Phelax. I
haven’t forgotten it. I shall be proud all my life that
a count swiped my pancakes.”

The Cesarea took on a cargo for New York. It
consisted chiefly of chalk packed in barrels. Abaft we
had a load of arsenic, three hundred tons packed in
small barrels, which, because of its great weight,
took up little room. It was a badly stowed, ill-bal-
anced load. Of our new crew, some were sent from
Hamburg and some were signed in England. These
latter were stokers and trimmers who had never
been on a Sailing ship before. They could neither steer
nor 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 Hamburg
cabin boys, whose duty it was to clean the sailors’
quarters, were loath to do this for the green hands
who knew less than they.

The captain had hopes of a fast run to New York,
which certainly seemed an easy jump after our trip
through the latitudes of the hurricanes. But we had
storm after storm from the first day out, and could
make scarcely any headway at all. With our worth-
less crew, it was particularly miserable and trying.
Christmas came, and with it the first fine weather

and a fair wind. After a long time, we could set the
topgallant sails again. It was fine to see the deck dry
once more. The captain said:

“This is a sign from God. Let us celebrate Chnist-

mas properly.”CRUISE OF THE “C4SAREA” 57

So thankful was he that the old skinflint gave or-
ders for Christmas cheer regardless of expense. In
sailor fashion, we made a Christmas tree out Of 4
broomstick 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 on
him to wish him a Merry Christmas and invite him
to look at the tree. He accepted, and came down
jovial and merry. Our new Smutje brought the flow-
ing bowl, 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 it
coming. It hit us square on the bow. The ship shiv-
ered from one end to the other, and was pushed stern-
wise. [he foremast went overboard. Its yard smashed
upon my bunk. The main topmast followed. Every-
thing went to pieces. Only the lower masts remained.
We tumbled on deck. The captain ran to the steering
wheel, where the helmsman had been knocked down
and could not get up. (He died two days later.) The
combers were sweeping over the ship. With axes we

cut away the wreckage. The sails on the lower yards,
the only ones that were in place, had to be braced
into the wind. In four hours we had the ship under
control again. The green crew had hidden themselves
below. We were so enraged with them now that they
did not dare to show their faces.

The storm turned into a hurricane. It blew through-
out Christmas night and the next day. On the second
afternoon of the storm, at eight bells, the steerage
deck broke under the heavy load of arsenic. That
broke 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 several

 
   
 
   
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
  
 
 
  
 
   

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58 COUNT LUCKNER, THE SEA DEVIL

days most of us were badly swollen and bloated.
Nevertheless, the arsenic was stowed again.

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

“Clear the pumps!”’

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

“‘Grog ahoy!”’

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

A breaker came over the deck and swept away the
galley. The cookie was making coffee for us and
warming himself at the fire. He went overboard with
his stove, pots, pans, and the coal box. He hung for
a moment on the chimney, crying out for help at the
top of his voice. There was no chance to save him. An
old sailmaker next to me shouted:

“Smutje, you're all right. You've got plenty of
coal 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 were
at the end of our rope. The constant drink, too, had
worn us out. We could pump no longer. The captain,
harpoon in hand, threatened:

“The one who stops pumping, [’ll harpoon him.”

A voice from abaft sang out:

“Look out! Breaker!”

At the pumps we could not see the comber, but we
heard it roaring. It broke over us. Six men were
swept away from the pumps. Two were washed
straight overboard. A third was thrown against the

shrouds. His arm was smashed, and then he wasCRUISE OF THE “CESAREA” 59

washed overboard. Another’s skull was fractured.
Still another was left on the deck in a heap with
several broken bones. I was lucky. There were sev-
eral timbers on the deck. I braced myself with one
foot between two of them. The wave drove them
together and pinned my foot. I fell, and my leg
snapped. The timbers still held my foot, while the
switling water tugged and twisted me as though it
were determined to carry me into the sea.

The mate released me with a crowbar, and the
captain had me taken to his cabin. My leg was bent
like an L.

““We have lost seven men,” he said, “and we can-
not afford to lose another. Carpenter!”

They tied me to one wall and fastened a block
and tackle to the drawer of the sideboard. They
hitched the tackle to the foot of my broken leg, and
pulled slowly until the leg was straight and the bones
in place. By Joe, it hurt. The carpenter measured me
and made a pair of splints, which they fastened
tightly to the leg. The splints were long enough to
act as a wooden leg, and I could walk around, pain-
fully, but enough to be of some use.

The Cesarea was sinking now. We cleared the life-
boats. But first we poured out oil to calm the sea.
The boats were swung overboard and lowered into
the water with long fopes attached to them. A man
tied a rope around his body, jumped overboard,and
swam over to the boat and climbed in. The next one
foll-wed and was hauled in by the first one. They
tied a rope to me and threw it to the men in a boat.
Then they threw me overboard, and the men pulled
me to the boat. One boat was under the command of
the captain. The first mate had the other. We could
make no headway rowing, so we siniply held the boats
against the heavy sea to keep them trom overturning.

   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   
  

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60 COUNT LUCKNER, THE SEA DEVIL

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 little
hardtack soaked with salt water, and a small supply
of fresh water. It was bitterly cold. What wood we
might have burned was soaking wet. It was almost
impossible to sleep. On the fourth day, we sighted a
steamer. Its course would take it some distance away
from us, but we were certain that we could hail it.
With great jubilation, we hoisted a pair of pants on a
mast as a signal. We were certain we saw the vessel
change its course. We were overjoyed. Nevertheless,
the steamer gradually disappeared.

All our food was gone now, and only a very little
water was left, which the captain, with an inflexible
will, doled out in minute quantities. The weather was
fair now, and we could sleep. Our thirst increased. We
sucked our hands to start the spittle in our mouths.
We wanted to drink sea water, knowing that it would
hasten 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 deter-
mine which one should be sacrificed so the others
might drink his blood. No one proposed a start of
the drawing of lots, each afraid that he would draw
the fatal number. The authority of the captain still
preserved a remnant of drinking water to be doled
out. Late in the afternoon, we defied him, seized the
water, and drank the last drop.

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

At that moment our last strength left us. We were
delirious with joy, but we could not move. We lay
slumped in our boat. The ship, the Italian steamerCRUISE OF THE “CHSAREA” 61

Maracaibo, came alongside, and dropped rope lad-
ders. We were as if asleep. The Maracaibo had to get
its cranes out and hoist us aboard like pieces of
freight. Afterward, we were unable to remember how
we had reached the steamer’s deck. We slept for
sixteen hours. When we awakened, all the doctor
would give us was a little milk. Three of our men
died. In New York, where we arrived the next day,
they went ashore and gorged on ham and eggs. It
killed them.

I was taken to the German hospital. My leg was in
such condition that at first they thought they would
have to amputate it, but finally the head surgeon
decided that he might be able to save it, and he did
save it. After eight weeks I left the hospital and was
ready to go to sea again.

    
  
 
 
 
  
  
  
  
   

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THE BEACH COMBER’S ADVENTURE
WITH THE PANTHER

Tue leg I had broken aboard the Caesarea was
scarcely well knit when I broke the other leg. This
was after I had shipped on the Flying Fish. But let me
jump ahead a few years and tell you this tale exactly
as I related it to the Emperor. That was after I had
realized my boyhood ambition and become a lieuten-
ant commander in the Imperial Navy.

H. M. S. Kaiser was one of the proudest ships of
the German Navy. She was always kept spick and
span. You can bet that she was shining now. His
Majesty was aboard for a visit. We sat in the saloon
after dinner, smoking, drinking, talking. For several
days the Kaiser had amused himself by having me tell
stories of my adventures before the mast. To-night
the Emperor said to me:

“Tuckner, what was your worst experience?”

I thought of the fight with the albatross, the scurvy
and beri-beri aboard the Pinmore, the flogging at the
rope’s end aboard the Caesarea, the three days in the
dungeon in Chile, the setting of my broken leg with
block and tackle, the plan to draw lots and see whose
blood would be drunk in the drifting lifeboat.

“My worst time, Your Majesty! It was aboard
Your Majesty’s ship, the Panther.”

The Panther was a small ship but a memorable one
62

ae ne een tea ere

ee er en enn

ee reek eee are ta

en er. ee oe

bet os aol ee ae eS Serene Sate herieeet ae ha aedTHE BEACH COMBER’S ADVENTURE 63

in the German Navy. You will recall that it was the
part she played in the Tangier dispute of 1908 that
nearly brought on a world war at that time.

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

“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 of
lumber. We had already entered the harbour of Kings-
ton when the wind left us. While we were becalmed,
we made ready for discharging the cargo. The ship
lurched with a slight but unexpected roll. A beam
slipped and fell against my leg. The bone snapped
just above the ankle. They took me to a hospital
ashore. On German ships, the owner is responsible
for all accidents aboard, but on Canadian ships, you
pay your own hospital bills.

“How much money have you?” they asked me at
the hospital.

I replied that I had six pounds coming to me from
the ship, which, according to regulations, the captain
would deposit for me with the German consul, to-
gether with whatever articles of property I had
on the ship. The hospital was not expensive, and the
surgeon said the money would be enough.

Three weeks after I entered the hospital, they sent
to the German Consulate for my money. Only three
pounds was to my credit there. The captain of the
Flying Fish had sailed away, taking half of my
money with him. None of my belongings were at the
Consulate either. He hadn’t even bothered to leave
them for me. At the hospital, they called me a liar
and threw me out into the street. The plaster cast was
still on my leg and foot. For clothing I had only what

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64 COUNT LUCKNER, THE SEA DEVIL

I had worn to the hospital, trousers, jacket, and one
boot.

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

‘“‘Phelax,” I said to myself, ““you must go to the
ocean. It is your element. You must go to the
beach.”

I went to the sandy shore and lay there. When
night came, I buried myself in the sand and slept all
right, slept well. In the morning, I was half starved.
I found some cocoanuts. Although terrible food for
an empty stomach, I tried to eat them. While sitting
there wondering what would become of me, a steamer
arrived.

‘“Phelax,” I said, ‘‘you are a sailor and there is a
ship.”

I took my stick and hobbled along the beach and
down the long pier. The ship was a British collier,
and they were making ready to unload coal. I went
to the mate, told him what had happened to me, and
asked him for a chance. The plaster cast was still on,
and below my trouser leg my huge white foot looked
like a club. In the hospital, I hadn’t had a haircut or a
shave. My hair was long and matted. My beard was
half grown. My face was burned red from lying in
the 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 found
an empty bag. I was glad to have any new possession,
even a gunny bag. I washed it out on the beach, and
at night used it for a pillow. I still had my sheathTHE BEACH COMBER’S ADVENTURE 6x

S

knife, and a Negro helped me cut the plaster cast
from my leg and foot. Half of the skin went with it.
The tropical sun burned the raw flesh until it swelled
and ached dreadfully. The coal sack did me good
service now. I stepped into it and wrapped the rest of
it around my leg. It was a stocking and a shoe for me.

I saw a Negro cutting bamboo and gave him a
hand. He took me to his hut and handed me sixpence
and some maize to eat. It was cooked and warm.
For days I had had only cocoanuts to eat. It was
delicious. 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 looked
at me just like the mate of that collier had done. Al-
though he wouldn’t have me in his hut, he said I
might sleep in an old shanty covered with palm
leaves where he kept his tools. It was dry, but all
night I could hear cockroaches running around, on
the walls, on the palm leaves, and big rats chasing
them. Whenever I fell off to sleep, they ran over my
face. Next morning the Negro gave me cooked maize
again, and then we went out to cut bamboo.

Over the bay I saw a white boat, a wonderful white
boat. It looked like a yacht. Oh, by Joe, if I ‘could
only get a chance on a beautiful boat like that. I
hobbled down to the pier. The boat was coming in.
It was a warship. Then I recognized the flag, the
German flag. It was the Panther, the first German
warship I had ever seen. It was so white and clean,
oh, home, so white and clean! I was miserable and
hungry, and there were my countrymen, a warship
of my country. I felt my tangled beard and my long
tangled hair. I looked down at my tattered clothes
and the coal sack on my foot. Could I go to my
country’s ship looking as I did? I only stood and
watched. Four officers in white uniforms came down

     
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
   
 

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66 COUNT LUCKNER, THE SEA DEVIL

the gangway and down the pier. I went toward them
to hear the sound of German, and when I heard it I
was never so ashamed of myself. They passed near
me, but did not look at me.

“Phelax,” I said, “that was what you might have
been if you had stayed at home and studied those
lessons.”

I felt I could not look at the Panther any longer,
and went wandering miserably around the town. It
was dark. Three or four sailors came down the
street. They were talking and laughing. One of them,
a gigantic fellow, spoke in broad Saxon. When I heard
my native dialect, I thought to myself: “In the dark-
ness nobody can see how you look. It would be good
to talk a few words in Saxon.”

“Hello, Landsmann,” I sang out, and I never let

myself go so broadly in the Saxon dialect as I did
then.

He stopped and talked with me. He was a stoker
on 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 end
of the pier at six bells. I have no more time now. |
must go back on board.”

I was at the end of the pier fifteen minutes ahead
of time. The Saxon came off the ship and gave me a
great 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 on
the beach eating that bread. I nibbled it in slow bites
so 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 haveTHE BEACH COMBER’S ADVENTURE 67

coffee and cakes aboard. Come aboard the Panther
at half-past three to-morrow, and have coffee and
cakes.”

‘“‘By Joe, mate, can I come aboard a German war-
ship like this?”

“‘Never mind, boy, we'll receive you.’”’ And he
persuaded me to do what | wanted to do more than
anything else.

When the sun rose the next morning, I started to
make my toilet. The beach was my dressing room.
The ocean was both mirror and wash basin. I scrubbed
my hands and face with sand and water. I ran
my fingers through my hair and beard, trying to comb
them. I tried to smoothe the wrinkles out of my coat
and trousers. | tucked the coal bag around my leg
and foot fifty times, to make it look its best. I sneaked
on board like a criminal. The sailors gave me a good
reception. Everybody sat on benches, and had coffee
and cake. There was a cannon under a tarpaulin. I
tried to get a glimpse of it. I was bashful and ill at
ease. I felt as though I was among rich people in a
mansion.

The young officer of the watch passed and saw me.
The sailors jumped up, and stood at attention. |
stood up, putting the foot with the coal sack behind
the other one to hide it. The officer called the boat-
swain.

“In the future,” he said, “I want you to see that
no such tramps get aboard. Throw this unspeakable
creature off.

“Get out of here,” yelled the boatswain.

I slunk across the deck to the gangplank like a
beaten dog. I had seen this beautiful ship. I had seen
a German warship for the first time. Poor castaway
that I was, the sailors had welcomed me aboard.
Holy feelings had been aroused in me. And now...Sn aaa Letina ed ane eee Re ted th Dis ba babel ieee

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68 COUNT LUCKNER, THE SEA DEVIL

I heard the sailors mutter. One of them said quietly
to 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. At
eight bells on the pier.”

At eight bells on the pier they brought me the
boatswain’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 the
pier and cut my hair. My long hair fell down into the
water. Then he shaved me. I could scarcely wait till
morning to dress. Every article of my new clothes
that I put on made me feel more like a millionaire,
and when I threw away my coal bag and put on those
fine shoes, I walked like the finest dandy in Berlin.

I went to the captain in charge of the piers. My
smart clothes got for me an excellent post as dock
inspector. After a month I went to sea again. With
my dock inspector’s recommendation, I got a good
berth on the Nova Scotia, running between the West
Indian islands.

The Kaiser listened to the story attentively, and
when I had finished he looked queerly at the other
officers. There was a twinkle in his eye.

“Tt would be appropriate and poetic,”’ he said, “if
Luckner went back to the Panther now.”

So, a few months later, by order of the Emperor, I
was transferred to the Panther, which was stationed
in the Cameroons. I went down to Africa, and the
moment I boarded the Panther I went to the fo’c’sle.
None of the men I had seen there before were on the
ship. It was the custom to transfer officers and crews
every three years. I looked around, half expecting to
see poor tattered Phelax sitting there somewhere. ITHE BEACH COMBER’S ADVENTURE 69
sat down where I sat before. Although an officer now
in a trim, white uniform with gold braid, in reality I
was 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 smart
shoe. I leaned back and dreamed of the coal bag.

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

Tuar’s a sailor’s life, glorious one day, miserable
the next. I went on month after month drinking
down in deep draughts the experience of the sea. A
heady drink it is.

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

“Hans, my boy, look at that rig. What would your
sweetheart in Diisseldorf say if she saw you in that?”
Mail-order catalogues are thoroughly thumbed.

“What! a gramophone like that for forty marks? I
must 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 you
can see the Alps from there.”

The homegoings are anticipated with elaborate
talk.

“Won't the old woman be glad to see me, parti-

7OPITFALLS FOR THE SATEOR 71

cularly when I unwrap that silk dress I bought for
her in Singapore.”

The most disagreeable thing that can happen
aboard a sailing vessel is to be becalmed on the
homeward voyage, and the nearer the home port the
more irritating it is. The captain begins to look for a
Jonah. The first unfortunate for him to vent his rage
upon is the helmsman. Nothing he does is right.
The skipper is certain that as long as that hoodoo is
at the wheel there will never be any wind. He is
driving it away. Taking the helm himself, however,
seems to do no good. He calls the youngest cabin boy
and orders him to scratch the mainmast, which is
supposed to bring wind. When this does not help,
he gives the boy a broom and chases him to the top
of the mainmast, to sweep the sky. Then he takes
either an old pair of pants or an old boot and throws
it overboard. Wind must certainly come now. He
stamps down to his cabin and sits and smokes for a
while awaiting the wind. When he returns to the deck,
the calm is still unbroken. He starts in with the helms-
man again, angered by the leering grin on the face of
the Jonah.

“Here, Jan, you are such a fine fellow. You take the
helm, 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 can
see a slight curling of the water. A slight breeze is
coming.

‘Jan, what did I tell you? You shall have half a
pound of tobacco.”

The other sailors watch these manceuvres with pro-
found sympathy.

On shore everything is different from what Jack
Tar expected. He has had the experience a hundred
times, but he always has it again. The crowds do not

   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
   
 

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72 COUNT LUCKNER, THE SEA DEVIL

give companionship. Everything is too much in a
hurry. What people talk about does not interest
him. He is out of touch with things. Besides, people
do not sit and talk except for a little while. Someone
always interrupts, or people grow impatient and go
away, too much in a hurry. Jack Tar misses the usual
hour for intimate conversation, on watch at night.
The sea heaves slowly. The stars are bright above.
The ship follows her course. Conversation is never
interrupted by outsiders, and you can talk as long
as the watch lasts.

Jack Tar is ever a mark for thieves. Aboard ship
the comradeship of man with man will not tolerate
dishonesty. A theft between shipmates is the worst
of crimes. No sea chest is ever locked. On land Jack
Tar likes bright lights and gaieties, and there, for
some reason, a great abundance of swindlers are
found to take him in. You go about Sankt Pauli, all
sails set. You join a group and find that a horse has
fallen down and broken its leg. You hear a groan.
You turn around, and somebody says:

“Please, young man, can’t you tell me the shortest
way to a pawn shop?”

“ A pawn shop? I don’t know of any.”

“That is too bad. I am forced to pawn the last
heirloom from my dear mother.”

“What is it?”

“A diamond ring.”

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

“T beg your pardon for having been curious enough
to listen to your conversation. It is luck for you that
I happen to be a jeweller. I should not like to see you
taken advantage of. Real diamond rings are seldom
offered in the streets.”PITFALLS FOR THE SAILOR

The first fellow gets mad:

“Do you think I would try to cheat anyone with
the ring that belonged to my sainted mother?”

“I have nothing to do with you. I am trying to
protect 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 whispers
again. “It is valuable. Give him twenty marks for it
to get it quickly. Then follow me to my store, and
I will give you a hundred.”

Delighted at the opportunity to make some money
on land, I give the man twenty marks for the ring.
He hurries away. I look for the jeweller, whom I am
to follow. Hehas disappeared. At abona fide jeweller’s
I am told:

“It is a rhinestone, not a bad value for three
marks.”*

Tedje and I take in the Hamburg Dom. From the
rows 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 what
nobody ever saw or ate.”

~ What is it?’ Tedje demands cautiously.

“Step in, and you will hear a canary bird talking
Plattdeutsch, Low German. Five hundred marks
reward if the bird does not talk Plattdeutsch.”

We have never heard a canary bird talking any
language, least of all Plattdeutsch. We join the
crowd going in.

A canary bird in a cage is brought on to the plat-
form. An elegantly dressed gentleman announces:

73

   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
  
  
 
 
  
  
  
 
   
   
 
   

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74 COUNT LUCKNER, THE SEA DEVIL

“Permit me to introduce this bird to you. His
name is Hans.”

‘Never mind,” shouts a sailor, ““we want to hear
him talk Deutsch.”

“You will hear him, gentlemen. Hans—” and now
he speaks in the Plattdeutsch dialect—‘‘ Hans, tell
me what I should smoke, a cigar or a pipe.” He
pronounces the word pipe as “peep,” in Plattdeutsch
fashion.

In response the canary bird twitters:

«é Peep.”

“There, you see, gentlemen, the bird has talked
Plattdeutsch.”

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

Perhaps Jack Tar gets engaged to be married to
the daughter of a “crimp.” That costs him all his
money. Or he gets drunk and everything is taken
away 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 Hamburg
water front, merely asks in turn:

“Did you get your gramophone?”

Although the North Sea may not be exactly the
sailor’s friend, the disillusioned tars are glad when
sail is raised and they see water all around them once
more.

At sea the sailor is on terms of intimacy with na-
ture. He is friendly with the stars. He understands
the clouds, and upon them he relies to tell him about
the weather. He knows most of the fishes he encoun-
ters, although there are very few kinds that can be
caught with hook and line from deck. When a school
of porpoises appears, the command comes:PITFALLS FOR THE SAILOR as

“Get the harpoons ready!”

It takes a skilful harpooner to overhual a por-
poise on its darting, leaping course. When one is
taken, there is great rejoicing. Fresh meat will be
served on board.

Near the Cape of Good Hope, Cape Horn, and the
Falkland Isles you encounter many birds, albatross,
cape pigeons, mulehogs, and all varieties of gulls.
They feed on the waste thrown overboard and escort
the ship halfway to Australia. You greet them as old
friends whom you met a year ago and are glad to see
back again. The gull and albatross are regarded as
sacred, for it is the belief of the seaman that some
day he will return to earth as a gull or albatross. Each
one of these birds is the soul of a seaman. The white
gulls are good souls. The brown or black gulls are bad
souls, the “‘sea devils.”” When you are running before
the trade wind south of the equator, the appearance
of the albatross is a great event in the monotony
of the voyage. Majestically the great white bird
sweeps up and down, now before the bow now behind
the stern, and circles the ship. He is the ruler of the
Southern seas. It is a common belief among seamen
that nobody ever succeeded in bringing an albatross
alive to the Northern Hemisphere.

Sometimes off the coast of Africa hundreds of
swallows that have lost their way in a fog alight on a
ship’s rigging, exhausted. Sometimes dozens of storks
do. They never rise again. There is no suitable food
on board for them. It is pitiful to see them waste
away and drop dead on deck or into the sea. There is
no help for it. They die a seaman’s death, like sailors
adrift without food or water.

Our ship lay idle in Tampico. A comrade and | got
shore leave. We were allured by the romantic life of
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76 COUNT LUCKNER, THE SEA DEVIL
horned cattle, their fiery broncos, their silver-
mounted saddles. A German settler put two horses
at our disposal, and, to shame the idea that sailors
cannot ride, we went galloping around the country
on a tour that lasted several days. When we returned
to Tampico, our ship had sailed.

In a country so rich as Mexico, it was not hard to
make a living. All you had to do was to stand around
the market-place and lend a hand. You earned
enough to live and had a few coins left to squander in

the gambling houses. For a couple of weeks, we made
our living by carrying market baskets.

We joined the Mexican Army. Anybody could be-
come a soldier. Life was pleasant and lazy, although
the quarters were poor. We were sent to Mexico City,
and there for several days stood on guard at the
palace of the great Porfirio Diaz, under whose dic-
tatorship Mexico was then enjoying her golden days.

We quit the army and worked on a railroad con-
struction in the interior. In a gang of Italians, Poles,
Germans, and Jamaica Negroes we transported sand,
soil, and materials for railroad trestles. Then we
worked for a German who had a ranch on which he
raised poultry and fruit.

At Vera Cruz we signed on a petroleum tanker for
Havana, and there shipped on a Norwegian craft
which made the old New York—Australia run. The
return voyage was via Honolulu to Vancouver,
where we took a cargo of lumber aboard for Liver-
pool. On this voyage I acquired a fair knowledge of
Norwegian, w hich was destined to play an important
part in running the British blockade with the
Seeadler.

Back in Hamburg I tried my hand as a tavern
keeper and bartender. I frequented Mother Schroth’s
familiar old place. The Frau, a typical old friend ofPITFALLS FOR THE SAILOR HT.

Jack Tar ashore, suffered from asthma and had put
on too much weight altogether. She wanted to go to a
watering place. One of my pals, Ulhorn, and I, told
her that we would take over her place and run it
while she was away. She was greatly pleased.

It was easy enough to run the business, as only
bottled beer was handled, The food was brought
from a near-by restaurant, each portion in a pail,
at sixty pfennigs a portion. All Ulhorn and I had to
do was to circulate among the guests and see that
they drank plenty of beer by drinking with them.
In the evening a blind man came and played the
accordion.

Business boomed. The sailors came, and felt at
home. We had to get in an extra supply of beer.
When we reckoned our accounts, however, we were
astonished to find that we had a deficit. We chalked
on 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 our
guests to assist in the bookkeeping. They chalked up
their own accounts, but instead of increasing their
scores with every bottle of beer they drank, they re-
duced them. After a short while at this, we quit with
less money than when we started. I decided that the
saloon business was not the career for me.

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

    
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
   
 

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IX
THE RUNAWAY COMES HOME

In tHE Café Niederegger in Liibeck I sat and drank
my glass of beer, a trifle self-conscious. I had regis-
tered in Professor Schultze’s School for Navigation,
and felt that as a navigation student it was required
of me to affect better ways than I had followed when
I 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,
‘nstead of the eternally enduring celluloid collar
which you share on board with a friend who wants to
go ashore, and the indestructible tin necktie, made in
America, with the scarfpin, a tiny revolver, riveted
to it. | was conscious likewise that I must frequent
better cafés than the saloons I had frolicked in as a
sailor. That was what had brought me to the Café
Niederegger, famous for its almond paste. The tables
were covered with spotless white cloths, the waiters
wore frock coats, and on a table, as a final mark of
elegance, lay a handsomely bound book, the Al-
manach de Gotha.

Overcome with curiosity, I took up the volume and
turned to the L’s. Yes, there were the Von Luckners,
and there was Count Felix von Luckner with the
note attached—‘“ missing.” That was as I had
thought. At home they had given me up for lost,
dead.

“Phelax,” I thought, “perhaps it is you who will be

78THE RUNAWAY COMES HOME 79

missing before long. Perhaps before many months
are gone Count Felix von Luckner will go home—as a
naval officer in the Imperial Service.”

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

At Professor Schultze’s school, I was faced with
that old and almost forgotten enemy of mine—study.
I was past twenty now and more ignorant than the
average ten-year-old child. The professor was toler-
ant and wise enough to expect almost anything, but
I astounded him. When he examined me in frac-
tional arithmetic 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 I
Was to acquire grammatical German, something of
a general education, and the large amount of higher
mathematics and astronomy necessary in the science
of navigation. I should not have blamed the professor
if he had despaired and turned me away. I told him
my history, begging him to keep my identity secret,
and he vowed, by Joe, that he would make a learned
navigator of me.

I lived quietly. My face lost its tan and roughness.
Month after month I had to buy smaller collars. I
tried especially to keep my hands clean. By and by
they lost their tarry wrinkles and calluses. [ studied
from morning till night. To reduce something to a
common denominator 1s no joke. The whole Schultze
family helped me and shared in my worries.

Examination day came, with all the professors in
full dress. My handwriting was still clumsy. With
my hard, big hands I used the bulkiest penholder J
could Bac It was as thick as a cane, an instrument
designed for victims of apoplectic stroke who would
have to grasp it with both hands.

Early one morning, a good citizen of Lubeck went

    
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   
    
    

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80 COUNT LUCKNER, THE SEA DEVIL

out to water his garden and saw a navigation student
lying among his tomatoes.

“What are you doing there?”

The wretch, not knowing what to answer, merely
asked in turn:

‘‘What are you watering?”

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

Again I was tempted to- rush straightway to my
parents. Professor Schultze had investigated quietly
on his own account and found that my father and
mother were alive and well and that my brother, like
myself, had turned his mind to the sea. He was an
ensign in the navy. Once more I denied myself, and
remembered my vow not to go home save as a naval
officer.

I got a post as petty officer aboard the Hamburg-
South American liner Petropolis. I bought white
kid gloves and white shoes, and can still see myself
buying my first pair of cuff links. As I promenaded
the deck of the Petropolis in my new uniform, I felt
myself a god, only my cuffs kept bothering me and
saluting seemed queer. I read all the learned books |
could find, but there was much I could not under-
stand.

After three quarters of a year aboard the Petropolis,
I was eligible to enter the navy as a one-year service
volunteer, for naval training and study. That was a
method of training mercantile marine officers for
naval service in case of war, of creating a class of
reserve officers. After I had served my year as a
volunteer and had mastered my studies, I would be
entitled to wear a lieutenant’s uniform. I would
walk out a naval officer in the Imperial Service.

A comrade and I took the railroad from Hamburg
to Kiel to be mustered in for volunteer service. ItTHE RUNAWAY COMES HOME SI

was the first time I had ever been in an expensive
railroad compartment. Opposite us sat a gentle-
man with a pointed beard whom we took to be a
naval officer. [hat made us behave in very dignified
fashion.

“Luckner,” said my comrade, “is it not a fine
view!”

“It is, indeed,” I replied.

The gentleman with the pointed beard looked at
me several times.

The daily drill at slow step on the parade ground
at Kiel gave me a great deal of pain in the “places
where my legs had been broken before. An orderly
came looking for a volunteer private named Luckner.
I was required to go to the station. My officer asked
me 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 an ante-
room. A corporal bade me enter an inner office.
Admiral Count Baudissin wanted to see me. How was
I to behave in the presence of such a high dignitary?
I supposed the principal thing was to stand at atten-
tion. The admiral was seated. He had gold braid on
his sleeves. He was the same gentleman with the
pointed beard who had looked at me on the train. I
stood there at attention, elbows and hands held tight
against me.

“Tell me, which Luckner are you?”

“The son of Heinrich Luckner.”

“What is your first name?”

_ Fel lize

“He is missing.’

> eam that ne Sire:

“How did you get here?”

2 hee

I have passed my examination as mate, whichPepesrerceess

82 COUNT LUCKNER, THE SEA DEVIL

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   

entitles me to volunteer service. I hope to become a
reserve officer through good behaviour.”

“How do you expect to pay your way?”

“T have 3,400 marks.”’

“You have earned that much?”

RES STIs

‘Why did you not write to your parents?”

“T want to go home an ofhcer in the Emperor's
service. I did not write because I did not want my
parents to know I was a common sailor. I don’t
want them to know until I return home an officer.”

Then the admiral said:

“T am your uncle Fritz.’

“Eh,” I thought, “what a noble uncle!”

I had never heard of this relationship. I rolled my
eyes right and left, not knowing whether to address
the admiral as Uncle then and there.

“Your Excellency,” I said, ‘I wish it could be ar-
ranged that my parents do not learn of my being here
until I have qualified as a reserve officer.”

“Very well,” he answered, “but you must not ex-
pect any help from me.”

Not being able to say “Uncle,” I replied:

PANO; SI

“‘Do not in any sense think that you are under my
protection.”

“No, sir.”

“By the way, Felix, you may come to my house
twice a week. My daughter will teach you a little, my
lad. You speak a dreadful German.”’

I had considered myself, after all my studies, a
tolerably educated man, but lapses in grammar have
been my bane, more than storms at sea or shell fire
during the war.

In the admiral’s family, as a side line to my gram-

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PiTHE RUNAWAY COMES HOME 83
matical studies, I was required to write out a history
of my adventures, which I did with judicious omis-
sions, such as service in the Salvation Army and
stealing a horse from a lighthouse-keeper. Such details
would have spoiled my career at the outset.

I soon felt at home in the navy. There was a
tremendous amount of studying to be done in
mechanics, engineering, and the mathematics of
gunnery. I was beginning to get used to study, as a
slave gets used to the treadmill.

One day I tried to prevent a boat collision, and
was too confident of my strength, alas. I was forced
against an iron support, which pierced my abdomen
and tore my intestines twice. That sent me to the
hospital for a long spell. I was convalescing. A visitor
brought 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 band-
age. My imprudent act had caused a breaking of the
intestines where they had been sewn. It was neces-
sary to sew them again. I was threatened with arrest
when [| got well again, and a guard was placed over
my bed to see that I ate no more plums.

Instead of arrest, however, and possible trouble
about getting my commission, the naval authorities
were kind enough to credit me with the time I passed
in the hospital. In due time, I was mustered in as a
reserve naval lieutenant. I called on my Uncle Fritz
once more, and started out for home. I wore my uni-
form, a cocked 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 climbed
the steps to the door, quite a figure in my brilliant
uniform. To the maid, whom I did not know, I

 

    
 
 
 
 
  
   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 

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84 COUNT LUCKNER, THE SEA DEVIL

handed my visiting card, which she took inside. |
heard the well remembered voice of the old gentle-
man questioning:

“Naval Lieutenant Felix Luckner? There is no
such man of our name. But show him in.”

T entered and said:

‘““Good-morning, Father. I hope [ have kept my
word to wear the Emperor’s uniform with honour.”

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

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

Where had I been? What had I done? There were
so many questions that I could not answer half. We
sat there, and I told as much as I could. Soon the
old gentleman had gathered his wits. He began to
boast.

“You see, my dear wife. Did I not always tell you
‘He is a Luckner—he will amount to something—do
not worry about him’? Behold I was right. He 1s a
Luckner.”’

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

FROM PIG-STY CLEANER TO KAISER’S PROTEGE

Mors studying and then more studying. It seemed
as though I never would get through. I served as a
mate with the Hamburg-American Line for two
years, and prepared myself for the captain’s examina-
tion. More mathematics, more astronomy, more
mechanics. I plugged and plugged. Study is no good,
but you've got to do it. Finally, I was ready for the
test. I went to a school for a little more preparation,
and succeeded in passing the examination with
flying colours. I was proud, but I was also glad that
there would be no more studying for me now. I was
eligible to become a captain. What further rank was
there to make me study again? I served the Ham-
burg-American Line until 1911.

Then more school and studies!

I often spent an afternoon with several comrades
sailing on the lower Etbe near Neumuehlen. One day
we saw a small catboat and in it a man who obviously
did not know how to sail. He was, in fact, a merchant
of 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. I
swam and dove for him. I got hold of him and
pushed him up above me, so that he would reach the
surface before I did. When I came up he seized
me, wound his arms and legs around me, and dragged

85

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me down. I struggled free, and everything turned
black. I came to the surface, caught my breath, and
dove again for him. I reached him, but an eddying
current dragged us both down and down. Luckily,
he was unconscious now, and I was able to grasp
him and fight my way with him to the surface. [|
swam with my burden to shore. I was in reaching dis-
tance of the pier when I collapsed. Men waiting there
pulled the drowning man out. An old gentleman
claims he fished me out with his umbrella.

A week later, I was called before the authorities
who awarded life-saving medals. They asked me to
produce witness of my life-saving feat. That formal-
ity was 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 three
other people from drowning, and then a fifth. That
occurred on Christmas Eve, rg1t. I attended a cele-
bration in Hamburg, and returned late to get aboard
my ship, the Meteor. I waited on the slip for the
ferry. Next to me stood a customs official. It was
bitterly cold. In the flickering light I saw a man in the
water some distance out. He was struggling faintly.
I started to throw off my great-coat. The customs
official held me.

“Are you crazy? Into that icy water? Is it not
enough for one man to drown?”

“But surely I cannot let that man go down.”

I slipped out of my overcoat, which he held, and
jumped. By Joe, when I was in there I had the sensa-
tion of somebody holding a red-hot wire around my
neck. After a hard swim, I reached my man. It was
lucky for him that it was so cold and that he was so
drunk. He was perfectly rigid now. If you lie still,

you don’t drown easily. It was no trouble to swim in

eee ptmenet treet ete enene se mn

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= ene ae Meenas it Dl be oe te

OPT artes MOL Seier et ett TEED a eeeKAISER’S PROTEGE 87

with him, except that it was so cold. The customs
man pulled us on to the pier. I could never have got
up alone.

“What a crazy fool,” the customs man said. “If
I had not been here you would have jumped in just
the same, and you would have drowned.”’

They took us to a saloon, where they put us be-
tween blankets and gave us grog. I soon got my
strength back, likewise my man, an English sailor
named Pearson. He soon had his second load of
liquor.

After that exploit, the Hamburg newspapers
made much of me, particularly since I still refused to
bother about producing the witnesses necessary
before I could get a life-saving medal. The editors
denounced this instance of red tape. The controversy
came to the notice of Prince Henry of Prussia. A
little while later, when I took part in the yearly
manceuvres for reserve officers, I received an order to
appear before him, and he asked me whether I should
like to enter active service. That, I replied, was my
greatest desire, but I was afraid I was too old. He
kindly bade me not to worry about that, and on
February 3, 1912, I received the official dispatch:

“Count Luckner is ordered to the navy for active
service.”

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

After an infantry course came a torpedo course. A
torpedo has a thousand complexities for the studentPenne ea eee reeeeereeee ere renee

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88 COUNT LUCKNER, THE SEA DEVIL

to master. There were four kinds of torpedoes. One
had a hundred and fifty screws. You had to memorize
the names of all the parts and familiarize yourself
with the apparatus so well that you could put it to-
gether without help.

“Tuckner,” I thought, “you will never learn all
that. You are as stupid as when you were in the third
grade.”

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

One of my teachers was Lieutenant Commander
Pochhammer, whose father was a professor of Italian
literature. His especial subject was Dante. He gave
lectures to the naval students on the Divine Comedy.
Strange, I hated study, but I liked these lectures on
Dante and I liked to study Dante. I did not under-
stand much of it, but I found great pleasure in It.
It was because of Beatrice, the Divine Maiden. |
thought she must be the same as my fairy princess.
Whenever Professor Pochhammer spoke of her in his
lectures, or whenever I read about her in the pages of
Dante, I was reminded of that fairy princess I knew
must live on the green island the Niobe had sailed by,
the fairy princess I had dreamed of aboard the
Cesarea, when old Smutje had whistled “My Heart
Is Like a Beehive” and I had taken up the refrain.
The fairy princess, of whom I had had visions many
another time, had been a blessing to me before, and
surely, in a singular way, she was a blessing to me
now.

My interest in Dante and Beatrice, as propounded
by Professor Pochhammer, made an excellent impres-
sion, not only on the professor himself, but also on his
son Lieutenant Commander Pochhammer and my
other teachers. For Dante’s and Beatrice’s sake theyKAISER’S PROTEGE 89

winked at some of my most glaring deficiencies. They
built up my confidence. I passed the necessary ex-
amination. The Emperor ordered that my commis-
sion be antedated, so that I might have seniority
rights of a longer service than I had actually ren-
dered.

I was assigned to duty aboard the Preussen, and
there, during my leisure time, built models of sailing
ships.

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

“When I crossed the harbour to-day,” I said,
‘and saw the sailing ships, I remembered how I used
to sit on a spar while the sun was setting and listen
to a fellow playing a squealer. You know what a
squealer is? An accordion. I wish I could be a sailor
back on a ship again.”

‘Don’t be foolish,” my friend replied. “I have
never yet heard of a certified engineer wanting to go
back to the anvil.”

“But,” I insisted, ‘‘I want to be a sailor again if
only for a few days, and you must help me.”

] made him give me a muster certificate for one of
his ships, the Hannah, which was lying in port and
taking on a crew. I went to a seaman’s supply store
and bought a pair of overalls, a shirt, a blue and white
blouse such as sailors wear, a cap, a blanket, and a
mattress. [he blanket and mattress I had sent to the
Hannah. The clothing I took with me. I took a cab,
and bade the driver go to the docks. Inside, I took
off my naval uniform and packed it in the bag I had
with me, and donned my sailor’s togs. At my destina-
tion, I got out. The driver, a decent old fellow, opened
his eyes wide.

‘Are you the naval officer who got in?”

6

    
 
  
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
   

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mess”

‘Say, what are you going to do? You have changed
your clothes so they won't recognize you when they
find you. You are going to drown yourself.”

Rather baffled, I tried to assure him that I had no
intention of drowning myself.

“No, don’t tell me that. I know what you are going
to do. Please tell me your troubles. You should not
throw away your young life like that.”

[ had to give him a long and convincing story about
some confidential mission for the government that I
was engaged in, the truth of which statement I had to
swear to solemnly. Then he agreed to leave me and
take my satchel back to the hotel. As he started
his 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-
time rolling sailor’s gait, and tried to forget my fine
manners. | practised an especial bit to see if I could
still light my pipe and spit like a jack-tar. Hands in
pockets, I sauntered on to the ship.

‘Ahoy there,’ I called to the mate, and handed
him my muster certificate.

After a few questions, he bade me the usual wel-
come.

‘All right, Phelax Luedige, come on and get to
work.”

‘No. In the morning I start.”

You can tell an old-time competent seaman by his
argumentative independence. The mate gave me a
bad look, but was convinced that | would not go to
work until morning.

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

“He is just as clumsy as you were once, Phelax.”’KAISER’S PROTEGE 91

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

“What's your name?”

oe Ehelax. *

“T guess you have been ashore a long time.”

“Why?”

“Your hair is cut so neat. Are you married?”

SING!

“Well, I am. My old woman was married three
times before, but never got the right mate. Now she
says she has got the right one. How happy she 1s.
She is a laundress, and when we are in port here she
brings me my warm supper every night.”’

Now comes the mate.

“Get out of here and get to work. Phelax can un-
pack his things and get to work.”

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

The captain came on board and asked the mate
what 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?”

“‘T know how very well.”’

‘We have no time to mend sails at anchor. But
you will have to do a lot of sewing at sea.”

“T have done it often.”
The captain sizes me up as a fellow who knows his

   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
   

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92 COUNT LUCKNER, THE SEA DEVIL

business and good at the sail-mending which he is
anxious to have done. He agrees that I do not have
to go to work until to-morrow morning.

Once again I eat bean soup, leaning over the table
with a large enamel pot, my “mug.” After dinner I
lie in my bunk, and ask:

‘“‘Ts 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, while
the evening sun shines on the water.

At half-past six Hein’s laundress arrived. She
was passably good-looking except that she was all
pitted with smallpox and her hair stuck out like a
flying jib. She certainly loved her Hein. She brought
him a pot of supper, some of which he divided among
the rest of us.

I noticed that Hein had some paint and a brush
such as artists use. Was he an artist? On the girl’s
arm he painted a big heart with an arrow. In the
middle of the heart he signed his initials. He had to
stop at times, because she could not bear the burn of
the turpentine in the paint.

‘She is a fine girl,” said Hein. “She stands for
everything. She is as true as gold.”

She did not exactly look it.

Night came on, the stars appeared, and Hein’s
squealer gave forth music. That was the life. a sailor’s
life.

On the following day I worked. I could not get
along with the mate. He thought me too independent,
and tattled on me to the captain, who restrained
himself and had patience with me, since he did not
want to lose so experienced a sailor. At night Hein’sKAISER’S PROTEGE 93

laundress came again, and the squealer sounded long
and merrily.

On the third day my friend the shipowner came to
the boat to get me. I managed to say to him without
being observed.

“Don’t give me away. Have the captain meet us
for dinner at the hotel to-night.”

The shipowner invited the captain, who accepted
with alacrity.

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

“Captain Erdmann of the Hannah—Lieutenant
Commander Count von Luckner.”’

Erdmann eyed me curiously and then looked down
for a long time, turning his wineglass around in his
hand. Evidently he thought he saw a certain resem-
blance. In a little while, I stepped out.

“Ts he a count?” the captain asked the shipowner.

SES.

“And just think, I almost made the break of tell-
ing him he looked like a sailor aboard our ship.
They might be twins, though. You never saw such a
resemblance.”

“It would be dreadful indeed to say anything like
that,’ responded the other.

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

“Don’t you recognize me?”

He squirmed.

“Well—yes—but 2

“You mean you don’t recognize me?”

“But, Count, have I really met you before?”

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Serre eetinn Merten tat

94 COUNT LUCKNER, THE SEA DEVIL

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

“Yes, Count, you do look familiar to me. But
where have we met!”

He sat there, as the saying goes, with both feet in
the 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 cap-
tain.

‘Well, I am Phelax,” I laughed. “I went aboard
your ship to see how it felt to be a sailor again.”

“Well, well,” stuttered the captain, “and now it is
my turn to treat.”

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

“And my mate—think of it—my mate said you
were too independent. ”

The old fellow became so enthusiastic that he in-
sisted that we take a trip through Sankt Pauli with
him. We went, and had a high old time. The captain
got quite drunk, and he revealed a secret regret that
lingered in his mind. What a sail-mender he had
missed !

“Who will believe it on board,” he muttered,
‘when I tell them that that my fine sail-mender
turned out to be a count?”

‘XI

IN THE CAMEROONS, AND THE FAIRY OF
FUERTEVENTURA

I wave told of how the Emperor transferred me to
the Panther, which was then assigned to our West
African station, the Cameroons. If my being aboard
the Panther inspired, in itself, vivid recollections of
my past life, my service as an officer of the ship
presently brought me to another and far more de-
lightful memory of my sailing-ship days. This was an
incident that not merely returned to me in imagina-
tion, but one that brought to me that rarest gift of
fortune, a dream come true.

The events that preceded the climax of which I
speak were such as to provide the ever-striking
qualities of contrast. The African jungle, the pursuit
of savage beasts, black warriors, an extraordinary
black king, fantastic war dances and all the un-
earthly sights and sounds that are Africa, and
thens.. «.

The commander of the Panther was reluctant to
have his officers go big-game hunting in the interior
and, as he said, risk their lives uselessly. We were for-
bidden to take rifles on shore with us. But a comrade
and I smuggled our rifles out, and took a big canoe
upstream. With a dozen Negroes at the paddles, we
raced against the sluggish current of the Mungo
River, between giant, overhanging walls of trees.
After eighteen hours, we reached Mundame. Our only

95

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96 COUNT LUCKNER, THE SEA DEVIL
worth-while trophy so far was a crocodile—and
crocodiles are hard to shoot, too, as they dive with
surprising speed. We had also shot a few vultures, sea
eagles, and monkeys. We could not quite bring our-
selves to eat the flesh of the monkeys, which the
natives consider a great delicacy. When wounded, a
monkey cries and screams just like a child, but when
skinned it loses its half-human appearance and looks
like a big squirrel, or a woodchuck.

At Mundame the black people greeted us with
eager cries:

“Massa, massa, plenty elephant.”

We proceeded on an elephant hunt in which my
friend Bryer and I must have cut rather poor figures
as sportsmen! Our chase of the great beasts did not
turn out to be quite what we had expected.

The elephants had broken into a Negro’s planta-
tion, and were not far away. With each a Negro as a
guide, 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 kept
repeating in tones of excitement that gradually
turned into despair.

“Elephant, massa, look, elephant!”

I could have looked for a year and would not have
seen the fraction of gray wall revealed between the
leaves. Finally, the elephant began to move, and I
saw at least the great disturbance among the foliage.
I walked toward it, hoping to find some definite
point of the beast’s anatomy to shoot at. The ele-
phant moved away at about the same speed, and |
could get no closer to it. I came upon one of those
huge ant hills you find in Africa, and clambered upon
it. I now had a much better view.

“Qstriches!”’ I exclaimed.IN THE CAMEROONS 97

There were many elephants plucking up at the
bananas. Their trunks reaching high and curving and
wavering gave me the impression of giant ostriches.
One of the great beasts came out of the thicket right
in front of the ant hill on which I was standing.
Several others followed him. I remembered hastily
that I must aim at the head a little lower than the

eyes. I point the gun, pull the trigger, and then -

crash! The giant turned around in a circle giving a
tremendous bellow. With a roar and a great sound of
rushing, the beast plunged forward, right past the
hill on which I was standing. The rest of the herd
followed and passed very near me. [| nearly fell off
the ant hill, and made the deplorable blunder of los-
ing sight of the elephant [ had shot at. Fortunately,
the natives, who were to get their share of the meat,
did not allow themselves to become so readily con-
fused. They followed the wounded animal, and found
it with its tusks rammed deeply in the soil. It took
several more shots in the head to kill the brute.

Nobody travelling in the Cameroons in those days
ever passed up a chance to visit Banum Joja, the
most intelligent chieftain in all Southwest Africa.
He was an advocate of what modern improvements
he could introduce into his kingdom, and had in-
vented an especial alphabet with which to reduce the
native language to writing. He was a great admirer
of the Germans, and willed his beautifully carved
antique throne to a German museum.

We went the long distance by train from the coast
to the interior territories of Banum Joja. The palaver
drums having advised him of our arrival, the chief
met us with his staff. A long procession of cattle,
goats, and other animals were paraded past us as a
sign of his wealth. The old boy himself majestically
arrived in his royal conveyance, a hammock carried

   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   
  

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98 COUNT LUCKNER, THE SEA DEVIL

by two slaves, slung on a long pole. We were consider-
ably surprised at the figure he made. He wore a glit-
tering cuirassier’s helmet, a tremendous battle
sword, and a tight-fitting ted hussar’s tunic on the
breast of which was pinned the German Order of the
Crown. His black, shiny legs, however, were bare.
His pride as a sovereign increased visibly as he ob-
served our surprise at his appearance.

In his palace, a large thatched hall surrounded by
a high wall of loam, Joja showed us vaingloriously
the many smoke-blackened heads of his ancestors’
enemies and a large elephant’s tusk decorated with
the lower jaws of slain foes. Pottery is highly de-
veloped in those parts, for everyw here we saw vessels
of clay. The only ornament in the palace, besides the
grisly trophies of war and massacre, was the top of
a European butter dish. It represented a setting hen.
We drank palm wine, which was excellent.

In the courtyard of the palace, Joja ascended a
stairway in a great hollow tree. Placed in the branches
was the war drum which only the King may beat.
Majestically he clambered out to it, and under the
monarch’ s hand a muffled beat resounded. The four
portals in the wall of the corral opened and files of
black warriors rushed in, three thousand of them, a
magnificent picture. They danced the war dance, a
methodical evolution in which they rushed against
each other with a tremendous clashing of shields.
Then followed a spear-throwing contest with extra-
ordinary displays of skill. The women entered, and
there was another ballet, the women dancing around
the men and then the men dancing around the
women. Amid general rejoicings, the ~King treated
his subjects to palm wine.

Joja arranged a buffalo hunt for us. A place 1sIN THE CAMEROONS 99

chosen where the grass is brown and dry and fallen,
else it would be so high that a horse and rider might
disappear in it. On this open hunting field a dozen
warriors take their place with big shields of buffalo
hide. By means of fire and beaters, the buffalo herd is
driven toward them. When they come to the open
place, the male stares from the thicket with his dull
brown eyes. He seems to study the black warriors
waiting there. Nowhe sends his cows to safety through
the thicket surrounding the open place. Then he at-
tacks. The warriors’ spears pierce him in the front.
He comes thundering upon them, but with a fabulous
speed they have thrown themselves on the ground,
covering themselves completely with their staunch
shields. The enraged beast passes over them without
harming them. He is powerless now. The spears pro-
truding from his front prop themselves against the
ground, making running difficult. He cannot attack
without driving the barbs farther into his flesh. He
turns around. In a flash the Negroes are up, and the
beast receives spears from the back. He can neither
advance nor retreat now. He raves, wants to attack,
the sweat streams down him. He throws himself on
the ground. Some of the spears break off. But now
the Negroes are on top of him, thrusting their spears
into him. He receives the final blow and is still.
Religion was a mueh discussed question in Joja’s
kingdom. The German Evangelical missionary comes
with Protestant theology. He asks Joja’s people to
picture an invisible God. This they are unable to do.
The Catholic missionaries come, visiting the terri-
tories previously covered by their Ev rangelical col-
leagues. They talk little theology, but have a gor-
geous display. A miraculous image 1s mounted and
decorated with mirrors. The Virgin Mary with the

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10oo COUNT LUCKNER, THE SEA DEVIL

Child Jesus sits in the centre. To the right are the
Three Wise Men from the East. These wise men are
particularly interesting to Joja’s subjects, because
one of them is a black king. The priest, in gorgeous
vestments, kneels before the beautiful display. The
natives think:

‘This is a real God. He is much richer than the
Evangelical missionaries’ God.”

Joja was a skeptic toward the Christian religion.
He asked me whether our God was black or white, but
thought He could hardly be white, since He had
made man in his own image and had made the black
people too. He asked me when Jesus had come to
Earth. I told him. Then he asked when America was
discovered. I told him that. He asked me why Jesus
did not go there too and preach his gospel.

While I was in the Cameroons, a German squadron
circling the globe put in at Duala and anchored near
shore. It consisted of the Kaiser, the King Albert,
and the Strassburg. The black chieftains from the
interior were entertained on the magnificent ships.
They particularly admired the cannon in the turrets
as they slowly swung around and fired. They asked
whether the guns would shoot over the Cameroon
mountains. When this fact was afirmed, their respect
was great. The champagne with which they were
served increased their respect.

The English instigated the Haussa, a mercantile
tribe that roams the entire country plying trade, to
spread the story that the ships were English ships
which the English had merely loaned to the Germans.

Having to take the Panther back to Germany for
overhauling, we steamed north. Our first stop was to
be for provisions at Fuerteventura, one of the islands
of the Canaries, a vacationing and health resort. I
was on watch. Straight ahead, a speck of land ap-IN THE CAMEROONS IOl

peared on the horizon, Fuerteventura, the island for
which 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. A
vague feeling made my heart jump.

“Luckner,” I thought, “it is the same island, the
island you saw when you were a cabin boy aboard the
Niobe, the island of the fairy princess.”

It was. There could be no doubt of it. So clear was
memory impressed by a great feeling that I could
recognize individual houses I had gazed upon seven-
teen years before while I had leaned on the rail
dreaming a happy dream.

“Luckner,” I said, ““you are Phelax once again.
They call you ‘pig,’ and you clean the pigs and the
pharmacy. There is the island. Open your eyes wide.
Is it not lovely and beautiful?”

It was as beautiful aswhen | had seenit from aboard
the Niobe. The houses still looked pretty and clean.
There were terraces with gardens and white paths
lined with palms.

‘*Phelax,” I thought, “it is fit to be the home of the
fairy princess. It 1s the home of the fairy princess.
She must be there, with her delicate blue eyes and
golden hair, she whom you have thought about all
these years.”’

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

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

I went ashore by myself, and sauntered over the
island all day. It was small, with gentle hills and an
abundance of vegetation. Flowers were everywhere.
It was truly an island of flowers. I went on through

     
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
   
 

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perfumed valleys and over breezy hills, lost in reverie,
lost in my former life. A kind of hypnotism was upon
me.
“‘Phelax,” I thought, “of course you do not see the
fairy princess. She is hidden beyond the flowers
there. 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 mortal
being.”

So deep was I in fantasy that these thoughts in-
spired me to a sad regret and resignation. When eve-
ning came, I returned to the ship happy and yet
downhearted.

That night we entertained on board members of
the Royal Spanish Club and their guests. Some came
for dinner, some afterward. It was a jolly meal. Then
we gave an after-dinner entertainment, and I was
called upon to entertain and amuse our guests. Dur-
ing my days as a sailor I was often in demand to
amuse the company. The tricks I had learned
among the Indian fakirs in Australia I had retained
and cultivated. To this day I am somewhat skilful
at various kinds of sleight of hand. I put on Oriental
robes and turban. My face, freshly tanned by the sun
of the Cameroons, needed no darkening. I had learned
from the fakirs the solemn mystical demeanour and
slow impressive movements that they cultivated. I
must say that as I appeared before the guests in the
salon of the Panther I cut quite an Oriental, wonder-
working figure.

I had performed several tricks and had come to the
one in which I snapped a ring on to a cane held at
both ends by an assistant, when two newcomers
arrived and entered through a door not far from me.

“Luckner,” I thought, “are you going crazy
Phelax, there is she, your fairy princess. ”IN THE CAMEROONS 103

)

She was on the arm of a stately old gentleman. She
had the rosy lips, the short, pretty nose, the childlike
eyes, and the rich blonde hair that had haunted my
imagination. She came close to me and watched me
with an expression of interest and something of awe.
As I learned later, she thought I was truly an Indian
fakir.

““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 shook
and were clumsy. I could not control them. Nor could
I keep my eyes away from the blonde girl who stood
there.

“I’m sorry,” I said to my assistant, one of our
officers. “The other ones went all right, but I can’t
seem to do this one. We’ve had enough anyway.”

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he announced jocularly,
“the great fakir has reconsidered and thinks it would
be wrong to disclose this last marvellous trick. He
feels that it is his duty to retain it and exhibit it
for the first time before his sovereign, the King of
England.”

Everybody laughed. I went out and changed into
my naval uniform as quickly as I could. When I re-
turned, I asked one of the other officers to present me
to the blonde young lady. I have never felt so bashful
as when I made my bow before her.

She was much amused at having taken me for a
genuine Indian fakir, and talked merrily. Her laugh-
ter was very sweet. She told me her name was Irma.
Her father owned great plantations on the island of
Sumatra. She was with him at Fuerteventura on a so-
journ for his health.

The remainder of my stay on the island was perfect
happiness. Irma’s father entertained us officers at

     
 
 
  
   
   
 
   
  
 
 
 
  
   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 

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his bungalow. Irma and I were together all of the
time. We took long walks among the white houses and
through the green glades the sight of which had so
eladdened poor Phelax long years before. When the
Panther steamed north again, I was happy with the
assurance that Irma had given me that she and her
father were sailing for home in a short time and that
I would see her there.

I did see her there, and we became engaged to be
married. The Panther was to sail for the Cameroons
again on July 17th. We were ready to start when we
received an unexpected telegram from the Admiralty
—“Do not start.” On August 1st, Germany declared
war on Russia, and the world was ablaze. I told Irma
that our marriage must be put off. It would be
wrong to have her become the wife of a man who
might so soon leave her a widow. She wanted an im-
mediate marriage, but I was determined.XII
FAKE NORWEGIANS FOR A PIRATE CRUISE

It was in a gay café in Hamburg. In 1916, war
times were growing hard in Germany, but still the
cafés were astir with life and gaiety. A naval officer
on shore leave could soon find surroundings that
would enable him to forget the harsh life on dread-
naught and cruiser. My friend Dalstroem and I, over
glasses of Swedish punch, chatted for an hour and
then another hour. But our confab had nothing to
do either with battle cruisers going down or with
destroyers lifted out of the sea by exploding tor-
pedoes, or the other sights I had beheld off Skager-
rak. We talked of sailing ships, by Joe, and of the
years I had served before the mast.

An orderly wedged his way through the crowd and
handed me a message. It was from the Admiralty,
ordering me to report at Imperial headquarters on
the morrow. Such a summons to a mere lieutenant
commander was décidedly unusual, and of course I
was itching with curiosity. I never was any good at
waiting.

The following morning found me in Berlin, entering
the naval holy of holies, standing expectantly at at-
tention before an old German sea lord with a face as
stern as the cliffs at Heligoland. The orders I had
come to hear were barked at me quick and short.

“You are to take command of a vessel,” said the
admiral. ““We want you to run the blockade and raid

105

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enemy commerce. Since we have no coaling stations,
a sailing ship will be the best. Do you think you can
do it?”

«Allow me,”’ I felt like saying, ‘“‘allow me to throw
my arms around your neck, my dear fellow.”

“Yes, sir! I’d like nothing better.”

Good health and high spirits had given me bound-
less confidence. I was the sort of fellow who believes
he can do almost anything—at any rate, anything
with a sailing ship. The admiral replied that the
mission was mine. And it turned out that I had been
picked for this venture because I happened to be
the only officer in the German Navy who had served
NOPSalle:

But what if we should slip through? What then?
What could one lone windjammer do against the
naval might of John Bull and his allies? What chance
had a romantic clipper ship in this era of giant ocean
liners, of hush-hush armoured cruisers, of speedy
destroyers, and against the combined strength of
Jellicoe and Beatty’s super-dreadnaughts? For that
matter, what chance had a poetic sailing ship against
an ordinary tramp steamer!

Well, it may sound mad, but the sea lanes of com-
merce can even be disrupted by a lone sailing ship in
wartime. But whether the idea was mad or not, I was
itching for action and ready for anything.

“What,” the admiral asked, “should you consider
of the greatest importance for the venture?”

“Luck,” I replied.

“All right; then take the Pass of Balmaha. She
has already carried British prisoners for us. She has
been lucky for us once, she may be lucky for us
again.”

The Admiralty officials had picked the Pass of

Balmaha becauseshe was a staunch ship, an AmericanThe 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.eee eee

 

 

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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.

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clipper and one of the best. They had also picked her
because she had suddenly arrived in a German port
with an unexpected present of some British prisoners
for us. We sailors believe in good and bad omens, and
we are right. Some ships are lucky and some unlucky.
If something has happened to indicate a certain ship
is lucky for you, take that ship. You want Lady Luck
on your side when you put to sea.

Now, about the past record of this Yankee clipper
that was to be converted into a German raider. The
Pass of Balmaha had sailed from New York with a
cargo of cotton for Archangel. Her commander was
a Captain Scott, a well-known American shipmaster,
a big-hearted, bushy-bearded, New England skipper
with a very red face. Off the Norwegian coast, a
British cruiser hailed her. Uncle Sam was then a
neutral, and the blockade was getting tighter every
month. The British were becoming suspicious of
everybody, including neutrals and themselves. The
overcautious commander of this cruiser, although he
had no grounds for suspicion, ordered the Pass of
Balmaha to turn back to the search port of Kirkwall
in the Orkneys.

“Bah!” said Captain Scott, “here I am with a
cargo for your allies, the Rooshians, and you patrol
fellows order me back to Kirkwall. What do yuh
mean by such nonsense? The wind is agin me, it'll
take me three weeks to reach Scapa Flow and the
Orkneys, and I'll be several months late in delivering
my cargo to the Rooshians. Are you chaps trying to
win a war or lose one?”

“Never mind,” replied John Bull; ‘“‘you do as you
are told.”

Leaving an officer and prize crew of six marines on
board, with her funnels belching columns of black
smoke, the British patrol cruiser continued on her

   
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 

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108 COUNT LUCKNER, THE SEA DEVIL

North Sea beat. As soon as the Pass of Balmaha had
turned her nose toward Kirkwall and Scapa Flow,
the British prize officer ordered the American flag
pulled 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 his
men to haul down the Stars and Stripes and hoist the
Union Jack.

“T wish the Germans would come,” raged the
Yankee skipper. And the very next morning his wish
was granted! A U-boat popped up to the surface
about a half mile away. Captain Scott waggled his
beard in the Englishman’s face.

“Serves you right! With the Stars and Stripes up
there, they wouldn’t bother us. Now they’ll take us
all to Germany. So far as you chaps are concerned,
the war is over nght now. You will get cocky, will
your”

The Britisher was alarmed. He saw visions of him-
self locked in a Prussian prison for “the duration.”
So he climbed down from his high horse in a hurry
and meekly placed himself in Captain Scott’s hands,
begging the Yankee still to try and save the day.

““T ought to let you go as prisoners, by Joe, but I
don’t want to lose my ship,” said Scott. “‘So go be-
low with your men and hide in the hold while I put
my flag back where it belongs. Maybe they haven’t
seen yours. Soon the submarine was alongside and
one of her officers climbed aboard. The Germans had
seen the Union Jack, all right, but they hadn’t seen it
hauled down. Now they found themselves on a ship
flying the American flag, and they were puzzled.

“What’s this?” the submarine officer demanded of
Scott. “First we see a British flag, and now it’s an
American.”FAKE NORWEGIANS 109

“You must be mistaken,” replied the skipper,
suage ae ne a

this here ain’t no Britisher.

The officer was bewildered and suspicious, so
ordered the Pass of Balmaha to head for Hamburg.
Leaving only a German ensign aboard, he announced

that his submarine would follow close behind. Of

course, this was only a threat, for the U-boat soon
vanished beneath the waves.

Now the ensign grew worried. Something told him
that 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 your
side all day and sleep with you at night. I’ve a hand
grenade here in my pocket. At night I am going to
hx it so that if anybody opens the door of our cabin
it will explode.”’

Naturally Captain Scott lost no time in whispering
to his mate: “Fasten down the hatches and don’t let
those Britishers come up. If they do, our goose is
cooked. Don’t say anything to them, or there will be
trouble. This German smells a rat.”

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

“You wanted to know what was wrong here? All

right, now I’ll show you.” Then he opened the

hatches and yelled for the Britishers to come up. The
tall officer of the Royal Navy, one eye blinking and
the other be-monocled, put his head up first.

1 say, where are we now!”

“You're in Germany. I[f you had left my flag alone,
everything would have been all right. But you are
prisoners now.”

So you see how the Pass of Balmaha turned out to

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pect reread aed110 COUNT LUCKNER, THE SEA DEVIL

be unlucky for Englishmen and lucky for Germans.
That was just the ship we wanted, by Joe.

The American flag that the Englishman pulled
down was still there when I took her over. So I kept
it as a souvenir. We lost the ship in the South Seas,
but not the flag. It served as mascot on two other
ships that I lost. But on my present world cruise I
hope to visit San Francisco and return it to the
original owner and tell him what a fine raider his clip-
per made.

Our hope was to run the blockade disguised as a
neutral—a thing entirely fair according to the laws of
war. Although on land a soldier must wear service
uniform, at sea you can fly a neutral flag and wear
ordinary seaman’s clothes. But you must hoist your
true colours before going into action with the enemy.

We altered that Yankee clipper from stem to stern,
with concealed places for our guns, rifles, grenades,
bombs, and other armament, with special quarters
for prisoners, two ultra-modern 500-horse-power
motors to fall back on in case of calm or when in a big
hurry, a tank holding 480 tons of fuel oil, another
tank containing 480 tons of sweet water, and provi-
sions 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 to
accommodate two or three. We also designed a sepa-
rate dining saloon for them, with an assortment of
books and magazines in French and English, and a
eramophone 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 should
be treated. A sailor is a sailor, no matter what his
nationality, and if I took any prisoners I wanted
them to feel as though they were my guests.

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

When the work was done, below deck, the Pass of
Balmaha was an auxiliary cruiser, armed to the
teeth. Above deck she was merely a poetic old sailing
ship loaded with a prosaic cargo of lumber.

Timber made the ideal cargo for our purposes, be-
cause a ship carrying lumber loads her deck as well as
her hold. The piles of lumber even cover your hatches,
so no one can go below until you unload. Hence no
search crew would be likely to inspect us carefully at
sea. They would either order us to Kirkwall, or let us
go.
Norway exports lumber and Australia imports it.
So we decided to pose as a Norwegian clipper bound
for Melbourne. Having served on various Norwegian
ships, I spoke Norse, and I knew I would have no
difficulty finding men for my crew who could speak
it also. But first I had secret doors and hatches cut in
the floor of the closets in the officers’ cabins, and an-
other under the stove in the galley. From keel to top
deck we converted this American three-master into a
mystery ship of trick panels and trick doors.

But what would happen if we were ordered into Kirk-
wall to have our deckload of lumber shifted and our
hold 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 put
aboard us to make sure we headed for the right port.
I would have sixty-four men of my own to handle the
small prize crew.

Dinner time would come. I would say to the
Britishers: “Gentlemen, may you dine well.”’

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“Cookie,” I would call, ‘“‘serve up the best we’ve
got.”

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

Right in the middle of the meal, I would signal to
my fighting men hidden on the lower deck. Seizing
their rifles they would jump to their appointed
places. At another signal, the crew above deck would
clamber up the iron masts, open small secret doors,
reach down into the hollow chambers where their
arms and uniforms were hidden, and a moment later
German jack-tars would appear where humble
Norwegian sailors had been a moment before. We
would not attempt to recapture our own ship dressed
in civilian togs.

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

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

Then I would step forward, throw open my great-
coat, and present myself as the skipper of a wind
jammer suddenly metamorphosed into the com-
mander of an auxiliary cruiser.

I had carefully arranged all this because I knew full
well that British naval men will put up a stiff fight
even with all odds against them. Most naval men will.
Of course, it would be easy to overpower a prize
crew of only six or seven men, but I wanted to avoid
spilling any blood. It is better sport to capture menFAKE NORWEGIANS 113
than to take their lives. The Allies were calling us
Huns, and I for one wanted to show the world how
wrong they were.

And now, by Joe, suppose a British cruiser seized
us and then we seized the British prize crew. Then
supposing another cruiser should pick us up! We

might have to do a bit of fighting, maybe take to the
boats with our prisoners, and then sink our own ship.
So we prepared for this by placing bombs where they
could be touched off at a moment’s notice. We had
no intention of letting our raider fall into enemy
hands.

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

So I told everyone, including the foremen, that the
Pass of Balmaha was being transformed into an up-to-
date training ship, to be used in training mechanics’
apprentices who later on were to run motors on sub-
marines and zeppelins. That alibi was to explain our
two motors. The war-had shown that German cabin
boys were deficient in knowledge of nautical rigging.
So I also announced that one purpose of this sailing
ship was to give them a chance to learn a little about
handling sails. As to the accommodations in the hold
for prisoners, and the bunks for our big crew; I ex-
plained that these were to be for apprentices and
cabin boys. I even put up signs marking off one part
of the ship ‘ ‘for 150 cabin ‘boy s,” another “for 80
apprentices,’ and so on.

It would have looked suspicious for a naval officer

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1144 COUNT LUCKNER, THE SEA DEVIL

to be directing work of this kind with such infinite
pains, so at the ship yards I posed as Herr von Eck-
mann, Inspector for the Naval Ministry.

An old retired captain of the Ship Inspection Ser-
vice happened to be stopping in the same hotel. His
love for his old profession caused him to take a most
embarrassing interest in my work. One day, he met a
bona-fide ship inspector and asked him whether he
knew me.

“Von Eckmann? Let’s see, I know everybody in
the service. There is no Von Eckmann on the roster.”

“Then,” blurted out the old captain, “he must be
a spy. I always said he had a typically English face.
Pll watch him.”

Through mistake, two letters came for me without
the usual cover address. Both of them gave my full
name and rank. I argued with the head waiter, trying
to get him to give me the letters for delivery to
“my friend, Count Luckner.”’ The old captain hap-
pened to be snooping near by, although I didn’t
know it. By now, anything I did was suspicious. He
already had me hung and quartered as his country’s
arch enemy.

“What did that fellow want?’ he inquired of the
head waiter.

“He asked me to give him the letters for Lieuten-
ant Commander Count von Luckner.”

ae Ha!”

I suspected nothing. That evening I took the train
for Bremen. A detective entered my compartment
and demanded my papers. I gave them to him.

“Count von Luckner,” he exclaimed, astonished
and embarrassed, “I must have made a mistake. I
am looking for a spy from Geestemunde.”’

I grew worried. Could it be that enemy secretThe Seeadler, that
carried the modern

buccaneer whose
dare-devil adven-
tures were to out-
rival the high-

handed days of the
Spanish Main. From
a sketch made from
the photograph taken
by the captain of the
Antonin. See page

167.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

we

Engineer Krauss and the mechanical crew picked for the pirate

 

cruise.

eee ee ee sesaaer pperee tere Seep TE EN Ne eee OTE ee MS SN ome weT ere CO

    
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
   
     

SEG SET e oe ee aeene

            
   

_—

Aug Gh ek a.
eS _- 4 = i!

 
  

ee ee ea]

The false Norwegians who were to fool the British if caught while at-
tempting to run the blockaae.

exerts

ete eer e renee ere ora

 

eepeerteert teat ere tee sere

The false Norsemen wearing their true colours.

Lars reeset es aise scaFAKE NORWEGIANS 115

agents were watching the work on my auxiliary
cruiser?

“Where was the spy reported ?”

“He lives at Beermann’s Hotel.”

That was my hotel. The spy was watching me. I
told him that I would take upon myself the responsi-
bility of saying that there were the most urgent
reasons why this spy must be caught, and that he
must wire his principals that the utmost vigilance
must be used.

“We already have the railroad covered at both
ends. But we will increase our precautions, ” he
replied. “The spy will surely be caught.”

In Bremen at Hillman’s Hotel I was again stopped
by a detective who demanded my papers. Again my
papers confounded and bewildered him.

“The description of the spy fits you exactly,” he
said.

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

At the Trocadero, I sat with a bottle of wine in
front of me. A provost officer with two men in uni-
form 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.

“T am a naval officer.

“You are a spy. Come with us!”

The usual spy mania spread throughout the
restaurant. Blows were threatened, chairs were
brandished, and there were shouts of “ Kill the spy,
kill him!” on all sides. If the officers hadn’t fought the
crowd off, I would have been badly beaten.

At headquarters I was shown a description and

393

   
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
   
  
  
   

anon tots hacen cathe he a mmytg tiintn abo oc tity hate te Salg Me tae yey ct ta lalla meing Rtn ise

oti cdainieceererbyratcRébihshe toi ttevesdeeisctacnse) er tatis

Save freee ae tyrn pe pat eee eee rer nen ee eee

Peet ret

Pepe eny ene reene ante eer Teeny rn ye

116 COUNT LUCKNER, THE SEA DEVIL

even a picture of myself. So there was no doubt but
what I was their man.

‘Under what name does this spy travel?” I de-
manded.

“Under the name of Marine Inspector von Eck-
mann.”

"Whi, 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 them tele-
phone the Admiralty for confirmation.

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

As I explained, my plan was to slip through the
British blockade as a neutral and if possible disguised
as some other ship that actually existed. There hap-
pened to be a Norwegian vessel that was almost a
dead ringer for the Pass of Balmaha. She was sched-
uled to sail from Copenhagen. I decided that we would
take her name, and sail the day before she sailed, so
that if the British caught us and wirelessed to Copen-
hagen to confirm our story they would receive word
that such a craft had left port at the time we claimed.
This other ship was named the A/aleta. For some time
she had been discharging grain from the Argentine.
From Denmark she was to proceed to Christiania and
there pick up a cargo. Why not a cargo of lumber for
Melbourne?

I went to Copenhagen, donned old clothes, and
got a job as a dock walloper on the pier where the real
Maleta was moored. That enabled me to study her.
There was one thing that promised to be difficult to
counterfeit. That was the log book. This precious
volume contained the life history of the Maleta,
when she left the Argentine, what kind of cargo she
carried, what course she steered, the wind, theFAKE NORWEGIANS 117

weather, observations of sun and stars, etc., etc.
That log book must be in the captain’s cabin and I
must have it. But a watchman was stationed aft, so
how could it be done?

I discovered that the captain and both mates were
still in Norway with their families. So it would be
some days before the loss of the book would be
noticed—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 was
moored to the pier with ropes fore and aft. Stealthily
I tiptoed to the bow and cut the ropes, not quite
through but almost. A stiff wind was blowing. The
ropes cracked and broke. The ship swung around.
The watchman ran forward shouting, and at the
same moment I ran aft. Fumbling around the cap-
tain’s cabin I at first failed to locate the log. Finally, I
discovered it under the skipper’s mattress. Shoving
it beneath my belt, I slipped out.

On board now, and also on the pier, half a dozen
men were shouting and throwing ropes to haul her
back so she wouldn’t side-swipe a near-by ship. I
joined in the shouting, pretended to help them for a
minute, then clambered on to the dock and hurried
off in the dark.

We now put on thé-final touches that were to turn
the Pass of Balmaha into the Maleta. We painted
her the same colour as the Maleta, arranged her deck
the same, and decorated the cabins with the same
ornaments. In my captain’s cabin, I hung pictures of
the King and Queen of Norway and also of their
jovial relative, King Edward VII of England. The
barometer, thermometer, and chronometer, and all
the other instruments were of Norwegian make. I had
a Norwegian library and a Norwegian phonograph

     
   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
    
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   
  

epee me apa Dey pone Sanne Se ERRORS or NEE SY SENT Mt ee ewe SEN TERROR OOeT WOOT Be SeTeT EY Mmuer PTO epereno ns tS Crt Tino el ee en eet ttn re einen

Pere ee eee SLT rine enc oeeee tt Cnet er memese OL SLT yo Sesenee eerie or

Beer Set ceeraers Were monn Tire site eyere renee

re

ne fee ene te eee et et ener

ee Terre i eeenetates

ey ear ere ne ene renee te area rn ren eed

118 COUNT LUCKNER, THE SEA DEVIL

and records. We had enough provisions from Nor-
wegian firms to last us through the blockade. It
would hardly do to have any Bismarck herring, sauer-
kraut, and pretzels in sight if the British boarded us,
would it?

The names of the tailors sewn inside my suits and
my officers’ suits were replaced with labels from Nor-
wegian tailors. On my underclothing we embroidered
the name of the captain of the Maleta—Knudson.

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

We got up our cargo papers in regular form, signed
and sealed by both the Norwegian port authorities
and British consul. We also had a letter signed by
His Majesty’s consul at Copenhagen stating that the
Maleta was carrying lumber for the use of the Govern-
ment of the Commonwealth of Australia. The letter
requested all British ships to help us if any emergency
arose. To prove that this document was genuine, it
was even stamped with the British Imperial Seal
(made in Germany!).

I also had a letter which a British officer had sup-
posedly written to my shipowner and which my ship-
owner had forwarded to me, warning us against
German search officers, but advising us to place our
trust in the British!

A sailor with the loneliness of the sea upon him
nearly always takes with him on his voyages photo-
eraphs of his people. Now the crews on British war-
ships know sailor ways, so I inquired all about the
procedure from captains of neutral ships who had had
their ships searched. They told me that the BritishFAKE NORWEGIANS 119

always inspected the fo’c’sle to see that everything
looked nght there. I immediately got together a lot
of photographs to pass as those of Norwegian sailors’
parents, brothers and sisters, uncles and aunts, sweet-
hearts, wives and mothers-in-law. What did it mat-
ter whether the sweethearts were good-looking or
not? Sailors’ sweethearts are not always prize beau-
ties. We sent a man to Norway for the pictures in
order to have the names of Norwegian photographers
stamped on them.

The British are smart people, by Joe, and they
know how to search a ship. They attach special im-
portance to sailors’ letters. The sailor eagerly looks
forward to the letter he will receive at the next port.
He never throws the letters away either, but always
keeps a stack of them in his sea chest. Sometimes
you will see him reading a letter that his mother sent
him eight years before. So we had to get up a whole
set of letters for our “Norwegian” sailors, each set
totally different from the other.

Of course, the stolen log of the Maleta gave usa lot of
useful information about her crew, and our fake let-
ters were made to tally with this information.
Women in the Admiralty and Foreign offices who
knew Norwegian wrote them for us. We got old Nor-
wegian stamps and Norwegian postmarks and post-
marks of various ports the letters were supposed to
have been sent to. Then we aged the letters in chemi-
cals, and tore and smudged some of them.

I picked as my officers men who like myself had
spent long years before the mast, who knew Nor-
wegian, and were of the right spirit. First Officer
Kling had been a member of the Filchner Expedition,
in which he had distinguished himself. The officer
whom I selected to go aboard captured ships was a
former comrade of mine, a fellow of six feet four,

    
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
   

SI Me IE CN ROP Ie rc eee PEON ieee eens oT ee

eee aE ent ee Seen ee eee Soaeee

Dore ahaa a eae eae bree ernie eee ener ial ads

ee Tay

San ae Ore aen TENT ENE sapere Te
Oe eee Cr neal een hi

   
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
   
 
  
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
     

m0 }©60 COUNT LUCKNER, THE SEA DEVIL

whom I met by chance on a dock. In response to my
question whether he wanted to accompany me, he
asked:

“Ts it one of those trips that is likely to send you to
heaven!”

Nese

“Then I’m with you. My name is Preiss, and you
are after prizes. So I’ll bring you luck.”

My artillery and navigation officer, Lieutenant
Kircheiss, was a wizard navigator. Engineer Krauss
was our motor expert. The boatswain, the carpenter,
and the cook, the three mainstays of a voyage in a
sailing vessel, I picked with like care. Of the men
who were to go with me I only needed twenty-seven
with a knowledge of Norwegian. There were just
twenty-seven aboard the real Maleta. In selecting,
my men, I interviewed each candidate personally
but gave him no hint of why I wanted him. I tried to
read these men’s souls in order to discover in them
the qualities of courage and endurance that would
be needed.

Without giving them any clue concerning the ad-
venture on which they were soon to engage, I sent
them home on furlough to prevent them from meet-
ing one another and talking over the questions I
had put to them. Not until the hour of departure
did I sent for them.

Now we needed a name for our raider. We needed
one that she could take for her official name as an
auxiliary cruiser after running the blockade. I
wanted to call her the Albatross out of gratitude to the
albatross that saved me from drowning when I was a
lad. But I discovered that there was already a vessel
with that name, a mine-layer. Then I wanted to call
the ship the Sea Devil, the name by which I person-
ally was afterward to be called. My officers favouredFAKE NORWEGIANS I2t

some name that would suggest the white wings of our
sailship. So we compromised on Seeadler, or Sea
Eagle.

On a pitch-dark November night, the Seeadler,
with a small emergency crew, raises anchor and sails
out 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 Wilhelms-
haven, men appear one by one. By the light of a dimly
burning lantern I gather my crew. None of them has
any 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. Soon
they saw an imposing ship riding through the night.

“Hello, what sort of craft is this, a sailship?”

Aboard everything is ready, and everything is
Norwegian. Their bunks are all prepared. Photo-
graphs are on the walls. Norwegian landscapes,
photographs of Norwegian girls, Norwegian flags
hang draped. A fully equipped Norwegian ship await-
ing the arrival of its crew.

“Do you speak Norwegian, Karl?”

* Yes. Do you?”

‘oN es

oe. business this!”

Some of the men do not speak Norwegian. The
ones that do, have their bunks above deck. The ones
that don’t, have their bunks below. Germany below
decks. Norway above. Strange!

We were away from all communication with land
now. [here was no longer need for secrecy.

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

     
   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
    
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
    

eee Te renee TS ee ent Nee teemeten te Wieabe a seereeeeseeret eT rttet erent ieer tga

Peewee neon eS Se Seeeee eet Wee ere Lo

epee ee neneees Peet a eneee eT

Peet rere temecet eee Pere ster eneroSoe eateries ante d neo hea bahecererert a rape reeneneneaent seein eran

ODOT SE TOT ene eae teal

ee er eertiess oT

Pe
i
a
A

a
i ’

  
  

122 COUNT LUCKNER, THE SEA DEVIL

   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   

“Sure, Count, we can do it! By Joe, you bet we
can do it!’ Not a man quailed, and I was happy to
be in command of such a crew.

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

Every man had his role. Every man must now
prove his mettle as an actor. Officers and sailors
were given the names of officers and sailors aboard
the Maleta. They had to get used to their new names.
Fritz Meyer was now Ole Johnsen, Miller became
Bjornsen, Hans Lehman became Lars Carlsen, and
they knew me only as Captain Knudsen. We had long
practice drills until the new names slid off our
tongues without getting stuck.

Each man also had to learn a lot about his native
town that he never knew before! I had already as-
sembled as much information as I could about the
towns listed in the stolen log book, and the rest we
invented. Each man had to learn the names of the
main streets of his town, the principal hotels, taverns,
and drug stores, as well as the names of the mayor
and other officials. Much of this sort of material had
already been woven into the letters we had prepared
for the sailors. Each man had to familiarize himself
with the set of photographs that had been allotted to
him, and the names of them all, the contents of his
letters, and fix in his mind a whole new past life,
according to the life of the sailor of the real Maleta
whose role he was to play.

One of the mechanics’ helpers, Schmidt by name,
I had taken for a principal réle in our strategy. He
was slender, beardless, and of delicate appearance,
and could pass well enough in woman’s clothes.
Norwegian skippers often take their wives with them
on their voyages. The captain’s wife aboard the falseFAKE NORWEGIANS 123

Maleta would seem natural and tend to disarm sus-
picion, and, besides, British naval officers are always
courteous and considerate toward women. In the
presence of the captain’s wife, a prize officer who
might board us would be more obliging toward us all.
We had a blonde wig for Schmidt and an outfit of
women’s clothes. We took great pains in schooling
him to play the part of the captain’s wife correctly,
One difficulty was his big feet. Not even a Nor-
wegian skipper’s wife had such feet. There was,
unfortunately, no way to make them smaller, so we
arranged that the captain’s wife should be slightly
ill and remain seated during any possible search and
have a rug thrown over her feet to keep them warm.
The other difficulty was Schmidt’s voice. It was too
deep, and he knew no Norwegian. Well, the captain’s
wife can’t talk because she has an awful toothache.
A wad of cotton stuffed into Schmidt’s cheek, and
there was the swelling. He did know enough English
to say “all mght.” We trained him to say a high-
pitched “‘all right” something like a woman with a
toothache. Except for that phrase, he was to keep
his mouth shut. We had a large photograph made of
Schmidt in his costume, signed it “thy loving
Josephine,” and hung it in my cabin. Now the Brit-
ishers could compare the photograph of the captain’s
wife with the lady in person. So from now on poor
Schmidt’s name was “‘Josefeena”’ as the Norwegians
pronounce it.

We were ready to sail when, by Joe, what comes
but a telegram from the Kaiser’s aide. I am to report
immediately direct to His Majesty. I guessed what
was up. I had gone into the navy from the mercantile
marine instead of through the usual cadet route. I
had been a common ordinary sailor, and this had
aroused a lot of antagonism in naval circles. There

   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
   

ETE ES renee

ee ne a eee TOP Se TOT elt eee

aotatacplareeenphenaeete:

  

Spear ere v eee Tera eS teers ete moe Pc eee ereTh heer

Fen te aret oa ba teternrnrt oe rete terceenaenter arabe

Neen ee ee ene nn heer aban eee oe

    
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   

124 COUNT LUCKNER, THE SEA DEVIL

had been jealousy about my getting an independent
command—highest of all naval honours. So attempts
were being made to have my assignment annulled.

And now they had gone to the Emperor! Maybe I
would lose this fine sailship of mine. Already it had
eiven me a new lease on life, just by getting back into
the old life, the life that had been so difficult to sur-
vive and so delightful to recall. Maybe I would have
to go back to the navy, to the modern war of hissing
steel, and deafening guns of superdreadnaughts. I
had an affection for them too, but it was the en-
thusiasm of the mind. Here on the sailship was my
heart. 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 who
had risen from a common sailor to a naval officer.
He had paid for my naval training out of his own pri-
vate purse, and had taken a personal interest in my
promotions. Many a time on board ship he had com-
manded me to tell stories of my adventures. I could
talk to him. I could talk to him more boldly than
other officers dared. I knew that he understood me.

Even to appear in the Imperial presence was a try-
ing ordeal for most officers. Many took refuge in rigid
“attention.” Well, I had never quite got used to
high class manners at sea, and the ramrod “atten-
tion” left me more embarrassed than otherwise.
Even in the Emperor’s presence, I kept the same
free, brusque manner of an old-time seaman that was
natural to me.

The Kaiser spoke bluntly.

“Well, Luckner, at the Admiralty they nowtell me it
is madness to attempt the blockade with a sailing
ship. What do you think?”FAKE NORWEGIANS 125

“Well, Your Majesty, if our Admiralty says it’s
impossible and ridiculous, then I’m sure it can be
done,” I replied. “For the British Admiralty will
think it impossible also. They won’t be on the look-
out for anything so absurd as a raider disguised as a
harmless old sailing ship.”’

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

“You are right, Luckner. Go ahead! And may the
hand of the Almighty be at your helm.”

I knew now that there would be no more official
interference. The true Maleta was now due to sail ina
day, so we made ready to pull up anchor. Then a wire-
less came from the Admiralty:

Wait till the Deutschland makes port.

Our giant merchant submarine, the Deutschland,
was on her way home from her famous transatlantic
cruise to America. In an attempt to cut her off, the
British had set a double watch. So the Seeadler would
have to slip past twice as many cruisers and destroy-
ers as otherwise. I still hoped that, if only detained a
day or so, we might yet be able to slip across the
North Sea ahead of the Maleta. But we lay there for
three and a half weeks, and the sad news came’that
the real Maleta had sailed and passed through the
blockade. If we now attempted to use her name and a
search party boarded us, the jig would be up.

So we hurriedly examined Lloyd’s Register in the
hope of finding another Norwegian ship chat might
correspond to us. We picked out one called the Car-
moe. We had no idea where she was, but hoped she
might be in some distant port unbeknown to the wary
British. It was a long chance, but we could think

    
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
   
 

OeEe SR nannET p90y we SOTC ne SemaOnD Or ESN SES Nee Sent SENG NOSES rel NES Seo eeenemthentiaaheniememblias

epee tener erent sett] tans Sera eeeee et erat Tey ene SET eh Serene eee ee

Petre er emereers eee eee rh fee ete)een

eee aoe career

ee eee nee

See ere eer iaca, 2 Li teeent rerestra tire

Pe een eer ett Setter tts Tee a

seiriwiconpey

   

126 COUNT LUCKNER, THE SEA DEVIL

of nothing better. Now we had to change our ship
from the Maleta to the Carmoe. Painting out one
name and substituting another was easy enough, but
changing all our ship’s papers was far more difficult.
But with much use of chemical eraser we finally ac-
complished it, and we had papers that would pass if
the visibility was not too bright during the search.
Then, when we were all set again, we picked up a
copy of a Norwegian commercial paper and found
that the real Carmoe had just been seized by the Bnit-
ish and taken to Kirkwall for examination.

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

Now, if you haven’t any luck, you must go and
get 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’s
register and name our sea eagle after the girl of my
heart. Surely she will bring us luck. So, out with the
paint and on with another new name—the name of
my sweetheart, rma.

In that name was concentrated most of the beauty
that I had found in life. It symbolized strange mo-
ments of beauty that had crossed my path dunng the
most trying days I had so far known. It seemed to be
a lovely silken thread that had run through the years
since that first voyage, when as a miserable cabin
boy I sailed to Australia on that Russian tramp.

Of course, there was no such name as /rma listed
with Lloyd’s, and all any British officer would have
to do would be to consult his Register and the jig
would be up. But somehow I had a premonition that
the name /rma would bring us through.

When we applied eraser and ink to our shipping
papers and wrote in the name of Jrma—disaster. I wo
erasures were too much. The ink blotted. If we shouldFAKE NORWEGIANS 127

be stupid enough to take the British for fools, then
we ourselves would be the real fools. Where was our
luck now? Fate seemed to be against us, but I had
no intention of giving up. Calling the carpenter I
said:

“Come on, Chips, I am going to make you admiral
of 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 buckets
of sea water! Throw it around, drench everything.”

And now the water flew in the cabins, in the draw-
ers of chests, in the officers’ bunks, all over my Nor-
wegian library, water everywhere. I took my shipping
papers and put each page between sheets of wet
blotting paper so that not only the name of Irma
and the other entries we had changed were blotted,
but every line. I even soused the log book in a bucket
of water.

Then I called the carpenter again.

“Now repair everything you have smashed, Chips.
Nail everything.”

He hammered planks over the smashed portholes
and bull’s-eyes, and put the smashed chairs together
as well as he could.

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

“By Joe, Captain, you must have had a hard blow
to get knocked about like this.’

And I would growl, “Yes, by Joe, everything is
drenched, even my papers.”

Two days later a southwest wind sprang up. The
moment was at hand. To go raiding in a sailing ship
and that sailing ship with the name of Irma painted
on her bows—ah, it seemed more like a dream than
like setting out on a real adventure. It seemed as

    
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
    
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
  
 
   

Feared ene Fe SERPS ir REN EY One eee HEE TS OY Se ae eel eae aSe renee sateen ere ra leretencerteten terete

)
Ee
et
i
.

meet reer teres erent sate ear

Sree earners erent nent test ert tS ee

128 COUNT LUCKNER, THE SEA DEVIL

though all the events of my life had been designed
to converge to this one glorious point. Our one hun-
dred-and-seventy-foot masts creaked. Our nine
thousand square feet of sail bellowed before the wind.
We sailed north under a full spread.XIII

RUNNING THE BRITISH BLOCKADE IN A HURRICANE

Saixs bellied and motor humming, we parted the
waves and left a path of foam in our wake. On deck
we devoted all our spare time to more dress rehear-
sals. My boys took a particular relish in putting me
through the ‘‘third degree,” as you call it. One of
them played the part of a British search officer.

‘“‘Now, Captain, what is the name of your ship?”’
he bellowed.

‘She is the Jrma, and as good a full-rigged ship
as 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 and
Christian are seamen like myself. Lars runs a salmon
cannery in British Columbia, Gustaf and Tor are
lumbermen somewhere in America. And then we
have another brother, Eric, whom we’ve lost track
one

While trying to make the narrow channel of Nor-
deraue we hit a sand bank. The ship creaked and the
masts trembled, but somehow we pushed across—
further proof that the Americans still know how to
turn out a sturdy clipper ship.

At ten o’clock we passed the Horns reef and con-
tinued along the Danish coast. At eight bells we
hoped to reach the Skagerrak, and then turn her
west to give the enemy the impression that we had

129ae nea reer eR dR eae re aera emcee Too eee

ee eet eet

Ce ne ae ee ee

eerste

130 COUNT LUCKNER, THE SEA DEVIL

come from a Scandinavian port. Shortly before day-
break, the wind shifted abruptly from southwest to
due north. Against such a stiff breeze, we could make
little headway. On our right were the low rocky fjords
and reefs along the coast of Ringkjobing and Thisted.
To the left were British mine fields. We didn’t dare
run into a Danish harbour for fear of being interned.
So we must either turn back or take a chance on
slipping through the mine fields. It is always possible
to sail through a mine field—provided you sail under
a lucky star with a guardian angel at the helm.

“Hard aport! We'll msk it, boys.” With a full
spread of sail, we turned straight west.

Now, a tacking ship heels over. The more sail you
carry the more she lays over, and the less water she
draws. That was our chance. The mines were nearly
always planted several feet under water, just out of
sight. Perhaps we could slide right over them. Life-
boats were lowered, and every man adjusted his life-
belt. Before the mast, the sailors; aft, the captain. But
we all kept to the foreship. We were lower aft than
fore, 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 Scot-
land, along the usual shipping route from Norway to
the Atlantic. To be sure, we could have hugged the
Norwegian coast, but the blockade was even tighter
there. That was the natural course for one of our
raiding armoured cruisers to take, so, if she were
headed off by Beatty, she could turn quickly into
a neutral Norwegian port and accept internment
rather than capture. We didn’t even keep to the
middle of the North Sea, but with the idea that our
one path of safety lay right under John Bull’s nose,
we followed the coast of England and Scotland.
There were three lines of the blockade. The firstRUNNING THE BRITISH BLOCKADE 131

lay across the North Sea from the Scottish to the
Danish coast. We must run this one first.

The wind grew stronger. The barometer fell.
Anyone on the North Sea on the twenty-third of
December, 1916, will remember the hurricane that
came. It was one of the worst storms of years. The
wind was cyclonic in force, and lashed the shallow
North Sea into a cauldron. Running before it we
carried every foot of sail we dared, every stitch ex-
cept the royals and gallantsails and smaller staysails.
We could take chances. We had no shipowner to
answer to. Every mile through the storm now meant
a mile through the blockade. The ship lay over so
far that all our leeboard was under water. Every
plank quivered from the strain on the rigging. The
rigging sang like a violin. Heavy waves swept over
us. It looked at times as if Niagara Falls were de-
scending upon us. [Two men were needed to hold the
helm, and had to be lashed there. Some of our stays
broke and some of our canvas ripped. But we made
fifteen knots, and that hurricane was a godsend to
us, for we knew no British cruiser could search us
or even keep track of us in such a heavy gale.

We sped right through the first line of the block-
ade without sighting a ship and as though the whole
North Sea were ours. Instead of going up, the barom-
eter 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 a
ship in sight.

“ At twelve o’clock, boys, we will know whether we
are going to get through or not. At this speed, we
will pass through the third and most important line.
Half the Grand Fleet is said to guard this third
stretch from the Shetlands to Bergen.”

Midnight grew near, and still that wild heaven-

   
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
   

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132 COUNT LUCKNER, THE SEA DEVIL

sent hurricane kept up. We ran before it like a fright-
ened bird, fearing every minute that our sails and
masts would go overboard. We lay on the yards and
scanned the horizon with our glasses. Half-past
eleven! We were in the midst of the blockade line.
Where were the cruisers and destroyers? All we could
hear was the whistling of the wind and the rushing
of the water beneath our bows. All we could see,
the blackness of the night. Twelve o’clock and still
no sign of the enemy. Even our binnacle and compass
lights were out, for any ray of light might betray
us. By one o’clock we knew we had passed the last
line.

The British, warned by the falling barometer, had
taken their guard ships to shelter in the lee of the
islands. There was nothing else for them to do in
such a storm. Even if they saw a ship, it would be
hopeless to try to board her. And if Beatty’s fleet
had kept to sea, there would have been grave danger
of their running one another down. We couldn’t help
recalling the old saying that it is indeed an ill wind
that blows no one any good

I thought now that, under cover of darkness and
with the aid of the storm, we might shorten our voy-
age to the Atlantic by cutting through the channel
between the Orkney Islands “and the Shetlands. I
was about to order the helm changed, when the hur-
ricane shifted abruptly from southwest to southeast.
The change came so suddenly that the twisting winds
nearly ripped our masts out by the roots. Somehow,
that seemed to be a w arming to us, a warning not to
go through that channel.

A sailor believes in signs. And something told me
to take a more northesk: course, nearer the Arctic
Circle and the Faroes. Later, we learned that the
German submarine Bremen had tried to pass throughRUNNING THE BRITISH BLOCKADE 133

that channel and was never seen again. The channel
had recently been mined. But for that sudden shift
of the storm, we too would have shared the fate of
the Bremen. With sails still full spread, we con-
tinued north, nearer and nearer the Polar zone. It
grew bitterly cold. The waves dashed over us, and
the water froze where it fell. Our timber cargo was so
coated with ice that not a stick of lumber could be
seen. The deck was like a skating rink, and the ship’s
bow one huge cake of ice. Everything froze, includ-
ing the sails. The ropes became coated and would
no longer run through the blocks. We tried to thaw
them with oxygen flame, but they froze again the
moment the flame was removed. Unable to change
the sails, we were helpless. To turn on the motor
would only make matters worse, because that would
carry us toward the Pole all the faster. We knew that
unless the Hand of God intervened within a few days
we would be hopelessly caught in the Polar pack and
probably never heard of again. So long as the wind
blew from the south, we were sure to continueon
north. We were in the region of eternal night now,
except for a few minutes each day. The sun rose at
eleven and set at half-past eleven. If we continued
this crazy, frozen voyage to the North Pole we would
be smashed in the ice, by Joe.

Christmas Eve came, and we prayed God to send
us the one Christmas present, the only one that
could save us—a north wind to blow us south. My
men in the hold, my fighting crew, huddled together
to keep from freezing. They were prisoners, for the
waves and spray had swept over everything until
our secret hatches were frozen as solid as concrete.
My false Norsemen on deck slid about on the icy
planks, and every man suffered from frostbite. No
one tried to turn in to sleep. The tension on our

   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   
  

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14334 COUNT LUCKNER, THE SEA DEVIL

nerves was too great. Only one thing was warm and
steaming—the kettle of grog. You landsmen have no
idea of what grog means to a sailor under such con-
ditions. No wonder seamen call a glass of schnapps
“an ice-breaker!”’

At heart every sailor is a child, and he has a child’s
love of Christmas. And how he enjoys a Christmas
present! 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 the
finest that any sailor ever had

As suddenly as it had come, the south wind died
down and a breeze sprang up in the north. Our fro-
zen ship creaked, laid over, and came around with
the new wind, and our hearts sang for joy. Each day
we seemed to thaw out a bit more. Soon we passed
to the east of Iceland and reéntered the Atlantic.
Axes and picks were busy chipping away the ice.
It was hard work, but who cared now that we were
getting warm again? We were through the blockade
and out of the Arctic—and now to test the “Freedom
of the Seas” and give the Allies a touch of high life.

“By Joe,” I said to my boys, “and they call it a
blockade!”

You would have thought the fellow in the lookout
was 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 toward
us at full speed.’ She had the signal flying:

“Stand by or we fire!”’

Such bad luck after such good luck! This second
Christmas present was not so amusing. But now for
our test.

“Hustle you non-Norwegian chaps. Get belowRUNNING THE BRITISH BLOCKADE 135

deck! Throw water everywhere to explain why our
papers are blurred and wet. The storm we just passed
through will make it seem the more natural. Schmidt,
get into your finery. Remember, from now on you
are the shy ‘Josefeena’ (Josephine), the Captain’s
wife. If they put a prize crew aboard, we will capture
the prize crew. If they suspect we are an auxiliary
cruiser, bombs fore, midship, and aft, and we blow up
the ship!” |

Now for a big quid of tobacco in my mouth. [
have never had the habit of chewing tobacco, but a
Norwegian skipper would not be true to type with-
out his quid. Besides, a chew of tobacco gives you
time to think. If somebody asks you an embarrass-
ing question, you can roll your quid around in your
mouth, pucker up your lips slowly, and spit deliber-
ately and elegantly. I had practised rolling the quid
and spitting until I thought myself a past master
at the art.

But that smell, by Joe! The unexpected always
happens to mar the best-laid plans—and help the
worst. 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 of
the fumes. The characteristic reek of crude oil burn-
ing in a Diesel engine seeped up through the secret
entrances placed in my cabin, and everything smelled
of it. What will the search officer think when he
smells a Diesel engine aboard a sailing ship? No use
to 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 as
high as you can.”

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

   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
    

fen ev enNT Tem rerere eet Centre Tree Ce

alee chee ey hg Lene ane ett be tn Re Sale:

ns soba tecgtare aenghgngtylgiitenserenarts tea’14336 COUNT LUCKNER, THE SEA DEVIL

The Britisher had hove to now, and we saw that
she was the Avenger, an armed merchant cruiser of
some 15,000 tons.

‘““How’s that?”’ I thought. “‘Why are the guns
pointing? We are a peaceable Norwegian sailing ship.
Why the guns?”

She had her big guns trained on us, and her officers
were 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 the
best men, if a traitor has done his dirty work?”’

The thought of treachery always makes the fight-
ing man tremble. I went into my cabin, and like the
drowning man who grasps at a straw, I remembered
how before leaving port a friend gave me a parcel,
saying:

“My boy, take this package with you. But never
open it unless you are in a tight fix. Then it may save
you.”

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

“What was good for Napoleon ought to be good
for me. He fought against the British, too. Maybe
this is just what we need.”

I took sixteen or eighteen swallows, and with each
gulp felt my cares getting lighter and lighter. Never
did I thank God so much that I am not a teetotaller.

The cruiser had put out a small boat. Two officers
and sixteen sailors were rowing toward us. We must
receive them cordially, I thought. Going to the gram-
ophone I put on, “It’s a Long Way to Tipperary.” "
That will make the officers feel good. I also told the
cook to stand in the door of the “galley with a bottle

een a nn emer. noel: eee abe tarer acer races See RCT Tea al

re et eee enter Tren er

Catal)RUNNING THE BRITISH BLOCKADE 137

of whisky in his hand. I know the British! I know
what they like, and I guessed that while the officer
proceeded with his job, his jack-tars would go poking
about to see if they might find anything suspicious.
I also suspected that they would go to the galley
and sing out:

**°T there, Cookie, got any grog?”

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

The boat was alongside. I began to swear at my
men. It was hard for them to forget their naval
habits, and, with an officer coming aboard, they
were 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 a Nor-
wegian 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 a Nor-
wegian skipper would use. I talk English with an ac-
cent, luckily about the same brand you would hear
in a Scandinavian port. “But,” I continued, “if you
want to see what kind of Christmas we have had
come along down tomy cabin.”

‘A bit of a nasty blow this past week, eh, what!”
agreed the officer, “‘and from the look of your deck
you've had more than your share of it. We went m
behind the islands and waited for her to blow over.

“Yes, luckily for us,” I thought to my self.

*“‘I must see your papers, Captain.” ‘He got right
down to business. Just then the gramophone struck
up ‘Tipperary,’ and he began to whistle the tune

    
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  

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138 COUNT LUCKNER, THE SEA DEVIL

while his men made for the galley. I ushered the two
officers to the cabin. The one who stuck his head in
first retreated holding his nose.

“What a hell of a smell!”

“Excuse me, Mister Officer, but my stove 1s out
of order. I could not know you gentlemen were giv-
ing me a visit to-day.”

“Oh, never mind, Captain, that’s all night, that’s
all nght.”’

I had purposely hung my underwear up to dry so
it would be in their way and so that, in stooping to

: e = “c 99
get under it, they would see the name “Knudsen
embroidered on it. As the chief search officer crossed
the cabin he suddenly saw my charming wife Jose-
phine, with her blonde wig, her swollen jaw, and the
rug hiding her big feet.

**Oh, excuse me.”

“That is my wife, Mister Officer. She has been
having a bad go with the toothache.”

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

‘Sorry, madam, to intrude like this, but we must
do our duty.”

“All right!” said my lovely but somewhat dis-
torted better half in a high falsetto voice out of one
corner of her mouth.

“By Joe, Captain, you haven’t much cabin left,
have you? You have been through some rough wea-
ther!’’

“‘T wouldn’t mind the rest, Mister Officer, but look
at my papers. They are soaked, too.”’

““T can understand that, after the weather you've
had.”

“Yes, Mister Officer, it’s all right for you to see
them in this condition, because you saw the stormRUNNING THE BRITISH BLOCKADE 139

yourself, but later, if I meet some of your comrades
who didn’t hit the blow that we had, they may not
take my word for it. That’s what’s worrying ne.”

“Oh, don’t worry, Captain, I’ll give you a memo-
randum explaining the condition of your papers. You
are lucky to have saved your ship.”

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

I had the papers scattered all over the cabin to
dry, and each time I handed one to him I spat a
stream of tobacco juice on the cabin floor. He ex-
amined the papers with a practised eye and made
entries in his notebook. Each page in his book was
for a ship, and I could see that thirty or forty pages
had been used already. Yes, he was an experienced
officer.

When he came to the last document, the one
signed with the false signature of the British Consul
at Copenhagen and sealed with a false British Im-
perial seal, and read the formal statement that the
Irma’s cargo of lumber was destined for the use
of the British government in Australia, he turned
to me suddenly.

“These papers are all right, Captain.”

In the excitement of the moment I suddenly swal-
lowed my chew of tobacco. I was afraid this might
give our whole shamraway. So I coughed and coughed
as though with a bad cold, trying to cover up what
had happened. What would a British search officer
think if a Norwegian skipper got seasick? My mate
Leudemann was standing next to me holding the log
book. I had told him to have it ready in case the
Britisher should want to examine it. Leudemann
saw there was something wrong with me, and was
quick-witted enough to divert the search officer's
attention, by handing him the book.

  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
    

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140 COUNT LUCKNER, THE SEA DEVIL

“Oh, yes, the log,’ exclaimed the officer, and
opened the wet pages.

The quid of tobacco seemed to be moving up
and down my gullet. I struggled with myself, and to
show an outward calm I said to Leudemann in Nor-
wegian:

“*T wish I’d had that officer’s camel’s hair cape and
hood. It would have been fine to keep a fellow warm
while up there north of the Circle.”’

“For rain and spray, too.” The Englishman
spoke up in Norwegian to show that he knew the
language.

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

‘““How is this, Captain?” he exclaimed. “You
were laid up three weeks and a half?”’

There was a discrepancy in dates which repre-
sented our wait after the Admiralty had ordered us
not to sail because of the return of the submarine,
Deutschland, and the consequent increased vigilance
of the blockade. I had not thought of it. Here was
the one detail that we had neglected to provide for
in our elaborately detailed preparations. Even if
I had been in the best of health, I should not have
known what to reply. With that tobacco quid run-
ning around inside of my body I could only pray to
God for help.

Again Leudemann saved the situation. He was a
little fellow and simple-hearted, but a great char-
acter. When bad times came, Leudemann was at his
best.

“We didn’t lie there for pleasure,” he said in his
dry way as he looked up at the big Englishman. “We
had orders from our owner not to sail until we got
word.”
“How so?”RUNNING THE BRITISH BLOCKADE 141

“Haven’t you been warned then about German
cruisers?”

““What’s that?”

“Haven’t you heard about the Moewe and the aux-
iliary cruiser, Seeadler?”’

The search officer turned to me.

“What about this that your mate is saying, Cap-
taint)

My stomach felt much better, now that Leude-
mann had spoken. So I thought I might as well give
the Englishman a good dose.

“There were rumours at home in Norway that two
cruisers and sixteen German submarines had put out
of port.”

The search officer’s comrade, who had been look-
ing around the cabin, came over to us when he heard
all this.

“T think we had better be going,” he spoke up
suddenly.

“Yes,” replied the other, and they went on deck.

They made no attempt at questioning the sailors
or investigating the sailors’ belongings.

“Your papers are all right, Captain,” said the
search officer, ‘but you will have to wait here for an
hour until you get a signal to proceed.”

“All right, Mister Officer.”’

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

“Everything is lost.”

Down below were the members of my other crew,
waiting in the dark. They were mght beneath the
floor of the deck, straining their ears to catch any
word that might give them an idea how things were
going on deck. They heard the exclamation, “Ev-
erything is lost,’ and took it for the official word

   
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
    

PROT atest erro

Pree aT eet aa ae PRP Ur ENO TEIEDE Denar tr See ST SE INTO TTT

eT ea ner ee aCe onnn St preeesneoenerene Cette et ol

ne eee

Pee re see eee ets

ear ereyere ett ererrer Tt142 GOUNT LUCKNER, THE SEA DEVIL

that we were discovered and for the command to do
what was to be done in that case. They lit the fuses
of the three bombs that were to blow up the ship,
and waited for the hatches to be opened to let them
on deck to the boats. The fuses would burn for fif-
teen minutes.

The British were in their boat now, trying to
push off. But you can’t hold a sailing ship in one
place like a steamer. She keeps drifting. And the suc-
tion of the Seeadler as she drifted held their boat
so it couldn’t get away. What was still worse, it
kept slipping aft, and if it got under our stern, they
would have been sure to see our propeller. A sailship
with a propeller? Yes, sometimes, but we would have
been done for, as there was nothing to that effect in
our papers. Seizing a rope, I tossed it overboard
toward them.

“Take the rope, Mister Officer, take the rope,” I
shouted as though clumsily trying to help them.

That made them look up, so that the rope might
not fall on their heads. I heaved the rope just as they
were sliding around our stern and away. The officers
thanked me, and one of them, angry with his men
for not being able to push the boat off, exclaimed:

“TI have only fools on my boat.”

“Yes, maybe you have,” I thought, “‘and maybe
you are the worst-fooled one of all!”

My stomach was quite normal now. I was so happy
that I even felt as though I could digest that quid of
tobacco. The men on deck felt like cheering and sing-
ing, but they had orders to go on about “their jobs
as though nothing unusual had been going on, until
the cruiser was far and away. They just grinned,
but so broad were the grins that I thought they
would split their faces.

My first thought was to bring the happy news to

ee meee ery een eNO ed ene rae ern ba ere annen ermine rane

erent en eee mee ee retake Serer Taare

Oe eerie een tareRUNNING THE BRITISH BLOCKADE 143

the boys in the darkness down below. I went to one
of the secret hatches, which they had fastened from
within.

“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 could
hear 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 the
ship. I climbed down roaring. One of the men spoke
up.
“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 called
down 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 out
of their fifteen, and hundreds of gallons of water
were pouring into the ship.

By Joe, I looked for the fellow who said “All is
lost.’’ He came forward at once and confessed.

‘“T wasn’t calling to the men below. I merely said
it to myself.”

“Why do you say ‘all is lost,’ by Joe, just when
everything is fine?”’

‘Well, Captain, when the Englishman said that
we would have to wait for an hour, I thought to my-
self that the game was up. It means that he is keep-

   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
    

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Seta

arene ee re eoeeetraae

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Se eee ne eterna nT te ee

   

1444. COUNT LUCKNER, THE SEA DEVIL

   
   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
   

ing us waiting while he sends a wireless to Copen-
hagen asking about the J/rma, when there is no
Irma.”

' By Joe,” 1 said, “that’s nent.

In our excitement, neither I nor my officers had
thought about the wireless. It had not occurred to
us to ask ourselves why we had been ordered to stand
by for a whole hour. We didn’t even think of Lloyd’s
Register. The search officer might have gone back
to his ship to look up the /rma in the Register, where
there was no Irma.

For days I had been on deck in the storm and in
the ice regions. For the past half hour I had gone
through worse turmoil even than that. And now,
when everything seemed clear, the sky looked black
again and that quid of tobacco started getting in its
dirty work. I went to the rail and hung there on my
elbows, staring through my binoculars at the Avenger
and watching for the flag signal. My hand shook, and
instead of only one I could see three cruisers in my
glass. I handed it to Leudemann and while he took
a 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 an
hour, but finally three little flags went up the signal
rope. Old imperturbable Leudemann steadied his
glass. At last he made out the signal:

“’T-M-B.”’

I thumbed the book clumsily. It seemed as though
I 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 the
anxiety or from that quid, I don’t know. This time
he read:

ShoxRUNNING THE BRITISH BLOCKADE 145

Pages, columns, and then the nght place.
Continue voyage.

I felt as though my heart had two valves stead
of one and was pumping madly through both. I sat
down and breathed heavily. Instead of going about
their ordinary tasks, my men wanted to yell like
Indians.

Hello, what’s this? The Avenger, with her 15,000
tons driven by 100,000-horsepower engines, was rac-
ing straight at us. Huge streams of smoke and great
flames like torches poured out of her three funnels
as her safety valves blew out from the over-pressure
of her boilers. Just as she got on top of us she swerved
off. At her stern flew a signal. I did not need a code
book. I knew that signal by heart—Happy Voyage.
We raised the signal—thanks—and dipped our Nor-
wegian flag three times.

The British had behaved like gentlemen toward
us. I think the way they pointed their guns at us when
they came up to us was a bit of a joke. The hour they
made us wait was, I think, to enable them to make
wireless inquiries about the story we told of German
cruisers and submarines. The search officer did his
work courteously and well. No seaman should try to
make another seaman ridiculous. We were disguised
so well that he could have suspected nothing. In his
place, 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 Christmas
tree that I had brought from home. We set it up.
Before the Seeadler left port, Fraulein Bertha Krupp
had sent us a huge box full of Christmas presents,
something for every man. We opened it and found

 

   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   
  

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1446 COUNT LUCKNER, THE SEA DEVIL

clothing, cigars, pipes, cigarettes, cigar holders,
knives, liquor, soft drinks, and musical instruments.

It was the merriest Christmas of our lives. Sing-
ing ““Yo-ho” and cheered up with many good bot-
tles of rum, we headed south to play our réle as
buccaneers.XIV
WE CAPTURE THE GLADYS ROYAL AND THE LUNDY ISLAND

At hands on deck!”

Aloft my boys flew, into the rigging and up the rat-
lines like monkeys.

“Loose the fore-taups’!!’’ boomed up from the quar-
ter 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 filing out.
We didn’t lose much time in getting her away. Lying
over on her beam ends and running before the wind,
we set our course for Madeira.

We knew that just off Gibraltar would be one of
our best hunting grounds, so we cleared away the
remains of our Norwegian camouflage, and after a
few days we were as spick and clean and orderly as a
German auxiliary cruiser should be. We were the
Irma no longer, but the Seeadler now, although I felt
a pang of regret at tetting go the name that had
served us so well and brought us luck.

There was constant labour on the motor. The lu-
bricating oil we had was of poor quality. Oil, like many
other things, had become scarce in Germany. Our
enterprise had the enthusiastic support of only a few
of the officials at the Admiralty. The others thought
it certainly foredoomed to failure, and did not want
ta risk too much on it. Among these were the heads
of the department that supplied us with oil. A sailing

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148 COUNT LUCKNER, THE SEA DEVIL
vessel under the pressure of sail nearly always lists
to one side. The work of the motor was hampered
by a leaning position. We sailed most of the time
throughout our cruise with the motor dismantled
and under repairs.

We had only two guns, and only one at a time
could be brought into action against an enemy. Our
orders were to attack sailing ships only. Windjammer
against steamship was considered a ridiculous idea.
We would not need great broadsides of cannon in
capturing sailing vessels. We tried to make up for
our lack of gun power by skill and precision in
handling the guns we had. Our gun crew worked in-
cessantly at drill and target practice, and schooled
themselves to such quickness and accuracy of fire
that the power of our armament, in effect, was
doubled.

Our lookout posts were excellent. We had a crows
nest with a comfortable seat high up on the mast.
Only a man at ease watches well. A second lookout
was on the foremast, where a petty officer was
perched. I offered ten pounds sterling and a bottle of
champagne to whoever should report a ship first. A
jealous rivalry grew up between the lookouts. In
each raged a tremendous thirst for that bottle of
champagne. All day long eager eyes swept the
horizon.

On January 9th, off Gibraltar, the shout rang out:

“Ship ahoy.”

On our larboard side was a large steamer heading
toward us. Flying our Norwegian colours, we turned
to meet her. She flew no flag and carried no name.
The British were the only people who sent their
boats 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 the
correct time. Our request was reasonable enough.
The steamer signalled that she understood us, and
came to the windward so that we could heave to.
I wore my great-coat to conceal my uniform. Those
of the crew that had rifles hid themselves behind
the railings.

The steamer came near, ready to give the sleepy
old Norwegian the time.

“Shall we tackle him?” I asked one of my sailors
who was crouched next to me peering through a
loophole.

“Sure, let’s take him. He’s.an Englishman.”

I shouted the command, and the drum beat“ clear
for action.” A section of the rail could be lowered and
raised as a gun shield. It dropped clattering and re-
vealed the muzzle of the cannon. Up with the German
flag and fire, one across her bows.

It was the Seeadler’s first shot against the enemy.

What’s that, by Joe? Nothing happened, no move-
ment on deck, no slowing down of the ship. Then a
flag went up the mast, the British flag. It was like
the fantastic things that happen in a dream. I
thought I must be asleep. Another shot across her
bows. She suddenly changes her course. Hello, she
wants to get away.~A shot over thestern, another
over the smokestack, and now she hove to.

A boat was in the water rowing toward us. We all
put on our best manners, and I welcomed Captain
Chewn 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 salt
with a scraggly gray beard. I liked him right off.
His ship was the Gladys Royal, bound from Cardiff

with five thousand tons of coal for Buenos Aires.

“GLADYS ROYAL” AND “LUNDY ISLAND” 149

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1so COUNT LUCKNER, THE SEA DEVIL

I told him that, much as I disliked sending any ship
to the bottom of the sea, nevertheless, we must sink
the Gladys Royal.

“Oh, no,” he argued, “‘we are bound for a neutral
port and won’t harm anything. It will be bad for me
to lose my ship, and J have a wife and children at
home.”’

“Do you believe, Captain Chewn, that, under the
same circumstances, a British naval officer would
show any mercy to a German ship?”

He made no reply.

We now got an explanation of the queer behaviour
of his ship that had so puzzled us after our first shot.
Captain Chewn, an old-timer at sea, simply thought
we were trying to compare time in the old traditional
way, by firing a blank mortar. He had raised his flag
to serve as the mortar shot on his side. He would
afterward lower it to give the exact moment. That
is the way in vogue to-day. But when our second shot
was-fired, the cook on the Gladys Royal saw the shell
strike the water and thought we had sighted a sub-
marine and were firing at it. He gave the alarm, and
the captain started to zigzag. It was only after the
third shot that they saw our cannon pointed at them
and the German battle flag at our masthead.

“By Joe,” and the captain pounded the rail with
open admiration, “you fooled me bloody well. It
was the damnedest trap I ever saw.”

I sent a prize crew aboard the Gladys Royal with
orders to have her follow the Seeadler. I wanted to
wait and blow her up after nightfall. Cruisers might be
roaming somewhere in these parts, and it would be
unwise to run the risk of attracting their attention
with the sound of an explosion.

We photographed our capture carefully. At dusk
we transferred the steamer’s twenty-six men, whiteThe skipper of the raider and his beautiful wife,
Josephine of the big feet.

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The Gladys Royal goes down to Davy Jones’s Locker.“GLADYS ROYAL” AND “LUNDY ISLAND” ISI

and black, to our ship. The captain brought his be-
longings aboard. I also sent Lieutenant Preiss to pack
up everything aboard the captured vessel that he
thought we might need and ferry it over. He dis-
played excellent judgment, too, and turned up with
a welcome store of excellent provisions. We sailors
could be content with a sailor’s fare whenever need
be, but we wanted our guests to dine well at all times
to 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. Fifteen
minutes passed. Then the Gladys Royal trembled
fore and aft.

She went down stern first, and in ten minutes her
forward quarter stuck straight out of the sea. Her
bow remained above water for a long time. A steamer
hove into sight. She carried side lights, and from that
we judged her to be a neutral. Suddenly a second ex-
plosion, from the accumulation of air pressure, burst
the bow of the Gladys Royal. With a final quiver, she
took her last plunge into the depths and slid out of
sight, while we scurried away into the night with
all sails set.

We wanted nothing of neutral ships. We would not
bother them even if we thought their neutrality a
pretense. If we stopped one and searched her and
found her really to-be a neutral, we could only re-
lease her, and she would spread the news about us.
We had a trump card in our hand—nobody imagined
that an old sailing ship could be out buccaneering
in this age of fast battle cruisers. It was our plan also
to molest only those ships that we were fairly certain
did not carry wireless sets and therefore could not
broadcast our attack before we had boarded them.

Captain Chewn was agreeably surprised to find him-
self assigned to a cozy cabin. His only complaint was

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152 COUNT LUCKNER, THE SEA DEVIL

that he had no one to enjoy it with him. This sociable
mariner liked company. So we promised to supply
him with companions as soon as possible.

Much as we wanted to please Captain Chewn and
show him that we were accommodating hosts, we
allowed the next ship to sail by in peace. She was
a British passenger steamer bound through Gibraltar.
We had room enough for all her passengers, but we
did not want to be bothered with women and chil-
dren. Having lived at sea among men nearly all my
life, I regarded all women as flowerlike creatures sent
to 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 graceful
and delicate for the sights of war, with men shot
down, wounds and blood, and men dead and dying.
I had resolved to carry out my raiding cruise without
any killing, if I could help it, but in my nautical
career I had found many a thing I couldn’t help. Any-
way, to me women were synonymous with romance
and love—not with war.

At noon, with a heavy sea running, we sighted a
steamer cutting diagonally across our course. No
flag, no name. We signalled her for information, but
there was no response. Surely she must be an English-
man with a hard-boiled efficient skipper. You know
how a British captain often is, with his nose right
down on his job, with no thought except his cargo
and his lookout for submarines and cruisers? Well,
evidently this chap couldn’t be bothered with a
funny old Norwegian windjammer. Sails set and mo-
tor running, we held across his course and got in
front of him. Now, at sea, a sailing vessel always has
the right of way over a steamship because the latter“CTADYS ROYAL’ AND “LUNDY ISLAND” 153

can manceuvre more rapidly. But that meant noth-
ing to this steamship. She swerved not an inch, and
seemed quite content to run us down.

“This businesslike skipper must have an impor-
tant cargo, since he doesn’t care a rap, by Joe, about
ploughing into a clumsy old Norwegian bumboat,”
said I to myself. And I could imagine how he was
swearing there on his bridge.

“Stupid blighter, by Joe,” no doubt he was say-
ing, “get out of my way or I’ll ram you!”

We had to jib and let him go in the wind, or there
would have been a collision. The Englishman passed
us at three hundred yards.

The German flag was climbing swiftly to our mast-
head.

“Fire,” I commanded, “let’s see if that will make
him change his mind.”

The gun boomed and a shell went screaming over
the steamer.

“By Joe,” I said, “he sticks to his opinions.”’

The steamer’s stacks belched fresh clouds of
smoke. Her course changed not at all. Another shot,
this one, by way of emphasis, just over the smoke-
stack. The steamer turned into the wind.

“A wise baby, that skipper,” commented Leude-
mann sarcastically. ““He knows a windjammer can’t
sail against the wind.”

We, of course, couldn’t catch him in a chase, but
our range was still point-blank. A shot through the
smokestack and a couple into the hull. We could see
the crew running around wildly. A siren was scream-
ing. A shell exploded on deck. The propeller stopped,
and the steamer slowed down and lay rolling in the
trough of the sea.

“This new invention of war without killing, what

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154 COUNT LUCKNER, THE SEA DEVIL

do you think of it now?” Leudemann looked up at
me satirically. ‘‘I guess you'll find there are a
couple of casualties over there.”

The Englishman must have known that he hadn’t
a ghost of a chance to escape under fire at such close
range. First of all, he had been discourteous in ig-
noring our friendly signals. Then he had violated
the rules of ocean trafic in not giving our clipper
the right of way. And now in cold blood he had en-
dangered the life of his crew. According to the un-
written 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 to
us. If he’s such a tough guy, we’ll show him who
rules the waves in this part of the Atlantic.

It was funny. Finally, I had to laugh. The ship
was the Lundy Island bound for France with a cargo
of Madagascar sugar. An important cargo, sure
enough. Sugar was scarce in all the countries at war,
and we Germans, whose supply of sugar consisted
mostly of a great longing for it, could sympathize
with the captain’s eagerness to get his precious mer-
chandise to port. When the first shot struck the
Lundy Island, the crew, black, brown, and yellow,
fell into a panic. With shells falling, running the ship
or staying with it meant nothing to them. The cap-
tain roared and stormed, but that was all the good
it did. So he seized the helm, himself. Just then a
shot hit the rudder chain, and when he turned the
wheel nothing happened. The crew started taking to
the boats, and the tough old salt was left alone on
deck. Our signal for him to come on board left him
helpless. His boats were out there with the crew floun-
dering at the oars. The sea was pitching and rolling,
and they were so frightened they could hardly row.“GLADYS ROYAL” AND “LUNDY ISLAND” 155

He paced the bridge with his handbag in his hand,
a solitary, woebegone figure. We finally had to send
a 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, and
the blighters scurried around like rabbits at a dog
show. Look at them in the boats out there. They
haven’t got here yet, the beggars. Let me at that
gun, by Joe, and [ll sink them.”

It was hard not to sympathize with him, but still
his 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 it
was inhuman!”

Just then our ship’s surgeon, Dr. Pietsch, came
along.

“Hello, Captain.”

“Hello, Doctor.”

They greeted each other like long-lost friends, save
that there was a shadow of uneasiness in the captain’s
fraternal demonstrations.

Dr. Pietsch had gone out with our armoured cruiser
Moewe on one of her freebooting expeditions. Among
the captured captains of that cruise was our present
guest, who, while aboard the Moewe, had struck up
a pleasant comradeship with the doctor. Now he,
along with the other captains, had been released on
parole. They had signed written promises that they
would engage in no further war activity. Believing
he had broken his parole, he thought the Germans
would hang him from a yardarm if they ever caught
him. When he saw we were an auxiliary cruiser, he
already felt a rope tightening around his neck. That
was why he had tried so desperately to get away.
We amused ourselves with a formal discussion,

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136 COUNT LUCKNER, THE SEA DEVIL

after which I addressed our guest with suitable
gravity.

“We are of the opinion, Captain, that your parole
did not cover your calling as a merchant captain.
Only direct combatant service was included under
the heading of war activity. Therefore, we feel our-
selves under no unhappy necessity of hanging you.”’

Well, the smile on that hard, weather-beaten face
was like a sunrise. We now understood the all-too-
human motives behind his actions, and we respected
his plucky attempt to get away in the face of point-
blank gunfire. Sailors ourselves, we could only salute
this skipper who, with a worthless, spineless crew,
had to take the wheel himself, and then only to find
his rudder chain smashed.

“All right, Captain,” I said, “it’s the way things
go at sea when there’s war on. God help us sailor
chaps.”

After he had roundly cursed his crew when finally
they came aboard, we took him below and introduced
him to his new quarters with Captain Chewn. The
two skippers found themselves mutually agreeable
and became great old sidekicks. Some of the crew
found old friends among the sailors we had already
captured, and none of them appeared particularly
grieved over the loss of their ship. We now had fifty-
odd guests, apparently representing half the races
on earth. The Seeadler was becoming populous and
quite convivial.

The sea was so rough now that we did not send
a bombing party to board the Lundy Island, but sank
her by direct gunfire.

That night Leudemann and I sat over bottles of
beer and talked about our prospects.

“Well, old chap,” said I, “everything has begun
well. It’s a fine cruise. But when will they sink us?”’“GLADYS ROYAL” AND “LUNDY ISLAND” 157

“Not, at any rate,” he replied, “until our hotel 1s
full.”’

You see our buccaneering raid was pretty certain
to remain a secret until the time came when lack of
space would compel us to release our prisoners and
send them to port. Then the news of our freebooting
jaunt would be out, and cruisers would be hot after
us in every part of the world.

“And if we don’t capture any more ships,” I re-
flected, ‘‘we can go on cruising indefinitely.”

“Then let’s catch some more quickly,’ laughed
Leudemann. “‘It will be great sport to play hide and
seek with cruisers.”

That mate of mine was always itching for trouble.
But then that was what we had all come through the
blockade in hope of finding, so if we wanted plenty
of excitement, then the sooner we sent the crews of
eight or ten ships into some port the sooner would
the alarm go out—‘‘ German raider in the Atlantic!”’
Then, too, Lloyd’s insurance rates would start to
soar when the news got out, and ships with supplies
that the Allies needed badly would be held in port.
Also, a number of cruisers would no doubt be de-
tached from blockade patrol duty across the North
Sea. That was the interesting part of it—those cruis-
ers and how to elude them.

“Teudemann,” I said, “the better the lookout,
the more ships we will catch. We already have a
good lookout, but I’ve thought of a way to have a
better one. A hundred pair of eyes are better than
two pair.”

““What do you mean?”

“Well, from now on, I’m going to change that
offer of ten pounds and a bottle of champagne that
we promised to the first of our two lookouts to spy
a ship. I’m going to open it to everyone on board!”

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“To all of our crew?”’

“Yes, to our crew, and to all of our prisoners, too!
Ten pounds sterling and a bottle of champagne!
Pll bet that’ll send everybody into the rigging, in-
cluding the captains.”

“By Joe, you’re right,” said my mate, slapping
his knee, “particularly since they know that, as
soon as we are full up with prisoners, they will all
be sent into some port.”

“Exactly,” I responded. “It won’t be long before
we have several hundred aboard. That will make a
fine flock of birds perched in the rigging, forces of
the Allies on the lookout for Allied ships to sink!”’

Leudemann and I roared with laughter the longer
we thought of it. I at once had notices posted up:

‘Ten pounds and a bottle of champagne to the
first man who sights a ship. Offer open to all.’’

You should have seen the ngging crowded with
crew and prisoners from then on. Every man who
had any kind of glass brought it out. There were up-
to-date binoculars, old-fashioned spyglasses, and
cheap opera glasses. Even those without any glasses
took their places on the yardarms, trusting to luck
and the power of the naked eye. The two captains,
with the dignity and poise that became their exalted
rank, climbed aloft and sat next to each other on a
yard, sweeping the horizon with their excellent bi-
noculars.

Never had a ship such a lookout. I often stood and
watched the curious flock perched in the rigging, all
colours, sizes, and styles of beauty. And, believe me,
they were wonders at spotting ships. Sometimes two
or three would spot the same ship at the same mo-
ment. Then there would be an argument, a riddle for
Solomon himself to answer. Once or twice the argu-
ment got so hot that I had to pay two rewards for“GLADYS ROYAL” AND “LUNDY ISLAND” 159

a ship, and then the champagne flowed freely. That
night, if the weather was balmy and a gentle breeze
was blowing from the Gulf Stream, the deck of the
Secadler became a veritable beer garden, and our
suests frolicked like tourists on a Mediterranean
cruise.

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XV

RAIDING ALONG THE EQUATOR, AND AN INTERRUPTED
HONEYMOON

Tuere are some memories that are painful to re-
call. To this day I can see the Charles Gounod going
down, her bowsprit plunging first and her tall masts
sinking slowly, first one spar disappearing and then
another. It fills me with sadness, for she had behaved
like a gallant craft, and she was a large barque with
all the air of an argosy, and as we bore toward her,
she proudly saluted our Norwegian flag by raising
the tricolour of France.

“What news of the war?” she signalled.

We steered close to her, unmasked our gun, and
raised the German battle flag.

‘“Heave to,” was our reply.

Incredulity, consternation! The officers and sailors
on deck stood paralyzed for a long moment. Then
the barque hove to.

Our prize crew went aboard and commandeered a
batch of fine red wine from among the ship’s provi-
sions, and three fine fat hogs. The Frenchmen packed
their belongings, and came aboard the Secadler.
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 French-
man is attached to his native land. No French sailor
willingly serves on a foreign ship. The crews of other
nations are made up of men from every corner of

160RAIDING ALONG THE EQUATOR 161

the world, from Chittagong and Malacca to Senegal
and Jamaica, from Hull to Helsingfors, but no
foreigner is taken on a French ship. The French sea
laws are more severe than those of other nations.
Desertion from a French ship is a very serious of-
fense, while on most German ships it 1s punished by
a mere fine of twenty marks.

The captain was painfully correct in his manner
toward us. He was a tall, impressive fellow with deep
voice and black beard. A man of fine education and
studious mind, he was scrupulously polite, but knew
how to make the hostility he felt toward us clearly
and rather amusingly evident. He was our prisoner.
Very well, he conceded that. But we were the ene-
mies of his country and the destroyers of his ship.
Therefore he preserved a demeanour appropriate to
that attitude of mind throughout his entire voyage
with us. For our part, we could not but admire him
for his superb, unbending spirit.

His barque was loaded with a cargo of corn and
bound 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 mind
admitting a secret fondness for old Mephisto and his
serenade beneath the window. Now I had to sink
my favourite composer. The thought of it made me
hum a phrase of Valentine’s dying lament.

But the sinking of the Charles Gounod meant much
more than any such superficial melancholy. One
shouldn’t ever have to sink a sailing ship. They are
the last survivors of the golden days at sea, crueler
days and finer days. Take any old salt who has sailed
before the mast, and ask him. The shipyards are not
building many of them any more, and the day of the
schooner, the barque, the clipper, and the barquentine

   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
    

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62 COUNT LOCKNER, THE SEA DEVIL

is fast passing. Every one that goes down to Davy
Jones is a loss that will not be replaced. I have
an old-time seaman’s love for sailships. A steamer?
Train the guns and light the fuses. I could sink a
steamer and laugh as she takes her last dive. But
I never did get used to sinking sailing ships, al-
though we had to send many of them on their last
voyage before our own final adventure in the South
Seas.

Our bombs exploded in the hold of the Charles
Gounod. She lurched like a living thing. Her tall
masts trembled. The majestic ship seemed to bow
her head as she nosed down into the sea. The last
we saw of her was a glimpse of her tallest mast and
waving from it the tricolour of France. With her de-
parture, | somehow thought I saw the passing of the
whole age of sailing ships.

Three days later, a tremendous commotion in the
rigging. Six men were reporting “Sail ho!”

“Hold there,” I roared, ‘‘let’s have done with
the argument until we’ve settled with the ship.”

She was a fine three-masted schooner. We thought
she might be an American. The Americans favour
that type of ship. And the United States was not yet
in the war. However, the Canadians also have a
weakness for the three-masted schooner. We raised
our flag, hoping to induce the skipper to raise his
flag, which would be the’ polite response for him to
make. But her skipper didn’t seem to be in any mood
for returning compliments that day. Perhaps he had
had 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 flag
three times as a salute, hoping that this exceptional
courtesy would induce the schooner to follow the
amenities of the sea.RAIDING ALONG THE EQUATOR 163

It happened now that our freebooting led us to
intrude unwittingly into the rose-covered field of ro-
mance, where our rough pirate’s boots were not
adapted to walk among the delicate plants. However,
buccaneers that we were, we were not without a high
regard for the tender sentiment.-Aboard the schooner,
the captain had his newly married bride. The voyage
was their honeymoon. He saw no reason why he
should bother to raise his flag in response to ours.
She, however, inspired by the enchantment of a
honeymoon voyage, was full of romance and the
spirit of the sea. She remonstrated with her bride-
groom for his impoliteness toward the Norwegian
ship.

“Oh, to blazes with the old Norwegian,”
grumbled the bridegroom, and she thought him a
very cruel and hard-bitten husband, and told him so.

When we dipped our flag three times and he still
proposed not to answer the salutation, she felt it
was an outrage. I don’t know whether she broke into
tears, as brides always do in books, but, at any rate,
she talked a lot. He got angry, and they had a real
row—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 the main-
mast sang out:

‘‘That’s no American. They’re raising the Bntish
flag.”

Sure enough, there were the British colours. Up
went our battle flag! Across her bows went a shot
from our gun. But it required a second shot before
she hove to.

“Hey!” cried Leudemann, “there’s a woman.”

The captain’s bride was running around the deck
in a tailspin, as aviators say. I don’t know whether

 

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Ne eT Ne Senta ee ene eee ee Se ee Lee Te ety eee164 COUNT LUCKNER, THE SEA DEVIL

she was afraid of shot and shell or the righteous ire of
her husband. Maybe he was chasing her.

Prize Officer Preiss had an added dignity as he
climbed into the boat with his boarding crew. He
was always a great hand at quieting excited people
—especially the ladies. With his six feet four, his
deep voice, and his imperturbable manner, he was
the kind of man to raise his hand and calm the
tumult of the howling mob. He had a certain streak
of gallantry, too, which made him a second Siegfned
when it came to the task of quieting an excited
young woman.

The schooner was the H. M. S. Percy bound from
Nova Scotia with a cargo of gaberdine. The captain
told me he saw our first shot splash into the water
in front of his ship, and thought it merely a whale
spouting. With our second shot he heard the report
of the gun, and saw that we were an auxiliary cruiser.
The Percy’s cargo was so light that we did not use
bombs, but shot her full of holes.

We were worried about having fair company
aboard. There might be rough work that would not
be good for the eyes of woman. And then a woman
needs attention. She must be treated with care and
consideration. Suppose this new and undesired cap-
tive should start to complain. Women like to com-
plain. Suppose she should grow angry at being kept
a prisoner. What could we do? You couldn't put her
in the brig.

“Well, Leudemann,” said I, “the only thing we
can do is to treat her so well that she will be happy
all the time.”

“T treated a dame well once,” growled Leudemann,
“and then she ran off with another man the first
time I left her alone.”

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SemaRAIDING ALONG THE EQUATOR 165

The skipper’s bride turned out to be the best fel-
low you could want. She had one of those sunny
temperaments that simply spread mirth and good
cheer everywhere. She had a smile for everyone and
in every circumstance. She took her stay aboard the
Seeadler as an unexpected, exciting, and appropri-
ate phase of her honeymoon, and resolved to get the
greatest possible fun out of it. We all made much of
her, did everything to make her comfortable, gave
her presents, and got up amusements for her. Her
husband was a little annoyed with her at first for
having caused the loss of his ship, but he could not
stay angry with her for long, and when he saw what
a reigning queen aboard she was, he became very
proud of her—and seldom left her side.

When she got back to Canada, she gave the news-
papers long stories about her stay on our terrible
pirate raider, the Seeadler, and told what a delightful
time the freebooters had shown her. When I returned
to Germany after the war, I found an envelope full
of clippings from her awaiting me.

We lay in the waters off Africa five degrees above
the equator and thirty degrees west longitude. That
region is right on the path of all sailing ships that run
before 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 of
thirty miles.

A Frenchman, no doubt of it. The ship was scru-
pulously clean, her rigging trim and neat. Her hull
was decorated artistically with gunports, after the
manner of an old-time war frigate. Only the French
keep their ships so thoroughly shined up, and there
was one firm of French shipping owners whose custom
it was to decorate their vessels man-o’-war fashion.

        
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
    

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166 COUNT LUCKNER, THE SEA DEVIL

She was the four-masted brig Antonin. We came up
behind her diagonally, and then after her. Our motor
was having one of its off days, but we did not care.
What’s the matter with canvas? The Szeadler was
one of the fastest clippers ever turned out by an
American shipyard, and there was nothing [| liked bet-
ter than a race under sail. We'd see if this Frenchman
could outsail us. Fine chance he had. But if he did not
exactly outsail us, he sailed with us. We could not
gain 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 and
upper gallant sails. That was where we had it on
him, for we had no miserly shipowner to be afraid
of. Our masts wouldn’t break, anyway.

“Keep every stitch on, boys! After her, my
hearties!”’

Of course, we gained rapidly on her now.

The wind continued to howl. The gale raged, and
the captain of the Antonin thought we were quite
mad. Gallants and royals up during a wind squall
—he had never seen such a thing in all his days at
sea. The sight was so funny that he wanted a
picture of it. We watched him standing in the stern
of his ship and gazing down into the finder of his
camera.

““Leudemann,”’ I said to my helmsman, “we must
capture that snapshot for our collection of photo-
graphs, if we have to take a trip to Davy Jones doing
iho

We were attempting to keep a thorough photo-
graphic record of our cruise, for the Imperial archives,
and a picture of the Seeadler running with all sails
set through a squall, particularly if that picture wereThe Sea Devil overtakes the Charles Gounod.

   

The end of the Charles Gounod.

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[The fake armament of the raider frightens a Canadian schooner into
submission.

 

pee > *

Along came the Antonin on her way from Chile to France with a
load of saltpeter. Her skipper was a savage old salt.RAIDING ALONG THE EQUATOR

snapped all unwittingly by the captain of a prize,
would indeed be a gem for our collection.*

We were close behind the Antonin now. The cap-
tain’s picture seemed to have been satisfactorily
snapped. A machine gun began to rattle. We were
often bored during those long days at sea. Anything
for a bit of amusement. It would be funny to watch
that captain’s face when he heard the typewriter of
Mars rattling in his ear and when he saw us sending
a stream of lead through his rigging. First he started,
and then he glared. What did these lunatics meanf
This kind of insanity was too much. His rigging might
be injured, ropes cut or spars smashed. He began to
roar at us in the most profane French. When a
Frenchman swears, you can hear it far off. Then he
saw the German flag at our masthead. He staggered
back with a dramatic gesture that only a French-
man can achieve.

We sank the Antonin just as we sank the others,
Toe first we seized that kodak and roll of film, by

oe.

We added another Allied nation to our list of
prizes when the Buenos Aires came bowling along.
She was an Italian ship built in England, a fine
vessel but filthy dirty. Everything was untidy from
stem to stern. Her captain, a fat, unkempt man of
about fifty-five with a bristly moustache and a
month’s growth of scraggly stubble on his face, came
aboard the Seeadler carrying an umbrella! Can you
imagine a skipper of a windjammer carrying an um-
brella at sea? We couldn’t, and my men all burst
out in rude guffaws. I suppose he had it to protect
himself during a hurricane, eh? I had once seen a
photograph of the Italian commander in chief, Count

*The sketch in the photograph facing page 114 is reproduced from the
photograph taken by the captain of the French sailing ship.

 

167

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1448 COUNT LUCKNER, THE SEA DEVIL

Cadorna, carrying an umbrella. So we immediately
dubbed our new ‘skipper Cadorna. He was a genial
fellow, full of good nature and fun. You should have
seen his astonishment when he saw the fine quarters
we provided for our captive skippers. He never did
quite get over it. Apparently, he was better off as
our prisoner than he had been before.

We sailed might and day. Durng the day we
tacked south into the steady trades, and during
the night we ran with the northeast trade winds.
At nights, when we ordinarily could not see them
(because in wartime they all sailed without lights
even in the Pacific), we went in the same direction
as the ships bound for America, so that none passed
us, and it was up to us to catch them. During the
day, with our zigzag tacking, we were pretty sure to
come in sight of any vessel saili ng along that ship-
ping lane in either direction.

One night, our lookout saw a tiny flash of light
astern. A ship was coming along behind us, and some-
body on her had looked at his watch with a pocket
flash. We kept along on our way. No doubt in the
morning she would still be close to us. Dawn came,
and there she was, a magnificent French barque, the
La Rochefoucauld. We signalled her:

“‘Important news.”

She hove to. The captain, who was on deck in his
carpet slippers, saw our gun but thought we were the
mother supply for a squadron of British submarines.
Seeing that he was under some illusion, I decided to
have a little fun with him. I called our captured
sailors to deck in batches. First up came the China-
men. They lined up along the rail so that the French-
man could get a good look at them. Then I called
the West Indian Negroes on deck. After them theRAIDING ALONG THE EQUATOR 169

white men. Now Chinese, now black men, now
Caucasians—the captain of the La Rochefoucauld
thought he must be having a nightmare. And a most
disagreeable nightmare it was when he saw the Ger-
man flag run swiftly to the tip of our mainmast.
You should have heard him swear.

He climbed on to the Szeadler’s deck a picture of
wrath and despair. He still had on his carpet slip-
pers, and had brought nothing with him. His name
was Lecog.

“Don’t you want to send for your belongings, Cap-
tain Lecoq?”’ I asked.

“Tf I have to lose my ship, mon Dieu, I want to
lose everything,” he replied.

OW > % : Sate s x 5)

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 La
Rochefoucauld to pack his luggage and bring it aboard
the 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 captured
sailors and talk with them to see what they could
pick up. This sailor had heard mention of a cruiser
in the talk of the French sailors.

That was funny. I had asked Captain Lecoq
whether he had sighted any ships within the past
week, and he had replied no. In his log I had found
no mention of being searched by a cruiser. One of
my officers examined the log again and found that
a page had been torn out. A thorough questioning
of the French sailors brought out the fact that they
had been thoroughly searched by a British cruiser.
This warship had taken her position three hundred
miles south of us and was cruising back and forth
across the Pacific ship lane, examining every vessel

Ee PES ne Bee ce we SE RUT NE hn eel eee -

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Nee enn en nt aiee abaene

nee nn nnn ate Shiite alan

170 COUNT LUCKNER, THE SEA DEVIL

that passed. So you see, we, apparently, were picking
them up after she had O. K.’d them. Captain Lecog
had bidden his men to say nothing about the cruiser.
Apparently he hoped that we would wander far
enough south to run afoul of the Britisher and be
captured.

I was momentarily displeased with him for his
deception, but, after all, he was a Frenchman, and
we were the enemies of his country. His action was
a bit heroic, too. If we ran into the cruiser, we might
be sunk, and he would go down with us. I was des-
tined to have trouble later with this same irrecon-
cilable Captain Lecog.XVI
WINDJAMMER VS. STEAMER

Now the biggest ship we captured in the Atlantic
was a 9,800-ton British steamer loaded with cham-
pagne—the Horngarth. That was our banner day.

She was well armed and had a wireless. She hove
into sight one morning, and we could see that she
would make a tough customer for our sailing ship
to 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 said
very clearly:

“Let that old windjammer go and buy a watch!”

But we had other devices. We had a smoke ap-
paratus to send clouds rolling out of the galley, and
on the galley roof was a dish loaded with a quan-
tity of magnesium which when lighted produced a
wicked red flame. We set the smoke and fire going,
and ran up distress signals. The Seeadler now was
the most dramatic-looking ship afre you ever saw.
Thirty of my crew armed with rifles hid behind the
rail, and Schmidt quickly dressed up as the captain’s
wife, the beautiful but simpering ‘“‘Josefeena”’ of the
big feet. We had another piece of apparatus which
we now used for the first time. It was a kind of can-
non made out of a section of smokestack. It was
loaded with a charge of powder, and you touched it
off with a lighted cigarette. It was quite harmless

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2 COUNT LUCKNER, THE SEA DEVIL

but made a terrifying noise. You would have thought
it a super-dreadnaught’s full broadside. I picked three
sailors who had the most powerful voices aboard,
gave them large megaphones, and stationed them on
the topmast yards of the mainmast and mizzen.

If that steamer was short on courtesy, she was
long on humanity. She came rushing heroically to
the aid of the old sailship that was blazing so dra-
matically just astern. She had a powerful wireless
set, and as I stood on my bridge watching her as she
steamed toward us I could not take my eyes off the
five-inch gun on her deck. What was our little pop-
gun beside that piece of ordnance? One shot would
blow us nght out of the water.

The steamer had a big fat captain, who had his cap
pulled down over one eye. His voice, even when he
whispered, was a deep bellow. You should have
heard it through the megaphone! The steamer
drew near. The fat captain raised his megaphone.

“What the hell’s the matter with you?” His voice
boomed across like the rumble of our old cannon.

We cut off the smoke and flame. It looked as if we
had fought our fire successfully. Schmidt, the cap-
tain’s beautiful wife, tripped along the deck with
coquettish movements of shoulders and hips. The
officers on the steamer’s bridge eyed the fair vision
and exchanged smiles with that rogue of a Schmidt.
Nor was the fat captain insensible to feminine
charms. He rolled his eyes and grinned with the ex-
pression of a skipper who can easily “cut his officers
out.”

“Look at the wireless, Leudemann,”’ I said, “and
the five-inch gun.”

“Knock the wireless over,” he replied, “and let’s
have it out with the five-inch gun.”’
“Clear the deck for action,” I roared.WINDJAMMER 2s. STEAMER 173

Instantly, the beautiful Schmidt threw off his
silken dress, and in the uniform of a German gob
kicked his blonde wig around the deck. The British-
ers stared aghast. The German flag ran up, our rifle-
men arose from behind the rail, ready to pick off
anyone who tried to handle the five-inch gun. Bang,
crash, and our gun knocked over the wireless shack.
A tremendous detonation, and our false smokestack
cannon added its voice to the general effect.

The steamer’s crew swarmed on deck and ran
around like crazy animals. The captain telephoned
his order to start the engines. His engine crew was on
deck as panicky as the others. He ordered the boats
swung out. His men were already doing that as well
as 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 fellow
dominated the frightened mob by sheer force of lung
power. His voice seemed to sweep the deck and mas-
ter 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 a
kind of attention. The gun crew separated itself
from the crowd. It looked as though there would be a
fight, his cannon against our rifles. Well, we could
pick 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 through
the megaphones in unison. The shout was in English
and seemed to dominate the ocean to the horizon.

   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
    

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174 COUNT LUCKNER, THE SEA DEVIL

‘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 white
was waved. The cook frantically waved his apron.

“Lay to,” I shouted, ‘‘or we discharge our tor-
pedoes.”’

There was no further sound. The fat captain was
licked, licked by the terror the torpedo inspired in
everyone who sailed on ships. He made no further
protest. He could not have done anything with his
men now, but I don’t think he liked torpedoes either.
He sat down on a deck chair, cursing and wiping the
sweat off his face.

We still had to be careful. There were plenty of
firearms aboard that ship, rifles, grenades, and what
not. I kept our riflemen at the rail, ready to cover
our boarding party and to shoot down anyone who
went near the five-inch gun. Still with the idea of
keeping the men on the steamer overawed, I sent
my eight strongest men as the boarding crew under
the command of my giant prize officer. They had
been among the strongest men in Germany. One
was the wrestling champion of Saxony, another the
wrestling champion of Westphalia. One, a Bavarian
who had been a sculptor’s model. He had been in
much demand for posing because of his prodigious
muscular development. Any one of these fellows
could bring up the 220-pound weight with one hand.
They went with bare arms and shoulders. They had
long bamboo poles with hooks at the end. They
reached up with the poles, caught the hooks over the
edge of the deck of the captured ship, and climbed up
hand over hand. The men on deck looked down as
they ascended.WINDJAMMER vs. STEAMER 175

“What fellows, by Joe. No, by Joe, we’re not
going to fight with those fellows!”

Our prisoners came aboard. Among them were
eight British marines who had been assigned to the
steamer as a gun crew. Lhe fat captain looked around
our deck with a sort of belligerent curiosity. He
walked up to our smokestack gun, and you couldn’t
have told his face from a beet.

“Captain, is that the thing that made that hell of a
racket!’

ce Ves.”’

“Where are your torpedoes?”

“Torpedoes? We have no torpedoes.”

““No torpedoes? That was a fake, too?”

“Ves 33

By. Joe, Captain, don’t report that, by Joe.”

I promised him I would not report it, and told him
heartily that he had behaved like a true British
skipper, and no man could have done better

Aye, things have changed on the sea. When I went
aboard that steamer, I had to sit there and look
around and think. She was a freighter, and what were
freighters like when I was in the fo’c’sle? That wasn’t
so long ago, twenty-odd years, but ships and customs
change rapidly. I was in a magnificent saloon, with
heavy carpets, glittering candelabra, and big, luxuri-
ous club chairs. Paintings in heavy frames hung on
the wall. In one corner was a Steinway grand piano
and beside it a music rack. There were other musical
instruments, a melodeon, a violin, a guitar, a ukulele.
Freighters nowadays often have better officers’ ac-
commodations than passenger ships. They have more
space for them and their voyages are longer, some-
times a year or more. The shipowners provide com-
forts and luxuries to make the long periods at sea less

   
  
   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
    
  

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COUNT LUCKNER, THE SEA DEVIL

   

176

burdensome. The sailors, too, are put up in far better
style than formerly. In my time, even on the biggest
freight steamers, ‘the officers had simple quarters
and the seamen had little more comfort than they had
on the sailing ships. I remembered the various ships
on which I had hauled at ropes and swabbed the
deck.

“By Joe,” I thought, “if they had told you of
anything like this, you would have thought them
ready for a lunatic asylum.”

The hold of the steamer was no less interesting than
the officers’ saloon. The cargo was valued at a mil-
lion pounds sterling. It included five hundred cases
of rare cognac and twenty-three hundred cases of
champagne, Y euve Cliquot. That was something.

‘Ho! boys,” I called, “lend a hand. There’s a bit of
work here.”

We took the musical instruments, the piano, violin,
’cello, melodeon, and all. We had aboard the
Seeadler a pianist and a violinist, both excellent
musicians out of the German conservatories. We had
no room in our cabins to hang the paintings, so I
gave them to our captive captains to take with them
when they left our ship. Some of the expensive furni-
ture fitted nicely in the Seeadler’s cabins. Of the
cognac and champagne we ferried aboard as much
as we could stow away. We opened the sea cocks of
the steamer, and she settled down peacefully beneath
the waves.XVII
THE LAST CRUISE OF THE POOR OLD PINMORE

One night, the breeze having become light, we
proceeded under a cloud of sail. It was a night such
as you rarely find anywhere but in the tropics. The
four scintillating stars of the Southern Cross twinkled
merrily down upon us. Our sails were full, and the
waves murmured past our bow. The sky was a gor-
geous spread of blinking stars, and Old Man Moon was
so bright that he seemed to be laughing and chuckling.
The buccaneer’s deck was crowded. We sat around in
genial fraternity, officers, prisoners, and crew, each
with a goblet of champagne. Midship was the or-
chestra, violin, ’cello, melodeon, and Steinway
grand. Perhaps it was the spell of the tropic night,
but as I paced the quarter-deck it seemed to me that
they played as well as the musicians at the Stadt
Opera in Berlin.

“Oh, lovely south wind, blow.”’ The melody drifted
along on the wind of the Southern ocean.

How remote the war seemed then! The day was not
far when we would be shipwrecked, but to-night all
thought of what might be our fate was wafted away
by the spell of the music, the champagne, and the
poetry of night beneath the tropic stars.

“What ho, a light!”

My night telescope at my eye, I saw a ship. On the
horizon, brightly outlined by the light of the moon,
stood a stately three-master.

177

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178 COUNT LUCKNER, THE SEA DEVIL

“Hard aport!’ We were on the dark side of the
horizon, and she could not see us. After a bit of
scrutiny as we approached her, we guessed her to be
an enemy ship.

Our flash signal flared out across the water.

“* Heave to—a German cruiser.’ Unable to make us
out, she little guessed that we were nothing more
than a sailing ship, from which she could easily es-
cape by slipping through the night. We were confident
she would take us for an armoured cruiser easily able
to catch her and blow her out of the sea with a broad-
side.

We waited at the rail to see what would happen.
Presently, we heard a splashing of oars. Out of the
darkness came a hail, the jolliest hail I have ever
listened to. It was in nasal seaport French.

“What a relief! Instead of a Boche cruiser, I find
you are an old windjammer like ourselves. But why
the joke? Your signal fooled us completely. I suppose
you 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 about
news from the various battle fronts, and it was com-
mon 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 like ordi-
nary seamen. On deck he said proudly:

“T am a Frenchman.” As though we couldn’t have
guessed 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 offered
him a bottle of champagne. Being homeward bound,
he was in a frolicsome mood. A generous taste of

>THE LAST CRUISE OF THE “PINMORE” 179

the champagne, and he was ready to embrace us. He
thought our supposed joke, which certainly would
have been somewhat cruel, was the result of our
being tipsy. He slapped me on the back, as one
cheery skipper to another.

“Captain, what a terrible fellow you are to have
fooled me like that. But now I feel as though a stone
had dropped from my heart.”

“Beware,” I thought, “that your stone does not
come back twice as heavy.”

He was such a cheery, convivial soul that I hated
to break the bad news to him. I left the progress of
events to do that. He wanted to have a look over our
ship. So I ushered him aft to my cabin, and threw
open 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 German
flag.

** 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 despair
was both tragic and comic to behold. I tried as best I
could to say a few words of cheer.

‘Well, Captain, you are not the only one to lose
your ship during the-war. To-morrow I, too, may be
sunk, or the next day.”

He replied in the most doleful tone imaginable.

“It is not so much the loss of my ship. But it’s
that I feel I have only myself to blame for it. In
Valparaiso, where I lay in port with my Dupleix,
two of my fellow captains warned me not to start
until they had cabled our owners for final instruc-
tions and news about U-boats and cruisers. Possibly
our owners would instruct us to keep off the usual

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180 COUNT LUCKNER, THE SEA DEVIL

course, they said. But the wind was fair, and I
thought it best to take advantage of it. So, without
waiting for a reply from our owners, I sailed from
Valparaiso ahead of the other two captains. And now,
because I did not take their advice, I have lost the
Dupleix, my ship. Mon Dieu, what an ass I was!
Now they will report it to my owners, and I will
never get a ship again.”

““What were the names of your friends’ ships?”

“The Antonin——”’

“The Antonin under Captain Lecog?!”’

“Yes. And the La Rochefoucauld.”

“Orderly,” I called in German, which the captain
did not understand, “‘ bring up captains numbers five
and nine.”

While we waited, I invited my mournful guest to
have some more champagne, but he refused and
continued holding his head and moaning.

A knock at the door.

“Come in.”

And in walked the captains of the Antonin and
the La Rochefoucauld. They had been on board ten
and three days respectively.

The captain of the Dupleix gaped.

** Eh, tout la France!’* he cried.

Full of ironical enthusiasm, he raised his glass of
champagne and saluted them. Then with joy that he
made no effort to conceal, he clasped the hands of
the two captains whose advice he had scorned and
who had encountered the same fate as he. They re-
turned his welcome with a grim humour.

The presence of these three captains aboard the
Seeadler represented a loss of ten thousand tons of
saltpetre destined for French powder mills, and a sav-
ing of hundreds, perhaps thousands of German lives.

* * *THE LAST CRUISE OF THE “PINMORE” 181

One Sunday morning, we sighted a large British
barque and started after her. She thought we were
playfully challenging her to a race, and tried to run
away. I don’t know whether we could have caught
her in a straight sailing ship against sailing ship
contest; at any rate, our motor gave us the edge.

A strange feeling came over me as we gained on
her and as her lines became more distinct. It was
a sense of sadness and of vague, dimly dawning
recollection. Had I seen that ship before? Was it
possible...

“Signal and ask her for her name,”’ | called.

Our signal flag went aloft. The reply came back:

“Pinmore.”

Ah, my old Pinmore, on which I had made the
longest and most harrowing voyage of my life. Mem-
ories swept over me of those endless storms and of the
disease on board, beri-beri, scurvy. My whole being
seemed to leap back to the days of my youth. Home-
sickness seized me. I could not say a word to Leude-
mann, who stood beside me.

““No use, the ship must be sunk,” a harsh inner
voice told me.

It was hard for me to sink any sailing vessel, but
doubly cruel to have to sink my old ship. I felt as
though she were a kind of mother. No sailor with any
kind of sailor’s soul in_him will raise a hand against
his own ship.

We took her as we had taken the others. When
her 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 ofSETA PARTE TEN Mh car ot

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182 COUNT LUCKNER, THE SEA DEVIL

   
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
  

enemy in war nor storms at sea. The seven seas had
been his home. Like the sailing ship, the old-time
windjammer captain is vanishing. Captain Mullen
was indeed like the king of a vanishing race. He swag-
gered down below, and saluted our other skippers
with a jovial air. He soon became the leading figure
of the ‘Captains’ Club.”

When everyone had left the Pinmore, Thad a boat
take me over to her. I clambered aboard and sent
the boat and its crew back, telling them I would give
them a hail when I wanted them again.

“Why does the Count want to remain alone aboard
her?” I heard one of them say.

I went to the fo’c’sle. There was my bunk, the
same old bunk where I had slept night after night
for months and had tumbled out countless times at
the command “all hands on deck” while those end-
less storms bore down upon us. I paced the planks on
deck where I had stood watch so often. It seemed as
though I had never seen that deck save in a storm.
Those gales had left so deep an imprint on my memory
that it gave me a sense of strangeness to see the sun
shining on the Pinmore’s planks and a slowly heaving
sea around.

I remembered a cunning little cat I had once owned
on board her. The captain’s wife wanted it. The
steward got it for her. [ told the steward that if he
did not bring it back to me I would go to the captain.
The steward laughed at me. I determined to complain
to the captain about the steward and his wife and
demand my cat back. I could see myself as I had
wrathfully strode along the deck to the cabin. The
sight of the door made me stop. I mustered up my
courage and advanced again. | ventured just far
enough to peep in at the door, which was ajar. [he
skipper was sitting there reading a paper. OneTHE LAST CRUISE OF THE-“PINMORE” 183

glimpse of the master, and all of Phelax Luedige’s
bravery oozed away. He turned and tiptoed away.
I never did get my cat back, and forever after held
a grudge against the steward.

IT could still feel the old enmity. If I could have found
that steward, I would have let him know how the
end of a rope felt. I went to the cabin and half
opened the door. It was much as when I had seen it
last. The bright rainbow glow of the coloured’ sky-
light gave me an old familiar feeling. Something
restrained me from entering. I did not dare go in
then. I would not now.

At the stern I looked for my name which I had
once carved on the rail. I found it, half effaced by
time and weather. I read it slowly, spelling it out
as a child spells its first lessons: P-H-E-L-A-X
L-U-E-D-I-G-E. I looked at the compass, beside
which I had watched for hours. The compass is a
sacred place to a sailor.

“This ship,” I thought, “carried me safely. The
storms were wild all the way from ’Frisco around the
Horn to Liverpool. They wanted to take us, every
man aboard, but the good old Pinmore fought against
wind and wave over leagues and leagues of dreary
waste and brought us safely to port. Yes, she was our
mother, our kindly protecting mother.”

The deserted ship. with an unguided helm rolled
back and forth. The rigging creaked and groaned. It
seemed to be a voice, a voice that hurt me. Every
spar seemed to say:

“So here you are, Phelax, back again. Where have
you been all these years? Where is all the crew!
What do you want here, alone? What are you going
to do with me?”

Little had I dreamed when I was a sailor on this
fine barque that one day I would walk her decksa
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184 COUNT LUCKNER, THE SEA DEVIL

again, not as a seaman, but as the commander of a
raider.

Returning to the Seeadler, I shut myself up in my
cabin. In the distance I heard the roar of a bomb,
and I knew that my old Pinmore had started on her
last cruise.XVIII
THE LIFE OF A MODERN BUCCANEER

Ever taken a trip at sea where the company aboard
was dull and dead, the passengers uncongenial to
one another, and everybody sitting around day after
day and bored to death? You have? Well, then, you
know what it’s like, eh?

Give me a lively, companionable crowd of ship-
mates, and I don’t care how long or how stormy the
cruise. On land, if you don’t like the company, you
can seek better mates elsewhere. On shipboard, do
your darnedest and you can’t get away from ’em.
You have to take your company just exactly as you
find it. You are married to it. A genial lot of ship-
mates and a long cruise, say from New York to Mel-
bourne, and what more can any man ask for at sea?!

Although our old jolly-boat was a raiding auxil-
iary cruiser, she also degenerated into a breed of
passenger ship, too. Our passengers were our prison-
ers. That made the-situation somewhat unusual and
added a bit of spice. I’ve served as an officer aboard
a dozen or more liners, and have seen all kinds and
strata of society aboard, including dull, delightful,
ill-natured, jovial—both the quick and the dead.
Yes, I have had some splendid passenger lists on
voyages where every hour was gay and bubbling
with fun. But no group of passengers on a liner ever
enjoyed such happy comradeship as did we aboard
our buccaneering craft. The fact that we were cap-

185

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186 COUNT LUCKNER, THE SEA DEVIL

tors and captives only seemed to make it all the
jollier. We took the greatest pleasure in making the
time agreeable for our prisoners, with games, con-
certs, cards, and story-telling. We tried to feed them
well, and I think we did, which helps a lot, as you'll
agree. We didn’t throw it at them either. In fact,
we served special meals for all the nations whose
ships we captured. One day our own German chef
cooked, and that boy was some cook, as you say. The
next day an English cookie, then the French chef,
then the Italian to make us some polenta. The Eng-
lish food was the worst. It usually is. On the other
hand, the Americans fed their sailors best of all. It’s
long been a tradition on Yankee clippers. In the old
days, the American sailing ships were famous for
frightful work and much brutality, but the food
was good. To-day the work is not bad and there is no
brutality, but the food is still good.

The prisoners seemed to appreciate our intentions
thoroughly. They wanted to do everything they
could for us in return. Feelings of patriotism should
have made them hope for our early destruction.
But more elemental sentiments of gratitude and
friendship obliterated the more artificial passions of
war hatred. I am sure that very few of our passengers
wished us any ill or gloated in the hope of our being
sunk by the cruisers of their nations. [ think it really
hurt many of them to realize that the day probably
would come when we would be caught and go down
under a rain of Allied shellfire. That magnificent
Frenchman, the captain of the Charles Gounod, kept
aloof from the general fraternizing, and scrupulously
kept up his manner of cold politeness and stately
hostility toward us, but even he thawed out a few de-
grees, although he tried hard to keep from showing it.
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himself in any way that could be considered im-
proper. That was Captain Lecog of the La Roche-
foucauld, that same Captain Lecog who had cherished
hopes that we would run afoul of the British cruiser.
You see, the skippers aboard were quite free to go
where they liked on the ship, except that I asked
each one, as he came aboard, not to go into the fore
part of the ship, and I explained why.

““My magazines,” I said, “are in the forward half
of the boat. I do not want you to know exactly
where they are placed. After you are released, you
might reveal the secret. Then, one of these merry
days, if some cruiser takes a shot at me, and if the
location of my magazines is known, they’ll aim
right at that spot. A shell there and up in the air we
go. I must ask you to give me your word of honour
that you will not go into the foreship, else I will have
to keep you confined.”

Each skipper gave me his word, including Lecogq.

Captain Lecoq broke his promise. He not only
went secretly into the foreship, but he made sketches
of the layout there. Captain Mullen of the Pinmore
saw the sketches, knocked Lecoq down, and reported
him to me. I berated Lecog soundly.

“And as a result of your dishonourable action,” I
said, ‘“when I release my prisoners and send them
off to some port, there will be one Frenchman who
will remain behind, and that Frenchman will be you.
You will continue your cruise with us. You know
where my magazines are, and I cannot trust any
promise that you now give me.”

He turned a bit green around the gills at that, but
there was nothing he could say in reply.

Our only woman aboard, the skipper’s little bride,
grew melancholy. We did everything we could to
make the time pleasant for her, but she pined for the

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society of other women. It was rather a trial for her
to be so long the only woman among several hundred
men.

“Count, I do so wish there were a woman aboard
that I could talk to,” she said to me a bit coaxingly
one day. ““Why don’t you catch me one?”

I always like to oblige a lady, particularly one so
charming and agreeable as she, but catching another
woman was a game of chance with us. You don't
often find fair company aboard freighters, especially
in tropical waters. However, I said:

“Madam, we will do our best.”

At times I used to amuse myself by joining the
crowd on the lookout in the rigging. It was a misty
day, and nobody had much of a chance of seeing
anything. Then it cleared a little in the west, and
Boarding Officer Preiss, who was beside me, thought
he saw a ship. I instructed the helmsman to steer
in that direction, and after fifteen minutes a large
British barque appeared through the mist. As we
drew near her, I saw a white figure on the deck. Sure
enough, a woman.

“Madam,” I shouted, to the Canadian skipper’s
bride, ‘“‘get ready to welcome your companion.
She'll be paying you a call in a few minutes.”

Everybody, prisoners and all, swarmed on deck to
witness the exceptional capture. The Seeadler bore
down on the unlucky barque.

The captain looked curiously at the crowded
figures standing at our rail, of every colour and race.
They waved gaily. Our gramophone blared out, “It’s
a Long Way to Tipperary.”

“Hello,” he shouted through his megaphone,
“collecting volunteers?”

He thought we were picking up war volunteers
from the Atlantic islands.THE LIFE OF A MODERN BUCCANEER 189

“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 deck
craned their necks for a reply.

_ “Much news of the war,” I responded. “T will signal
ite

They stared, awaiting the signal.

“C-I-D,” our signal flags went up; “heave to or
I will fire.”

I could see the captain rapidly thumbing the pages
of his book. His head jerked up suddenly. His
binoculars focussed themselves on our masthead
where the German flag now waved. Our gun mask
dropped, and the cannon peered forth. By Joe, but it
raised a commotion on the deck. When she saw it, the
woman darted into her cabin. The sailors ran to the
boats. Even the helmsman deserted the wheel. The
captain was the only one who kept his head. He
seized the helm with a firm hand, and the ship hove
to.
Our guests were always interested in the prospect of
having new additions to their company. They had an
ever-ready, cordial welcome for fresh arrivals. This
time, the coming of a second feminine passenger made
the occasion a gala one. Everybody put on his
best manners. The-smembers of our “ Captains’ Club”
marshalled their forces on deck, ready to greet the
officers and the lady from the captured craft with
suitable dignity and formality.

Our little woman put on her best clothes and asked
me for a nosegay from a supply of artificial flowers
we had captured. The newly arriving woman, who
scarcely knew what to expect aboard our dreadful
pirate craft, was surprised when she was greeted not
only by our Captains’ Club with all of its stately

    
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
   

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190 COUNT LUCKNER, THE SEA DEVIL

courtesies, but also by a brightly smiling young wo-
man who presented her with a bouquet of flowers
that made up in brightness of colour what it lacked
in sweetness of perfume, since they were imitation
ones.

The two women immediately became the best of
friends, and the convivial spirit aboard made our
happiness complete.

The captured barque, the British Yeoman, carried
a rare store of provisions, including some live pigs
and chickens. She also had two pets, a curious pair—
a rabbit and a pigeon. We promptly adopted them
and called the pigeon “‘the dove of peace” in honour
of the spirit aboard our raiding ark. That rabbit and
pigeon were inseparable. If the rabbit strayed, the
pigeon would coo and coo for it to come back, and
the rabbit would obediently respond.

Then we also had two dachshunds aboard, Piperle
and Schnaeuzchen. Piperle was a friendly little rascal
and most intelligent. He seemed to understand what
our work was, and grew most enthusiastic. He went
out with the boarding parties, barked furiously if
anything seemed to go wrong, and wagged his tail
with a tremendous enthusiasm when things turned
out all right. He seemed to take it as his especial
task to give a friendly welcome to prisoners brought
aboard. He would bark and leap upon them, as
though saying:

“Hello, you'll have a good time here.”’

Schnaeuzchen was an ill-natured specimen of
dachs bitch. She looked on satirically at Piperle’s
demonstrations, and people had to make many
amicable overtures before she became friendly. She
and Piperle were of discordant temperaments. They
got along together in a resigned sort of way, withTHE LIFE OF A MODERN BUCCANEER 101

many a quarrel in dog language, something like hus-
band and wife. I think she nagged him a lot.

We gave the rabbit and pigeon quarters in Piperle’s
kennel, which delighted the good-natured dog. He
welcomed his guests s with cordial demonstrations. He
licked the rabbit’s fur continually, which at first made
the pigeon jealous. The bird sulked and made angry
sounds. The unfortunate rabbit seemed in a quan-
dary, torn between his liking for the new friend and the
old. He must have been a diplomat, though, for
presently he found a way to reconcile the pigeon to
his fondness for Piperle, and the three became ex-
cellent friends. When the three were asleep in the
kennel, they made an edifying picture of harmony,
Piperle on his side, the rabbit huddled against his
belly, the pigeon perched on his side.

Schnaeuzchen, malign and crafty, watched this
beautiful friendship with a jaundiced eye. She was
the villain of the piece. She often made attempts to
devour the rabbit or the pigeon or both, or at least to
takea bite out of them. She was quick and cunning with
her snapping jaws and sharp teeth. I spent a great
deal of time trying to convince her that she had better
leave the three pals alone, and Piperle had to be on
the alert all the time to protect his two friends.
One night Schnaeuzchen, with bold and bloody
resolve, raided Piperle’s kennel. I suppose she rea-
soned that she had better end the obnoxious situation
with one fell blow. She got in before Piperle knew
what had happened, and the rabbit barely escaped
her jaws. Piperle turned on her and chastised her
properly. After that she resigned herself to the inevi-
table. She kept the peace with the other pets, and
while she never became really friendly with them, the
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oe theres ereh oe eal

192 COUNT LUCKNER, THE SEA DEVIL

Talking about animals brings to mind one remark-
able piece of good fortune that blessed our entire ad-
venture. Before it was over, we were destined to suffer
pretty nearly all the hardships that the sea can
bestow upon the sailor—arctic ice and tropical sun,
storm and calm, frightful labour and deadening
idleness, shipwreck, life as castaways on a desert
island, 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 my
early days before the mast. I was determined to have
none of them now. Bedbugs are a constant pest
aboard sailing ships, and doubtless some of the ves-
sels we captured had plenty of them. But aboard the
Seeadler we had a magnificent fumigating plant, and
every article that was brought aboard was given a
thorough treatment. That fumigator was one of our
most treasured possessions. Without it, we would
surely have been in a fix. We could not have put
comfortably into a port and called for the vermin ex-
terminator, and if we had taken aboard any bedbug
guests, our long voyage would have given them
plenty of time to multiply and overrun our ark. We
would have been eaten alive.

I remember a time during my jack-tar days when
we had a magnificent collection of bedbugs in the
forecastle. A comrade and I went to the captain, a
mean old German skipper, and told him we were
being eaten alive and begged him to go to the slight
expense of getting a vermin exterminator.

““Bedbugs,” he grunted, “Gott 1m Himmel, catch
them.”

We did catch them. We caught a match box full
of 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 to
take any more guests aboard, we would have to get
rid of our present company. The old pirates would
have had a plank-walking ceremony. That was a sure
way to prevent inconvenient information from getting
around. Undoubtedly, it would have enabled us to
keep our existence still secret. We were buccaneers
in a sense, but not quite that bad. We would have to
take other measures. When our prisoners got to port
and our freebooting career became known, cruisers,
of course, would set out after us. They would make
the narrow Atlantic much too hot for us. We would
have to seek other waters. The broad Pacific re-
mained. We did not want to hold our prisoners for
the always rough passage of Cape Horn, where, in
addition, there were likely to be cruisers on watch,
keeping a guard for-suspicious ships that might be
trying to take the shortest route from European
waters to the Pacific. We might be shelled and sunk,
but it would have been scarcely humane to take a
chance of going down with all our prisoners on board.
So we arranged it in a way that would enable us to
get a good start on our trip around Cape Horn before
the cruisers could get word of us.

The French barque, the Cambronne, came along.
You should have seen her heave to and her yards

193

ee Rese eee ert

ea eee nen TI Te eee nen 2 SSSR SY Sree Natl DW aaeRNMenETS wal WOE Me eTen > Sint Sst Peelers oes oe Sts Eeee eye wreneeee

rae tabetha Lo ot ba bed

nee aera a ee ee ete ee roe

Neen nnn ee enn nn en en tet ieee taeeel

194 COUNT LUCKNER, THE SEA DEVIL

come banging down when our German flag went up
and we signalled the inevitable: “Stop or I shall fire.’

Her captain exhibited all of the usual Gallic despair
at the prospect of losing his ship. We looked the
craft over. She was large and roomy and had aboard
a large stock of provisions.

“No,” ’ I said to her skipper, “we are not going to
sink 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 my
guests.

“They won’t be your guests, Captain. You will be
the guest of the new captain of the Cambronne.’

“T will not command my ship?”

“Not at all. [ have a Captains’ Club aboard. You,
as a prisoner, are now a charter member. Your ship
is 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 be
removed from the command of his ship as to have her
sunk,

It was a touchy matter to select a skipper from
among a dozen captains, each of whom was full of
sensitive dignity and thought he was the best navi-
gator of the lot. The French captains thought a
Frenchman should be selected, since the most numer-
ous nationality among the prisoners was the French.
The traditional principle of seniority, however,
pointed to the selection of the oldest skipper. My
belief in that principle was confirmed by the fact
that the oldest skipper was Captain Mullen of the
Pinmore. He had shown himself to be the finest of
gentlemen, and then there was the memory of my old
ship, which I had been compelled to sink. I appointed
Captain Mullen master of the Cambronne. Since heThe stately Cambronne, commanded by an equally stately skipper.

   

ee
Captors and captives aboard the raider enjoying the plunder of the
champagne ship. Von Luckner second from the left.

     

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Mopelia, a coral atoll of the Society Islands, where the Sea Devil
pl: unned a brief sojourn, and where the Seeadler was wrecked by a tidal
wave. “A circular reef studded with waving palms and within the reef
a lovely, placid lagoon. The coral shore was snow white and, with the
sun’s rays reflecting from it, it looked like a sparkling jewel set in an
alabaster ring, like emeralds set in ivory.OUR PRISONERS WALK THE PLANK 195

was a Britisher, it was reasonable that his ship should
sail under British colours. That necessitated the
ceremony of hauling down the French flag and hoist-
ing the Union Jack. The French captains did not like
it at all.

I was rather glad that it was not I who would
command the Cambronne. With all those captains
aboard, especially the disgruntled French captains,
the skipper of the Cambronne was certain to have an
uncomfortable time. One skipper always knows more
than any other skipper. Nor 1s any skipper ever
reticent about the mistakes of another. The skipper
of the Cambronne had better navigate with a perfect
correctness, or there would be plenty of talk aboard.

We lopped off the Cambronne’s upper masts, so
that she could set only her lower sails. She could not
make any speed now, and it would take her from ten
to fourteen days to get to Rio de Janeiro, which was
the nearest port. Then J exacted a pledge from Cap-
tain Mullen:

“Captain,” said I, “we are releasing our prisoners,
and they are under your command. I understand
perfectly well that when you get to port our existence
will be known. We will be a sailing ship in a world of
armoured cruisers. We will be chased like a wild
deer. We need a start. We have taken care that you
do not get to port too soon. One thing remains,
though. You may meet a ship within a week or within
a day—it may be a steamer with a wireless plant. I
ask for your word that you will not communicate with
any ship until you reach port. We have, I hope,
treated our prisoners fairly, and I ask this of you in
return. | must have your solemn word on it.”

“Count,” he replied, ‘I give you my word that the
Cambronne will not communicate with any ship
until she is in port at Rio.”

   
    
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   
 
    
  
 
 
 
    
  
   

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eee eeetenes errerenenanat

196 COUNT LUCKNER, THE SEA DEVIL

We shook hands on it, and my mind was at rest.
It was no risk to take the word of the Pinmore’s
old skipper.

He played his part nobly. He passed several steam-
ers on his way to Rio, but steered clear of them.
One comical thing happened. A big steamer came
toward the Cambronne one morning, and then her
captain noticed the crowd of prisoners on the ship’s
deck. He was a cautious soul. It looked suspicious.
The steamer turned and fled at full speed.

There remained the case of Captain Lecoq of the
La Rochefoucauld, who had broken his word to me
and whom I had promised not to release with the
other prisoners. He tried to dissuade me. He was
aghast at the thought of being kept aboard the
Seeadler throughout her long cruise, the end of which
no one could foretell. He vowed by all the saints that
he would keep the position of the ship’s magazines
locked sternly within his bosom. I would not listen
to him. I told him that the others would go but he
would remain. I intended to hold him until we had
caught and released our next batch of prisoners. He
enlisted the other captains to intercede in his behalf.
They came and asked me to relent.

“Gentlemen,” I replied, “I have just now rested
the safety of my ship on Captain Mullen’s word. You
are all ship masters. You know a captain’s duty to
the vessel he commands. Very well, [ know that Cap-
tain Mullen’s word is good. I have taken the others
of you at your word, and you have not failed me. But
Captain Lecoq broke his word. Can I trust him not
to break it again?”

They argued so hard for their unfortunate fellow
skipper that I finally gave in. After all, even if he did
break his word again and tell of the position of my
magazines, it did not necessarily mean disaster. IOUR PRISONERS WALK THE PLANK 197

made him sign a promise and made the other cap-
tains sign as witnesses to his promise. Then I gave
orders that he should go with the rest.

We paid our prisoners off, just as if they had been
working for us. Each recetved wages for the time he
had spent aboard, and each was paid the wage he
ordinarily received from his shipowner. By Joe, that
made them happy. We had a final banquet. The sail-
ors feasted in their quarters. I entertained the officers
and ladies in my cabin. Toasts of champagne were
drunk, and at the end there were cordial handshakes.
We transferred the crowd to the Cambronne in boat-
loads, and each boat, as it pushed off, gave three
cheers for the Seeadler.

Evening was coming on. The Seeadler lay watching
while the Cambronne raised sail. Now the stately
barque was sliding through the water. Hands waved
and farewells were shouted. The two ships saluted
each other. With her snow-white canvas bellied out
by the brisk wind, the Cambronne sailed toward the
horizon. Aboard the buccaneer, we watched till the
last tip of her mast disappeared below the skyline.

We had been away from port for eight weeks and
had sunk eleven vessels, representing a total of more
than forty thousand tons of Allied shipping. The At-
lantic had given us its share. Now to the Pacific. And
God save us from the cruisers.

   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   
  

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XX
THE BATTLE OF THE FALKLAND ISLANDS

Trovucu an oily sea we sailed south and west to-
ward the Falkland Islands. Many a time had I passed
this way in the old days when bound for Cape Horn.
These islands of the South Atlantic have long been
the base for whaling schooners. But to every German
the Falklands will be forever memorable as the scene
of a one-sided naval engagement in which one of
our best beloved admirals was overwhelmed by a
British fleet.

Had you seen our deck as we sailed south during
these days, you might have wondered what we were
about. Along with other plunder, we had looted cap-
tured ships of several great sheets of iron. We had
ripped them from iron walls and roofs of forecastles
and stowed them on our deck. Now the mechanics of
the Seeadler’s motor crew got busy with acetylene
torches, and from those sheets of metal they welded
a great iron cross, ten feet high.

We drew near a spot on that lonely ocean just a
bit to the east of the Falkland Islands. My naviga-
tion officer and I figured out the point carefully on
our chart, and when our instruments told us we
were there, I called all hands on deck. Somewhere
far below on the floor of the ocean were the bodies of
hundreds of our comrades and the battered hulks of a
once proud German fleet. It was in these very waters
that our gallant Pacific Squadron under Count von

198THE BATTLE OF FALKLAND ISLANDS 199

Spee sank in three thousand fathoms. For here it was
that 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 atten-
tion. The sky was gray and melancholy. The sea
rolled with a gentle swell. In our mind’s eye we could
picture that disastrous day when, outranged by the
guns of the great British warships, our cruisers,
two large and three small, had fought a losing and
hopeless fight. One, a scout cruiser, escaped. The
others went down. Pounded from the distance, they
trembled under the blows of the shells that rained
down upon them. Exploding projectiles raked the
decks and pierced the hulls of the ill-fated vessels.
As if in a last struggle, trying to keep afloat for one
more shot at the enemy, they staggered, lurched,
and then, one after the other, plunged into the
depths, entering port on their final voyage far below
on the ocean floor, eighteen thousand feet beneath
the surface. Every man aboard three of the ships
was lost. A high sea happened to be running at the
time, so the victors had little chance to rescue the
men from the doomed ships. Two hundred and fifty
members of the crew of the Gneisenau were picked up
and got to the Falklands alive.

As if in a dream, I thought of the last time I saw
my friend Count von Spee. It was in the days before
the world went mad. The Navy Yard at Kiel was in
gala mood. Every warship in the harbour had sent
three hundred men. They stood at rigid attention
while Von Spee and his staff strode by. Then he
addressed them.

“By order of the Emperor, I am to take command
of our cruisers in Chinese waters. My officers and
men sail with me to-morrow.”

    
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
    

Sere cee ecome tee tet Yrteset tee ere iene tes Etre

Sein pore; tuveesss-

ee nn Te FL eee Sent Dt S OmnGnuemnSE Teed WONe Meee TST TOL) ot ret ee ot as200 COUNT LUCKNER, THE SEA DEVIL

   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   

The sailors all give three cheers. They think the
Admiral and his men are merely going for a pleasant
vacation to the Orient. It is in 1913. No war is in
sight. Yet a darker note intrudes: Even then military
and naval men were unable to escape the thought
of 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 war
should come, we will be across the world and you will
be here. We will be too far away to lend a hand to
you, and there is little that you will be able to do for
us.
“Ours is a young navy, but we have had a great
teacher. When England built her mighty fleet, she
taught us how to build ours. The English have great
naval traditions, and both their fleet and traditions
have been our model. If war should come before we
meet again, we along the far-off China coast may be
but a few ships against many enemies, but from you
of the High Sea Fleet we expect great deeds.”

We of the German Navy knew and constantly
gave expression to the thought that Britain was our
guide on the sea. Her great seafaring tradition was
our conscious and admitted pattern. We German
naval men liked the English and were in sympathy
with them. Our navies were alike in spirit. The
French Navy was somewhat different. Its morale was
perhaps not so good. French naval officers all come
up from the ranks. The British and German come
from cadet schools and are recruited mostly from the
first families. That is best. It provides a finer corps
of officers. I, myself, came up from the forecastle,
but I believe that, unless you have officers and men
from different worlds, your men will have little re-
spect for their commanders. It must either be that, or

ee eee

Sr ere neneetret eet tert eerieTHE BATTLE OF FALKLAND ISLANDS 201

your officers must inspire respect with their fists as
in the old sailing-ship days. The French Navy no
longer has a rich tradition. It is true that the French
had far greater sea fighters than we in past centuries,
and they had their fine old naval traditions. But
during the Revolution the old Royal Navy of France
was swept away and remained abolished for twenty
years. At the end of that time, a new navy was
formed, but by then the fine old French traditions
seem to have been forgotten and new traditions had
to be formed. We Germans, with a new fleet, took
over the old, solid tradition of the British and made
it our own. We did everything we could to implant it
in our men, and make it a real, living thing ingrained
in our people. Our sea leaders understood the im-
portance of a tradition. That was why we were
determined to keep a fleet after the war. When our
great ships went down at Scapa Flow, our Socialists
favoured the total abandonment of the naval arm,
but fortunately enough of our people came out of
their post-war trance long enough to prevent such a
fatal error. Perhaps it might be only a few small
ships that we could retain, but it would serve to
keep traditions alive until we could again build up a
fleet as great or even greater than the one we lost.
Von Spee was asailor’s admiral. He was a seaman
by temperament, open, honest, and jovial, uncom-
fortable on land and only himself when on the
bridge of his flagship. Too many of our German ad-
mirals, I regret to say, were more ornamental than
useful. They were good at wearing gold lace and
that was about all. But not Von Spee. He was at his
best on a quarter-deck in a storm. I still can see him
pacing back and forth, with his bushy brows and
piercing blue eyes.
The day after he said auf wiedersehen to us at Kiel,

    
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
   

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202 COUNT LUCKNER, THE SEA DEVIL

he and his officers and men left by transport for the
Orient, there to relieve the officers and men aboard
the cruisers of our small Pacific Squadron at Tsing
Tao. What was to have been their two-year term
overseas began as commonplace, quiet routine. It
ended under the salvos of British guns off the Falk-
land Islands.

Von Spee’s plan, when the war caught him 15,000
miles from German waters, was to harass the Allies
in the Pacific and then try to slip back through the
North Sea to Kiel. Lady Luck smiled on him for a
little while and then deserted him. After crossing
the Pacific, he caught Craddock, the British admiral,
off the coast of Chile. Von Spee’s star was in its
ascendancy at this time and Craddock’s on the wane.
A German secret agent in Chile flashed a wireless to
Von Spee giving him the information that Craddock
was waiting for the arrival of the big but old battle-
ship Canopus that was rounding the Horn. Without
the Canopus, Craddock’s forces were weaker than
Von Spee’s, and Von Spee instantly dashed to the
attack so as to engage Craddock before the Canopus
came up. Craddock and his men met their fate like
true British sailors. Outgunned, the British cruisers
continued to fire until they sank. Only one, a small
boat, got away. But their conqueror’s days were
numbered.

Von Spee now began his long race toward Kiel.
Only two routes were possible, one by Cape Horn
and the other by the Cape of Good Hope. Of course,
he knew the British would be laying for him at
both places. He knew also that they would be after
him with swifter and more powerful ships than his
own. 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.THE BATTLE OF FALKLAND ISLANDS 203

By now he was short of both munitions and coal.
A wireless from Germany brought the good news that
a supply ship had slipped through the blockade and
was now on its way out to meet him. What a tre-
mendous voyage he might now have made! What a
hair-raising dash at the Allied blockade line he might
have made! But he never got the chance.

As he rounded the Horn, Dame Fortune tempted
him, 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, a
fleet of Britain’s mightiest battle cruisers had arrived
at the Falklands. He still might have run by them
unnoticed had he not determined to shell and destroy
the wireless station on the Falklands. Thus he stum-
bled into that nest of battle cruisers. He tried to run,
but they caught and sank him. That day the British
had their sea giants, the Indefatigable, the Invincible,
the Indomitable, and along with them a number of
other battle cruisers, that later were to fight gallantly
at Jutland, and then find their way to rest on the
floor of the North Sea.

Only one of Von Spee’s ships, the light but fleet
cruiser Dresden, showed her heels to the British
leviathans and slipped back around Cape Horn.
But the Fates were merely playing with the poor
Dresden, and a few days later she was sunk by the
more powerful British cruiser Kent off San Juan
Fernandez, Robinson Crusoe’s island, in the Pacific.
She was lying in neutral waters and should have
been sheltered by the laws of war. Her captain sig-
nalled to the commander of the Kent:

‘‘We are in Chilean territory.”

“My orders are to sink you on sight,” replied the
Kent, ‘and no matter where you are.”

The captain of the Dresden. blew up his ship, and

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anata eat een teh etree eT Terre iat Te Peet ere Terreery eT CTnit RIS hahah RUAN a ras i

et ties

204 COUNT LUCKNER, THE SEA DEVIL

with his officers and crew swam ashore. The island
was not quite so deserted after this shipwreck as it
was in Robinson Crusoes’ day!

That in brief was the story of the plucky Von Spee
and his gallant men. Hence this dreary waste of
waters off the Falklands was sacred to us. We hove
to, and from my quarter-deck I presided over a
brief memorial service above the watery graves of
our comrades and their ships. First I told my boys
the story of my friend Count von Spee and his men,
and every one of us knew that we, too, might soon be
on our way to join them. But with the difference
that 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 hour
of prayer and song. When we had “‘guests” aboard
from enemy ships, we invited them to join with us
in the worship of the Great Ruler of the Waves. Our
service followed the ritual of no particular creed. It
was as simple as we simple seamen could make it.
The table which bore the ship’s Bible was draped not
only with our German flag but also with the flags of
all the Allied nations whose ships we had captured
and under whose colours our prisoners had sailed. I
wanted to make our prisoners feel that the service
was as much theirs. as it was ours, and that we did not
feel ourselves any more a chosen people before the
Altar of God than any other people.

My life has not been altogether a pious one. On the
contrary, it had been decidedly blasphemous. My
character was then, and still is, far from saintly.
However, I may not have been wholly unfit for the
office of ship’s chaplain. J am religious at heart,
easily swayed by sentimental appeal. Had I had not
been a member of the Salvation Army in Australia?
Those testimonial meetings in Fremantle were stillTHE BATTLE OF FALKLAND ISLANDS 205

vivid memories to me. So I was not exactly a green-
horn at conducting a prayer meeting.

Before concluding our little memorial service, I ad-
dressed our comrades three thousand fathoms below
us. No mounds were raised over their graves, no
green grass or kindly flowers had been placed to
cheer them on their journey to the land from which
no traveller has yet returned. Only the waves of the
sea. I spoke to them as though my voice could some-
how find its way to their resting place among the
mountain ranges at the bottom of the South At-
lantic:

“‘Glorious fallen comrades, we bring you a message
from home. Your comrades have kept their promise
to your commander. On sea and on land they are
fighting for the Fatherland. We of the Seeadler
salute you and solemnly swear that we, too, will
endeavour to live and die as gloriously as you. We, too,
are hunted on the sea, even as you were. So perhaps it
will not be long ere we join you down there in Davy
Jones’s Locker. If we do, our one hope is that we will
be able to fight our last fight as gallantly as did you.”

I then led the sailors in a prayer that we repeated
aloud, and while the chorused invocation travelled
southward on the winds that blew toward the Antarc-
tic, four men came forward bearing the great iron
cross.

‘“‘A decoration for the graves of heroes!”

At this signal from me the massive emblem slid into
the water with scarcely a splash and flashed swiftly
down, down, three thousand fathoms, to carry our
message to Admiral Count von Spee and his men.

  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
   

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Seer eT rn ee eee ee

XXI
RACING THE ENEMY AROUND CAPE HORN

Annoy, shipmate,” I said to Leudemann, ‘‘you
are the fellow who likes yacht racing. By Joe, it’s
to be a race now—a race to see who gets to Cape
Horn first.”

We knew that, as soon as our former prisoners
made port, the news of our presence in the South
Atlantic would be flashed abroad. Then the Bnitish
would send their cruisers on the double-quick down
the coast of South America to keep us from doubling
the Cape. To be sure, we had taken care to give our-
selves a mighty good start. But in a race of wind-
jammer against swift cruisers, what is a start of a
thousand miles or so? With decent weather, we had
hopes of making it. So far we had had fair winds and
had made good time. But the most difficult stretch
of sea in all the world now lay before us. The storms
for which the Horn is famous often delay sailing ships
for weeks.

‘“‘And then,’ responded Leudemann, “even if we
do get to the Cape before any cruisers that may be
sent down from the North, they may have a cruiser
or two nosing around at the Pacific end of the
Straits. Unless we round the Horn before those
chaps reach Rio, the jig may be up.”

Just south of the Falklands, we caught a wireless
from a British cruiser, a warning message to Allied
merchantmen.

»

206RACING THE ENEMY AROUND CAPE HORN 207

Steer clear of Fernando Noronha. German cruiser Moewe
reported there.

“ Moewe” means “sea gull” in German. “Hail to
you, far-distant Sea Gull, may you fare as well on
your warlike flight as we hope to fare in our Sea
Eagle!”

A feeling of homesickness for the old Moewe came
over me, as it does over any sailor at the mention of
a ship on which he has sailed. My service aboard the
Moewe had been neither long nor eventful, but al-
ready she had made for herself a heroic reputation. I
have always regretted that I was not with her on her
raids. She made several, slipping out through the
blockade, sinking quantities of Allied shipping, and
stealing back into German waters.

She was built just before the war, and originally
designed to carry the exotic banana from Southwest
Africa and ‘‘German East” to Hamburg. Plans had
just been made to flood Germany with them. Her
sister ship in the banana trade was the Wolf, and she,
too, became a famous raider.

All manner of ingenious devices were invented in
fitting out the Moewe for her career as a raider. She
was altered so that she could disguise herself and
change disguises while steaming at full speed just
like a quick-change~actor. One day she would be a
three or two funnelled steamer, the next she would
look like a slow tramp with one funnel. The line of
her deck could be changed in a few minutes also.
She also had fake superstructures that could be
raised or lowered at will. She could even be made
longer or shorter in a few moments by means of a
fake section that slipped out from her stern. One
day she would be a tramp, the next, with fake bulls’-
eyes, a liner. These startling metamorphoses were a

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208 COUNT LUCKNER, THE SEA DEVIL

great success and enabled her tododge many an Allied
cruiser.

Of course, the British soon got on to the Moewe’s
quick-change habits, and were not\to be fooled by
them. On one of her adventures, the Moewe was
trapped off the eastern coast of South America. The
British cruisers Glasgow and Amethyst were warned by
wireless that the Moewe was steering south from
Fernando Noronha to take coal. So they rushed out
from Rio de Janeiro to trap her. Presently, the
Glasgow spotted the Moewe on the horizon. The Ger-
man ship had on one of her innumerable disguises,
and the captain of the Glasgow could not recognize
her. He was wary, however, and on to the Moewe’s
tricks, so he wirelessed her to stand by to be searched.
The Moewe turned and ran south. The Glasgow could
make twenty-five knots and easily outrace her. The
Moewe was well armed with guns and torpedoes and
would fight, but she would be no match for an
armoured ship. The men aboard the Moewe seemed
as good as at the bottom of the sea. The Glasgozw
knew that the fleeing ship must be the long-sought-
for raider, and prepared to sink her.

The two ships steamed with straining boilers, and
the Glasgow was fast creeping up on the Moewe.
When almost within range, the hunted raider ran into
one of those sudden rain squalls that sweep over the
ocean. Like the Biblical cloud, it hid her from the
pursuing cruiser. Of course, the Glasgow followed her
into the squall. But as the Moewe ran through the
swirling storm, she passed another steamer, this one
steaming north. The cruiser saw emerging from the
squall this new ship. She had three masts. The Moewe
had had but two. The captain of the Glasgow thought
only of the Moewe’s ability to disguise herself. He
presumed that the Moewe had taken advantage ofRACING THE ENEMY AROUND CAPE HORN 209

the squall to run up a third mast and then double
back on her trail in the hope that the Englishman
would not recognize her and that she might pass
safely and even have an opportunity to torpedo the
Glasgow. The cruiser instantly opened fire, and blew
the poor, inoffensive cargo steamer out of the water.
It was only when they examined the wreckage that
they discovered that they had made a mistake and
sunk a Bnitish freighter! Meanwhile, the Moewe had
escaped once more.

Nor was that the only ship the British sank by
mistake. They shelled two harmless sailing vessels to
pieces, mistaking them for our Seeadler. It all came
about because of one of those familiar war rumours, a
rumour to the effect that we were already somewhere
off the Australian coast. An Australian cruiser en-
countered a Scandinavian three-master, and they
seemed to think she was behaving queerly. Word
had been passed around that the Seeadler carried
torpedoes. So the cruiser thought she had better not
run any chance of being blown up. She opened fire
at long range. Only ten men aboard the Scandinavian
ship were saved. Later on, the armoured cruiser Kent
sank another sailing vessel under similiar circum-
stances in the Pacific.

Sailors since Magellan, by Joe, have talked about
the storms around Cape Horn. Sea stories usually
have something about the tough times rounding the
Cape. I had seen those storms myself when I had
sailed in the forecastle, and as a naval officer I had
many a time told tales to my brother officers of
gales and tempests I had witnessed in an old wind-
jammer rounding Horn. But our trip this voyage was
to be the most unusual of all. If the storms held us
back, the cruisers would be almost certain to catch
us. We had sailed south in. fine time, and if we

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made a quick passage round that boisterous tip of
South America, we might slip into the wide Pacific
and continue our raids.

Well, we ran into the dirtiest weather off the
Horn, gales and hurricanes. Why, there were days
when even with our motor running we could make no
headway at all. It took us three weeks to beat our
way through the gales and around the point. By
that time, the cruisers lay there in wait for us, not
just one or two, but a whole half dozen of them.

Ordinarily, a sailing ship tries to hug Cape Horn as
closely as it can, keeping quite near land. If you veer
too far to the south, you run into icebergs. Navigating
among icebergs with the wind whistling through your
rigging is enough to give any skipper the chills. So
the storms had held us up, and now our best chance
probably would be to steer as wide a course to the
south as possible, whether safe or not. The mountains
of ice were there, and a hurricane was blowing. But
we considered the ice the lesser of two evils. The
British watch to the far south was bound to be less
vigilant than up nearer the Cape. We must try to sail
around them. So, ho for the Antarctic!

On our way through the blockade, we had steered
into the Arctic. Now here we were heading into the
Antarctic.

To make it pleasant, by Joe, the weather, which
had been quite decent to us on the way south,
changed in order to give us a regular Cape Horn wel-
come. [t turned into a veritable hurricane. Neverthe-
less, we were determined to carry as much sail as
possible. Risky, but we had to take chances in the
hope of getting through. As the tempest increased,
not even the Seeadler dared carry more than a rag
or two of lower sail. With this we tried to hold ourRACING THE ENEMY AROUND CAPE HORN 211

way. Through the mist we saw a great wall. It came
moving toward us. A vast wall of white, an iceberg.
The wind was driving this white spectre through
the water, and we had to veer off in order to avoid
collision.

To the north were the cruisers, and here, but a few
hundred yards away, an equally relentless enemy
bearing down upon us, as though determined to turn
us into the arms of our pursuers. A ‘shout to the
helmsman. Determined as we were to go no farther
north, we knew we could do no more than hug the
Antarctic ice field.

The mountain of ite nearest us seemed coming
closer and closer—nine times as much ice below the
water as above. As every schoolboy knows, if a berg
looms up two hundred feet above the waves, its base
extends eighteen hundred feet below the surface! How
far its sharp hard edges and spurs may extend on
either side you never can tell unless one of them
rips open your hull. The best way to avoid running
into a spur is to turn and run the other way. An ice-
berg carries neither lights, lighthouses, buoys, nor
sirens. She is a cold, calculating, merciless Circe, and
the wise mariner gives her a wide berth. Some of us
thought the berg was six thousand feet long while
others thought it much more than that. We were so
near it that we could hear the clattering and squawk-
ing of the thousands of sea gulls that swarmed around
the ice mountain. In the wild, heaving sea, the berg
rolled like some mammoth ship. There were cracking
sounds as the heaving ice strained and split. Once,
under the stress of the movement, one whole vast
corner broke off with a tremendous rending and tear-
ing. The block, as big as a skyscraper, crashed into
the sea, and before it could start off on a cruise of its

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21z COUNT LUCKNER, THE SEA DEVIL

own the waves dashed it into the berg with a noise
like thunder, and this continued time and again as
the parent berg drove its husky offspring before it.

Suddenly, there came an even more ominous scrap-
ing sound. The Seeadler quivered, and our blood
fairly froze. We had grazed a submerged snout of ice.
In such a sea, there would have been no chance to
launch lifeboats. Although we had not staved in our
hull, nevertheless, the ship had sprung a leak. No
matter who was captain. Everybody to the pumps. I
took my place with the sailors in the hold, and we all
fought to keep the water in check. The brush with the
ice 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 and
pumping.

“Cruiser ahoy!”

I saw through the storm a 23,000-ton auxiliary
cruiser. [ believe it was the Otranto, a converted
passenger liner, fast and well armed, capable of blow-
ing us out of the water before our little gun could
throw a shell halfway to her.

‘Hard aport,” I shouted.

The ship shook as the helm was forced over, and
the wind nearly turned us bottom side up. Storm or
no storm, we were all dead men if that cruiser ever
caught us.

Set all sails.”

We must risk it and run with all our canvas before
the hurricane, and perhaps, somehow, we knew not
how, in the shelter of the storm, we might be lucky
enough to evade the cruiser.

Only men who have been to sea in windjammers
can imagine what it is to set sail in a hurricane. The
canvas whipped as though a devil had taken hold of it.RACING THE ENEMY AROUND CAPE HORN 213

The masts bent under the force of the wind as it
blasted against the sails. The ship and its rigging
creaked and groaned as though crying out against the
sudden strain.

“The cruiser is coming,” Leudemann shouted in
my 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 we
let them catch us, if the wind doesn’t snap off our
masts.

So, with the combined force of the gale and our
1,000-horsepower motor, we scudded southward.
Suddenly, a flooding rain broke over us, a providential
squall if there ever was one. It was like a gift of
heaven. It blotted us out from the cruiser, just like
the squall that rescued the raider Moewe.

“Tt is the hand of God,’ I shouted. “‘Our hour
hasn’t struck yet.”’

Under cover of the squall, we got away from there
as fast as we could go, and after a few hours we felt
certain we had given our pursuer the slip. In reality,
we had not been pursued at all. The cruiser hadn’t
even seen us, and our lookout had been sharper than
hers. We learned this from later reports. The ironical
thing now would have been for us to have impaled
the Seeadler on an iceberg in that mad sprint south-
ward. But luck was with us again. The storm blew it-
self out.

Still, we were not out of the danger zone. Days went
by before we were safely out of that boisterous region
and spreading our wings on the broad expanse of the
Pacific. Cruisers were still watching for us, and we
had to keep a constant lookout. Our problem now
was how to put them off the scent.

The Seeadler carried twenty lifeboats and a corre-

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214 COUNT LUCKNER, THE SEA DEVIL
sponding equipment of life preservers. These were
much more than enough for our crew. We had taken
ten of them off captured ships to accommodate our
prisoners in case of necessity. Now we threw all these
extra lifeboats overboard, taking care that on each
boat 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 we
had gone down off the Horn. That was exactly what
happened. Two days later we picked up a wireless.
It carried the news that a coastguard cutter had
found one of our little boats. Later, two more were
picked up. Then three. All along the coast of South
America we were now given up for lost. The cruisers
abandoned the chase and steamed north.

This left the way clear for us, and now we sailed out
to continue our adventure on the greatest of all the
seven seas.

Fourteen days after rounding the Horn, we picked
an interesting and rather puzzling wireless out of the
air:

Seeadler gone down with flags flying. Commander and
part of crew taken prisoners and on their way to Monte-
video.

“What’s that?” I thought. “‘ By Joe, Johnny Bull is
telling a whopper.”

Now, when old John Bull tells a fib, you can bet,
by Joe, that he has good reason for it. We tried to
figure it out, and came to the conclusion that it had
something to do with the scare we had created. The
news that our prisoners had given out at Rio had
sent Lloyd’s rates skyward and caused many ships
to lie in harbour until the danger from the German
raider had blown over. The British, in order to bungRACING THE ENEMY AROUND CAPE HORN 215

Lloyd’s rates down and to liberate all the shipping
that had been tied up, took pains to spread a highly
coloured report of our disaster dressed up with
suitable imaginative trimmings to make it more
convincing.

“Well, Johnny Bull,” I thought, “we'll fix you.”

Our wireless operator, a very capable fellow, worked
out a scheme with me. “‘Sparks” sent out the follow-
ing message purporting to come from a British ship:

SO S—SOS—German sub....

He cut the message short, as if interrupted, to
make it seem as if at that moment the ship had been
torpedoed.

After a suitable interval he sent out another call, this
one merely reporting German submarines off the
coast of Chile.

Did Lloyd’s rates go up again? And did those
ships that were getting ready to put to sea put back
to their berths? Well, you can bet your boots they did.
And we sent out other submarine warnings every so
often just to keep our little joke alive.

These were all small injuries, but we had been sent
out to harass the enemy, and this was one way of
doing it. What more could you expect of a lone wind-
jammer? And then,-it’s these injuries all added to-
gether that more often than not win the day, It was
good sport for us, anyhow.

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RAIDING THE PACIFIC

Tue wireless continued to be interesting. We picked
up many messages from the cruiser Kent, which was
right in our waters; in fact, much too close for com-
fort. Our course was northward, with the Chilean
coast and the Andes almost in sight. We steered al-
most to the Galapagos Islands, and at Robinson
Crusoe’s island, San Juan Fernandez, we trimmed
our sails and turned our bow west. We sailed for
weeks on the broad expanse of the Pacific without
sighting a ship. Except for the occasional crackle of
the wireless, we were alone in the world.

Our wireless antenne kept us in touch with the
latest phase of the international situation. Nor was it
particularly pleasant on those long idle days at sea to
sit and meditate on the fact that the United States
was going into the war against us. We sailors knew
better than some of our people at home the tremen-
dous power of the great republic of the West. There
were closeted statesmen and generals who might talk
as they pleased about the American lack of military
preparedness and the impossibility of American
troops being mustered and sufficiently trained in
time to be of any service in the critical hour of the
war. We sailors had travelled. Many of us had been
in the United States and had served on American
ships. All fine technical points aside, we had kad op-
portunity to sense the might of the North American
giant with its numerous and virile population and

216RAIDING THE PACIFIC 217

its incalculable wealth. With such strength behind it,
even an awkward, poorly aimed thrust was enough to
push almost anyone over.

We caught one radio dispatch that caused us to sit
and gaze hopelessly into the sky. It told of the famous
Zimmermann note. What madness had dictated that
extraordinary state paper, which proposed to Mexico
that she join Germany in the war and receive in re-
turn a slice of American territory including Texas?
I had served as a soldier in the Mexican Army, and
knew something of its probable prowess in a war.
few American regiments on the Rio Grande could
hold back the Mexican Army as easily as I can hold a
child. And did our statesmen think the Mexicans
were such fools? The folly was one that could only
enrage the people of the United States and make the
Mexicans laugh. We of the German fighting forces
could only curse the luck that had given our country
such diplomacy. All it succeeded in negotiating was
new enemies and fewer friends.

The American declaration of war came as a blow
expected, but hard nevertheless. Some of the more
pessimistic of us could spell the doom of Germany in
it. It altered the position of our buccaneering ex-
pedition somewhat, too. It reduced the number of
neutral ports into which we might sail. It also in-
creased the number of cruisers we had to look out for.
However, neutral ports did not enter into our calcula-
tions much. All ports really were hostile, anyhow.
Neutrals would limit us to a short, inhospitable
stay, the wireless stations near by would broadcast
our 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, to
euard the Atlantic shipping lanes for the passage of
American troop transports and leave what patrol

    
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
    

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218 COUNT LUCKNER, THE SEA DEVIL

of the Pacific was necessary to the British and
Japanese. The principal change of circumstance for
us 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 near
Christmas Island our cruising ground. There, near
the equator, the eastbound and westbound routes for
sailing ships crossed. We sailed backward and for-
ward, crossing the equator two and three times each
day.

We captured three American ships in these waters,
the 4. 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 so
astonished and bewildered as the former captains
when we unmasked ourselves as a buccaneer. They
knew that the sailing ship raider was abroad. So we
were deprived of some of our former amusement of
astounding and befuddling officers and crews by
suddenly hoisting the German flag, unmasking our
cannon, firing a machine gun into their rigging, and
similar pleasantries. Everything went off according
to routine. However, we ran into a most intricate
complication. We had expected the complications of
war and piratical strategy. That was part of the
game. But now we were faced with a new and tender
complication, a romantic complication.

‘“He’s got his wife along,” Beardine Officer Preiss
informed me.

He referred to the captain of one of the ships. In-
deed, we had noticed a woman aboard the captured
ship.

The skipper in question presently introduced me
to his helpmate, and a knockout she was, pretty,
petite, and—well, just a bit roguish.

“By Joe,” I thought, “the skippers of these daysRAIDING THE PACIFIC 219

are marvellous fellows. Where do they get these
swell-looking wives? When I was in the forecastle, it
was different.”

In those days, the skipper’s wife was something to
run away from, usually fat, usually savage, and al-
ways sloppily dressed. I thought of all the windjam-
mer captains under whom [ had sailed, and I couldn't
think of one who had a wife that looked like a chorus
girl. Well, times do change! There was the captain
we had captured in the Atlantic who had such a
pleasant little bride, and now here was this skipper
and his sprightly beauty.

I guess I can also add myself to the list. Here | am,
skipper of a peaceful windjammer now, taking my
three-master the Vaterland around the world, and I
have my wife along. I have already described Irma,
the fairy princess of my green island in the Canaries.
Yes, skippers’ wives have improved in looks these

ays.

Aboard the Seeadler we greeted the pretty little
lady with great cordiality. Our former fair company
had been so pleasant that we anticipated another
similar brightening of the dull monotony aboard.
The monotony was indeed broken somewhat! But
in a decidedly different way than we had expected.
The captain had not been long aboard before
he took me aside and made an awkward and some-
what embarrassed confession. He had been thinking
things over.

“Count,” he said, ‘in your reports you may say
something about my having my wife along.”

“Yes, + I replied:

“Well, by Joe,’ he continued, “I wish you
wouldn’t say anything about it. Don’t say anything
about my having a wife along. My real wife might
find it out, and then there would be hell to pay.”

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Se220 COUNT LUCKNER, THE SEA DEVIL

“Oho,” I exclaimed, “so that’s the way the wind
blows, eh?”

“T said she was my wife,” he continued lamely,
“because I thought it might help to save her from
your sailors. But I don’t want my wife to find it out.”

“All right, Captain,” I said, “I won’t report it,
and I won’t let my officers or crew know anything
about it. That will be best. Treat the girl as your wife.
I will keep my mouth shut, and you keep your mouth
shut.”

It was a difficult point of morals aboard ship. If
the sailors found out that the girl was not the cap-
tain’s wife, but only a kind of stowaway, they would
lose all respect for her, and there was no telling what
they might try to do. Sailors are not angels, but usu-
ally, i in fact, a lot of rogues, but they are highly re-
spectable. They have a very fine code of honour, and a
woman who is off the line is simply off the line to
them. Certainly, I did not want them to know that
the captain’s wife was not the captain’s wife.

After the R. C. Slade, the next ship we captured
was the Manila. Her skipper turned out to be
a friend of the captain of the . .. and all of his
family. I told him that the captain of the
had his wife along, and introduced him to the
girl. He laughed so hard he nearly fell over. He
wanted to tell the joke all around. It was awkward
for a moment, but I got the two men aside and talked
earnestly 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 both
give me your word of honour that you will keep
mum and tell nobody.’

They both promised.

Everything went all nght until the second captain

eee ae ee eer eetret etre Pa veeT arte e ts ean ot a ene eeeRAIDING THE PACIFIC 221

took a shine to the girl, too. It was funny business.
She kind of liked him. I kept an eye on the whole
affair and saw what was happening. Here was more
worry and trouble. I took the two captains aside and
said to them:

“T don’t care what arrangements you two fellows
make with your fair playmate, but it has got to be
kept quiet. The sailors must think that she is the
wife of the captain of the . . . and that the captain
of the Manila is only a friend of the family.”’

They made some kind of change, I believe. I never
could figure just how it was. I never was much good
at mathematics or at figuring out anything, for that
matter. At any rate, they kept it quiet. The captain
of the Manila was married, too, and he didn’t want
anything of the complicated romance to get around
either.

I had come to expect my captains to be good com-
pany. Our former Captains’ Club had been one of
the most delightful social organizations ever formed.
These two sentimental skippers, however, were not
much good for comradeship. It was dificult to get
together with them for a pleasant chat or game of
cards. They were always thinking abqut the girl,
and, although they were old friends, their feelings
toward each other had become slightly strained.
There is something about the air down there in the
South Seas, I guess.

The captain of the Slade made up for the com-
panionship that had been lacking. Captain Smith
was a fine fellow. He was jovial and intelligent, and a
thorough seaman if there ever was one. We became
fast friends and had many 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 broiling

   
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
    

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222 COUNT LUCKNER, THE SEA DEVIL

hot, and we had little exercise. Our water turned
stale, and we had no fresh provisions. Our prisoners
did not find their stay with us so pleasant now, but
we could not find a vessel on which to ship them. One
decided that he could not stand it any longer. He
wanted to put his feet on land at any price. He came
to me with a strange idea. Would I not land him
on a desert island and leave him there a castaway?
Anything was better than shipboard. But the princi-
pal part of his plan was more subtle. He would be
reckoned dead at home, and his people would col-
lect his insurance money. Perhaps I would be so kind
as to make it seem certain that he was lost. Yes, no?
On the island he could live as a Robinson Crusoe, a
kind of existence which he fancied would be quite
agreeable. Unfortunately for him, I felt obliged to
decline. I was not interested in swindling insurance
companies.XXIII
SHIPWRECKED IN SOUTHERN SEAS

We amuseED ourselves by playing with the sharks.
The landlubber can scarcely imagine the hatred the
sailor feels for those bloodthirsty monsters. We had a
particular grievance against them. A swim now and
then would have provided us with neéded baths and
would have been a pleasant and vigorous diversion
from the endless monotony of cabin and deck, our
wooden prison. Many a time I looked down into the
cool, refreshing element, and a shark would idle be-
neath my gaze, as though waiting for me there. The
sailors passed the time by angling for the voracious
monsters. They would catch a couple, tie their tails
together and throw them back into the water. The
sharks, unable to agree on the direction of their
mutual movement, would have a great tug of war.
The sailors thought the plight of their loathed
enemies quite comical.

Or they would take a large shark, tie an empty and
watertight barrel to his tail, and heave him over. The
fish would dart downward, but the barrel would stay
relentless at the surface. Now would ensue a desper-
ate struggle which we could follow by watching the
gyrations of the barrel. The sharks displayed an
excellent eye for chunks of bacon with hand gre-
nades in them. When the bomb went off in the crea-
ture’s stomach, pieces of shark would go flying in all
directions.

seatevakghaosses shescovighilchss-natmrksiastehe tabshchst bicesechadehd Sng hstek:sutsnantntt-SecensdpauhitysURSocgeasipauhe toss dhsee fie-peteedehteebis

ee ee cls

Se eee rere eet Crar aa224 COUNT LUCKNER, THE SEA DEVIL

We had been in the Pacific for five months now,
and had sailed 35,000 miles. With our stale water
and the lack of fresh food, scurvy was breaking out
among our men, and then beri-beri, which “turns the
blood to water.” Limbs and joints were swelling.
We imperatively needed fresh water and food and a
rest on shore. But where could we go? All the islands
of the Pacific were in the hands of the French, British,
and Japanese. We certainly felt it keenly, now that
the whole world was against us. There was no in-
habited place that would welcome us. It made us feel
very lonely.

“Well,” I said to my boys, “we will pick out some
nice deserted island where there will be no hand raised
against us and no wireless to call the cruisers, and we
will get water and some kind of vegetables and maybe
shoot some game and have a fine shore leave. Then,
after we have rested up, what ho, boys, and away
for more adventure.”

Buccaneering in the Pacific, with only three ships
sunk in five months, seemed much too unprofitable.
I planned that, after a brief sojourn on some peaceful
South Sea Isle, we would sail for the Antipodes. Then
we would destroy the English whaling station and oil
tanks at South Georgia, sink a few ships, capture one
on which to ship our prisoners, and, if we got away
safely, continue our cruise in the prosperous waters of
the Atlantic.

Our first plan was to sail direct to one of the larger
Cook Islands. But we gave that up for fear of finding
a wireless station there that might give us away. We
did not want to move east of our present longitude,
for that would have taken us against the trade wind
and compelled us to use our motor. It was necessary
to save the engine as much as possible and not have it
wear out on us. We hoped we would need it for further

Cee ree ee ee ee

Se ree terre traces air teen eeeet tart

  

a eens egret ost rel erent een er eensSHIPWRECKED IN SOUTHERN SEAS — 225

captures and escapes. Mopelia, one of the Society
Islands (some geographies include it in the Sally
Isles), seemed about right for our purpose. It was a
French possession, and, so far as we knew, unin-
habited. It was one of those isles of the South Seas
so fantastically beautiful and so awkward for the
sailor to approach. Only seldom does he find one
with a decent anchorage, and nowhere in the world
are 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 to
describe its beauties. From the blue ocean rises a
mass 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 of
the sky, the sunlight seems to be drawing the green
island out of the water, and the soft south wind
carries the scent of flowers far out to sea. It is the
greeting of the island, and we inhale it deeply.

Here was a typical coral atoll—the kind you dream
about. A circular reef studded with waving palms
and within the reef a lovely, placid lagoon. The coral
shore was snow white, and, with the sun’s rays re-
flecting from it, it looked like a sparkling jewel set in
an alabaster ring, like emeralds set in ivory. There
were coral terraces below the water. The shallower
ones were white er pale green, and as you peered
deeper into the water you saw every conceivable tint
of green and blue, sea green, emerald green, blue
green, azure blue, sapphire blue, navy blue, violet.

As we sailed nearer and nearer that alluring coral
shore, we saw flowers among the palms, flowers of all
colours, and immense numbers of orchids. The hues
of the flowers were reflected in the water over the
white coral that deepened and turned green. Within
the circular reef the lagoon seemed fully as deep as

    
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
    

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226 COUNT LUCKNER, THE SEA DEVIL

the sea outside, only at perfect peace and smooth
like a mirror. It would have made a perfect anchorage
for us, save that it had one entrance so narrow that
only a small boat could pass through it.

A strong current ran through the opening. We cast
our anchor on the coral and tethered our ship to it
with a long cable. The pull of the current kept her
far enough offshore. I was afraid, for a while, that a
shift of the wind might blow her on the reef, but we
saw, after a while, that she had dragged anchor. If
the current were strong enough for that, why surely
it would be strong enough to keep her from blowing
ashore. Leaving several men aboard as a watch, we
went on land for a glorious shore leave, sailors,
officers, prisoners, and all.

What would we find? We wanted water and fresh
food. When we got inside of the lagoon, we found to
our astonishment that it was a breeding place for
turtles. There were hundreds of them in the water
and on the shore, huge fellows weighing two or three
hundred pounds. The water was full of beautiful
fish. I recognized the moray, a fish like the eel, which
is a great delicacy and will provide you with a sub-
stantial meal, too. It weighs from fifteen to twenty
pounds. They say the Romans used to feed their
slaves to this fish. There were big lobsters without
claws that promised to be the best of food. The atoll
was alive with birds, hundreds of thousands of them,
with nests and eggs everywhere. They were so tame
that one of my boys whom I sent to collect enough
eggs for an omelette returned, saying:

““T didn’t get an egg. The birds were so tame and
trusting that I hadn’t the heart to disturb them and
take their eggs.”

Nor was the island without human inhabitants. WeSHIPWRECKED IN SOUTHERN SEAS 227

found three Kanakas, Polynesians who had been
left there by a French firm to catch turtles. They
were greatly frightened when they found that we were
Germans. The French had told them frightful tales
about the Boches. We, however, quickly made
friends with them. They were much relieved when
they found that we did not intend to injure them, and
when we made amicable overtures, they were only too
glad to respond.

First, my boys ran hither and thither to satisfy
their curiosity about this strange island. Then they
quickly settled down to useful occupations. Some
set about catching fish and lobsters. Others gathered
birds’ eggs. A few brought armfuls of cocoanuts.
Three boys turned a big turtle on its back and pulled
it along with a rope. There were wild pigs on the
island. We shot a couple. Soon the boat put out to
the ship loaded deeply with a huge collection of
epicurean delicacies. That night the mess was fit
for the table of a royal palace—turtle soup with
turtle eggs, broiled lobster, omelettes of gull’s eggs,
roast pork, and, for dessert, fresh cocoanut.

For days we lived a delightful poetic life, dining in
a way that millionaires could not afford. We smoked
quantities of fish and pork and stowed it away. We
found fresh water on the island and refilled our tanks.
Our traces of scurvy and beri-beri disappeared, and
we were rapidly getting ready to continue our cruise
and work of havoc in Australian waters.

On the second of August, we made ready to leave
the ship for another day ashore. At nine-thirty I
noticed a strange bulge on the eastern rim of the sea.
I called my officers’ attention to it. At first we
thought it a mirage. But it kept growing larger. It
came toward us. Then we recognized it—a tidal wave

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228 COUNT LUCKNER, THE SEA DEVIL

such as is caused by submarine earthquake and
volcanic disturbances. The danger was only too
clear. We lay between the island and the wave.

“Cut the anchor cable. Clear the motor. All hands
on deck.”

We dared not raise sail, for then the wind would
drive us on the reef. So our only hope of getting clear
of the island was our motor. The huge swell of the
tidal wave was rushing toward us with breakneck
speed.

The motor didn’t stir. The mechanics were working
frantically. They pumped compressed air into the
engine. We waited in vain for the sound of the igni-
tion. Now, right at the critical moment, our motor
had failed us, just as it had so often failed us before.
By this time, the tidal wave was only a few hundred
yards away. We were lost. To our frightened eyes it
looked like a whole mountain range of water. It
must have been thirty or forty feet high. It came
rushing 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 and
rigging went over, broken like matchsticks. The
shattering impact of the ship smashed the coral, and
pieces flew in all directions like shrapnel from an
exploding shell. The swirling water seized great
pieces of coral and whipped them around, beating
them against the ship. The Seeadler had heeled over
until her deck was almost perpendicular. The water
swept over the deck, and the swirling eddies bom-
barded us with chunks of coral. I clung to an iron
post near the lower rail. The rail saved me from the
tons of shattered coral that were hurled up by the
blow of the falling ship. In a moment, the wave had
ebbed away, leaving us high and dry. It had passedSHIPWRECKED IN SOUTHERN SEAS 229

over the circling reef and the lagoon, though not
over the main part of the island. And on its way it had
swept hundreds of thousands of birds’ nests into the
lagoon.

I arose, scarcely knowing whether I was alive or
dead, and stood alone with one foot on my slanting
deck and the other on the rail. For a moment, I
thought I was the only one saved.

“Boys, where are you?” I shouted weakly.

““Here,” came the reply, “still standing like an
Gaki’

My men and the prisoners had taken refuge in
the bow, and had been sheltered by the rail, as I
had been. Not a one was injured. For that at least
we could be thankful. For that and not much else.
The Seeadler was a total wreck. The jagged coral
was rammed deep into our hull.

We stand like an oak! I adopted the reply of
my sailors as our motto henceforth. We were casta-
ways on this coral atoll in one of the loneliest and
least-visited reaches of the South Pacific. Every-
thing lost, but “we stand like an oak.”Sete ete hee eetece heres

SSE SEAN Schiedeetetee tet eee eT

Si oeeeteetT eeet ener hark tt eee ener oer TeS

See tiered ee Se eet ene ae crest Coats eer eee oe no) oor cena tes

XXTV
CASTAWAYS ON A CORAL ATOLL

Tue last German colony! We founded it on this
beautiful, isolated coral atoll in the middle of the
Pacific. The Imperial German flag of war flew from
the top of the tallest palm. I was the viceroy, by
chance and not by desire, of course, and my sailors
and our prisoners were my subjects. The only visit-
ing nationals from elsewhere were the three Kanakas,
the turtle catchers. ‘‘The White King of the Society
Isle of Mopelia,” my mate facetiously called me.
One of the Yankee captains put it differently. He
called me ‘“‘the Sea Devil King of the South Seas.”
And he caustically described our lovely isle as “a
poisoned paradise.’ Everybody was good-humoured,
despite our hard luck.

But our little South Sea colony passed its first
nights uneasily. For sleeping places, we slung ham-
mocks between the palms. At intervals, a cocoanut
would fall from a height of fifty or sixty feet and go
whizzing close by a man’s head. While our fellow
countrymen back in the cities along the Rhine were
complaining about the night raids of the French and
British bombing squadrons, we had our bombing
problem also. It didn’t make much difference whether
you were bumped off with a falling cocoanut or a fall-
ing bomb. The result was all the same. After one
whizzed by your ear, you would very likely go down
to the open beach to quiet your nerves. Then if you
tried to sleep there, the land crabs would soon con-

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The raider lying outside the entrance to the coral atoll where Von
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In the Society Islands the Seeadler was caught by a tidal wave and
smashed on a reef. Her masts crashed and she lay a derelict, and there
she remains to the present day.

  

See eeeCASTAWAYS ON A CORAL ATOLL 231

vince you that the beach was no place for a weary
war veteran either. Patrols of fighting marine crabs
would raid that beach every night. After being
chased out by the crabs, you would go back to your
hammock and lie awake wondering when the next
aérial cocoanut bombardment would commence.
So life during those first days on our tropic isle was
not all skittles and beer or orchids and cocoanut
milk. You can bet we worked hard getting up huts!
Luckily, there were no casualties from either crabs
or cocoanuts. We cleared a large space for our vil-
lage, and built huts out of timbers, sailcloth, and
palm leaves. The first one up was a queer-looking
thing, but our architecture improved with practice.
Our prisoners, who were all Americans, helped us a
great deal. They understood the art of pitching tents.
They built a special town for themselves, and gave
the streets such names as Broadway, State Street,
Pennsylvania Avenue, and the Bowery. In time we
contrived to arrange quite decent dwelling places.
We had plenty of furnishings. From the wrecked
Seeadler, which remained perched forlornly on the
coral reef, we took everything we could carry. We
even built a chapel, took the Bible from the Seeadler,
and from parts of the wreck we built a fine altar and
crucifix. Of course, we also installed our wireless set
ashore in order to keep in touch with passing ships
and events happening out on this side of the world.
Nor did we neglect to take ashore a heavy arsenal of
arms and ammunition, including rifles, Luger pistols,
hand grenades, and dynamite. In short, we had a
perfect little town with everything except a cala-
boose. Some of our men who had romantic tendencies
constructed “‘country homes”’ for themselves a few
hundred yards away in the jungle. Then we named
the place Seeadlerburg, Sea Eagle Town.

Sate,

    
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
   

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232 COUNT LUCKNER, THE SEA DEVIL

There were gull’s eggs everywhere along the shore,
but the birds were brooding now, and most of the
eggs we collected had half-formed little gulls in them.
We got around this by clearing a large section of
beach 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 fel-
lows. Some of them fitted in with the new life better
than my men. They seemed to know all about the
art of fishing, and taught us Germans things we had
never dreamed of. They were accustomed to what in
the States, along the Gulf of Mexico, is called spear-
ing eels. They fastened iron barbs to shafts of wood
and with these speared big fish in the coral lagoon.
They also showed us a clever way of catching fish
on a grand scale. They took some forty men and
boys and, just as high tide was turning, formed in
a line about fifty yards offshore. Then the line came
splashing in, driving the fish before it toward
shore, just as the natives round up tigers for a rajah
in India. Many of the fish floundered into shallow
water, and a few minutes later were left stranded by
the receding tide. You see, the water, as it backed
offshore, left large pools on top of the irregular coral
reef, and there the fish were trapped. Sometimes we
caught five or six hundred pounds a day, and it was
exciting sport.

One night, while we were sitting around our fire,
we heard a scratching sound. It seemed to come from
everywhere. We looked and found a lot of crabs with
big claws. They were hermit crabs. We caught sev-
eral and put them in boiling water to cook. Mean-
while, the crab invasion continued, and more from
behind kept pushing the rest forward. We tried theCASTAWAYS ON A CORAL ATOLL 233

ones we had cooked, and they were delicious. They
were 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 with
crabs, like a sack. We must have had several thou-
sand of them. For days we lived on them, until most
of us couldn’t look a crab in the face. We had ’em
boiled, broiled, and in soup. Then that invasion of
these hermits passed as mysteriously as it had come,
and we never saw them again. But the turtles were
always with us. We caught a number of them and
kept them in a coral basin at one end of the lagoon.

The wild pigs on the island provided us with more
fun and more food. They fed on cocoanuts, which is
the best kind of fodder to make good pork. These
animals were said to be the descendants of swine
brought to the South Seas by early explorers long
ago. They are found on many islands, and New
Zealand is a regular paradise for them and for the
hunter who likes to chase wild pigs. After genera-
tions of living on cocoanuts, they had changed a lot
and had developed a special kind of tusk and jaw.

There were snipe on our island, too, and we hunted
them with great success, thereby varying our sea
food and pork diet. Using cocoanut shells for fuel,
we smoked what flesh and fish we could.

By way of vegetables, we had cocoanuts, and
bread made of cocoanut flour, which the Kanakas
taught us to prepare, and hearts of palms. This lat-
ter is one of the rarest of delicacies, and outside the
tropics only multimillionaires can afford it. The
price, when you get palm hearts in Europe, is higher
than that of Russian caviar. For the most part, it
is reserved for castaway sailors and buccaneers like
ourselves. It is the core taken from the very tip of

  
   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
    

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234 COUNT LUCKNER, THE SEA DEVIL

the cocoanut palm, right where the new leaves
form. For each heart, weighing about ten pounds,
a noble palm has to be sacrificed. The taste is be-
tween that of hazel nuts and asparagus, only finer
and sweeter than either.

But I must tell you more about that invasion of
hermit crabs. It caused the first and only fatality
in the course of all our adventures. My dog Schnaeuz-
chen had all of the prying, curious nature of the
dachshund. The island, with its teeming life, was an
endless source of wonder to her. She investigated
everything, forever had her nose snifing somewhere
or other. The swarming hermit crabs, which covered
the ground almost like a carpet, sent her into a per-
fect spasm of astonishment. She jumped and barked
and yelped. She cocked one eye and studied the
strange creatures, and quite obviously did not like
their looks. They crawled on all sides of her, and she
was filled with bewilderment and fright. She was
furious with them, but kept nimbly out of their way.
Finally, however, the pugnacity of her dachs nature
got the better of her, and she felt she must attack
something. A particularly large and _ villainous-
looking crab excited her ire. She leaped upon it to
devour it. The crab raised its great, ferocious claws
to strike at her. Schnaeuzchen gave a strange yelp
of fright, and rolled over in a spasm. She kicked con-
vulsively for a few moments, and then was still—
dead. Poor little Schnaeuzchen! The exotic life of
the South Seas had been too much for her. She was
only two years old, and on the island she had for the
first time found an opportunity to give vent to her
passion for hunting. We gave her a fine grave, and
planted a cocoa palm on it. Her comrade, Piperle,
looked around disconsolately for her and was sad
for a long time.CASTAWAYS ON A CORAL ATOLL 235

Piperle had an adventure with the birds. He under-
took one day to invade one of the densely populated
rookeries. Somehow or other, he contrived to an-
tagonize the birds. I suppose he tried to raid a nest.
The angry gulls swarmed above him. One seized one
ear. Another seized the other. Several struck at his
eyes. One hung on to his tail. Piperle howled and
struggled. It was at this point that one of our men
saw him execute an intelligent bit of strategy. There
was a clump of underbrush near by. He struggled
toward it, taking the birds with him. He dragged
himself into the brush and thereby shook off the
birds. 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 daring
to chasing the wild pigs at night, which he did with
a prodigious barking and yelping. The pet opossum
that our prisoners had carefully rescued from the
wreck picked up an excellent living on the island,
and came into the messroom every night, asking
for water.

If our new home teemed with useful, edible crea-
tures, it was not lacking in pestilential forms of life,
either, these both of native origin and imported from
ships. A thousand kinds of insects were everywhere.
If you awakened thirsty at night and reached for
your glass of water, you were likely to find that it
contained more cockroaches than water. You had
to reconcile yourself to getting up in the morning
and finding your toothbrush alive with ants. The
ants were particularly pervasive. We could only
guard against them by putting the legs of tables,
chairs, and other articles of furniture in cups of wa-
ter. We slept at night to the ceaseless shuffle of rats,
huge insolent fellows, running about on the tops of
our tents. Piperle waged war against them, but the

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236 COUNT LUCKNER, THE SEA DEVIL

odds were too great. It would have taken a whole
regiment of terriers to end that plague.

Flashing birds of paradise flew from palm to palm.
Gorgeous humming birds with green and yellow
breasts darted among the branches. With every
flower there seemed to be a great butterfly. The whole
island was aglow with butterflies. They floated on
wide, beating wings of greens, violets, and reds.

Once, in the middle of the night, | was awakened
by a small, sharp, repeated sound—knick, knick,
knack. It was the opening of tropical flowers. I went
outside 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 inches
across. [here were thousands of them. Scores of
glowworms, far brighter than any we know, hovered
above each, eager to catch the magnificent perfume
that the opening Queen of Night gives forth. In the
darkness I could see the flowers only by the light of
the glowworms. On every side were these eerie noc-
turnal lights, a dancing lamp of gathered glowworms
illuminating each flower. In that unearthly gleam-
ing, like a kind of moonlight only stranger, the odor-
ous petals shone with the ghostly nuances of their
naturally flaming colours, white, crimson, sapphire
blue, violet blue. In the South Seas, the flowers have
little scent by day, while the sun shines on them. At
night, when the dew falls, perfume awakens. It is truly
a perfumed night. And the nostrils of man are excited
by 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 breezes
blow, and above is the tropical sky with its clustered
flashing stars and gorgeous Milky Way. Hanging
above the horizon is the far-famed Southern Cross.XXV

LET’S GO RAIDING AGAIN

My “susyectrs” somehow managed to get along on
terms of general amity. Our American prisoners took
no exception to my mandates handed on to them by
Leudemann, my prime minister. They said that, since
they had beentreated so well aboard the Seeadler, they
wanted no other command over our colony. The two
captains and their lady had made mutually satisfac-
tory arrangements among themselves, and, so far as we
knew, there was no unpleasant incident, although, for
the purposes of my tale, it would have helped a lot if
they had fought a duel with swords or cocoanuts or
chunks of jagged coral ontheshore of ourtropic lagoon.

The three Kanakas proved to be thoroughly good
fellows and helped us in many ways. We got along
with them in pidgin English at first until one of them
picked up a little German.

In the middle of the camp we made a sort of plaza.
The Sceeadler’s batteries furnished electric light for
it, and there we gathered every night. We still had
plenty of champagne and cognac left from the cap-
ture of the champagne ship. So, in the cool of the
evening, we sat out there on the edge of this equa-
torial Potsdammer Platz sipping drinks out of wine
and brandy glasses, just as we might have at the
Adlon in Berlin. There was plenty of pipe tobacco,
and Dr. Pietsch had taken care to rescue from the
wreck a store of his endless cigars. The wind blew,

237

Perper terres erent

Shoe ener ter tos

a ereeneees

eet ee Teens Po

enneneiererninas +0 ho np iere ernst ane tote teeny Ort s Lecielale aedne ne remy re Sieae deren os Hote be 2s he Sod 80 Eley ertnios todmtalenenstbmerae tity Rpts ha te to!

eee Dt ts eerate ee Seen

Sajeryogny238 COUNT LUCKNER, THE SEA DEVIL

the stars shone, and the orchestra alternately played
German classics from the operas and American rag-
time melodies. Ah, yes, this last bit of the once glo-
rious overseas German Empire wasn’t such a bad
little paradise at all. We castaways out there in the
solitude of the South Seas felt as though we were
the only people left in the world, like Noah and his
family on Mount Ararat.

But after about three weeks of this Garden-of-
Eden-without-an-Eve existence, the monotony of it
began to get on our nerves. Of course, there was
the “‘wife’ of the skipper of the ... but she
was far too busy to be interested in the rest of
us. We hadn’t been sent out to colonize the South
Seas and take life easy. So we cast about for a way
to go buccaneering again. Our first need was for a
ship to take the place of our unfortunate three-
master impaled out there on the coral reef. The
Kanakas told us that a French sailing vessel visited
the island every year to take away turtle meat.
The best guess that they could make was that
it would be another six months or so before she
arrived. Well, after six months, we would have
a ship. We could always fall back on that. But, by
Joe, six months was a long time to wait. The war
might be won or lost by then. And it was highly un-
likely that any other ship would stray into those
waters for Heaven knows how long. We all grew im-
patient. Few sailors are keen about remaining cast
away on a tropical isle for long, and especially on an
atoll as small as Mopelia. We felt the itch to get out
to sea again. I was particularly anxious to set some-
thing stirring. Before long the tropical sun and lazy
life would sap my men’s vitality, and all they would
be good for would be to loll around.

We still had our lifeboats, and the hurricane season

Dr tn eerie ee erat eet tae ery cnet en ett teenLET’S GO RAIDING AGAIN! 239

was 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 back
stays. We scraped, caulked, and painted her. She was
not, in any too good condition, and despite our la-
bour she continued to leak a bit and needed constant
bailing. Even in calm weather, we had to bail forty
pails a day. We loaded her with provisions for half
a dozen men over a long voyage. She was eighteen
feet in length and only about fourteen inches above
water amidship. Into this small space we stored
water, hardtack, machine guns, rifles, hand gre-
nades, and pistols. The only luxuries we allowed our-
selves were a few tins of pemmican, a side of bacon,
and an accordion. The music of the squealer was to
be our solace during a cruise the length of which
none could foretell. The great question was, could our
tiny craft survive a storm? At any rate, she could
sail, and that was something. We christened her the
Kronprinzessin Cecilie—without, however, painting
her name on the stern.

Of course, everybody wanted to go, but there
could be only six of us at the most. So I picked the
men who seemed to be in the most vigorous health
at the time, Mate Leudemann, Lieutenant Kirch-
eiss, Engineer Krauss, Boatswain j|Parmien, and
Yeoman Erdmann. This left the colony on the atoll
in the hands of Lieutenant Kling.

Our overloaded cockleshell with a crew of six
was the smallest auxiliary cruiser in the war. For
cruiser we were, and we were setting out to capture
a ship, sail back to Mopelia, pick up our comrades
there, and continue our raid. To find and take a ship
on the high sea was a doubtful proposition, but we
might get to some of the other islands, not too well
populated and guarded, and find a vessel at anchor.

    
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
   

See Te IT mer renter rete

SE yeaa

ESP meee ere ry + Senne Orel Wee Peaeneee Senay eyee tre?

ar vo ta ng harer evel pha twig sansnremeen iets taco take catehene tepey se tihnte bee 05 ¢ite he:240 COUNT LUCKNER, THE SEA DEVIL

We could board her at night, overpower the captain
and crew, and sail off with her. We planned first of
all to visit the Cook Islands, some eight hundred
miles distant, and if we found no ship there, con-
tinue on another thousand miles farther to the Fiji
Islands, where there were sure to be ships loading
with copra for the ammunition factories of Europe.
We figured on making around sixty nautical miles a
day, so that, if we had to go all the way to the Fijis,
it would take us approximately thirty days. Thus we
should be back with a ship in three months at most.

We discussed our tactics thoroughly for the ex-
pected capture. We would steal aboard. Half-past
three in the morning was the best hour. Men sleep
their soundest then. A couple of us would go to the
officers’ cabins, the rest to the forecastle. We would
show our pistols, disarm them, and herd them below.
It would be good to sneak to their clothing first and
take away their belts and snip the buttons off their
trousers. Then, when you have them put on their
clothes they stand, without belts, suspenders, or
buttons, holding up their trousers. Thus they are
helpless. We had a few bombs loaded only with
powder, harmless, but capable of making a terrific
noise. If there is any trouble, you throw one. It
hurts nobody, but the terrible explosion creates a
general panic. A couple of men with their heads
about them can do wonders with dozens in a panic.
Another good thing is to have a couple of fellows
outside shout suddenly and make a great disturb-
ance. That creates excitement and throws people
off their guard. I said to my bo’s’n:

“Don’t hurt anybody unless you have to. We don’t
want to spoil our clean record by killing anybody,
But, by Joe, if a captain or a watchman raises a rifle
or a pistol, don’t wait till he shoots. Get him first.”LET’S GO RAIDING AGAIN! 241

On a bright summer morning—August 23, 1917,
to be exact—we all shook hands. There was no cheer-
ing, merely quiet, earnest words of friendship and
good luck. It was the first time that we sixty-four
seamen had parted since the Seeadler had set sail to
run the blockade eight months before, and it was
only now, at the moment of saying good-bye, that
we realized how closely attached to one another we
had become. We who were going could see a brood-
ing question in the eyes of those who were staying
behind:

“How will that overloaded cockleshell stand heavy
weather?”

Never mind, we would probably find out soon
enough. The understanding was that, if we did not
return in three months, something had happened to
us. They should wait for us until then. Afterward,
Kling and his men were to get away from the atoll
as best they could.

We sailed out of the lagoon, through the coral
entrance, into the open sea. The hulk of the Seeadler
lay there helpless on the reef. The tide was high,
and the breakers swept over the coral. She was a red
brown now from rust and weathering. Each flooding
billow raised her a bit, and then she sank back hope-
lessly with loud groans and creaks of despair on the
coral bed. As we passed her she seemed to call over
to us:

“Come aboard, I want to take you on your voy-
age. Don’t desert your old friend.”’

And as a wave raised her it seemed as though she
were struggling to get on an even keel again and
come to us, only to find that the coral held her in a
relentless grasp. Tears filled our eyes.

“Good-bye, Seeadler,” I called; ‘perhaps we shall
never see you more. And even if we do, you can

ee ere ean neat Caen TCT TTT eee te ere

rhe te wangiereennyl sha tubeielemcnwey Sets kece le ie ntniene penmyte teheie abv os tite be iad Salqsbsdidiie nyerinies tedaieceneesdbnesnn tytn tetera ty

Te Et tanner a eae arene

NRRL aS Se yhidadé ce meeeg PPR MERE bierepeyrys, bsledelacntaberernrertytitahstibahs tence dyes,erasers

Shenae aR A nD A Se he a A aod eek reer ae aL oe ee

apr are o Sere ele ae aL ied alee ee eee eee ee

   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

242 COUNT LUCKNER, THE SEA DEVIL

never sail again. Nevermore will songs resound on
your decks. Nevermore will you raise your sails and
fly a flag from your masts.”

A brisk wind carried us westward with a swelling
of our sails. The happy island receded. The last
German colony and the wreck of the Seeadler slowly
dropped out of sight over the rim of the horizon.

To-day the Seeadler still remains on the reef at
Mopelia. After we had gone, Lieutenant Kling,
afraid that the stumps of her mast might attract a
passing warship, blew them out with dynamite.
The explosion set a fire that burned away part of
the woodwork. A quantity of ammunition still
aboard blew up and cracked the forepart of the hulk.
Afterward, when the Seeadler’s history became gen-
erally known, the Harris-Irby Cotton Company of
New York, which had originally owned the ship as
the Pass of Balmaha, investigated the possibilities
of salvaging the ship. A party of engineers was sent
to Mopelia. They reported that the ship was un-
salvageable. In my cruise around the world aboard
the Vaterland I shall stop at the island and survey
what once was my tropical domain. And again |
shall board the old Seeadler on which we sailed and
raided. So, until then, old ship! Auf wredersehen!eee |

XXVI

FROM THE SOCIETY ISLANDS TO THE COOK ISLANDS IN
AN OPEN BOAT

Ir nas been something of a sport of recent years to
cross the Atlantic and even the Pacific in a small
boat, sometimes under sail and sometimes under
motor power. Tiny craft have done it, and at best
it is not a comfortable kind of voyage. In sporting
events, your ocean-going small boat always had a
cabin, or an imitation of one. That is what we should
have had, but we were not so lucky, and, besides,
the load we carried made existence aboard our life-
boat that had been converted into a cruiser a
cramped affair indeed.

There was only one place we could trust to be dry,
the buoyant air tanks at the sides of the boat. In
these we packed our hardtack, a few pieces of cloth-
ing, photographic apparatus, and the all-important
tobacco. It affected the buoyancy of our craft, but
we 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, cor-
dage for the rigging, and several spare sails. Canvas
shields at the side, which could be drawn over at
the top and be made to form some kind of tent,
sheltered us somewhat from waves and dirty wea-
ther. Without these we should have been practically
drowned. Four mattresses could be stretched on the
bottom, where four men could sleep while two kept

243

 

Sarat a Veet ieerser ee rere eeetic. pabacpinrchtlt!

ee eran renee

  
   
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  

eee are

a ee nae ee Ot eRe ee WORe Seen ete Ty NanarE Sent PY ae)oan COUNT LUCKNER, THE SEA DEVIL
watch. As a concession to civilization, we had six
pairs of knives and forks, six mugs, a coffee pot, and
$5,000 in silver, gold, and paper, much of it in pounds
sterling.

At six in the morning, the two men on watch
Flled the coffee pot and applied fire to it from a sol-
dering lamp. With the slightest breeze and a rock-
ing of the boat, it was impossible to bring the water
to a boil. Then we were glad to get tepid coffee-bean
soup instead of coffee. After toilets had been made
with salty sea water, we squatted in the cockpit for
breakfast of coffee and hardtack. Navigation was
difficult in so small a boat. It was impossible to spread
the charts out properly, and with the slightest care-
lessness the wind might take our priceless naviga-
tion papers overboard. We had to use the sextant
and other navigation instruments in a boat that
often pitched so much we could scarcely stand. The
papers, charts, tables, logarithms, and so on, got
sopping wet, and when we dried them in the sun they
erew swollen and difficult to handle.

It was cool at night, but not unpleasant so long
as our clothes were dry. The weather was fair, but an
occasional whale would come alongside and douse
us with the spray of his spout. Then, in our damp
clothing, we felt the chill of the night. The days were
broiling hot, but even while taking advantage of
what little shade we had, we grew heavy and tor-
pid. We had, above all things, to be careful of our
water supply. We never dared drink enough to
quench our thirst completely, and were, in fact,
continually thirsty.

By way of amusement, we had readings aloud from
the one book we had brought along, Fritz Reuter’s
comic story, 4 Trip to Constantinople, and at night
the squealer wheezed and blared, and we whiledTO THE COOK ISLANDS IN AN OPEN BOAT 245

away the tedious hours singing old German folk
songs.

After three days we sighted Atiu, the first island of
the Cook group and a British possession. There was
no ship in sight. Too bad, but perhaps a ship might
be expected soon. Anyway, we had to make port
and get fresh food. Aside from the danger of storm,
if our voyage continued for any length, we feared
most of all beri-beri and scurvy, which our diet of
hardtack would inevitably bring upon us unless we
varied it with fresh vegetables.

A crowd, of natives, fine-looking Polynesians,
watched curiously as our little craft drew up to the
dock. Kircheiss and I went ashore and straight to the
house of the British resident. He lay stretched out in
his shirt and trousers on a Borneo long chair on his
porch, 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 is
my chief officer Southart.”

The resident looked at me suspiciously. It was a
true British mistrust. Ordinarily, your Englishman
is the best of fellows, a pleasant chap to meet, a per-
fect host. But in wartime you had to admire them.
They were on the lookout for everything. Their
brains seemed made only of suspicions. Kircheiss,
who spoke English better than I did, continued:

“We are Americans of Dutch birth. A few months
ago we made a bet at the Holland Club in San
Francisco that we would. sail from Honolulu in an
open boat via the Cook Islands to Tahiti and back
to Honolulu. The wager is for twenty-five thousand
dollars. Would you, my dear sir, kindly give me a cer-
tificate that we have been here in accordance with
the terms of our bet? Also, we should like to lay ineee
STIS Tt et a egy tt meng peepee SEES

Seems hese ta aa ttl ot ee ae Reece eee ett

Pie
3
ci
a
a

cK
FI
nf
f

 

246 COUNT LUCKNER, THE SEA DEVIL

a supply of fresh water, canned goods, and fresh
fruit.”

The resident yawned, looked us over with a wa-
tery eye and replied:

“Well, a man must be a hell of a fool to go in for
that kind of sport.”

“Sure,” Kircheiss said politely, “but, just the
same, we should like to have the certificate. Won’t
you give it to us or tell us who will?’

“Oh, to hell with you, don’t bother me. I’ve just
had dinner and want to take my nap.”

Even his British mistrust, with which he first re-
varded us, subsided into the indescribable something
that comes over a white man who yields to the soft
enervation of the tropics. He now looked at us
merely as mad fellows who wanted him to do some-
thing too crazy to merit his consideration.

‘Any news from the bloody war!” he asked. “Why
are they so stupid as to carry onwith this fighting busi-
ness? In the end, it will only help these yellow races.”

He continued like this and spoke highly of the
Germans. Naturally, we did not express any pro-
German sentiments.

“We simply must get this old bird to give us that
certificate,” I said to my comrade in Low German,
pretending that it was Dutch.

“Yes,” he replied in the same dialect, “1t may
come in mighty useful later on.”

The resident, as he told us, had served in the Boer
War, and should have known better, but he took our
Plattdeutsch for the language of Holland. Presently
he scribbled a note saying that we had called on him
in the course of our sporting cruise.

‘Any ships expected in port soon?” Kircheiss
asked quite casually.

“How in hell do I know?” the resident respondedrete: Fras amie
After bringing most of ae food supplies, weapons, and ammunition
ashore they set the wrecked ship afire, but her charred hull still hangs
on the jagged reef off the shore of Mopelia.

enitylakgens a sheseteleltlidelhipcdirts txtubatiteisbs$it-pesck:tAk! Se PAE ENS coer te AS nee oe
mes ort rere ot ba ts Saga NOR A Orn Sees recta Ereetee ie cett ie. Petes Pes Set bettas Seam eT ES Rsaan tye NPOTSONt TS EtctSrs

yengsdasiditereintarbetyt cAbtidaks dst Sie rprbchebenahsove) artatstahabascbscnedateaghonrryoebohokedadetaht ar

oj vhna each lbp tede brite N Ain omeyR abeda bebarmyty tals SEbon-mreyeys,

 

,

 

Here on a tiny island in a remote corner of the Scuth Seas the casta-
ways established a tent city. Their American prisoners named the
streets of Sea Eagle town, Broadway, State Street, and Pennsylvania
Avenue.The shipwrecked buccaneers and their motley crew of prisoners
grew weary of life in their “ poisoned paradise.’

 

The only ae of the ey aa were a few eae who
had come over from another island to catch mammoth turtles.TO THE COOK ISLANDS IN AN OPEN BOAT 247

wearily. “Everything goes to the bloody war, and
we don’t see anything around here but these Kan-
akas.” He continued in this strain and cursed his
boredom on the island.

The resident was still rambling on in his lazy
monotone when along came a man who wore a cas-
sock and had a beard down to his waist. He was a
French missionary priest who was overjoyed when
we saluted him with a few words of French. The
resident and an English trader were the only two
white men on the island besides himself, and neither
talked any French.

“ Allons, allons,” he shouted, “by Joe, boys, you
must pay me a visit.

And straightway he seized our arms and took us
over to his mission house. There he poured out
glasses of excellent wine.

“You are Americans,” he cried, “you fight for la
France? You are Hollanders? Ah, it is too bad that
your country is not in the war with France. But I
can see that you love la belle France.”

With that he put on the gramophone a record of
La Marseillaise, and had us sing it along with him,
which we did with all our lungs. Since it had been
written and dedicated to my great-grandfather, I
didn’t mind a bit. He chattered in French inces-
santly, in an ecstasy over having someone with
whom he could talk his native tongue. He embraced
us a dozen times and made us sit down to dinner. It
was an excellent meal. The wine was particularly
good. The conversation made us squirm a little. The
good father was the best fellow possible, but pa-
triotic to the very finger tips. He treated us to some
choice denunciations of the Germans.

After another rendition of the Marseillaise, we
took our leave.

ee ee eres beoot teed casaee eter ee TNSGrTit te Sater. errant T rarest

Ba husacetnyecteledageanrey Qplistcbesadecaih-nrteketaigionereceytane tylphiihitnieren Sirti satake thetetenayhe Cilicia thao teste taut tatgcgtelats Lnrertns tstelalsisct cata ttt

balemsibieveropeebytit hitssats nnersyenmydtleléme tere. 4, ep hat

Pe a eee ee eTen eee ert a eeenn generate rears ee

Sota ae ree hene a er tret etl eerie tr. ern anny

248 COUNT LUCKNER, THE SEA DEVIL

“What will be your next stop?” asked the jovial
missionary in parting.

“T think we will put in at Aitutaki,” I replied.
That was the nearest island and the next field of ac-
tion in our hunt for a ship.

“Fine,” exclaimed the priest cordially. “I have a
friend there. You must call on him. Just mention my
name. He will be delighted to see you. He is a Hol-
lander, too.”

A Hollander, too? And our knowledge of the Dutch
language was so strongly salted with a German ac-
cent! In that case, when we got to Aitutaki we cer-
tainly would be anything but Hollanders, probably
Norwegians.

Everywhere on the island were trees and fruits,
cocoanuts, bananas, mangoes, and oranges. On the
streets of the village, ‘with its thatched huts, were
South Sea beauties who wore wreaths of flowers and
had dark, flashing eyes. They gazed with interest on
the foreign sportsmen, the story of whose cruise on
a bet had spread among the natives. We took aboard
what provisions we needed and set sail for Aitutaki.

The weather turned miserable, by Joe. It rained
every day, those drenching tropical downpours. Our
sailcloth covering was not tight enough to hold the
water out. The sea was heavy and continually washed
into the boat. Often we bailed as many as two hun-
dred and fifty pails an hour. Everything not stowed
in the side tanks got wet. When the rain stopped for
a while, the waves and spray kept things from dry-
ing. We were soaked to the skin and never did get
dry. Our blankets and mattresses were dripping wet.
When we lay in the sodden bedding, we were freezing

cold, and could sleep scarcely at all. Often it was a
relief to be called to go on watch. Then at least we
could thresh our arms about and get warm. Cook-TO THE COOK ISLANDS IN AN OPEN BOAT 249

ing was almost impossible now, and we seldom ever
got coffee anything like hot.

Once we saw a waterspout forming right before
our eyes. A fine, whirling drizzle close to the water
attracted our eyes. It revolved ever more rapidly,
seizing wider masses of water. In the sky was a little
black thundercloud extending downward in the shape
of a funnel. The whirl of spray on the water ran up
swiftly. The cone of the thundercloud stretched
down to meet it. They came together and united. A
roaring and sound of bursting, a tremendous suction
of water, and sky and sea were connected by a
whirling column. Gyrating and swaying, it moved
in our direction. Our boat lay in a calm. Not a breath
of air around us. Will this wandering giant strike us
and break upon us, deluge and swamp us? Auto-
matically Leudemann at the rudder tries to steer us.
Without wind our boat cannot move, much less steer.
But the roaring monster collapses with a deafening
clap. Its mass of water falls upon the sea, and from
it a circular swell spreads out. We rock uncomfor-
tably and thank heaven. During our voyages among
the islands we narrowly escaped several similar
spouts.

After three days we found ourselves steering our
way through the maze of reefs, very beautiful but
perilous, that extend out in front of the landing place
at Aitutaki. Again there was no ship in sight, but
again one might be scheduled to arrive within some
reasonable time. That was our hope. A crowd of na-
tives gathered to watch us come in, also half a dozen
white men, among whom was the British resident.
He was a tall, lanky fellow who wore glasses, and
looked a perfect picture of President Wilson. We
found this resident to be full of the same British
suspicion. Unlike his colleague at Atiu, he was in no

a erererrery rea te

seek Ri bili eh hea he Ree

Se ee nnn Lend See Merete: tt Sanne weed Penntea ot oot ooo tener tt pein s

wren te tiger mevaghgna tei230 COUNT LUCKNER, THE SEA DEVIL

wise lost in tropical indolence, but was active and
shrewd. We saw that he entertained the liveliest
doubts about us. Might we not be wandering Ger-
mans? Of course, he could not venture any forcible
measures to investigate our case, such as searching
our boat, for if we really were Germans we would
doubtless be armed to the teeth, and in that case
where would he be? He had no force to match ours.
We tried our level best to quiet his suspicions by
our offhand, natural behaviour. We thought our
sporting voyage explanation and our request for a
certificate, such as we had got from the resident at
Atiu, plausible enough. It was too bad that we could
not use the other resident’s certificate, but in 1t were
written our supposed Dutch names, and now we
were Norwegians.

The resident began by saying to us that we would
no doubt be delighted to meet a fellow countryman
of ours. This “countryman” turned out to be a Nor-
wegian carpenter. We surmised at once that he had
been instructed by the resident to talk with us and
see whether we were really Norwegians. My Nor-
wegian was bad, but Kircheiss spoke the language
like a native. I kept severely out of the way, and let
Kircheiss have a long, friendly talk with the car-
penter. Kircheiss convinced his man that he was
as Norse as the Vikings. The carpenter was de-
lighted to meet a fellow countryman so jovial and,
as Kircheiss represented, so wealthy. He promptly
reported to the resident that we were the truest
Norsemen alive and could in no wise be Germans.

The resident, with his inscrutable President Wil-
son face, invited me to his house for dinner. I ac-
cepted. A British merchant named’ Low invited my
lieutenant to his house. We suspected it was a dodge
to separate us. Seemingly, the Norwegian’s assur-

tire there ee are ett eet Sve ee th ern oo) cin n naresTO. THE COOK ISLANDS IN AN OPEN BOAT 251

ance had not fully allayed the mistrust of these un-
easy Britons. Kircheiss and I made every excuse
we could to keep together, but the hospitality was so
pressing that we could not refuse any longer with-
out practically giving ourselves away.

““Even if we are apart,” I said to Kircheiss on the
side, “‘we have our pistols and hand grenades, by
Joe. We will keep our eyes open, and we can take
care of ourselves single-handed. If anything looks
wrong, we will fight our way to the boat.”’

At the resident’s house, a fine stone structure, I
had a much-needed bath and shave. When I re-
joined him, the resident studied my smooth jaws.

“Why,” he exclaimed, “you are shaved.”

“Yes, thanks to you, and I feel a hundred per
cent. 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 talked
a lot, although he did not seem to be naturally a talk-
ative kind. He asked me many questions, which I
answered cautiously. A native servant brought him
a note, and he scribbled a note in return. After a
few minutes, the servant brought him another mes-
sage, and again he answered it. This happened
several times.

“Important messages?” I asked.

“Oh, no,” he replied hastily, “they are from my
friend Low. He wants to arrange to have us all take
coffee at his bungalow.”

It was very queer. I was prepared, though, and
thanked my stars for the pistol and hand grenade in
my pockets. I learned later that their scheme was,
in fact, to question Kircheiss and me separately. The

teheane hiathtine eteeet ates at ar Tete eerie E etree Lester

oranda engdecewrnntan tpkgnclsmere en Bets Ione ate cactbe ne Senay Clennam os tite be Lah tals NE bs Mey y rite Ly dads antwsdlcnng tasty tpira ra 26!252 COUNT LUCKNER, THE SEA DEVIL

purpose of the notes was to arrange questions to be
asked of us, so that they might check up our separate
answers to the same questions. These answers, it
happened, had jibed fairly well, although not well
enough to disarm suspicion altogether.

I thought it an imprudent time to ask when a ship
might be expected, and hoped that some voluntary
information on the subject might be vouchsafed.
None was, however. I resolved to let the subject
wait. People suspected of being a boatload of armed
Germans might too readily be suspected of being
interested in the arrival of ships.

When the time for leaving came, the resident told
me that, if we would return on the following day, he
would give us the certificate we desired, certifying
that in the course of our sporting voyage we had
called at the island of Aitutaki. The delay about the
certificate was, of course, to detain us a day longer.

Away from this unsatisfactory interview, we en-
countered the Norwegian carpenter who informed
Kircheiss that the natives believed we were Ger-
mans. The British had been recruiting soldiery among
them for service in France, and for the purpose of
getting recruits had stirred them up with a bit of
war fever. The islanders therefore hoped that we were
enemies so they could seize us. They planned to get
our 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 the
carpenter.

“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 sail
straight on? That would make them certain that we
were Germans, but there was no wireless station onTO THE COOK ISLANDS IN AN OPEN BOAT 253

the island, and they could not warn the other islands
until a ship arrived to take away the news. Or should
we capture the island, which we could easily do with
our extensive armament, and then wait for a ship?
Or should we still try to convince the resident that
we were the Norwegian sportsmen we pretended?
This latter temporizing measure we adopted, and
decided to call on the resident the following day
and try to get our certificate from him. In prepara-
tion for the visit, I instructed the men who remained
behind to be ready for trouble ashore. If we needed
them, they would hear a pistol shot. They should
immediately open fire with machine guns and hand
grenades. [hey should shoot into the air and throw
the grenades into the water, where they would
make the most noise. The row would create a diver-
sion, and then they should hurry ashore with ma-
ne guns, rifles, and grenades to rescue us if need

e.

The following day provided us with plenty of
thrills. When Kircheiss and I[ went to the resident’s
house, crowds of natives followed us. The resident
greeted us with a worried expression but came
straight to the point.

“TI shall have to examine your boat and papers,”’
he said sternly.

“How so?”’ said I.

“The natives think you are Germans. I know you
are not, but I must inspect your boat to satisfy
them.”

He vacillated between the desire of not letting
us get away and the fear of a fight.

Outside, the Polynesians were gathering from all
quarters. [They made a menacing, ugly-looking mob.
Left hand in pocket, I attached a carbine hook to
the fuse of the grenade. With that mob of heathens

eee tet Ls eens cer canst ae neanean et etsy caeenee nent nT EST tte Ne MOT TT Tr errrer Terran}as4 COUNT LUCKNER, THE SEA DEVIL

on the rampage, there was no use in trying to carry
the deception any further.

“Tt is true,” I said to the resident, ““we are Ger-
mans. But don’t you think it would be better if we
remained friends? We are white men. I am with you
in front of these natives. Act the part that will im-
press them. Come and examine our boat.”

“Very well,” he replied, growing pale, “but you
won’t take me with you?”

““No, upon my word, no.”

When we stepped out on the porch, the islanders
raised a howl. I never thought there were so many
Polynesians in the world. I had never before stood in
the face of a mob. Sailors or soldiers would not have
made me so afraid.

“Don’t be a coward,” I said to myself. “On, by
Joe, on.”

Kircheiss and I stayed close together. The resident
led us through the mob, which was overawed by his
presence. We were halfway to the boat when a na-
tive in Colonial uniform stepped up. He had seen
service with the British in France, we were afterward
told.

‘Shall I arrest them, sir?” he asked.

“Arrest what?” I shouted. “Shut your trap. Why
should a fool like you try to arrest Norwegians?”
Then I muttered to the resident: “If that fellow
makes 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 small row-
boat picked us up.

“You won’t keep me with you?” the resident
asked again.

I assured him that we would not. So we rowed overTO THE COOK ISLANDS IN AN OPEN BOAT 255

and climbed into my boat, impelled less by his own
desire than by the attitude of the natives.

“‘Here is the log,” Kircheiss, with an impassive
face, handed him a log we had taken from one of our
captured ships. He perfunctorily turned the pages and
came upon a chronometric diary we kept in the book.
Above was stamped in fat type: KAISERLICHE
MARINE.

“What is that?”’ he stammered.

“Something in Norwegian,” Kircheiss grinned sar-
donically. “I don’t understand it.”’

The resident saw: GAND UND STAND.

“What language is that?” This time he was a
trifle ironical.

“Oh, Norwegian, of course,” said Kircheiss.

The resident raised a tarpaulin, but dropped it
quickly. He had seen rifles. He raised another. There
were neat rows of hand grenades, as easy to pick
up as apples.

“Keep those covered,” he exclaimed, as pale as
ashes.

“Well,” I asked, ‘Show do you find everything?”

“Quite all right—quite all right.”” He smiled a very
acid smile.

“Won’t you tell your people here that everything
is all right?” I suggested.

He turned to the crowd on the pier.

‘Everything is in order,” he called. “‘ These gentle-
men are Norwegian sportsmen, as they say.”

“And now the certificate,” I reminded him.

He wrote a note just as the resident at Aitu had
done.

“You don’t intend to take me with you?” he re-
peated.

“No,” I responded, “‘but I should like to haveee ee eee at ter ee rr oes

EE
a
Ft
Fa
i
F

#

256 COUNT LUCKNER, THE SEA DEVIL

your company until we can get some fruit and to-
bacco.”

I stood chatting with him on the pier while Kirch-
eiss went to procure the fruit and tobacco. Hadn’t
we better take the island and wait for a ship instead
of sailing off? I debated the question with myself,
and then decided we had better go.

The last scene of this little drama was played as
the resident and I shook hands and bade each other
an apparently cordial farewell. He was a decent fel-
low, even if he had been suspicious, and I had eaten
an excellent dinner at his house. I was glad that we
didn’t have to humiliate him before the natives, a
dreadful fate for an Englishman.

As we hoisted anchor and raised sail, a cheer went
up from the natives lined along the shore. They
were trying to make amends for having treated us so
shabbily and for having taken us for Germans!

But there at Aitutaki I had made the great mis-
take of our cruise. We should have captured that
island. Three days later a schooner arrived. We
could have taken it, rejoined our comrades, and con-
tinued our raids. Instead, the resident told the of-
ficers the story of our visit. The schooner sailed the
next day and in a little while met a steamer to which
it transferred the news about us. The steamer in
turn radioed a warning to the whole South Seas. So
we were now in for a warm welcome.XXVII
THROUGH A SEA OF FLOATING BRIMSTONE TO FIji

Ar Rarotonea, another island of the Cook group,
we had a fright. By Joe, we were scared. It was
night. We suddenly saw, right before us, in the
shadow of the shore, a big steamer. She had no lights.
She must be an auxiliary cruiser. Hard on the helm
and every stitch of canvas up. We turned and sailed
the other way as fast as the wind would carry us.
We expected every moment to be spotted by their
lookout and then see the ghostlike searchlight beam
fingering toward us through the dark.

“Our luck is with us,’’ I said to Leudemann, when
finally we were far enough out at sea to consider our-
selves past danger.

Months later, while discussing our adventures with
a group of ship’s officers, I was told by one of them
that the supposed auxiliary cruiser that had fnght-
ened us at Rarotonga was really nothing more than
a wreck. Several months before our approach to the
island, a steamer had gone aground on a reef just off-
shore, and had been abandoned. The position of the
wreck was such that at night it might readily be
taken for a ship lying at anchor.

But we had decided when we got well away from
Rarotonga that the Cook group of islands was no
place for us. At Atiu we had found no ship to cap-
ture. At Aitutaki no ship either, only a lot of trouble,

including the misfortune of being recognized as Ger-

257

- 5 Seater eed aw
Ne eT cree Mette re eee Tarte (2 Citta) Nae

Eee Cnn Seen YES

a sh ekgeehetStedeyepenta iainiecancesdtcesey Mpay etsy:

Oe ae ee eee eo

ees

sable tarentalichanelecaneatatchebad-eeenabciageotyintatcholidciahes-reatatatslese.258 COUNT LUCKNER, THE SEA DEVIL

mans. And now at Rarotonga we had nearly sailed
into what we supposed to be an auxiliary cruiser in
the dark.

“By Joe,” I said to the boys, “we'd better clear
out of here and try our luck in other waters.”

“‘Aye, but where? The Fijis?”

“The Fijis,” I responded. “We'll find plenty of
ships there.”’

We had all along figured that we might have to go
to the Fiji Islands, where a constant stream of sail-
ing ships was always taking aboard copra for the
munition factories in the United States. But we
also were fully aware that sailing in a little open
boat from the Cook Islands to the Fijis might easily
be a perilous venture. Our voyage so far had gone
fairly smoothly. There had been no hurricanes, and
we thanked God for that. Our itinerary from our
starting point at Mopelia in the Society group to the
adjoining Cook group and among the islands of
the latter represented jumps of several hundred miles
each and quite a few days at sea. On to the Fijis,
however, meant a sail across twenty degrees of longi-
tude. The first half of the jaunt, or about a thousand
miles, was over a vast open space of sea where there
were no islands on which to find fresh food or on
which to take refuge in case of need. In fact, we were
to sail for thirteen days out of sight of land. We had
expected, when we left Mopelia, that the leg to the
Fijis would be a hard one, even if we had fair wea-
ther all the way. But now the weather turned against
us for a whole week, and we began to think we had
run across St. Swithin’s day. We had forgotten—if
we had ever known it—that this was the time when
the equinoctial storms broke in those waters. Had
we known it, we never would have headed for the

Fijis.

cTHROUGH A SEA OF BRIMSTONE 259

For ten days we sailed through a drenching down-
pour, the rainy season. The sea was choppy. The wind
whipped the spray and the crests of waves over us
in driving sheets. In our cockleshell, things were
afloat, and it was bitter cold o’ nights. We threw
our mattresses overboard. In their soaked condition
they 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 drenched
clothes would dry quickly and stiffen like boards of
salt. They rubbed and scratched the skin off our
bodies. When they got wet again, which they
promptly did, the salt would soak into the raw flesh
and inflame it. Our bodies felt as though they were
on fire. We had no regular sleep. Instead, a man
would doze away suddenly at almost any time. Even
the helmsman would drowse off like that, and, with
a free rudder, the boat would veer around crazily.

One morning, when dawn came, we could hardly
believe our eyes. The sea had turned from its normal
blue to yellow. On scooping up a pail of it we found
a scum that we concluded must be brimstone and
ash. We were sailing through a field of brimstone.
For three days we saw from horizon to horizon this
yellowish expanse of volcanic dust. It no doubt came
from some submarine eruption, perhaps the one we
could thank for the tidal wave that had wrecked the
Seeadler. The waves carried the gritty dust into the
boat. It penetrated everything. Every surface be-
came like sandpaper. Our skin grew rough and caked
with it. Our blankets were like sandpaper, and so
were our clothes.

As the voyage grew longer, we had to be more
and more sparing with our drinking water. The sup-
ply began to run low. We could no longer collect rain
water in our sails. They were coated with salt. We

       
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
   

Pie - . S C - , " Polio
eoweet gta tpigiiteinnnreniet hace tate latheie palate tat vianbnan os ety he tat telpipleditielnraytiestsdntesen Reeser Eee SCN TN MEE rere foc NeBT ness

     
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   

260 COUNT LUCKNER, THE SEA DEVIL

tried to wash them out in the rain, but then the
spray and the waves kept washing in and kept the
sails salty and added a further salting to any water
we collected. Our supply of fruit that we had picked
up in the Cook Islands ran out now, and about all
we had left was hardtack, not in itself a thirst-
quenching kind of food. We also had a side of de-
licious bacon, but of course we dared not touch it
for fear of increasing our thirst. You have often
heard of the torments of thirst at sea? Well, they
are not exaggerated, for exaggeration is impossible.
When the rains stopped and the blazing tropical
sun beat down on us all day and we still had days
to 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. We
sucked our fingers and gnawed at our knuckles to
bring a flow of saliva and refresh our burning
mouths.

And then came the sailor’s worst enemy, scurvy.
Our diet of hardtack, lack of exercise, and general
hardships brought it on. Our knees swelled up so
badly that we had to cut our trousers. The rocking
of the boat knocked them together or against the
wooden sides, and then the pain was almost un-
endurable. Our lips were black and broken. Our
tongues were swollen and hard. It was as if you had
a stone in your mouth. Our gums became snow
white and seemed to recede. Our teeth felt as though
they were sticking far out of our jaws. They hurt
constantly and were loose and felt as if they were
going to drop out. With these shaking teeth we ate
our hardtack. I never before knew how hard hard-
tack was. We had unending headaches, and it seemed
as if something were pressing our eyes right out of
their sockets. We got water in our legs, and couldTHROUGH A SEA OF BRIMSTONE 261

hardly stand any more. We had to slide around the
seats to do what had to be done in navigating the
boat. In scurvy, the blood turns to water, first in
the legs and then upward. When it reaches the heart
you die. Where the blood is water the flesh is white,
and you can see the line of the white creep slowly
up. We wondered who would be the first—the first to
have the line of white rise to the heart. My boys
made marks to show the line clearly and mark its
daily progress upward. It was a kind of sport. It
was keeping a daily log, a log of death. Parmien was
the youngest of us, but he seemed to be on his way
to win the race. The line was higher on him than
on the others. He joked about it. There was nothing
terrible in it. We were all in a deep apathy. Our
brains were like balls of cotton. Nothing mattered,
certainly not death. Death would come, we thought,
as a relief from these sufferings. The prospect of its
arrival became more and more attractive.

“Boys,” I said, “‘let us take pieces of ballast iron
and tie them around our necks. One plunge and in a
few seconds all of our pains will be gone.”’

“Yes. All right.’ There were mutterings of assent.

But Parmien, the youngest, the one who was near-
est death, picked up the comic volume, Fritz Reuter’s
Trip to Constantinople, and began to read a funny
story. We all laughed. That book had eased many a
hard hour before, on this ghastly voyage, and now,
perhaps, it saved our lives.

And so we continued on with but one instinct left
in us, the sailor’s instinct to navigate his craft.
Mechanically, without any particular hope, without
any particular thought, we trimmed the sails, guided
the helm, and calculated our position as best we
could. Nautical science was at a low ebb among us
now. We were too far gone to reckon exactly whereSei beiee tte rn eeer eee ares rwwey

ee ae ae ee en eee sai

ne ern eee Te

Se ee Dera el erent ete eet ene thi. Scores

    

262 COUNT LUCKNER, THE SEA DEVIL

we were, and were only vague in our steering. All
we knew was that we should steer to the west where
the island groups were.

You have read in many a sea story about the de-
light, the almost insane ecstasy, of castaway men
adrift in open boats who are dying of hunger, thirst,
and disease, when, at last, a rescuing ship approaches
or they see land. No matter how the writers describe
it, even the greatest of writers, they can tell you only
a tiny bit, only a grain of sand. So, I won’t try to say
how we felt when we saw a speck on the horizon and
the speck grew bigger and turned into the familiar
green of a tropical island. We had been so much like
dead men, who had thought that nothing could ever
make us glad again. By Joe, that sight gladdened our
hearts, though. We grew even weaker, but it was the
weakness of happiness. As we drew near, we thought
of nothing but land, fresh water, and soft food, a
soft banana, for our loose, shaky teeth. Never mind
ships or capturing ships. Never mind being taken
prisoners. We headed straight toward a crude pier
that stuck out into the water.

A crowd of a hundred natives, perhaps less, were
gathered at the landing place watching our approach.
They were ferocious-looking black warriors. We had
now passed from the region of the brown, indolent
Polynesians to those of the black, warlike Melane-
sians.

“What ugly customers,” I said to Leudemann.
“They look like cannibals.”

The forbidding battle array on shore stirred a new
strength in us. It certainly looked like a cannibal
island, and miserable as we were, still we could not
escape the thought of our skin and bones being
fattened up in preparation for an old-time South
Sea banquet.THROUGH A SEA OF BRIMSTONE 263

“Clear the boat for action!” I ordered. Even in
our present straits, we could still remember our old
naval 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 and
talked with the natives. They were unmistakably
friendly, very cordial. From what they told us they
had, in the first place, grievances against their mas-
ters, the British. Then quite a number had been re-
cruited and sent to the trenches in France. There
some had been killed and some wounded, and most
who survived had contracted tuberculosis from the
unaccustomed climate and had been returned to
the island worn-out shells of men. One of their most
influential chiefs was particularly concerned about
the war. He was on the pier, and he reasoned thus:

“White man send missionary. Missionary say we
must not fight. Because all men children of God. All
men 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 men
come back sick with cough. Cough never goes away.”

These people were of a warrior race. What the
British had told them about how bad the Germans
were had not made much impression. What stuck in
their minds was the fighting power of the Germans.
They had heard about it from the British, and those
who had been in the trenches of Flanders knew about
it first-hand. The sudden appearance of armed Ger-
mans at their remote island coal but increase theirTienes heehee abetererett

Se a ae eee eek reece eee ae ee eee

ete

oertrarks ait eeeeee tas

264 COUNT LUCKNER, THE SEA DEVIL

admiration. Morality among them had principally
to 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-swollen
legs we could hardly stand, however. It wouldn’t do
to be hauled ashore as cripples. It would not in-
crease these warriors’ respect for Germans as fighting
men: 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 of
their hospitality, told them we must hurry on to
fight the British, and asked for fresh water and
bananas. They brought great gourds full of water
and bunches of bananas. We drew up to the dock
and they handed these precious supplies down for us.

We had our fill of bananas and water, and, with
shouts resounding from the shore, set sail again.
This lucky spot was Niué, an outlying isle of the Fiy1
group. The sun blazed down upon us, but a fair wind
carried us along briskly. The first day after leaving
Niué we felt better. The second day we were on
the road to high good health. It is amazing the cura-
tive effect of fresh fruit, especially bananas, when
you are suffering from scurvy. They seem to put
new life and blood into you and draw the sickness
right out of the body as though some huge and mar-
vellous poultice had been applied.

Our cure was completed at the isle of Katafanga.
It is.quite a large isle and inhabited by more na-
tives. But we hit upon a stretch of shore that seemed
permanently deserted. At any rate, we remained
there for five days and saw not a soul. When we went
ashore, we all walked with a comical staggering gait.
You know the characteristic rolling gait of the sailor
accustomed to having a deck under his feet ? Ours wasTHROUGH A SEA OF BRIMSTONE 265

 

an exaggeration of it. After two weeks in our con-
stantly pitching boat and never a foot on land, we
could not get our legs used to solid, unmoving earth.
Even after five days of extensive pedestrianism on the
beach we rolled along rather than walked. There was
plenty of fruit around, and many streams ran down
to the sea. We ate enough fruit to expel all the scurvy
in the world and bathed luxuriously in the clear
water.

On the island was a deserted house. We inspected
it and saw that it had been owned by a German
planter. We afterward learned that, at the outbreak
of the war, the planter fled to the interior of the
island, and an Englishman had taken possession of
his house, then, not liking the island, had left it
pretty much to itself. Among the rubbish in the
house was a German mercantile magazine, and on
the first page that I turned to I saw an advertise-
ment of the paint firm of Erdmann and Kircheiss.
One of our sailors was named Erdmann and my
lieutenant was named Kircheiss. No relations of the
paint firm, but we took it as a good omen. At any
rate, coming upon the planter’s house was certainly
good luck. It had gone to seed a bit, but there still
were Christian beds in it. For the first time since
sailing away from Mopelia, we slept comfortably,
and between sheets, too.

We were now getting near the larger islands of the
Fiji group, where the sailing ships loaded with copra
would be encountered. If we did not succeed in cap-
turing a ship here, we never could hope to capture
one. We found a handsome little sailboat belonging
to the Englishman who had taken over the Ger-
man’s house, but we left her where she lay. She was
more comfortable than our battered old lifeboat—

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266 COUNT LUCKNER, THE SEA DEVIL

but the latter was a last relic of our old Seeadler.
She had brought us this far, so we wanted to keep
her until we had captured a ship. We raised sail,
knowing that, for better or for worse, we were on the
last leg of our voyage in the lifeboat.

We came to the main body of the Fijis, and sailed
into a large gulf surrounded by distant islands.
It was night, and we decided to wait till morning to
see how many ships were passing and what island
they were bound for. We reefed our sails and threw
out our sea anchor, that sacklike drag of canvas that
keeps a boat from turning broadside to the wind and
waves and from drifting too fast. We lay down for
a decent night’s sleep. We would need all our ener-
gies for the morrow.

A sudden shout. I awakened. It was just daybreak.
Straight ahead was a wild white line of surf. It broke
over a long, low coral reef, and just behind it was a
high cliff. We had run into a strong current during
the night. Krauss had awakened just in time to see
that it had carried us perilously near the reef. The
wind 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 the
reef.

People accustomed to the surfs along ordinary
coasts have no idea of what breakers are like off the
islands of the South Pacific. The surf all over the
Pacific is particularly strong. But when it breaks over
a mid-oceanic coral reef nothing can live in it. The
strongest swimmer is sure to be dashed to pieces
against the jagged coral.

And there wasn’t the slightest hope of our moving
against the wind and backing away from the reef.3
*
5
4
i
i

    

Beneath the waving palms of Mopelia the castaways held their
final reunion before the Sea Devil and five companions set sail for Fiji
in a life boat.

SER nese eNO Oe CoO EM ERE ee NET Se eT OI Nr CT IN Ne te anne YEE IT see TEE TT

 

For more hen two thousand miles they rowed and sailed in an open
boat across the South Seas.

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ae
Fon
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Fes

At Wakaya in the Cook

The six men who made
the perilous voyage in the
tiny Cecilie from the So-
ciety Islands to the Cook
Islands and then south to
Fiji. Luckner seated on
the left and Kircheiss on
the right.

 

Group they had their first narrow escape

from capture.THROUGH A SEA OF BRIMSTONE 267

Slowly, slowly we were nearing it. The breakers
roared like thunder. In a few moments, we would
be flung into that death trap of water and coral.

Pistol in hand, I shouted something to the effect
that I didn’t intend to be ground to death by the
breakers on that jagged coral.

The others looked for their pistols. One could not
find his. Between the pull of the current and the
power 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 away
from the breakers. And still one man could not find
his pistol. Instinctively, we all waited. And that was
what saved our lives. Suddenly we saw the reef
drop away, slanting back at a sharp angle, and a
moment later we were drifting parallel to the coral.

It was then that I discovered there were two kinds
of breathing. In times of terrible danger, the breath
comes in short, quick puffs, The danger gone, you
breathe deeply. By Joe, when we got clear of that
reef I breathed such a breath that it seemed to go
right down to my heels. I sat looking at my boys’
faces. When we got our pistols ready, their faces had
set tense, as if cast from bronze. With the’ danger
past, their faces held the same set expression. It
was an hour before their old expressions came back
again. Two of my fellows found patches of gray in
their hair afterward. (Maybe they had been there
for years only to be discovered now!) Another’s leg
was absolutely blue in spots. In those frightful mo-
ments he had, without knowing it, grasped his thigh
in a clutch like a drowning man. I tell you, by Joe,
it was the hand of God that put the curve in that
reef! When one of the boys, I don’t know which,
said in surprise, ‘We are clear!” I knew it was the

hand of God.

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en eee ees er er eon eN a termrrete Tren CU COG. Wm

eee ee ee eet tS eee eT tere Se ete

tla erent etn tplgiitsivnere iets toca tateteteleletapnypetatene tts.

ert seaesXXVIII
CAUGHT BY THE BRITISH AT WAKAYA

Tue island was Wakaya. Several old sailing ships
were in the harbour. We gazed at them with hungry
eyes, and eager plans of capturing one ran through
our minds. Natives on shore spied us, took us for
shipwrecked sailors, and put a boat out to meet us.
It suited our plans to let them go right on thinking
we had been shipwrecked. That might make it
much easier for us to get some information about
the vessels at anchor. Leaving a couple of my boys
in the boat, the other four of us accompanied the
natives to their huts, where they treated us hos-
pitably. They were a simple, trusting people. Several
half-breeds and a couple of white men, however,
looked at us suspiciously. One half-breed was par-
ticularly offensive and insisted on asking us many
questions. We did not like his behaviour at all.

Kircheiss and I took a walk along a path in the
woods to talk over what seemed another menacing
situation. A white man came galloping by on horse-
back. He was pale with excitement. He slowed down
for a moment, gazed at us, responded curtly to our
greeting, and went on. Thoroughly alarmed, we
hurried back to the village. Some curious business
was afoot, and we were determined to find out what
it Was.

“Our last half gallon of rum,” Kircheiss murmured
regretfully.

Oy eres en teeerne eat ver ert Sees

268

eee treetCAUGHT BY THE BRITISH AT WAKAYA 269

“Yes,” I responded, “‘it is too bad, but it will go
to a useful purpose.”

We got hold of the half-caste who had been so
inquisitive. The white man we had seen on horse-
back was with him. Something, indeed, was afoot.
We talked casually with them and then suggested
drinking. They were interested, and became en-
thusiastic 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 like
rum to make men friendly and conversational. The
half-breed got so conversational that he blurted out.

“Why, you’re all right. But at first we thought you
were Germans. We could get fifty pounds if you
were Germans.”

Now, as an American sailor would say, you’ve got
o “hand it” to the English. They know how to
spend money when it is useful. We Germans are
usually more niggardly, or “‘careful” some might call
it. We will try to save a mark and then lose thou-
sands. Having received the wireless warning from
the resident at Aitutaki of mysterious armed Ger-
mans in the South Seas, the authorities in the Fijis
had passed word among the natives to be on the
lookout for us, and had offered a two-hundred-and-
fifty-dollar reward to anyone who turned in definite
information about a party of Germans posing as
neutrals.

It was clear enough that the half-breed and the
white man had been plotting to hand us over to the
authorities, but how far they had gone we did not
know. We didn’t find out that night. It was not until
later that we learned the white man’s horseback ride
had been to give a warning about us to the cap-
tain of a cutter in the harbour, and that the cutter
had at once shoved off to carry the message to the

ee eee etn ETE ee WEN eet een rere et eS tree sol en hice aera

12 ba ntngtereeraptana tobe’

Set eae aneCar Sara Sea eee ene ea en Tas et eee ee

Eat eee rertra he attest Teena

270 * COUNT LUCKNER, THE SEA DEVIL

officials on one of the larger islands a day’s sail away.
Not knowing this, we used a good deal of persuasion
to put the idea firmly into the heads of the two men
that we could not possibly be Germans. It may have
been our eloquence, or, more likely, the genial in-
fluence of the rum, but, at any rate, they seemed to
lose all of their suspicions and became convinced
that we were the truest Norwegians from Scandina-
via. Kircheiss and I, somewhat the worse from our
session at detective work, slept at the Englishman’s
house.

The four others were offered quarters ashore for
the night, but two of my boys remained in the boat
as a precaution. It was well they did, too. During
the night, native swimmers went out to her and cut
the anchor rope. They were put up to it by a Malay
police oficer who was suspicious of us. Not knowing
any of my men would remain on board her, since
she was only an open lifeboat, he planned to search
her. So he sent his swimmers out to pull her ashore
and beach her. The wind was inshore. The anchor
rope cut, the boat drifted in. Our two men were
asleep, and only awakened when keel jarred against
bottom. Dark figures were around in the water,
trying to pull the boat on the beach. Our men, pistol
in hand, drove them away and then pushed out into
open water.

On the following day, we made our final costly er-
ror. The ships in the harbour weighed anchor and
raised sail. We picked the one that seemed the newest
and arranged with the skipper to take us along with
him to Suva, on the main island Viti Levu. Of course,
our plan was simply to sail a few miles out to sea
with him and then take the ship ourselves after don-
ning our uniforms and getting out all of our weapons.
A sudden squall blew up and forced the vessels backCAUGHT BY THE BRITISH AT WAKAYA 271

to port. We returned with her. And now we should
have taken her while she lay at anchor. The people
ashore would have seen what was going on, but we
could have held up the island and then put to sea,
storm or no storm. That was our first impulse. We
should have followed it. Always trust your first
impulse—at any rate, if you go into the pirate busi-
ness. It is the boldest and best. Instead, we chose
a more cautious course. Prudence ceases to be a vir-
tue when you are on an adventure like ours. We had
been bold enough heretofore, and I have no satis-
factory explanation for our caution now. It may have
been that we were not quite ourselves. Our voyage
down from the Societies and the Cooks to Fiji, with
those days of hunger, thirst, and scurvy, had sapped
our strength and vitality. Perhaps, although we felt
quite well, we had not yet got back our full vigour
of body ‘and mind. Perhaps we were low on red
corpuscles. At any rate, we resolved to wait until
the following day and capture our ship when it had
got out to sea. While we waited, another vessel ar-
rived.

She was a beauty, too, and would have delighted
any seaman’s eye as she came sailing into the har-
bour. She had just arrived, we were told, from Suva.
She ran regularly among the islands, carrying mer-
chandise to the traders. She was a handsome three-
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 old
windjammer we had intended to capture, and de-
voted ourselves to this new beauty. A council of war
was held, after which Kircheiss went to the captain
of the vessel, which now had docked, and told him
that we were Norwegians who, while making a cruise

Sette re ti /
fener ier met

   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
   

eet oe Stennett anennenee SET ET SST Ty eet Tore

Fe eee See ene aS eee oS eT eet SEE See STS Sennen eet vee eee ee ne

eae eee 99272, COUNT LUCKNER, THE SEA DEVIL

in a lifeboat, had missed our ship, which was taking
coal from Australia to Suva. Could we not take pas-
sage with him to Suva instead of on the other slower
old craft, so that we could get back to our own
ship? We would pay regular rates for the passage.

‘All right,” replied the captain, a jovial, unsus-
pecting fellow. ““Come aboard at eight o'clock this
evening. We sail in the morning.”

It was our plan again that, once aboard this
lovely ship and out at sea, we would suddenly ap-
pear in our uniforms and hoist the German flag.

We made ready to abandon the lifeboat. Our be-
longings required careful packing. We put rifles,
machine guns, cartridges, and grenades in our canvas
bags, wrapped our naval uniforms around these, and
then rolled each bundle in a couple of blankets and
tied it securely. A casual handling would not reveal
the armament inside. Each of us took a pistol in one
pocket and a hand grenade in the other. At eight
o'clock we went aboard the schooner. Our manceuvres
had been made carefully, and we had attracted no
undue notice of the people who were suspicious of us.

Aboard, the captain received us hospitably, and
we went around looking over what we expected to
make our next prize of war. And a prize she was,
just a year out of the shipyard and beautifully
finished in every detail.

“Look at the saloon,” I muttered to Leudemann
as we wandered around, ‘“‘think of what meals we
will have here. No more hardtack with loose teeth to
bite it. And look at those cabins. Won’t those bunks
be comfortable when it blows and rains? And what a
fine big level deck to walk on, so different from the
bottom of our lifeboat.”

The schooner had two new motors capable of driv-
ing her along at a lively clip. They would enable usCAUGHT BY THE BRITISH AT WAKAYA 273

to cover a lot of the wide Pacific and run down many
a copra-laden clipper.

The captain told us he had aboard a miscellane-
ous cargo of cloth, white shoes, helmets, silk under-
wear for the wives of planters and traders, silk stock-
ings, and so on. He was provisioned for a cruise of
six months, and had aboard large stores of pre-
served fruits and vegetables and six thousand pounds
of fresh meat. I said to myself:

“* Just what we want, by Joe.”

Here was the perfect prize. What would our com-
races marooned back there on Mopelia say when we
turned up with this beautiful schooner in tip-top
shape, with powerful motors, well-provisioned and
all? Already we could hear the lusty cheers, as, with
the German flag at our mast, we drew up and cast
anchor off the coral reef. I looked up at the trim
masts and spars and around at the freshly scrubbed
woodwork of the deck and spoke silently to the
schooner, calling her by a new name.

““Ho, there, Seeadler-the-Second! You'll like it as
an auxiliary cruiser. We'll have a lot of fun to-
gether, by Joe.”

I could hardly wait for her to raise anchor and set
sail. But we had counted that brood of mental chick-
ens before they had hatched, by Joe.

A steamer slid into port!

The skipper of our clipper who was standing next
to me said he supposed she had brought over the
proprietor of the island. The new arrival lowered a
boat. In it were a military officer and four Indian
soldiers. The boat rowed straight toward our ship.
We surmised at once that they were coming for us.

aving received the message sent by the suspicious
half-breed and the white man that there were six
Germans on the island, the authorities had sent a

      
  
  
  
  
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
   

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ee

an t0ts iocekekeceiahene pane Rharte liven os tte bask SalyssidlSteiny erties tebaletemorsdt cong Mytpka tty ty leie:

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Se rae een een eee

Saipan apa Ripe ana

af
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Ba
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274 COUNT LUCKNER, THE SEA DEVIL

force of military police to arrest us. There had been
some delay in this, as the only. available boat on
which to send the police was a cattle steamer, the
Amra, and she could not raise anchor for some hours.
She had arrived now right in the nick of time, had
communicated with the shore, and been informed
that we were aboard the schooner.

The storm had cleared during the early morning.
The palm trees ashore were ablaze with the tropical
sunshine. The water under us was of the deep blue
that you see only in the South Seas. A brisk, refresh-
ing wind blew from the west. The boat with the
ofhcer and four soldiers came rowing with long,
powerful strokes. The Indians wore puttees and those
funny little pants that leave the knees bare. They
carried no arms other than bayonets. The officer had
a sword and a revolver. We could easily have shot
them down with our pistols, or thrown a hand gre-
nade in their boat, or held them up at pistol point
when they came aboard. Then we could have cap-
tured the ship and sailed away. The steamer would
have been powerless in the face of our machine guns.
There were mutterings among my men. They were
full of fight. We should, they urged, make the cap-
ture and get away.

I passed an uncomfortable moment of indecision.
Our uniforms were packed in our bundles, stowed
below. We would have to fight off arrest and take
the ship in the guise, not of naval soldiers but of
civilians, and as civilians we would have to raise our
weapons against soldiers. That not only went against
the grain, but it went against the unwritten laws
of the game. There are many sporting traditions that
are carefully inculcated in every German naval of-
ficer. If we could have fought in our uniforms, it
would have been as honourable naval men. In theAlfred 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.

 

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Saree re hertreh tet eel odCAUGHT BY THE BRITISH AT WAKAYA 275

end, the odds would be all against us and the chances
were at least a hundred to one that we would be
captured before getting back home. If we fought as
naval men and were later captured, we would be
entitled to the treatment due honourable prisoners
of war. If we fought in citizen’s clothes, we were
nothing more than international bandits and as
such almost sure to hang finally from a yardarm.
They say that all is fair in love and war, but this does
not alter the fact that there are things you can do
that are not playing the game. Of course, each side
has its spies, and a spy, if caught, expects no quarter
and gets none.

But during the War of 1870, and during the late
war, too, we Germans were most severe with franc-
tireurs, civilians who sniped at soldiers. It has been
one of our cardinal principles that war must be
waged by uniformed soldiers. In the World War,
both sides were charged with introducing new
methods of warfare that were not in accordance with
the ethics of the game. But you will recall that even
Allied cargo and passenger ships armed with guns to
fire on submarines made it a general rule to carry gun
crews of uniformed marines to handle the guns.

ce >) e cc’ .

No,” I said to my men, “‘in the uniforms of our
country we can fight. As civilians we cannot. At any
rate, we are not going to drop a bomb down there
and kill that poor defenseless police officer and his
men in those short pants! There would be neither
fun nor glory in that.”

My officers were with me, and the men also saw
the point, but agreed with much reluctance. Cer-
tainly, none of us wanted to go to a British prison
camp. But there seemed no help for it.

It was the twenty-first of September, just two days
short of a month since our departure from Mopelia.

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Ee Le ene eee tere

    
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
   

cepmaainid sbbaeniettnaed tebe h ithe liste initiate dein nt esioa octets276 COUNT LUCKNER, THE SEA DEVIL

The lieutenant and his four men in those short
pants and bare knees came aboard. Followed by his
men, he stepped up to me.

“T’ve got to arrest you,’ he began decently
enough. “‘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?”’

ce Yes.”

He gazed around bewildered, frightened, and cer-
tainly nonplussed. I imagined I could see his legs
shake. Apparently, he was digesting the fact that he
and his men were practically unarmed and the cer-
tainty that we must be armed to the teeth.

““We have,” I continued, “‘hand grenades and fire-
arms enough to send you and your knee-pants army
here to Kingdom Come, and if we were 1n uniform,
you would be our prisoners. However, be that as it
may, you have caught us in civilian clothes—but
look here.”

We took our weapons out of our pockets. I had had
two of our men bring up our bundles. We cut them
open and displayed the grenades, pistols, and ma-
chine guns. The lieutenant stared, still aghast in
spite of my reassuring speech. The soldiers were
funny. You could see the goose pimples on the skin
below the lower edge of those short pants. They edged
to the rail, evidently ready to tumble overboard. The
captain of the schooner and his crew now knew what
kind of guests they had welcomed aboard. They stood
gaping.

“IT must ask you to stand back a moment, Lieu-
tenant,” I exclaimed, ‘‘while I destroy my war ma-
terial. Overboard with it all!” I called to my men.CAUGHT BY THE BRITISH AT WAKAYA 277

Pistols, grenades, and machine guns dropped
splashing into the water.

‘And now, Lieutenant,’ I saluted, “‘at your serv-
ice!”

“Right ho, Count,” he replied, ““you men have
made a great name for yourselves on your cruise,
and now you have played cricket with me. You will
receive decent treatment. You have my word as a
Briton for that.’’ He emphasized the word “‘ Briton.”

Aboard the Amra we heard a different tune piped.
They had an old black stewardess aboard, a partic-
ularly bad-tempered scold. The moment she saw
us her shrewish tongue began to wag

** Just look at those Huns, and look at their muddy
boots, soiling our clean deck. And then the black
men are supposed to scrub it after them. These Huns
should be painted black, and with tar. I’d rather be
black than one of those Germans. Sinking ships with
women and children is all they can do. Id like to get
a gun and shoot every one of them.”

She certainly had been filled right up to her ear
lobes with this war of fnghtfulness propaganda, and
that old Jezebel knew how to do her bit of spiteful
tongue-lashing. A ducking in cold water would have
done her no harm. But we were prisoners now, and
the berating of an ill-tempered old Melanesian woman
was 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 we con-
cerning our comrades whom we had left at Mopelia,
which was not probable, we would be questioned as
to the whereabouts of the Seeadler and the remainder
of her crew. I told my men that they should give the
same reply to all interrogations, namely that I had
bidden them to keep silent and that I would answerenonmynttute atte thier y ahaa eapepranete=.

renci ners

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278 COUNT LUCKNER, THE SEA DEVIL

for all. That would prevent us from tripping one an-
other up. We had taken care to throw away any
notes or papers we had that gave any hint as to where
we had gone ashore in the Society Islands. They
could search us as much as they liked, but they
would find nothing. One mischance, though, befell
us. I was to learn in a few days that one of my com-
rades had dropped a notebook, which presently was
found. In it he had a brief diary of the Seeadler’s
voyage. I questioned the diarist who had kept the
unfortunate record, and he told me that his notes
about Mopelia were very sketchy. He remembered
clearly that he had written we had captured the
sailing ship Manila. After that was a single entry.

“Landed stores at Mopelia.”’

There his diary broke off. There was no mention
of our having sunk the Manila or of our having lost
the Seeadler at Mopelia or taken refuge on the island.

“ And now,” I said to my men as we came in sight
of Suva, ““you keep your mouths shut, by Joe. Let
me do the lying. They’ve got us, but they must not
get the boys back at Mopelia.”’S290

German prisoners in the internment camp on the little island in
Hauraki Gulf.

Se ers

deledntbberereperbytit ehblsSaks Larerigeyny snhebéinmeeyt,

   

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The New Zealand prison camp motor launch in which the Count
made his getaway.

  

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The Sea Devil and Kircheiss as prisoners on
the New Zealand isle of Motuiht

rXXTX

JAILED IN FIJI WHILE THE OTHERS ESCAPE
TO EASTER ISLAND

Ovr arrival as prisoners was the event of the year
at Suva, the capital city of the Fiji Islands. Our cap-
ture was the only warlike happening that had come
along in those parts to break the monotony of life
in the dreary South Seas. The newspaper got out a
lurid special edition filled with a harrowing account
of the capture of the captain and a part of the crew
of the desperate raider, the Seeadler. It gave the hour
when we were expected to reach Suva. So a huge
crowd, that is, a huge one as crowds go in Fiji, had
gathered at the pier to look us over. A company of
infantry lined both sides of the approach to the pier
with bayonets fixed. They certainly were a comic-
opera-looking lot in their hot-weather knee pants.

During our march down the street between the
gauntlet of bayonets and the crowd behind them, a
half-caste fellow, seeing us unarmed and helpless,
stepped forward and spat inthe face of one of my boys.
I jumped out of line and gave him a blow straight
from the shoulder that sent him down in a heap. His
friends had to carry him away. I had acted on the
impulse of the moment and expected to be run
through with a bayonet, but the officer in command
of the soldiers shouted:

“Serves him right! Good for you, Count!”’ Then
addressing himself to the crowd he added: “These
men have done nothing to deserve such treatment.”

279

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Oe ent Sent ae eee OUnESS Onl WONT See OTTO | Seeenee eet eerneeer Coe teen t oe

ee280 COUNT LUCKNER, THE SEA DEVIL

He said it as though he meant it, too. That English-
man was a real fellow, I tell you.

We were promptly questioned. Where were the
Seeadler and the remainder of its crew? Of course, my
boys kept mum. I, on the other hand, invented a
story about accidentally getting separated from the
rest, who were still aboard the Seeadler—where, we
didn’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 people
often stopped. Our meals were borne to us by coolies
from the local hotel. The temporary commandant of
the Rest House was a Lieutenant Wodehouse, a fine
fellow. After a day or so he was replaced by a Lieu-
tenant Whitehouse, whom we didn’t like so well. He
was what the British themselves would call “a bit
of an ass, y know.’”’ Whenever he talked with me he
kept his hand on his pistol. He apparently thought
me a sort of ogre, a bad man sent to frighten nice
young lieutenants. Presently he came, hand on pis-
tol, 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 some
moment. We felt we had to look worthy of the Ger-
man Navy. We had our uniforms, which were some-
what faded after the long trip at sea. But we slicked
them up as best we could and generally made our-
selves as presentable as possible. They loaded us into
stinking cattle cars. For a visit to a general? Qurre/
we thought. They led us to a stone building and
ushered us in. It was a jail!

“Ts this your General Mackenzie?” I sneered at
Whitehouse. “ You’re a fine British officer.”’

He walked away, ashamed, himself, of the dodge he
had used to get us to the jail without the desperate

Se ort ee ere ener eat ane Te EeeTS —

are eee oenars

Fe ee

eetJAILED IN Fifi 281

attempts he, in his stupid timidity, expected us to
make.

But the jail was not so bad. We got our meals from
a restaurant. They separated me from my men, which
I did not like. Nor was it exactly military ethics to
confine prisoners of war in a common calaboose.
But the authorities were nervous. They believed the
Seeadler was lurking somewhere near by, and they
expected our comrades to come raiding ashore and
try to rescue’us. Of course, they kept on trying to
get us to tell them where the Sceadler was, but they
learned nothing.

Lieutenant Whitehouse was still our jailer. Keep-
ing a 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 is
the Japanese admiral. Ho! Ho! What tricks are you
up to this time?”

“No, really, upon my word, really, Count, the
Japanese admiral wants to see you.

“By Joe, Lieutenant, I was fool enough to get all
slicked up to see your "General Mackenzie. But I'll
be hanged if I’ll budge an inch to see your old
Japanese admiral.”

I didn’t know what kind of foolishness it was this
time, and intended to protest and stall as long as I
could. He went away rather sheepishly. In a few
minutes another lieutenant showed up.

“There is a Japanese admiral who really 7 does want
to 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 him
through the courtyard to a pier. A splendid cruiser,

Tor ee eer ere Tore t Cle ae

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See dai ee ee ee ee eee LOL nT LOD ee eS Seen ne Deel OOO MEDS et Oe Lt Steet te SPetno eos ok Seay a as

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7 ~ : Seah hess a . nig meena r8 Seas

Sea aera

282 COUNT LUCKNER, THE SEA DEVIL

the Ysuma, lay out there at anchor in the harbour.
A boat manned by Japanese sailors was waiting there
for me at the landing. Aboard the cruiser, the magni-
ficent deck contrasting with the dingy jail that now
was my home, I felt like a man who, long confined in
darkness, suddenly walks into sunlight.

My feelings changed to those of discomfort as the
Admiral welcomed me. He was a grave, courteous
little man, clad in an immaculate white uniform. My
own uniform had once been white, but in spite of all
the washing I had given it, it was now a dingy gray.
The gold braid had turned green from the corrosion
of the sea water. So I tried to make up in dignity of
bearing what I lacked in perfection of dress. He in-
troduced me to his officers:

“Here is the man we have chased for three
months.” And then turning to me:

“T am sorry, sir, to meet you in this situation. |
would rather it had been in a good, square fight.”

“T should far rather be your prisoner, Admiral,”
I answered, ‘“‘than the ignominy of living in this
beastly Fiji Island jail.”

The Japanese had not known of the jail part of it.
The officers looked in cold astonishment at the Brit-
ish lieutenant, who was much embarrassed.

In the luxurious saloon I was extended gracious,
indeed ceremonious hospitality, the hospitality of
Japan. The admiral offered me cigars and cigarettes
and poured out the champagne for me. I took a
cigar, but refused the wine.

‘“‘T am a teetotaller,” I said, “‘a prohibitionist, as
the Americans would say.”

I suspected that I would be questioned about the
Seeadler, and didn’t want my tongue lubricated with
champagne!

The admiral placed three books before me. TheJAILED IN FIJI 283

frontispiece of one was the picture of the Emden; of
the other, a picture of the Moewe. He turned the
pages. Both were filled with Japanese writing. The
third book was empty. The admiral placed this book
before me and presented me with a pen.

““Write something about your cruise,” he asked.
“In our country we write about the deeds of the
enemies we have met. We tell what they did for their
countries, so that it may fill our youth with en-
thusiasm to do as much for our country. Write down
one or two things that I[ can use.”

“‘Gladly,” I replied, and began to write briefly
of our experiences while rounding Cape Horn.

“Just a question first,” interrupted the admiral.
“Did you put to sea from a neutral port, the United
States, Argentine, or Chile?”’

““We sailed from Hamburg,” I responded. “We
flew the Norwegian flag and were searched for an
hour and a half by a British cruiser.”

“Examined by the British?”

é Yes.”

Those grave Japanese faces lighted up with smiles
of exquisite amusement.

After I had written my short piece, the admiral
spoke again.

“And now, Count, tell me where you have been.”’

ce : 33 ‘é x .

Admiral,” I responded, “that is a question
should prefer not to answer right away. First tell
me where you looked for me.”

He brought out a big chart. A quick glance, and
I saw the island of Mopelia. Around it was a faint
line in pencil. That told me what I wanted to know.
Undoubtedly, they had found the diary my boy had
lost, the last entry of which mentioned Mopelia.

The admiral pointed to the Tasman Sea, between
Australia and New Zealand.

    
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
   

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errant eae reTevessee teres

Een re

deey te timelines 02 tity batts bn tacysgheUbemepanteniie ts dadebenecedbmerey tysiy kB Pa t3 tot

wt to ta ap hnrevomaph gngtieigtithicsnain satis ts te kiite:284 COUNT LUCKNER, THE SEA DEVIL

“T was on your trail here, Count, but I lost you
near New Zealand.”

“I am sorry to say, Admiral, that my ship was
never within six thousand miles of those waters.”

“But,” he responded, “‘the ships you sank in the
Pacific were all to or from Australia.”

““T know, but ” A little judicious hesitation.

““But where were you, Count? Tell me.”

“‘T cruised back and forth south of the Hawaiian
Islands over the waters where the Australia-San
Francisco ships, the eastbound and westbound, pass.”
There is nothing like the truth.

“You are right, Count. I should have thought of

+>

 

it.

“T am glad you didn’t,” I replied, “‘or you would
have captured me.”

He dropped the questioning for a while and asked
me about the Battle of Jutland, which always seems
to interest Japanese naval men tremendously. When
I said I had been through the battle, they made me
tell them every detail I could remember. They were
interested in everything. The admiral’s comment on
what I told him w as interesting.

“Another proof,” he exclaimed, “that the smaller
fleet was superior per ship to the larger.”

And now the admiral came square to the point.

“Tell me, Count, where your Seeadler 1s.”

I was in a tight hole. I must strike a blow for my
comrades out there on Mopelia. The elements I had
to work upon lay in the fact that the diary which
had been found mentioned merely that we had put
stores aboard at Mopelia and told of the capture of
the Manila and said nothing of the fact that we
had sunk that ship. Then, also, the truth is rarely
believed. I proceeded to skate very near the truth.

“The Seeadler,” I replied, “‘was lost.”JAILED IN FIfl 285

“How was it lost?”

“We got on the coral reef at Mopelia. We tried our
best to get off, put our stores ashore to lighten the
ship. 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 are
having a good vacation on the island until I come
back.”

“T say, Count, we Japanese are not such fools. You
had the four-master Manila, and you sailed from
Mopelia to the Fijis in a small boat.”

“Yes,” I replied. “There was not room enough
for all of us aboard the Manila.”

The admiral looked at me with a sly Oriental smile.

Fine, I thought. I had figured out their minds cor-
rectly. They had not set straight out for Mopelia,
in spite of their knowing that we had landed stores
there, because it seemed wildly impossible that I
with my five men had sailed from Mopelia to the
Fijis in an open boat.

“Count,” exclaimed the admiral, “I will tell you
where your crew is. You did not leave a four-masted
schooner and sail twenty-three hundred miles in a
lifeboat. You sailed here in the Manila, and, having
sot here, you put out in your lifeboat to capture
another ship in a near-by harbour. You tell me
your crew is at Mopelia, hoping | will get up steam
immediately, go hurrying away for a few thousand
miles on a wild-goose chase, and leave them in peace.
The Manila is in these waters. In four days, your

crew will be my prisoners.”
He respected me too much to think that I would

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Se ieett

286 COUNT LUCKNER, THE SEA DEVIL

ever give my crew away. He knew I would try to
throw him off the scent. His object was to outwit
me, to get my story and read between the lines.

“Very good, Admiral,” I thought, “‘let us see how
it will work out.”

We parted the best of friends. He was an excellent
fellow. Our meeting had been one of mutual deceit
with lies that no gentleman would tell in ordinary
times. Now they were quite respectable, as ruses of
war.

The ironical thing was that my men, who under
the command of Lieutenant Kling were still living
like lords at Mopelia, were destined to have much
better luck in getting a ship than my little party had
had through all our terrible hardships.

They caught a wireless message one day telling of
our capture. So, fearing that their own whereabouts
might soon be discovered, they hastily began to
build a boat to sail away in, but, with the materials
at their disposal, they were unable to construct
anything like a seaworthy craft, capable of carrying
that whole crowd. Then Dame Fortune smiled on
them.

A French square-rigged schooner sighted the island
and the wreck of the Seeadler.

“By Joe,” exclaimed the captain, ‘““we passed here
six months ago and there was no wreck here! We
may find castaways on the island. It looks as though
we may find a good profit, too.”

You see, a captain gets a third of the value of any
wreck, ship, or cargo, that he saves. The schooner
quickly veered toward the island.

It was a Sunday morning. On the island the men
were sitting around, washing clothes, writing diaries,
and so on. The chef was shooting snipe for dinner.
Then the cry:JAILED IN FIJI 287

“Ship ahoy.”

Kling took out a lifeboat with a boarding party,
the strongest men he had, some of them the champion
wrestlers. As they approached the schooner, the
captain leaned over the rail and shouted down to
them:

“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. | turn off my course
to save castaways and I am captured by the Boches!
Mon Dieu!”

The schooner was not big enough, nor had aboard
provisions enough, for both the Germans and the
prisoners. Kling decided to leave the prisoners, in-
cluding the crew of the schooner, on the island, where
they would be comfortable enough. When he was a
week or so out, he would send a wireless that would
bring ships to their rescue. So, the whole of Seeadler-
town was given over to the prisoners, and the
schooner sailed away. She was named the Lutece,
but my men discovered that she had been the German
ship, the Fortuna. She had been seized by the French
during the war. So she got her old name back. She
was German again—a German auxiliary cruiser. For
Kling fully intended to go right on buccaneering.

Three days after the Fortuna sailed, our former
prisoners 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 told
me the truth. There is the wreck, and there are his
men. Everything except the Manila. He tricked me
with the tale about the Manila.”

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
   

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Seb tetgt nde dabe myer iens tideieremetbneon tein katate 12 de!

ee De ere ny On Oe eaten OS ae ee eat We288 COUNT LUCKNER, THE SEA DEVIL

The Japanese found only men of the Allied nations.

“Where are the Germans?”

“I’m sorry,” replied the French captain, “but
they sailed away three days ago in my ship, the
Lutece.”

The Japanese admiral was thoroughly disgusted
at that, but of course he took the whole crowd aboard
and took them back to the Fijis. It was of no use to
go racing about the immense spaces of the Pacific
looking for a solitary sailing square-rigged schooner.

Kling’s plan was to sail around Horn into the
Atlantic, sink a few ships there, and then try to steal
through the blockade and get back home. His course
took him to Easter Island, a small, remote posses-
sion of Chile where there was no wireless station.
There he intended to overhaul the ship, which was in
bad condition, and take aboard supplies and fresh
water. On October 4th, they sighted the island, but
while sailing into the harbour struck an uncharted,
sunken rock. The Fortuna was old and worm-eaten.
The rock crashed right through her planks. The ship
pounded and quickly broke up. The men had to swim
for it.

The lives of some of them, at least, were saved in a
curious way—by two pigs. These animals we had
brought from Germany aboard the Seeadler to
serve as fresh pork. They soon became pets, how-
ever, and we kept them. They were quite companion-
able and romped around the decks with the men.
Kling had them aboard the Fortuna. When the ship
sank, the swimmers, including the two pigs, found
themselves among sharks. These seemed to prefer
pork to human flesh. They seized the two pigs and
began to fight over them among themselves. You bet
the men in the water swam as hard as they could.
They were quickly picked up by native canoes thatJAILED IN FIJI 289

had put out as soon as the wrecking of the ship had
been seen from shore.

The cargo of the Fortuna consisted of Parisian
fineries, silk stockings and underclothing, handker-
chiefs, parasols, tennis shoes, brilliantine, scented
soaps, perfumes, and such. It had been destined for
the natives of the South Seas, to whom the French
bring a truly Parisian elegance. In the breaking up
of the ship, many cases filled with these swanky trap-
pings of civilization remained afloat. The natives
salvaged them, and pretty soon it seemed as if the
whole island had been on a shopping tour through
Paris and had visited the women’s shops chiefly,
or the Galeries Lafayette. Men and women alike
arrayed their dusky selves in all manner of silk and
lingerie! The population was delighted. Kling and his
men were the bringers of this treasure. They gra-
ciously told the natives they could have anything
they found, and in return they were granted all the
hospitality the island could muster. The Chilean
governor, an excellent fellow, placed a house at the
disposal of the officers, while the sailors were sought
after by the natives as guests in their huts.

They remained on the island for nearly two months
enjoying life and surveying the strange monuments
there, huge monoliths that tell of an ancient, forgot-
ten civilization of people who long since have passed
into oblivion. On November 25th, a Chilean steamer
that made regular trips to the island hove in sight.
When it raised steam for its return voyage, our men
were aboard. The Chilean authorities on the main-
land received them with friendly hospitality, re-
garding them as shipwrecked sailors and therefore
not interning them. They lived as guests of German
colonists in Chile from then on until the end of the
war.

    
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
   

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SESE ee CTC ON rere MRT ST eee Sent ONT STEN eee ent oe IOS

A eee eee Pee een senreerate erat eet eel eee Lecce cero ee ett to oe netes

XXX

THE ESCAPE FROM NEW ZEALAND TO THE
SMOKING ISLE

Tue thought of every prisoner is—escape! That was
what we thought about, by Joe, and what we
dreamed about. Occasionally, I’d wake up with a
start, dreaming we were still in our small boat and
about to be dashed against that coral reef. Usually
my sleep was not troubled with such nightmares. But
I often dreamed of getting away, capturing another
ship, and continuing our cruise. This did finally come
about, but not for many months.

No opportunity of escape presented itself during
our stay at Suva, which was not long. Kircheiss and
I were shipped from the Fijis to a little isle off the
coast of the north island of New Zealand, right near
the entrance to Auckland harbour. The other four
went to the island of Somes, where they had a hard
time under a bad camp commander, a Major Matthis.
No chance to escape came their way, but with Kirch-
eiss and me it was different. We had a highly exciting
time, and thus were spared the mental and physical
stagnation that is the lot of the average prisoner
of war.

The public of New Zealand was inflamed against
us. When we arrived there was a great outcry and
demand that we be shot. This amazed us, but we
discovered the reason a few days later. You see the
inhabitants of these islands thought that we had sunk

290THE ESCAPE FROM NEW ZEALAND 291

the big New Zealand passenger steamer Wairuna,
with all on board. As a matter of fact, we knew noth-
ing of the Wairuna and hadn’t even heard of her.
Later, it developed that she had been captured by our
fast auxiliary cruiser Wolf, sister ship of the Moewe,
and her crew taken aboard as prisoners. But so far as
the New Zealanders were concerned, their ship and
all on board her had vanished as though swallowed
up by the sea. So they were frantic about it, and my
boys and myself nearly lost our lives as a result. After
carrying out her raid, the Wolf slipped through the
blockade again and back into Germany. At the time
of our arrival in New Zealand from Fiji, nothing was
known of the Wolf, and it was supposed that we had
sunk the Wairuna with her passengers and crew.
The rage of the public was such that the authorities
had to hide us away in their naval barracks at the
Devonport Torpedo Yard, and then transfer us
secretly to a prison camp on the island of Motuihi,
near by. Meanwhile, the populace clamored for us to
be turned over to them so they could lynch us.

The little island of Motuihi, a beautiful strip of
land, had long been the internment place of many
Germans who had been captured when the British
seized our possessions in Samoa and in other parts of
the South Seas. They were all civilians, from ten to
seventy years of age, traders, plantation owners, and
officials. They greeted us with pride and affection,
but more particularly with anxiety. They said we were
sure to be shot. I laughed at this. ““By Joe, who wants
to kill us? On what grounds could mere prisoners of
war 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 Auckland
and then whisked by automobile, under cover of
night, through valley and forest to a freight train

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Pee ene eee tit ester nt nesSle arte ah eh ate at hk et od eee de eae deat

pe ee eer

292 COUNT LUCKNER, THE SEA DEVIL

pulled up in a wild, remote place. They locked us up
in a freight car, where there were two beds. They told
us it was to protect us against the public. The train
pulled. out and, after an all-night journey, stopped
near the outskirts of the city of Wellington, the
capital of the islands that comprise New Zealand.
Here they put us into another automobile and
rushed us to the Danish Barracks in Wellington, an
old jail, a relic of the terrible days when New Zealand
was a convict settlement. A native keeper who led us
along a corridor tugged at my coat and pointed into
a cell. There were my boys, Leudemann, Krauss,
Parmien, and Erdmann. They were in chains. We
were all to stand trial together. We spoke to one an-
other for a minute, and then Kircheiss and I were
led to our cells.

On the following day, Kircheiss and I were taken
aboard an old cruiser in the harbour and ushered
into the saloon, where there were about a dozen men
who wore black coats and four-cornered caps with
tassels. Our four boys were standing in a corner. | was
boiling mad.

“‘What’s this?” I said. “‘Is justice becoming ridic-
ulous? Why are we put in jail like this and some of my
boys in chains? Is that for prisoners of war? And
what 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 naval com-
mander in New Zealand waters, came down the
stairway. I turned to him.

“T am glad to see you, sir. Why are we treated
like this? And are prisoners of war to be tried by
civilians?”’

“Count,” he replied, ‘public opinion forces it.THE ESCAPE FROM NEW ZEALAND 293

The public has demanded that within three days of
your arrival in this country you must reveal where
you sank the Wairuna and why you sank her without
saving a single life, and also where your ship Seeadler
< 33

is.
“But I know nothing about the Wairuna,” I
replied. “I did not sink her. In every single capture
that we made, I took the crews aboard my ship, kept
them there until we were overcrowded, and then sent
them 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?’

*T 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.”

“T want to tell you, sir, that my men will die before
they will say anything. They have orders from me not
to talk. If anyone is to tell anything about the
Seeadler, it is 1. You would give your men the same
command under the same circumstances, and you
would want them to obey as my men are obeying.”

*“You are the one to ask, Count, about information
of the Seeadler?”’

Ves.”

‘Then tell me where she is.”

“Captain, may I sink deep in the earth if I ever
betray my crew. I respect you. I would not put such
a question to you if you were my prisoner.”

““Count,” he replied, ““your men have set an ex-

; plied, “‘y ne
ample to our sailors. I understand and appreciate
your attitude. So long as your men show themselves
to be disciplined sailors, they will have excellent
treatment. And I hope that you, yourself, will have a

    
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
   

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294 COUNT LUCKNER, THE SEA DEVIL

-_

pleasant stay with us and find nothing of which to
complain. Gentlemen,’ he addressed the judges,
“the court martial is over.”’

My four men were taken back to their island, and
Kircheiss and I to ours.

At Motuihi things were not so bad. The food was
good and discipline was not too strict. The camp com-
mander, Turner by name, seemed very proud to have
a couple of real war prisoners in his charge. He had
really excellent cause to be pleased. Now that he had
enemy naval officers in his camp, he was raised to the
rank of Lieutenant Colonel, and his force of guards
was increased to eighty men. It likewise seemed to
add to his dignity that he had among his captives
someone whom he could call Count. The principal
annoyance now was the strict watch they felt obliged
to keep over us to prevent our escape. Headquarters
at Auckland had to be telephoned every other hour
and told that everything was all right. Colonel Turner
was also provided with a fine new motor boat, so
that, if anything went wrong with the telephone wire,
he would still have a means of swift communication
with the mainland.

“By Joe, what a fine motor boat,” I exclaimed when
I saw it.

“Maybe we could use it,” commented Kircheiss.

You couldn’t blame the authorities for being a bit
nervous. They still did not know where the remainder
of the Seeadler’s crew was, and were worried about a
possible raid to liberate us. Likewise, Kircheiss and
I had the idea of escape buzzing furiously in our
heads. In fact, the prisoners on Motuihi before we
arrived had already thought of a jail break. They
had formed no definite plan, but had gathered ma-
terials that might be useful. One had contrived to
filch and hide away a number of tools. Another hadIn the prison-camp launch they overtook and

The Sea Devil in the New Zealand uniform

captured the sailing ship Moa

that he wore on his escape.

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Within a few hundred yards of a large crater on the caeiine Curtis
Island, land of volcanoes and geysers, they found a cache of provisions,
I
put there by the New Zealand Government for the Reneke of shipwrecked
sailors.THE ESCAPE FROM NEW ZEALAND 295

found a derelict floating mine and taken the fuses
from it and also a large quantity of guncotton, which
he stowed in his mattress. He slept on the guncotton
every night. Another had succeeded in “finding”
charts of the harbour with the location of the mine
fields. In any plan of flight, I could, by including the
men who had collected them, have these materials at
my disposal.

The motor boat was, of course, the centre of all
scheming. The idea was to sail away in it with an able-
bodied company of prison camp comrades, capture a
sailing ship, and go buccaneering again. One of the
prisoners, a young fellow, was a motor expert. The
camp commander had assigned him to'look after the
engine of his motor boat. So he was one man whom
we would have to have with us. I didn’t think there
would be much trouble in getting away with the boat.
Although there were sentries all over the island, we
were sure we could invent some way of outwitting
them. We would have to stow the boat with a large
amount of supplies. This, our motor expert could do
while pretending to tinker with the engine. He
could hide the material away in the air chambers of
the boat. Much more difficult was the job of collect-
ing all the food, weapons, and other equipment. This
took a long time, and all the patient manceuvring
that is traditional of prisoners and their schemes of
escape.

First it was necessary to quiet the uneasiness of
the camp commander. He apparently expected me
to go breaking out of his camp breathing fire from
my nostrils. The camp doctor was a German Pole,
quite intelligent, but of degenerated spirit, who was
used by the commandant to spy on the prisoners.
He made the friendliest sort of overtures to me, and
I, having been told that he was an informer, made it

  

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296 COUNT LUCKNER, THE SEA DEVIL

seem as though I were being completely taken in by
his smooth ways.

Nearly everybody in the camp suffered severely
from rheumatism. I was one of the few who had the
good luck to escape the malady. But I pretended to
get it badly, so badly that I was only able to walk with
crutches. The commandant was pleased when he
found that I was almost helpless. For how could a
cripple attempt an escape? The doctor pretended to
try his best to cure my supposed ailment, but gave
me a kind of treatment that was designed to make it
worse. His hoodwinking was complete when I asked
him to help me to get word to my people in Germany
to send me five thousand pounds, and promised him
part of this in return for his aid. I kept the hypotheti-
cal five thousand pounds dangling before his nose,
and his avarice blinded him so much that I was able
to make a ready tool of him.

My crew for the projected flight consisted of nine
men, seven of whom were North German Lloyd mer-
chant-ship cadets captured by the British in Samoa.
When war broke out, they happened to be at the
American South Sea port of Pagopago. Slipping
away 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 was
kept from the other prisoners. Always to keep your
secret among as few as possible is a good rule even
among prisoners. You never know who is a spy. The
fellows 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 up
shows in the navy. We will have a theatre here at
Motuihi that will beat the best in Berlin. But youWarenrenrenrertrermer ti neti cc Ne

THE ESCAPE FROM NEW ZEALAND 297

must leave everything to me. I will direct every-
thing.”

“All right,” they said.

I got permission from the commandant to produce
the show. In fact, he waxed quite enthusiastic about
it. Not only would it give the prisoners something to
do, but it would also provide amusement for the
jailers. Life on the island was mighty boresome to all
of them.

In a little while, the prison camp was humming
with preparations for the grand spectacle I was going
to stage. This was the cover under which my fellows
and I prepared all of our equipment for our escape. It
deluded the guards, and also fooled the prisoners
whom we couldn’t take with us. When we wanted
material, always apparently innocent things, we
asked for it and said it was for the show. When we
built anything, it was for the show.

We even built a wireless set out of things supposed
to be for our grosses shauspielhaus. We made bombs
out of tin cans and the guncotton that had already
been procured. The bombs had fuses that could be
lighted from a cigarette. One of my men worked on a
farm in the interior of the island, and got a lot of
dynamite and blasting powder used in blowing up
stumps. We stole a couple of pistols from the camp
arsenal. We made a fake contrivance which looked
like a perfect Lewis or Maxim machine gun, but it
worked well enough and it looked even more formid-
able. Cadet von Zartowsky took odds and ends and
made a sextant that afterward took us fifty nautical
miles off our course, pretty fair, considering the cir-
cumstances.

We had no great trouble in hiding away a consider-
able supply of food in the air chambers of the motor
boat. Of course, I not only had talked of elaborate

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plans for the supposed theatrical events that I was
directing, but I also had the prisoners prepare a lot
of bona-fide stage props, more even than could be
used. These were made up by the rest of the fellows
who were not in our plot. Most of the actual material
needed for our escape and subsequent raiding cruise
had to be fixed up stealthily by the boys who were to
make the dash for freedom with me.

One midnight, a guard happened to notice three of
my men busily at work. One was painting a large
German flag. Another was making a red pistol holster.
The third was sewing a sail out of bed sheets. We in-
tended hoisting a sail on the motor boat in order to
conserve fuel if we had to cruise about in that little
boat for a long time. The guard reported what he
had seen to the commandant.

“Oh, it’s all right,” said Colonel Turner,“ it’s stuff
for the theatre.”

But next day he came and questioned me:

“Look here, Count, I can understand how you
might 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 was
but one for whom I had a complete contempt. He
was a fellow named Hansen, a German by birth and
a naturalized New Zealander. In spite of his naturali-
zation, he had been interned. He happened to notice
that the motor expert, while supposedly working on
the engine of the Pearl, the colonel’s boat, had car-
ried something suspicious aboard. Anxious to curry
favour with the commandant, he reported that we
were acting suspiciously. The commandant was con-
temptuous of a rat like that in the first place, and
then he was utterly infatuated with our theatre.
He said that whatever we were doing could only beTHE ESCAPE FROM NEW ZEALAND 299

in preparation for our show. Nevertheless, he tried
to investigate, but found nothing to confirm what
the squealer had told him.

After weeks of hard labour, we were ready. At
night we cut the wires connecting the island with
the mainland and set a barracks afire. That created
the diversion we needed. Everybody, guards and all,
flocked to put the blaze out. I was among the fore-
most, and attracted all attention to myself. I seemed
to have a passion for fighting fires. My boys were
with me. When the excitement was at its highest, we
stole away singly and boarded the motor boat.The
engine 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 Motuihi
could not communicate with the mainland. It was
only when the wires were repaired or when the main-
land was due to get its next report that the chase
after us could begin. When our escape did become
known on the mainland on that night of December
13, 1917, every kind of craft available went out to
look for us. Private owners took up scouting for us
as a sport. Boats chased one another and shot at
one another, and one steamer went on the rocks.
Finally, a false rumour spread that we had capsized
and drowned, and the weary pursuers were glad to
accept it as true and return home.

We had our difficulties in finding our way in the
night through the Hauraki Gulf on which Auckland
lies, but at an hour or so past midnight we saw sweep-
ing shafts of light. The authorities at Auckland were
looking for us with a searchlight, a ridiculous pro-
cedure, but one calculated to impress the population.
We steered by the searchlight beams now, and picked
our way along easily enough.

Of course, it would take a separate volume to re-

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300 COUNT LUCKNER, THE SEA DEVIL

cord all of the details of our work of preparation and
our final escape. I am only giving you a description
of the high spots. But, by the way, I almost forgot
to tell you how we were dressed. We all had New
Zealand uniforms. Mine was the most interesting
of the lot and provided material for Australian hu-
morists and cartoonists for many weeks. As the com-
mander of a man-o-war, even of a _ twelve-foot
wooden one, with the unwarlike name of Pearl, I
absolutely had to have a sword. One of my boys, just
an hour before our escape, slipped into the wardrobe
of the prison camp commandant. Not only did he
take Colonel Turner’s best dress uniform, but he also
swiped his sword and scabbard.

Ve lay off an isolated bay of Red Mercury Island,
northwest Of the Bay of Plenty, for two days, during
which we had a couple of narrow escapes from search-
ing boats. A government cutter had almost sighted
us when she damaged her propeller on the rocks and
had to limp back home. The third day we put out to
sea, and as we bounced about on the waves I swore
in the cadets as regular midshipmen of the Imperial
Navy and promoted Vice Corporal von Egidy to the
rank of naval junior lieutenant. As commander of a
war vessel, even though she was only the colonel’s
motor boat, I had the authority to do this. Then each
helped the other cut his hair short in naval fashion.

Two sailing vessels came by. We decided to seize
them both, sink one, and keep the other. We went
after the first one, but a sudden puff of wind carried
her along at a great rate, and we could not catch
her. This was very unfortunate, for she reported our
capture of the second boat, which she witnessed.
Bombs poised, machine gun pointing, and German
flag raised, we swiftly approached the Moa. She hove
to. My boys and I clambered on deck. With ColonelTHE ESCAPE FROM NEW ZEALAND _ 301

Turner’s sword in my hand, I ordered the captain
and crew herded below, the captain, an excellent old
salt, growling:

“You're escaped prisoners, eh? Our boys are doing
their bit in France, and at home they can’t even
guard prisoners.”

The Moa was a fine craft but as flat as a match box.
Intended for coastwise trade, she had no keel and
drew 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 excite-
ment. His boat, he protested, was not adapted for
sailing on the high sea, much less through a storm.
We were risking our lives, he expostulated. We
should take down sail.

“We are sailing for our lives, by Joe,” I re-
sponded, and kept all canvas up.

The skipper stayed on deck all night and poured
out oil to quiet the waves. We went on our watches,
undisturbed. Ordinarily, we would have been some-
what worried, but the storm was taking us along
swiftly—away from pursuit. The waves began to
break over our stern, and the Moa bobbed up and
down. She had a deckload of lumber. Overboard with
it. We started to work and were ably assisted by a
breaker that crashed over us and in an instant swept
most of the lumber into the sea. We were towing the
motor boat we had taken from the commandant at
Motuihi. A wave swamped her, and she tore loose
from the towline and sank.

We steered to the Kermadec Islands, an unin-
habited group where the New Zealand government
keeps a cache of provisions for castaway sailors. Cur-
tis Island, one of the group, came in sight on De-
cember 21st. It appeared in a cloud of smoke, a land
of volcanoes and geysers. Presently we spied the

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302 COUNT LUCKNER, THE SEA DEVIL

sheet-iron shed where the provisions were stored.
Kircheiss and four men landed on the inferno-like
coast and in due time returned, their boat loaded
deep with provisions. [The New Zealand government
was kind enough to provide many useful things for
shipwrecked sailors and sometimes for escaped
prisoners of war. [here were tools, oars, sails, fishing
tackle, blankets, bacon, butter, lard, canned beef—
in short, everything. We had intended to leave our
prisoners on Curtis Island, but that den of steam and
sulphur fumes seemed unfit for anyone. So we de-
cided 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 the
lookout.

Two men were still on the island. I sent hastily
for them. The Moa raised sail and ran before the
wind. [The steamer was insight now. She sailed toward
us. We changed our course. She, too, changed her
course. The skipper of the Moa recognized her as the
New Zealand government’s cable steamer, Jris, an
auxiliary cruiser. She had cannon, and we had none.
Our goose was cooked.

We still tried hopelessly to run away. She gained
on us, and signalled us to stop. We kept on. A flash,
a distant roar, a hissing in the air, a splash in front
of us. She w as firing on us.

‘“Heave to,” I commanded, and we were prisoners
once again.

The Iris was manned, not by naval men, but by
a nondescript crowd that put pistols to our backs as
we came aboard, and searched us to the soles of our
shoes. Then these gentry robbed us of our personal
possessions. They were wildly jubilant over their
victory. I gathered from them that the ship thatiene rerrrersy iri?

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The modern buccaneer and his bride, Countess Ingaborg von Luck-
ner, photographed on their post-war cruise around the world to visit
the scenes of the Seeadler’s adventures.THE ESCAPE FROM NEW ZEALAND 303

had escaped us having brought the news of our
capture of the Moa to Auckland, the authorities there
had surmised that we must be headed for the cache
of supplies at Curtis Island. When we arrived at
Auckland, the New Zealanders had their own little
victory celebration. Sightseers in all sorts of boats
came out to havea look as the [ris with the Moa in
tow steamed into harbour, the victor of the Battle
of the Kermadecs.

We were jailed at Mount Eden, the local prison of
Auckland, as a punishment for our flight. For a
calaboose, it was not bad. After twenty-one days
there, we were distributed among various prison
camps. Kircheiss and I went to River Island near
Lyttelton on the south island of New Zealand. Even
the yard of our prison in Fort Jervois was a veritable
cage. It was screened not only around but also across
the top with lines of barbed wire. The commander of
the camp, Major Leeming of Tasmania, was one of
the best fellows I have ever met. He, too, felt himself
a prisoner here on this lonely island and soon became
our third man at cards, which we played to while
away the hours during the long evenings.

A drawbridge that had been smashed by a hurrt-
cane was being repaired, and we prisoners had access
to the waterside for a while. In the yard stood a row
of empty tar barrels. One of the barrels fell over, and
I happened to notice that it was picked up by a small
coastwise schooner that often lay at dock farther
down the shore. I threw in another barrel. It floated.
The boat picked it up. My plan was made. I could
arrange one of those barrels so that I could float out
in it. | would pick the time when the little schooner
was at shore. Then I would get into the barrel and
roll myself off the dock. The boat would pick the
barrel up. It might seem a bit heavy, but they would304 COUNT LUCKNER, THE SEA DEVIL

think it had tar in it. The barrel once aboard, its lid
would open and a man armed with a knife would step
out, like a jack-in-the-box. Thus I would have a
boat. I would pick up Kircheiss, who would be wait-
ing, and we would go sailing and perhaps get to some
neutral island.

I had everything, and waited. Major Leeming had
been so kind to me that I did not want to embar-
rass him by escaping under his command. He, ex-
pecting an addition to his family, was to take a
furlough. I would do my jail-breaking while he was
away. But soon after Major Leeming went on his
furlough, Kircheiss and I were ordered back to the
prison camp at Motuihi. Of course, there was a new
commandant at Motuihi now, a Major Schofeld.
Most of the prisoners there received us with enthu-
siasm. Even the treacherous Polish doctor brought
me a bottle of champagne, hoping that I would
not mention our former little business transaction in
which he was to get a percentage of that $25,000.

Some of our own countrymen who had spent so
many hours learning parts for that theatrical show
seemed to hold it against us. But, after all, had I
not treated them to a far better melodrama from
the life of a sailor?

Presently, several fellows came to me and asked
if I did not think something could be undertaken.
They had already contrived to get a few pistols and
build a folding canvas boat. We could not very well
go to sea in that. But if we could contrive to station
ourselves at some other part of the island, we could
wait until a sailing ship came along, put out in our
flimsy little craft, and attack her. We consulted with
the former governor of German Samoa, Dr. Schultz-
Ewarth by name, who was a prisoner at Motuihi.
He with his personal servant, a giant fellow, formerlyTHE ESCAPE FROM NEW ZEALAND — 305

a German baker, was allowed to wander where he
pleased on the island. It was his man who hit upon
the idea of hiding in the interior of the island by
building a cave in the side of a dry river bed that he
had discovered, the cave to be so disguised that
searchers would not notice it. We could easily get out
of the camp and into the other parts of the island,
and, at the same time, give the impression that we
had escaped over a cliff to the shore and been picked
up by a boat. We could keep to our retreat until the
search had died down, and then we could watch for
a passing sailship and attack it. The plan seemed
an excellent one.

We gathered more weapons, while Dr. Schultz-
Ewarth and his man, on their long rambles, began
the construction of the cave. Things progressed
rapidly. Then the Armistice came. If it had been de-
layed a week, there would have been another escape
at Motuihi.

After the Armistice, we were prisoners for four
more months on the north island near Auckland, but
were allowed visitors. One day, a Maori chieftain’s
wife from the tribe of the Waikotas, a people who
made a name for themselves as warriors against the
English in their heroic struggle for freedom in 1860-
61, called with her retinue. This lady, whose name
was Kaihau, handed me a letter. It was written in
Maori, and translated read as follows:

I come to you, O illustrious chieftain, and pass on to
you for the future preservation of an old tradition the mat
of the great chieftain Wai-Tete.

As she handed me the letter, she brought forth
from under her dress a mat that she had hidden
there while passing the prison guard.

    
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
  
   

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306 COUNT LUCKNER, THE SEA DEVIL

My surprise was great, and I nudged Kircheiss,
but he was as mystified as I. Fortunately, there was
a German lady present who had been living in New
Zealand for some time. She understood the customs
of the handsome aborigines who once ruled in New
Zealand, and explained to me that I was about to
receive the highest honour that the Maoris can be-
stow upon anyone.

The chieftain’s wife began to dance around me with
great rapidity and wild abandon. The name of this
dance was the Haka-Haka, or something like that, and
at the conclusion of it she presented me with a green
stone found only in New Zealand. Again she spoke.

“QO great warrior from across the seas, we greet
you as a chieftain of the Waikatos, and among my
people you shall be known henceforth as ‘Ai-Tete,’
meaning ‘Holy Water.’ We believe that the spirit
of our Maori hero Ai-Tete has returned to us in you.’

I accepted the stone and pressed the Maori wo-
man’s hand to express my gratitude. As she was about
to take her departure, she requested that I hide the
mat and stone and carry them to Germany with
me, which I did. But before concealing them, I had
my picture taken wearing nothing but the garb of
a Maori chieftain, this simple mat. Except for the
absence of full war paint and the usual tattooing,
my friends said I made a perfect aborigine. Perhaps
so. Even in Germany there are those who look upon
me 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’ League vis-
ited me and wished me a pleasant trip on behalf of
the mothers of 80,000 soldiers. She said she came
because New Zealand’s sons who had been war
prisoners in Germany had returned home in good
health to their mothers. Therefore, she considered itTHE ESCAPE FROM NEW ZEALAND 307

her duty to pray God that I, too, might soon be re-
stored to my mother’s arms.

So at last we sailed away from New Zealand, “‘the
land down under,” where we had had the last of our
adventures, enjoyed a few hardships, spent many
weary and delightful hours, and met many hospit-
able and kindly people. On the whole, I have happy
memories of the Antipodes.

In July of 1919, I stepped on German soil again and
hurried home, just in time to pass a few more weeks
with my father, who died on September 3d. The old
warrior held steadfast to his faith in the Fatherland
to the last. But to his dying hour he was filled with
regret because his government would not let him take
an active part in the Great War.

On January 3, 1920, all my men returned—that is,
all save one. Their clothes were faded from the tropi-
cal sun and corroded by the sea water, but they re-
turned without a stain upon either their honour or
their loyalty.

The only gap in our ranks after those long ad-
ventures was the excellent Dr. Pietsch, our ship
surgeon. The news of Germany’s collapse reached
the remote part of Chile where he was living. When
he heard it, he fell dead of heart failure.

Returned to my beloved Fatherland, I found so
many things changed and different from what [I
had hoped. In this connection, there is one memory
always before me. It is of my mother. I was sitting
at her sick bed when even the doctors had given
up hope. Only then did I realize how much I loved
her, but I also realized with sorrow and regret how
much more I should have done for her. Exactly the
same feeling I have to-day when I find my country
lying low. Never have I loved my homeland so
much as now.308 COUNT LUCKNER, THE SEA DEVIL

To the youth of America I would like to send a
message: Europe is one continent attached to still
another even greater land mass. That other is the
continent of Asia, filled with many strange races,
all speaking different languages. Even Europe itself
is split up into many nations speaking more than
thirty different tongues. This I believe is largely re-
sponsible for the constant wars that are the curse of
Europe. As an old sailor who has sailed before the
mast around this world many times, I want to tell
you Americans how lucky you are to live in a great
country occupying a large part of this continent, with
the wide Atlantic for a barrier on one side and the
Pacific on the other. Yours is a great inheritance.
You should be proud of it. You should make your-
selves worthy of it.

As a sailor who has sailed under many flags and
whose friends and pals are the citizens of many coun-
tries and many climes, it is my dream that one day
we shall all speak the same language and have so
many common interests that terrible wars will no
longer occur. But keep your bodies fit, and if your
country needs you, just remember the motto of the
sea:

“Don’t jump overboard! Stay with the ship!”

To all my countrymen, wherever they may be, I
would like to say: Look up to the bright sun and not
into mouse holes where it is dark. Take my lads for
your example. When their ship was wrecked on the
coral reef of that atoll in the South Seas there was
one thing that was not wrecked—their courage.
Even when the Seeadler met her fate, from stem to
stern went up the cry, taken from an old refrain,
“The German oak still stands.”’

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aaaALDERMAN LIBRARY

The return of this book is due on the date
indicated below

 

DUE DUE

 

 

Usually books are lent out for two weeks, but
there are exceptions and the borrower should
note carefully the date stamped above. Fines
are charged for over-due books at the rate of
five cents a day; for reserved books there are
special rates and regulations. Books must be
presented at the desk if renewal is desired.

 

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