Ten months in a German raider

by John Stanley Cameron

At this time it was possible to purchase stout on the Hitachi, which was a Godsend to us. A few days after coming on board, when ordering stout, I was told that it had all gone. On making inquiries afterwards I found out that Lieut. Rose had stopped its sale and was reserving it along with all the beer and wine for his own use, and for the use of his particular friends, who were all able-bodied persons. There were three women, in addition to my wife, who actually needed something of this description.

The Jap stewards on board were being paid their regular wages by the German Government, but as their Captain was a prisoner on board the Wolf, and they were away from his authority, they paid absolutely no heed to any of the prisoners' needs, merely contenting themselves with keeping the Lieutenant well supplied with booze and anything else he wanted. Afterwards Rose told me that the service of the Japs on the Hitachi was splendid. I told him that it was rotten and told him why; Rose merely pulled that Prussian smile of his and said: "What do you expect? You're not first class passengers, you know." To this I agreed and told him all I wanted was an even break with the rest of the prisoners, or "ex-passengers," as he used to call us. There were some sixty of us occupying the first class cabins, among whom were many of the original passengers of the Hitachi. We were, with one or two exceptions, all young people, and despite the short rations we had and the rough experience we'd undergone, we managed to have some very enjoyable times, playing deck billiards, quoits, cricket and various card games. In the dining saloon was a piano. Some of the Australian chaps were great mimics and had good voices, so we had some very enjoyable evenings. The last night we were on the Hitachi, in particular, the Japs came to life and were almost human. One of them unlocked a large closet that was filled with masks, costumes, false beards, hair, etc., which were used for amateur theatricals. We all dressed up as various characters, and we had a regular variety show. Among the offerings were clog dancing, sword dancing, highland fling, the good old cake walk, and the Texas Tommy. The last number was what we called the "Hitachi Rag" and was danced by everybody. It consisted of the regulation "rag" varied by every conceivable step, including high and lofty tumbling. All during the performance the German sailors on the Hitachi were peering in through the portholes and lining the alley ways and steps, enjoying the show almost as much as the rest of us. But this "Hitachi Rag" was more than the disciplined Teutons could stand. First two of them tried it, and in a few minutes all the Germans were dancing. The news spread to the Wolf and there was a general stampede of Teuton guards and sailors, in our direction. For a few minutes we had full charge of the ship, as the Teutons wouldn't stop when their petty officers called them. Shortly afterwards the Chief Officer appeared and made us all stop, saying that it was the Commander's orders, and that we were "stopping the work of the ship"—to say nothing of undermining German discipline.

On the Hitachi, many of us lost things out of our rooms, such as razors, a camera, combs and various toilet articles and articles of clothing. One day, one of the British chaps caught a Jap steward in his room using his safety razor. As this particular Jap had pimples and sores all over his face, the British ally and owner of the razor was very hostile. I asked him what he was going to do about it. "I shall report the bally rotter to the management," the Briton replied. Not being used to such violent outbursts of emotion I beat it.

All the time that we were lying here among the Maldive Islands, 12 days in all, transferring cargo, the flying machine made regular observation trips twice a day, once in the morning and once in the evening. On three different occasions it reported seeing steamers passing not more than 50 or 60 miles off, and once it reported seeing a fast cruiser, probably British, travelling along at full speed. This island where we were lying was only 50 or 60 miles off the regular trade route and I had hopes that some patrolling vessel would blunder on to us, but no such luck; although one night our hopes were raised to a great height.

Just shortly after sunset, my wife imagined that she saw something on the Western horizon. I got my glasses and concealing myself so that I could not be discovered I had a look. I, too, could see something, but at that time could not make it out; although in another ten minutes I had another look and sure enough it was bigger and plainer. Shortly after, it was discovered by the Germans, and an alarm sounded. Everybody was thrown into great excitement, and the lines tying the Wolf and the Hitachi together were let go. All of us prisoners ran to our rooms and got our "emergency kits" ready.

Just across the hall from our "Bridal suite" there was tremendous confusion. A corpulent British technical mining expert was rushing about his room in a perfect frenzy, looking for a heavy blue sweater he had carefully hung on a peg against just such an emergency as this;—of course, manlike, he blamed his wife for having mislaid it (my wife contributes this slam gratis.) However, after a few minutes' search, one of them discovered that the sweater was just where it belonged—on the man's back. I met "Father" Cross,—a veritable giant of a man and the greatest authority on Chinese dialects in the country,—shouting in a great, roaring voice: "Bar steward! Bar steward! bring me a bottle of whiskey, quick!" I could hear him mumbling: "You don't get me into a life-boat without a bottle of something to keep me warm." This same man lost his trousers while climbing out of the life-boat onto the Wolf when the Hitachi was first captured. Somebody sent him a package a few days afterwards containing an old pair of suspenders, and I think that "Father" would have murdered the sender if he could have found out who it was. I have often regretted that the sender did not enclose Lieut. Rose's calling card.

Just about the time I reached the deck there was an order given from the bridge of the Wolf in a very disgusted voice, which was shortly followed by a very choice assortment of cuss words, some of which were in English. I looked to the Westward and saw that our rescuing cruiser was only a cloud, and at that time was about five degrees up from the horizon. Later on I kidded some of the German Officers about it, and they each passed the blame on to somebody else; but just as this cloud had fooled me it had fooled them as well. "Father" Cross, however, averred that he knew what it was all the time, and that it was only a "sandy" on his part to get an extra bottle of whiskey.

On October 7th both ships sailed from the Maldive Islands, the Wolf going in search of a vessel loaded with coal, so that both Wolf and Hitachi could fill their bunkers with coal which would enable them to get "home" to Germany. We on the Hitachi loafed along at a slow speed in a southwesterly direction, meeting the Wolf again on the 19th, when we both steamed to the Chagos Archipelago, arriving there on October 20th, when we both tied up together and dropped anchor. During this time the Wolf had not been able to pick up a vessel, but the "bird" came back one day from an observation trip and reported a large steamer some 180 miles distant; later in the day she again went up and reported this steamer to be a big B.B. Liner of about 16,000 tons, and that she was equipped with 4 or 5 big guns. Needless to say, the Wolf wasn't looking for anything that could bite back, so the Commander decided to pass her up, and, returning to the Chagos group, take the balance of the Hitachi's coal and provisions on board the Wolf and sink the Hitachi, relying on getting another steamer in the Atlantic to furnish him with enough coal to complete his voyage.

It was during this cruise that Mr. Johnson, Second Officer on my vessel, died on board the Wolf from heart trouble (so they reported to me). The Germans gave him a burial at sea with full naval honours, Capt. Oleson, of the American schooner Encore, reading the burial service, the Commander and his officers standing by in full dress uniforms. The corpse was covered with an American flag and launched overboard from under the muzzle of one of the cannon.