THE LOG OF THE "MOEWE"—TALES OF THE HIGH SEAS
The Adventures of a Modern Pirate
Told by Count Dohna-Schlodien, her Commander, and Translated by Eugenie Martin
Everybody has heard of the Moewe, the German auxiliary cruiser which on two occasions at least stole through the British blockade and roamed about the Atlantic, sinking ships and occasionally sending a prize like the Appam into port. Count Dohna-Schlodien, the captain of this latter-day privateer, is a popular hero in Germany. These tales are translations of the gist of his exploits, as told in the Wide World Magazine.
I—STORY OF THE GERMAN MINE-LAYERS
"To lay mines along the enemy-shores and then make a cruiser-campaign." Such, briefly, were my orders when I was appointed commander of S. M. S. Moewe at the end of 1915.
It is easy to imagine my pride and elation.
To lay mines and injure the enemy's sea-borne trade! Neither of these duties was new to the German Navy.
The clamorous complaints in the daily newspapers, voicing the indignation of England, France, and Italy concerning the heavy losses sustained by their mercantile navy and cruisers, as well as against our interference with their over-sea connections, were sufficient testimony to the activity of our U-boats in the North Sea, the Irish Sea, the Mediterranean, and the Black Sea.
It fell to my share, however, to take a German cruiser successfully into the far world-sea, where, since the exploits of the Karlsruhe, the Dresden, the Emden, the Ayesha, and the auxiliary cruisers Prince Eitel Friedrich and Kronprinz the German flag had not dared to show itself owing to the overwhelming superiority of the enemy.
We Germans were sick of hearing England boast that her fleet had driven us from the highways of the ocean, and that her navy safeguarded the routes between Europe and the United States, Africa, and Australia.
When I got my orders, I realized fully that if my plans were to succeed, we must not count on daring and good luck alone, but that cunning must make up for what we lacked in strength.
Shortly before Christmas we made a few brief trial-trips. Then we busied ourselves with the final and not least important of our preparations—an attempt to give the Moewe the aspect of an inoffensive merchant vessel.
Beaming with pleasant anticipations, the crew set to work, and to such good purpose did they labor that within a few hours the Moewe, under her fresh coating of paint, was—outwardly at least—transformed into an ordinary merchantman. Not even the most suspicious English man-of-war would ever imagine for a moment what a dangerous cargo she carried. But all this labor of love was wasted. A heavy storm and a deluge of rain forced us to suspend our work, and the next morning the Moewe was in a sorry plight. The fresh paint had run in streaks, and made her look like a marine zebra. Fortunately, the weather remained dry the night before we were to start. The painting was done again, and the work was accomplished, this time with notable success, for as a result of the damp first layer of paint the final coating did not look too aggressively new.
We raised anchor and steamed out of port in a fog. Soon we exchanged farewell greetings with the German outpost boats, and, shortly after, reached the zone where at any moment we might run against an English destroyer or submarine. Everyone on board was strung up to the highest pitch. What would the next moment bring us? I recalled the remark of a friend who, on hearing of my appointment, asked: "After all, what do you expect to do? The very first day you will be captured!" From the moment we were in the open sea we were prepared for battle, and anyone who had attacked us, small or big, would soon have discovered that the Moewe was not quite so peaceful and tame as she looked. Nevertheless, I must admit that too premature an encounter would have been fatal to our object.
As luck would have it, the weather favored us; a thick fog encompassed us, and that first night was as dark as we could have wished.
I told the crew briefly what was expected from them, and pleasure showed in the face of every man when he heard we were out against England, for to wipe out the hated English foe is the dearest wish of every German sailorman.
At dawn, after successful evading all notice, we were in sight of Norway's snow-capped mountains, and we continued our route with a favorable wind.
The day was exceptionally fine, and the fact that the first difficulties had been so easily overcome filled me with confidence in the future. It depended now entirely upon me to lead my faithful crew and our good ship to the desired goal and injure the enemy wherever we might find him.
The last day of the old year turned out to be the hardest we had experienced hitherto. To get as close as possible to the English shores was our aim, but an angry west wind continually obstructed us and interrupted our course. I soon got sick of waiting and preferred to run the risk of fighting the wind. I had to reckon, however, with a specially furious sea. Drenched to the skin, I finally gave up the struggle, and allowed the ship to drift for hours.
In the afternoon the wind abated, and it was once more possible to take a southerly course.
At last, when the lead gave twenty-five fathoms, a powerful coast-light suddenly shed its radiance upon us. We now knew all we wanted to know, and we turned back, with the intention of steering straight for this spot on the following day.
Meanwhile, the new year had come in, minus the usual bell-ringing and songs! At seven o'clock in the morning I entered my cabin drenched and frozen.
The New Year began well.
We lay so quietly under the mild, westerly wind that, having still a couple of hours before beginning our mine-laying, we set to work painting the sides of the vessel, badly damaged by the weather.
Then, in broad daylight, we slowly steered for the English coast.
II—STORY OF MINES OFF THE ENGLISH COAST
Those were hours I shall not easily forget. Far and wide, nothing was to be seen on the surface of the sea. In spite of a brilliant sun and a remarkably clear horizon, we remained unnoticed. Nearer and nearer we drew to the coast. Evidently the English had no idea that this first day of the New Year was the dawn of a great holiday for us and that there was a Moewe which, instead of waiting for March and April, was determined, at this unusual season, to lay a few eggs along the English coast!
Mine-laying is not an easy task; the entire crew must take a hand in it. As a rule, the mines—egg-shaped black monsters, almost the size of a man—lie carefully stowed away in long rows in the hold. When the moment to use them arrives they are brought to the upper deck and there again arranged in rows. Shortly before they are laid they are provided with ignition fuses. This detail is attended to by a specially-trained personnel, under the supervision of torpedo officers. At the command "Throw!" each mine in turn receives a violent push and drops with a graceful dive into the water at a safe distance from the ship.
It was three o'clock in the afternoon when we began to dispose of the mines. To the accompaniment of hissing steam, the rolling of the mines between the lower and upper tracks continued without interruption. Above, on the bridge, joy reigned supreme, for the weather was splendid and we followed the coastline without anything suspicious coming in sight. In my most sanguine dreams I could never have imagined that we would thus remain unchallenged and unmolested.
At four o'clock a brilliant light once more beamed on us from the shore. We could now see our exact whereabouts, but, anxious not to be overtaken by the dark, we almost immediately turned back.
The glass now began to drop suddenly; the wind rose, and it began to rain. Soon a perfect deluge was falling. So much the better—the worse the weather the better for us! We resumed our mine-throwing, after the necessary preparations.
Everything went well, though the storm raged more furiously than ever. At nine o'clock, still undetected, we turned to sea. Our dear cousins meanwhile remained blissfully ignorant of our friendly visit to their shores.
The decks were cleared, but there was still no rest for us. The storm was at its height, and the hour was full of danger. In front of us, in the direction of the wind, lay the coast and the blinking lights of the boats at anchor. Behind us were the mines we ourselves had dropped, and into which we would infallibly drift if we failed to maintain ourselves against the wind. Only at four o'clock did we go forward once more, when the first officer came to release me from my post after twenty-four hours' strenuous duty. On the following day I expressed my thanks to the crew for the good work they had done.
It was well that we had our task behind us, for in the days that followed we should have no opportunity of carrying out our designs. For a whole week we were battered about in the wildest manner, and had only one thought—to keep the ship head-on to the raging sea. There was no question of advancing. To avoid detection I would have willingly gone farther away from the coast, but this could not be done.
At last, however, the glass began to rise again and we approached the coast for the second time. In the feeble light of dawn a big steamer hove in sight.
At first, from her build, we took her to be a passenger boat; then, as she seemed anxious to follow in our wake, we began to have some doubts. When we saw that she was painted grey, we jumped to the conclusion that she was an enemy auxiliary cruiser, and one of the largest at that. What a catch for us!
All eyes were fixed on me. Every man was anxiously awaiting the command to fight. But the Moewe dare not think of fighting yet. She dare not expose her cards and reveal her next move, which was still mine-laying. Even were the issue of the encounter to our advantage, the wireless on board the other boat would betray everything. Our chief aim must first be attended to—all our mines must be laid—then only would the Moewe be free to act as she pleased.
With mingled feelings we watched the big boat get behind us. There was now some eight thousand yards between us—a good firing distance.
Suddenly she veered away from us, as if satisfied with her inspection. We could even hear her sending a wireless to the nearest shore station, possibly to signal our presence. Were this the case, painful results would certainly ensue for us. I altered my course as soon as the boat disappeared—it was better to avoid complications. At full speed we steamed for the point where we had decided to lay our next mines. This time the weather was calm and clear.
At eight-fifteen, as we threw the first mine overboard, some lights blinked into sight. They came from English fishing-boats, and we avoided them with care. But gradually the number of these boats grew to such an extent that we could no longer evade them. The mines tumbled into the water in their very midst, and though every instant we feared detection, we continued our exertions during the whole night without a hitch. Either they took us for one of their own patrol-boats, or else, after the way of good fishermen, they thought of nothing at all. At six o'clock, our task satisfactorily completed, we left the shores of England in dazzling sunlight, looking forward to a couple of days' much-needed rest.
The first day the men took things easily, and only the most indispensable duties were performed. The news which we received daily by wireless told us that an enemy man-of-war had run across a mine, and we would have given anything to know whether the mishap was due to one of the "eggs" the Moewe had laid. Subsequently we ascertained that such was the case.
Something like sixty nautical miles separated us now from the usual steamer-route.
III—STORY OF THE SHIP BOUND FOR BRAZIL
The next day, on January 11th, at ten in the morning, a cloud of smoke was signalled. We went slowly towards it. Presently, with glasses, we could make out the tops of masts and the funnels of our first victim. She must not escape us. Orders were sent to the engine-room to give us as much speed as possible. When, at last, we got a nearer view of the boat, we put her down to be English, and about the same size as the Moewe. As the distance between us diminished, a second cloud of smoke came in sight on our other bow, and grew rapidly larger and larger. Evidently a second victim was flying into our arms! If the captain of this second boat had been more considerate he would have waited until we had at least settled with Number One. Owing to his untimely appearance our task would be doubly difficult. But we did not allow our spirits to be damped. We simply slowed down in order to reconnoitre the second intruder. This boat also turned out to be English, of the same size as the first.
When she was sufficiently near, we hoisted the signal, "What is your name?" The answer came: "Farringford."
The time for action had arrived!
As we saw that the boat to starboard was slower than the Moewe, we first tackled the second intruder.
We signalled "Stop," and showed the German ensign, and—to let both our neighbors see that we were in earnest—we fired a shot. Both ships stopped immediately. The Moewe steered towards the Farringford, and, at a distance of fifty yards, I shouted: "Abandon the ship immediately."
My intention was to take the crew on board; then to approach the other boat and, finally, to sink both vessels.
But this was easier said than done. Owing to the high seas, the transfer of the crew of the first boat was somewhat difficult and took time; meanwhile, the other ship utilized the opportunity to disappear in a dazzling rainbow. I consequently gave up my first intention of blowing up the Farringford. Instead, I ordered a few shots to be fired at her. Two of these having struck the water-line, and her sinking appearing to be imminent, we were at liberty to pursue the fugitive at full speed. Overtake her we must, for if she escaped us our detection was a dead certainty. Presently the fugitive was once more in sight. I sent a shell through the air, and, with a great display of smoke, the steamer tried to increase her pace; but a second shell recalled the captain to his senses. He notified his intention to stop by showing all his lights and three red lamps, and after a two hours' pursuit we got alongside him.
A prize-crew of two officers and six men promptly went on board. The first thing to be done was to ascertain the owner of the boat and cargo. Then her papers had to be examined and their accuracy verified. Finally, the crew was reviewed and the cargo examined. The results were duly signalled to the Moewe.
We were thus informed that she was an English steamer, the Corbridge, three thousand six hundred and eighty-seven tons, taking a cargo of four thousand tons of coal from Cardiff to Brazil.
IV—STORY OF THE LIVERPOOL TRADERS
This welcome capture meant another two months' cruising for us! The Corbridge, therefore, was not sunk, but received the order to follow in our wake, after which we jointly returned to the spot where we had abandoned the Farringford.
In spite of a brilliant moon, there was nothing to be seen. Our shells had done their work well, and the ship was at the bottom of the sea. We felt justly elated at the success of our double capture on the very first day of our hunting expedition.
The next twenty-four hours brought us nearer to the usual shipping route, but nothing untoward occurred. The crew of the Corbridge was reinforced and put under special orders. Then she was released. I shall have more to say about her later on.
The second morning after the sinking of the Farringford another cloud of smoke was signalled. On this occasion, too, we commenced by acting very cautiously, for fear of the new-comer suspecting our bona fides and signalling our presence by wireless. Having ascertained that the boat had no wireless on board, however, we steered straight for her. The captain, however, seemed to have smelt a rat, and tried to evade us. Our intimation to stop, accompanied by a shell, soon convinced him of the futility of such an attempt. Sadly, he brought his ship to a standstill. From the prize-crew I sent on board we learnt that the boat's name was Dromonby, three thousand six hundred and twenty-seven tons, and that she belonged to the British Government, and was on the way to South Africa with a cargo of coal. The crew of fifteen men was transferred to the Moewe, and the ship blown up.
Another cloud of smoke being signalled, the Moewe got ready again.
This time also the boat was an "Engländer"—a specially fine steamer, Author by name, three thousand four hundred and ninety-six tons register, and worth three to four million marks. After the usual formalities, the crew, consisting of four Englishmen and forty-five Indians, was taken on board our ship. We also transferred sheep, chickens, and eggs, and our larder was thus renewed in a most satisfactory way. There were also many valuable race-horses on board, but unfortunately they had to be shot.
The weather remained calm. We worked busily, without any fear of interference, until still another cloud of smoke appeared on the horizon to the south. Completing the transfer as quickly as possible, we turned all our attention to the sinking of the Author. In the general hurry, a mishap occurred. Three patent life-buoys had inadvertently remained on board the Author, and, just as we thought all was over, these buoys caught fire from their contact with the water and suddenly exploded. Had this noise been heard by the approaching steamer, she would certainly have got alarmed, and might possibly have escaped us. We therefore pretended to be looking for a man overboard, and meanwhile secured the buoys. The boat came towards us unsuspiciously, and it is easy to imagine the painful surprise of her captain when he received the brusque order:
"Stop at once and abandon your ship!"
After a moment's hesitation he complied.
We ascertained, in the usual way, that the ship's name was Trader, three thousand seven hundred tons, and that she was bound with a cargo of raw sugar to Liverpool. We sank her in a quarter of an hour, by opening her valves and applying a few bombs. Practice makes the master!
I summoned the three captains of the sunk boats to the bridge, and made the seriousness of the situation clear to them. I impressed upon them that, provided the prisoners complied with all our regulations, they could count on fair treatment, but that the slightest insubordination would be followed by the severest punishment.
I must say that our prisoners observed my warning in the most praiseworthy fashion, and in return they were allowed, on favorable occasions, to air themselves on deck, which they greatly appreciated, for the accommodation set apart for them, where a hundred and fifty men were huddled together, was insufficiently ventilated and altogether inadequate.
The housing of the prisoners presented at first considerable difficulties and caused the first officer no small trouble and perturbation. Finally, the space where the mines had been kept was set apart for the whites, while the Indians were accommodated in the stern. Fortunately we had sufficient wood to improvise makeshift tables, benches, and so on. Gradually things began to look more shipshape, but nevertheless we were very anxious to get rid of this superfluous humanity at the earliest possible opportunity, and before long the wish was gratified.
Though we were close to a much-used trade route during the whole of the following day, we did not catch sight of a single vessel, and we utilized the time to repaint once more the Moewe's sides, which sadly needed a fresh coating.
V—STORY OF SINKING OF THE "ARIADNE"
The next morning, at seven o'clock on January 15th, we met the British steamer Ariadne, three thousand tons, with a cargo of maize. In the most obliging manner she ran right into our arms.
The searching of the ship and the capture of the crew were again carried out according to the prescribed rules, and I decided to sink the abandoned ship in precisely the same manner as the Farringford—by shelling her—as this gave our gunners an opportunity of practising.
The chart house was chosen for a target, and immediately after the first shell the ship caught on fire. Enormous volumes of smoke filled the air. Glorious though the sight was, we found it most provoking, for we feared that the smoke might serve as a warning to some approaching vessel. We waited patiently, or rather impatiently, for fully half an hour, for the "passing" of the Ariadne, but as she showed no signs of sinking we finally decided to speed her on her way by sacrificing one of our torpedoes. No sooner said than done! Very shortly afterwards the Ariadne took her final plunge.
Almost immediately a cloud of smoke showed in the distance, heralding the passage of a fast steamer going north. We began preparations at once to hurry after her, and, if possible, waylay her. While feverish preparations were going on in the engine-room, we continued our investigations. The speed of the vessel was a capital point, for, assuming that we annexed her, her pace, provided it turned out equal to ours, would prove an enormous advantage. On the other hand, fast boats are generally provided with wireless, and we ran the risk of being signalled, in which case we would be compelled to resort to drastic measures, a course we would rather avoid with a passenger boat. Also, of course, the vessel might prove to be an auxiliary cruiser, or even a man-of-war. We approached her, therefore, very cautiously. The first officer, who went aloft with his glasses, informed us that the boat had only one funnel and very big superstructures. That meant that she could only be a passenger boat, or else an auxiliary cruiser. Still very cautiously we approached her, and soon were practically certain that we were in the presence of a passenger boat, though her nationality remained doubtful, as she carried no flag.
VI—STORY OF THE CAPTURE OF THE "APPAM"
At a distance of about two thousand yards, I steered in such a way that a collision was imminent, unless the ship got behind the Moewe. At last we caught sight of her name—Appam. Turning to the International Shipping List, we read: Appam, English steamer of the Elder Dempster Line, seven thousand eight hundred tons register; carries passengers and has a wireless. That such a big boat carried also a precious cargo we did not doubt for an instant.
Without more ado, therefore, we hoisted the signal, "Stop at once," and also showed our war-flag, in the hope that the ship would abandon all thought of resistance. But she disregarded our signal, and we had to follow it up with a shell as a warning to the captain and a reminder of what it means to ignore, in war-time, the orders of a man-of-war.
Our shell had the desired effect; the Appam slowed down considerably and, finally, stood still. A few seconds later, I was told that her wireless was operating. Immediately our own operators intervened in such a way that the enemy's message became indecipherable. At the worst, any ship hovering in the neighborhood could only have been able to make out that something unexpected was taking place. But even that was to be avoided at all costs.
I therefore ordered a shell to be aimed at the wireless on the Appam's bridge. It silenced the apparatus at once, and the Moewe then got behind the English boat. I next saw English man-of-war sailors in uniform in the act of directing upon us small, quick-firing guns. Had they really fired on us, it would not have been an act of courage, but cold-blooded folly and reckless audacity, for surely they must have known that their small guns would have been quite inadequate against our far better equipment.
It would have been, moreover, a distinctly criminal act towards their passengers, for if we retaliated the unarmed passengers would most certainly have come to grief.
To end the critical situation, I quickly fired a second shell over the heads of the firing brigade. We saw the men scurry away, and then return to their posts and resume their preparations for firing. This made my blood boil and I ordered a few well-directed shells to be fired straight into their midst. Then, at last, their thick heads understood that we were in earnest. I promptly dispatched two boats to the Appam, for we now could see on board quite a number of English naval uniforms. Her deck was getting more and more crowded with people, who, in great excitement, were equipping themselves with life-belts and moved in all directions like a swarm of bees.
A striking contrast to this scene was presented by a group of people leaning on the taffrail and making joyful signals in our direction. We soon unravelled this mystery. These people were our own compatriots—twenty-one civilians, with three women, and eighteen prisoners of war from the Cameroons police. They had all been arrested in Duala, at the beginning of January, and put on the Appam to be interned in England. Their joy at their happy and quite unexpected release is indescribable, and we naturally reciprocated and shared in their delight.
I ordered them to be transferred at once to the Moewe, and they joined us with shining eyes and smiling faces. We celebrated the occasion by drinking to the health of His Majesty the German Emperor.
More and more satisfactory tidings came from on board our capture. The ship was laden with a precious cargo, which would compensate us amply for the risk we had run in attacking a vessel provided with wireless. Specially welcome was the news that the Appam was carrying a million marks in gold. Without losing a minute we transported this treasure to the hold of the Moewe. It was comparatively light booty—eighteen cases in all; sixteen cases of them contained fourteen bars of gold apiece, and two gold-dust.
So far everything had gone splendidly. What, however, was to be done with the four English officers, twenty sailors and marines, and the hundred and sixty passengers on board the Appam? To transfer them to the Moewe was out of the question, every available corner being occupied.
After some deliberation, I dispatched Reserve Officer Berg, with a prize-crew of twenty men, to the Appam. The released Germans were told to consider him as the master of the ship and on every occasion to back him up. That being settled, we hurriedly departed, for the Moewe still feared the possible consequences of that interrupted wireless message of the Appam.
Our next act was to ascertain what provisions the Appam had on board, for my intention was to send our captive into some port only after a considerable time, for with our parting from her the secret of our existence would naturally come to light.
At nightfall we stopped the ship, and I summoned the captain, officers, and crew of the Appam, also the four officers and sailors belonging to the British Navy. By all laws and rights they were prisoners of war, and had to join their friends below.
VII—STORY OF THE COLONIAL PRISONERS
The passengers of the Appam, our officers told me, were literally trembling for their lives. I decided, therefore, to have an interview with the two most representative passengers, the Governors of the English colonies of Sierra Leone and Nigeria—Sir Edward Merewether and Mr. James. These two gentlemen, on being conducted to my cabin, had the situation fully explained to them. Fortunately for them, the German Colonials on board the Appam had already informed me that both these men, in striking contrast to the usual English official, were not rabid German-haters, and had in the prosecution of their official duties treated Germans comparatively well.
I consequently informed them that, in spite of their official capacity, I had no intention of detaining them as prisoners on the Moewe. (The fact that, had I done so, they would have been very much in our way, I, of course, kept to myself.) I clearly saw that both these gentlemen of high standing had expected a very different fate, for their expression brightened at my words. They passed a night on the Moewe and were conducted back to the Appam the following morning, after breakfast, with instructions to tell their fellow-passengers that the Appam would eventually be brought into a certain port under German command. Every passenger could keep his belongings, but every eligible man had to sign an undertaking not to bear arms in this war against Germany or her allies. So long as the orders of the German officer in charge were obeyed, everyone would be well treated, and everything would be done to ensure the safety of the ship. At the slightest sign of opposition or insubordination, however, the vessel would be blown up.
The Appam remained with us for the time being, as the stocktaking of the coal and provisions lasted a considerable time. The ex-captain had originally informed us that his ship was only provided for another five days. After some persuasion, he admitted that there was sufficient fuel and food to last double that time. Consequently, the ship could be taken to the United States of America, the only country where we could berth our prize.
VIII—STORY OF THE FIGHT WITH THE "CLAN McTAVISH"
The following afternoon a cloud of smoke appeared on the horizon. At closer quarters, we recognized a fast steamer, provided with wireless, but without high superstructures. We therefore jumped to the conclusion that the vessel was an important cargo-boat.
It was already quite dark when we overtook her, and I made use of the Morse lamp to ask for her name. Her answer came promptly: "First tell us yours."
One name is as good as another, so I deemed it advisable to usurp that of the sunk steamer Author.
After some hesitation, the stranger signalled with the Morse lamp: "Clan McTavish."
Delighted to be again dealing with an "Engländer," I ordered, without losing a second:
"Clear for battle to starboard."
The guns took aim, and I shouted:
"This is a German cruiser. Stop at once!"
"We have stopped," came the answer, but, though four hundred yards divided us, we heard them working with all their might to set their ship in motion. I fired a shot, whereupon I was told that the enemy vessel was using her wireless.
Without wasting another second, I gave the order to aim at the wireless, and the first shell silenced it. Almost immediately, a streak of light pierced the darkness and something hissed over our heads. At first I thought I had made a mistake, but as a shell dropped into the water quite close to the Moewe, there could be no doubt that the Engländer intended to put up a fight.
We opened fire, and shot after shot rang out. But the Engländer was tenacious. Her shots answered ours—strangely enough, without once hitting us. That seemed to exasperate her only the more, and thick smoke enveloped us. Then, suddenly, the enemy ship slowed down and she signalled:
"We have stopped completely."
Soon we were able to ascertain the damage caused by our firing. Afterwards, the captain told us that our first shell had killed a Lascar. The second shell went through the cabin of the second officer, creating havoc in that part of the ship. The third shot hit the captain's bridge. Other shells killed seventeen Lascars and wounded five. A shell having hit the water-line and another the engines, the captain had at last given up further useless opposition.
While the prize-crew went on board, I summoned the Appam to help us. She had watched the fight from a distance, and it is easy to imagine with what feelings.
The Clan McTavish, five thousand eight hundred and sixteen tons, was bringing a considerable cargo of wool, leather, skins, and india-rubber from Australia, worth about ten million marks. How splendid if we could have taken all that wealth home with us! Unfortunately, we had damaged the engines of the Clan McTavish beyond repair. All thought of the cargo had therefore to be abandoned, especially as we were in a hurry to get away—pursued, as usual, by the fear of a possible surprise.
So, two hours later, the Clan McTavish disappeared into the deep sea, and, once more, we feasted our eyes on the rare and suggestive sight of a sinking ship, rendered even more attractive by a brilliant tropical moonlight night.
Her crew consisted chiefly of Indians, who meanwhile had been transferred to the Moewe.
One of our shells had hit a boat and killed fifteen poor fellows. Three men, severely wounded, who had been rescued from the water by the Appam, died during the night.
When the captain reported himself to me, I took him severely to task and pointed out to him that, by ignoring my orders and entering into a useless battle with us, he had unnecessarily caused the death of eighteen men.
By way of excuse, he replied that he had no idea that our boat was a man-of-war; he had taken the Moewe to be an armed merchantman, and thought his and our chances were about equal. Moreover, he declared himself free of all responsibility in the matter; his orders had been to bring his ship to England. To that end he was provided with a gun, and it was his duty to make use of it when the occasion arose.
Frankly, I liked the loyalty with which this old Scotch sea-bear defended his case. I shook hands with him and admitted that, most probably, in his place, I would have acted exactly in the same way.
Still in company with the Appam, after the sinking of the Clan McTavish, we proceeded westwards. At last, however, there came the day when I thought it was opportune to part from Lieutenant Berg. He was instructed to make for a port in the U.S.A., and I entrusted to his care the civilian passengers of the seven ships we had sunk up to now. Naturally, I would have preferred to leave them in safe custody in Germany, but the situation precluded this altogether.
Our primary object being to sink more ships, we needed all our available space for future guests. So we only retained on board the three officers belonging to the English Army, twenty man-of-war sailors and marines, the crew of the Clan McTavish, and a hundred Indians.
Before parting with them, I once more summoned the captains of the seven captured boats and impressed upon them that it was their absolute duty to preserve peace and order on the Appam. They replied by assuring me emphatically that the German commander would be obeyed as strictly as they themselves had been.
Thus reassured, I let them go, yet it was not without misgivings that I watched the Appam disappear below the horizon. And, truly, it was no trifle to bring the boat safely through the lines of the British cruisers in the Atlantic, to the coast of the United States. Yet I knew full well that Lieutenant Berg, like all the officers of our merchant navy, was a master of his craft, able to handle the most difficult situation. We learned with great satisfaction about a month later, through a wireless message, that the Appam had reached Newport News exactly at the appointed time, without any undue complications.
The secret of the Moewe had been preserved!
Among our guests on board, the Indians were undoubtedly the most interesting. Picturesque to a degree, not only by their brightly colored attire, but even by their demeanor, which possessed a rare dignity, their presence was very welcome to me on board my ship. Yet, naturally, I did not retain them solely for these æsthetic reasons, but because I knew they could be very useful. In the neighborhood of the Tropics there reigns an intolerable heat, with intermittent downpours, and in the interior of the ship the temperature exceeds the limits of endurance. In such conditions Indians are invaluable.
We employed them principally as coal-heavers, for it was impossible to use them in any other regular capacity, as they only worked willingly when their customs and religious ceremonies are not interfered with. Punctuality in meals was an equally important point with them; in the middle of their work they would throw down everything and start cooking their mutton and rice, or rice and mutton. No other food seemed to exist for them, and our European fare they appeared to regard with loathing. Sarang, the oldest among them, told me that, so long as they had rice, they were willing to do any work; but if rice failed them, they would all die, without the slightest resistance. In consequence, every ship we captured after this was thoroughly searched for rice before it was sunk. Unfortunately, we never found much of it, so that the rations of the poor Indians grew more and more meagre. Yet, I am glad to say, Sarang's sombre prophecy was not realized; every one of the Indians survived this skimpy diet. Their good will was invariable, no matter what they were told to do. Our crew was now less numerous, as a good number of men had been taken away to form two prize crews, and the work was pretty hard, the cleaning of the ship and the upkeep of the war material being no small matter, and the Indians' help was invaluable.
IX—STORY OF THE "EDINBURGH" ON VOYAGE FROM INDIA
The time had now arrived to renew our coal reserves, and so we went in quest of our first prize, the Corbridge, which the reader will remember was in charge of a prize-crew, and had parted from us on January 12th. We expected her now to have reached the appointed spot where we intended taking over her cargo of coal. Late in January we met a three-masted sailing-ship, the Edinburgh, one thousand four hundred and seventy-three tons, on her way from India to Liverpool, carrying two thousand tons of cattle food in the shape of rice-flour. This ship, whose unlucky star placed her in our way, had already been twenty-one months at sea, and for an incredibly long time had lain becalmed in windless latitudes, waiting for a propitious breeze. Now, when the wind had actually risen and the Edinburgh could at last escape from the broiling heat and the inexpressible dullness of endless waiting, the Moewe appeared and shattered all her hopes!
We pitied the poor old captain, who was sixty-seven years old; but war is war! He and his crew had to take up their quarters with us, and their ship had to bid a hasty adieu to this world. The cattle will wait for their food in vain.
The following day, on January 28th, precisely at the appointed time, the Corbridge loomed in sight and joined us where we were lying at anchor. The transfer of the coal took fully three days. Heat, noise and coal-dust were everywhere; there was no getting away from it. But it was glorious to watch the zeal with which the crew toiled away. The unloading of a cargo of coal is never a small affair, and the Corbridge lacked everything that might have made the task easier. Every moment we were confronted with new difficulties, but they were always solved by some obscure inventive genius from among the crew. Ingenuity coupled with good will can achieve much. Night and day the men labored unremittingly, until the precious black stuff was stored carefully in every available corner on our boat.
As a last souvenir of the Corbridge we appropriated the pigeons and the pigeon-house erected on the bridge. Subsequently, these delightful birds helped us to while away many a pleasant hour, when, on perfectly calm days, they fluttered about the ship.
As for the Corbridge, we had got out of her all we wanted, and she was presently sunk in the usual way.
Now that the Moewe had once more a supply of coal we felt like different beings, and pined for fresh deeds.
Yet we had to be more cautious than ever, for, surely, the disappearance of so many vessels within a few weeks would serve as a hint to our enemies that all was not as it should be in the Atlantic.
That this was so was proved to us, if only by the fact that the game we were hunting was now conspicuously rare. In vain did we search the zone usually overrun by ships. Not a single cloud of smoke came in sight! At last we decided to leave the beaten track and seek for our quarry elsewhere. After much patience, and a certain amount of good luck, we finally succeeded in making fresh victims. As ships were evidently taking every precaution against us, and were attempting by all possible means to evade us, we retaliated by resorting to new stratagems—the continual repainting of the Moewe, in order to vary her aspect as much as possible, being the most frequent one we adopted.
X—STORIES OF SHIPS ON BOTTOM OF THE SEAS
Our first capture on this occasion occurred on February 4th—a Belgian boat, the Luxembourg, four thousand three hundred and twenty-two tons register, with a cargo of five thousand nine hundred tons of coal, the property of a railway company in Buenos Ayres. Considering the high price of coal and freight, this cargo alone was worth about a million marks. Yet cargo and ship promptly disappeared into the depths.
The crew of the Belgian ship consisted of the most varied types of humanity. The majority were neutrals, chiefly Greeks and Spaniards, and their transfer to the Moewe was rather a comical affair. They were hampered by the most unnecessary paraphernalia—mandolins, parrots, zithers, monkeys, dogs, and so on.
On February 6th we captured another vessel, the English steamer Flamenco, four thousand six hundred and twenty-nine tons register. She met our advances by using her wireless. We retorted with a few well-directed shells, and this quickly brought her to her senses, especially as she had caught on fire. The crew rushed to the boats, one of which upset, and about twenty men fell into the water. This is no joke in this region, where sharks abound, and we were genuinely pleased when our prize-crew succeeded in fishing all, save one man, out of the waves.
While preparations were being made to sink the Flamenco, I summoned her captain and remonstrated with him for having used his wireless, an act which had provoked us into firing. He replied that his duty was to thwart our plans, just as much as mine was to capture his boat. One of the neutrals transferred on board the Moewe confirmed our suspicion that we were being tracked. He told us that the English cruiser Glasgow had overtaken them the previous day and had warned them of the danger of an encounter with the Moewe.
At first we were inclined to doubt the story, for up to now we had neither seen nor heard of this cruiser. On developing some photographic plates seized on board the Flamenco, however, we made the acquaintance of this English cruiser. We must have unwittingly passed each other in the night.
We continued our voyage in splendid weather, though the heat was insufferable. Good luck was slow in coming. But one afternoon, shortly after five, we caught sight of a vessel, and quickly went in pursuit. She proved to be the Norwegian Estrella, so we let her go. On this occasion we once more changed the aspect of the Moewe.
For days after that we only saw flying-fish, water, and passing clouds. But on Sunday, after having the whole day in vain searched the horizon, towards evening we perceived a cloud of smoke.
We hurried forward, but, unfortunately, it was quite dark before we overtook the steamer.
Our request for her name remained for a time without an answer. Then came the reply: "Heraclide."
This was disconcerting, for Lloyd's Register contained no such name. We repeated our question and received the same answer:
"Heraclide."
"What nationality?"
"Good friend."
"What line?"
Deep silence.
Now we knew how to act. If the boat had claimed to be a neutral, I should have let her go unmolested. On the other hand, a neutral would never have given such an equivocal reply, so, of course, she could only be an "Engländer."
I ordered her to stop.
While we slowed down, the steamer suddenly accelerated her movements in an evident attempt to escape. That put an end to my patience. We sent a shell in her direction, and I heard the captain ironically inquire:
"What did you shoot at?"
He must have realized, though, the seriousness of his position, for he forestalled a second shell by signalling with the siren that he had stopped. The boat's name now became apparent. She was English, and, as we had rightly surmised, the Westburn, a comparatively old boat of three thousand three hundred tons, with a cargo of coal and a speed of only seven knots.
That Sunday our hopes were destined to be fulfilled a second time. While the crew of the Westburn was being transferred to the Moewe, a white light showed on the horizon. We swiftly got ready, and, adapting ourselves to the course of the Westburn—which was in tow—we steamed towards the new-comer.
At six o'clock in the morning we ran alongside of her. She proved to be the steamer Horace, three thousand three hundred and thirty-five tons, with a particularly rich cargo of spirits, grain, wool, meat, and antimony—all things that Germany is in great need of. Yet it was out of the question even to attempt to send this prize home, as she was deficient in coal. There was nothing for it but to sink her and all she contained.
XI—STORY OF THE EXPLOSION ON THE "WESTBURN"
We had now so many mouths on board to feed that it was imperative to get rid of them. The Westburn was requisitioned for this purpose, and all our guests, with the exception of those whom we considered prisoners of war, left the Moewe. There were some hundred and fifty in all, and they were anything but comfortable in the old boat during their enforced voyage to Teneriffe, where the prize-commander—the officers' orderly, Badewitz—was instructed to conduct them. The prize-crew consisted this time of only eight men. On this occasion, too, I summoned the captains of the six captured ships and impressed upon them that, at the slightest sign of insubordination, or attempt at mutiny, Commander Badewitz had my orders to blow up the ship.
Later, I learned from the papers, that the Westburn arrived in broad daylight at Santa Cruz, in Teneriffe. A few hours earlier, the big English ironclad Sutlej, twelve thousand two hundred tons, had dropped anchor in the harbor. When the German war-flag, proudly fluttering at the stern of the Westburn, was noticed by the Sutlej, the Westburn was already inside the three-mile zone in Spanish waters, and her arrival could not be hindered. It was arranged with the harbor authorities that the prisoners should remain on board until the following morning, and the prize-commander gave them once more to understand that, at the slightest offence against discipline, he would blow up the ship. So, in spite of the presence of the English warship, the prisoners had the sense to remain quiet. The next morning they were partly landed and partly taken on board English ships, while, early in the afternoon, the Westburn left the harbor to avoid being detained by the authorities.
Outside, the Sutlej was lying in wait, eager to pounce upon her presumed prey the moment she left the three-mile zone. Hardly had the Westburn steamed out of the harbor, however, than she was seen to be surrounded by a white flame. The ship swayed to one side, while the crew rushed to the boats.
According to the papers, one of the boilers, all of which were in a wretched condition, had burst. Whether true or not, this incident played into our hands. It was very considerate of the ill-fated boiler to explode just at the precise moment when the Westburn was liable either to be seized by the Spanish authorities or pounced upon by the English vessel. It was far better for us that the cargo of four thousand tons of coal should go to the bottom of the sea rather than that it should be utilized by an English ship.
The very next day after parting from the Westburn we caught sight of another steamer. After a four hours' pursuit we ascertained that she was a neutral, and we slunk away in the darkness, hoping we had not been recognized.
XII—STORY OF THE "MOEWE'S" PREY—AND RETURN HOME
Our next encounter was with a big, stately passenger-ship, which, unfortunately, we could not waylay.
The time was now fast approaching when it became necessary to think of returning home. The nights were growing shorter, and the season of winter storms being at an end, we ran a greater risk of being captured.
On reaching more northerly latitudes, we received glad tidings from home more and more frequently by wireless. A special joyful occasion was when news reached us that fifty men of our crew had been granted the Iron Cross.
On February 24th one more valuable prize fell into our hands—the Frenchman Maroni, three thousand one hundred and nine tons, with a cargo of wine, on its way from Bordeaux to New York. Thirty-three Frenchmen were transferred on board the Moewe, but the ship, of course, was sunk, and with her—much to our chagrin—a thousand cases of Pommery. We could not get at them quickly enough, for they were packed away securely in the hold. But we carried away innumerable eggs, fine French cheeses, and many other provisions we had long been obliged to do without.
A specially welcome find on the Maroni was the newspapers. Our cruising-campaign had inspired many indignant articles, and we perused them with much zest. "Pirate" was the mildest of the terms applied to us by the French press.
Still further pleasure we derived from the reading of the English and American papers seized on the next and last boat we sank—the British steamer Saxon Prince, three thousand four hundred and seventy-one tons, carrying a cargo of wool, grain, and explosives from America to England.
We learnt from these papers of the great impression produced on the marine insurance companies by the disappearance of the first boats we captured. Many conjectures were made, but not one of them approached the truth. The possibility that a German cruiser had broken through the British lines in the North Sea did not occur to anyone, until the Appam reached the United States and her passengers gave authentic accounts of that quasi-fabulous bird of prey called the Moewe.
Long-winded articles told us how Lieutenant Berg had loyally and conscientiously fulfilled his share of the joint task by retarding as much as possible the bringing of his ship into port.
It is easy to imagine with what pleasure we welcomed the good tidings concerning our adopted daughter, the Appam, and how gratified we felt when even the enemy paid tribute to Lieutenant Berg's energetic and tactful handling of the situation.
After that the Moewe made straight for home, her good star once more enabling her to get safely past all obstacles. As a reward for their services, every member of the crew was given the Iron Cross of the Second Class, and the Commander was summoned by the great War Lord himself to come and tell him all the details of the sinking of the hated "Engländers."