The wireless continued to be interesting. We picked up many messages
from the cruiser _Kent_,[1] which was right in our waters; in fact,
much too close for comfort. Our course was northward, with the
Chilean coast and the Andes almost in sight. We steered almost 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.
[1] See Note C, Appendix.
Our wireless antennæ 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 tremendous 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 had opportunity to sense the might of
the North American giant with its numerous and virile population and
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
return 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. A 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
expedition somewhat, too. It reduced the number of neutral ports
into which we might sail. It also increased the number of cruisers
we had to look out for. However, neutral ports did not enter into
our calculations 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 guard the
Atlantic shipping lanes for the passage of American troop transports
and leave what patrol 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 _A. B.
Johnson_, the _R. C. Slade_, and the _Manila_. Our prisoners
numbered forty-five men, one woman, and a pet opossum. The captains
were not half 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.
On one occasion we ran into a most intricate complication. We had
expected the complications of war and piratical strategy. That was
part of the game. But at the time to which I refer we were faced
with a new and tender complication, a romantic complication.
"He's got his wife along," Boarding Officer Preiss informed me.
He referred to an officer of one of the ships. Indeed, we had
noticed a woman aboard the captured ship.
The officer in question presently introduced me to his helpmate, and
a knockout she was, pretty, petite, and--well, just a bit roguish.
"By Joe," I thought, "the sailors of these days are marvellous
fellows. Where do they get these swell-looking wives? When I was in
the forecastle, it was different."
In those days, an officer's wife was something to run away from,
usually fat, usually savage, and always sloppily dressed. I thought
of all the windjammer captains under whom I 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
officer and his sprightly beauty.
I guess I can also add myself to the list. Here I 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,
sailors' wives have improved in looks these days.
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 officer had not been long
aboard before he took me aside and made an awkward and somewhat
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."
"Oho," I exclaimed, "so that's the way the wind blows, eh?"
"I 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, sir," 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 officer'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
usually, in fact, a lot of rogues, but they are highly respectable.
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 officer's wife was not the officer's wife.
One of my prisoners turned out to be an acquaintance of the officer
of the ... I told him that the officer 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 right until this other prisoner 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 men aside and said to them:
"I 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 officer of the ... and that ... is only a
friend."
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
other prisoner was married, too, and he didn't want anything of the
complicated romance to get around either.
I had come to expect my prisoners to be good company. Our former
Captains' Club had been one of the most delightful social
organizations ever formed. These two sentimental swains, however,
were not much good for comradeship. It was difficult to get together
with them for a pleasant chat or game of cards. They were always
thinking about the girl, and, although they were acquaintances in
captivity, their feelings toward each other had become slightly
strained. There is something about the air down there in the South
Seas, I guess.
One of the captains made up for the companionship that had been
lacking. He 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 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 principal part of his plan was more subtle. He
would be reckoned dead at home, and his people would collect 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.