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[Illustration: The latter day corsair in a poetic setting.]
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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 merchandise 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 captain 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
floundering at the oars. The sea was pitching and rolling, and they
were so frightened they could hardly row. He paced the bridge with
his handbag in his hand, a solitary, woebegone figure. We finally
had to 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 I'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, 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
ourselves 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?"
"Not, at any rate," he replied, "until our hotel is 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 reflected, "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 detached from blockade patrol
duty across the North Sea. That was the interesting part of
it--those cruisers and how to elude them.
"Leudemann," 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!"
"To all of our crew?"
"Yes, to our crew, and to all of our prisoners, too! Ten pounds
sterling and a bottle of champagne! I'll bet that'll send everybody
into the rigging, including the captains."
"By Joe, you're right," said my mate, 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 rigging 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 binoculars.
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 moment.
Then there would be an argument, a riddle for Solomon himself to
answer. Once or twice the argument got so hot that I had to pay two
rewards for 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 _Seeadler_ became a veritable beer
garden, and our guests frolicked like tourists on a Mediterranean
cruise.