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
remained. 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 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_."
"I will not command my ship?"
"Not at all. I have a Captains' Club aboard. You, as a prisoner,
are now a charter member. Your 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 navigator of the lot. The French captains thought a
Frenchman should be selected, since the most numerous 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 he 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
hoisting 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 is 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 I exacted a pledge from Captain 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. I 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."
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 steamers 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, I know that
Captain 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. I made him sign a promise and made the other captains 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 received 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 sailors 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
boatloads, 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 Atlantic had given us its share. Now to the
Pacific. And God save us from the cruisers.