We amused 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 needed 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 beneath 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
desperate struggle which we could follow by watching the gyrations of
the barrel. The sharks displayed an excellent eye for chunks of
bacon with hand grenades in them. When the bomb went off in the
creature's stomach, pieces of shark would go flying in all directions.
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 inhabited 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 captures and escapes. Mopelia, one of the
Society Islands (some geographies include it in the Scilly Isles),
seemed about right for our purpose. It was a French possession, and,
so far as we knew, uninhabited. 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
reflecting 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 or 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 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
substantial 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:
"I 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. We 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 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 ignition. 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 bombarded 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 passed 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 oak."
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 castaways on this coral atoll in one of the
loneliest and least-visited reaches of the South Pacific. Everything
lost, but "we stand like an oak."