I crossed the equator well to the westward, passing the Fiji Islands and hoping that when I ran out of the southeast trade winds I would get a favourable wind and cut close by the southern ends of New Caledonia. I had a hunch, and if I had been lucky and had two days' favourable wind this story would never have happened. But unfortunately, unfavourable winds were encountered, forcing me to the southward and into the regular sailing vessel route.
My wife, an Australian girl by birth, had not been home to see her family since she left them something over ten years ago, and naturally was very anxious to get home and see her many brothers and sisters who had grown up and married since she left. In fact, she had talked of nothing else for the past several years. Each year I promised that we would make the visit "next year," but something or other would show up and spoil my plans. I had given up the sea about six years ago for a "shore job," and was so well pleased with the change that I did not care to go back to the sea again, fearing that I would not be able to change from the sea to the shore life again, as there is something about the sea that gets into the blood and makes it difficult to stay away from it. It was only then an unusual chain of circumstances that left me foot loose at this particular time to take charge of the Beluga on this trip. The fact is, it was what my wife called the "Scotch Jew" in me that finally decided me to take this means of making money out of visiting the mother-in-law.
Each day at noon when I placed the vessel's position on the chart, my wife was a very interested spectator and used to measure the distances that remained for us to go. Then she would figure out just how long it would take, under various weather conditions, before she would be able to see her beloved Australia again. Some days when we had a favourable wind and had made a good day's run in the right direction, she would be as happy as could be and singing all the time, but other days when we had made but little progress she would be away down in the dumps, and it would be extremely difficult to get a smile.
On July 9th I was having some work done aloft on one of the masts, when about two o'clock in the afternoon Fritz, a Norwegian sailor working aloft, shouted down, "Smoke, oh, on the port beam." I had a look through my binoculars, and, sure enough, on the horizon to the southwest I could make out the smoke of a steamer. The weather at this time was fine and clear, with a light breeze from the south and we were making only about four knots per hour. In a short time it became evident that the steamer was coming in our direction, as she was gradually getting larger and more plainly seen. I shouted down the cabin skylight to my wife to come on deck and see the steamer, as she was the only vessel of any description we had seen since leaving San Francisco, almost two months before. She and Juanita, my six-year-old daughter, scampered on deck and were very much interested in watching her. It soon became evident that the steamer was going to pass close to us, and thinking it just possible that she would speak us, my wife and Nita went below to change their frocks.
The steamer was getting closer by this time and her hull was plainly visible. The old superstition regarding the unlucky number "thirteen" flashed through my mind but was instantly dismissed. To all appearances she was the ordinary black-painted, dingy-looking ocean tramp. I studied her intently through the glass, trying to discover some detail that would show her nationality, and had just about concluded that she must be a Jap when Mr. Buckert, my Chief Officer, came along to where I was standing and asked if I could make her out. I told him she appeared to be either a British or Jap tramp, and handed him the binoculars so that he could have a look. After studying her for a while he said, "By God, Captain, I don't know her nationality, but she carries the largest crew I have ever seen." I snatched the glasses out of his hand and had a look. Sure enough, by this time the rails both forward and aft were black with men in the regulation man-of-war jumpers. Even at this time I did not think she was a German, but possibly a British armed merchantman, or a British converted auxiliary cruiser, sent from Australia to some of the South Sea islands for patrol duties. However, she soon showed her true colours.
Suddenly she changed her course, heading to pass directly under my stern. At this moment she broke out the German Imperial Navy Ensign at her jackstaff aft and at her signal yard amidships she showed the letters G.T.E., which interpreted from the International Signal Code means "Heave to and I will send a boat on board." After giving me time to read this signal, possibly two minutes, the steamer dropped her bulwarks forward, uncovering her guns, and fired a shot across the Beluga's bow. This dispelled any lingering doubt I had in my mind as to what was wanted, and it didn't take us long to clew up our light sails and throw the main yard about.
It was only then that I actually realised that my little vessel had been stopped by a German raider in the South Pacific Ocean almost fifteen thousand miles from the war zone. I stepped to the forward end of the quarterdeck and looked down at the crew on the main deck to see how they seemed to be taking it. These Scandinavian sailor men were standing on the waist, smoking their pipes and discussing the appearance of the steamer, just as if to be captured by an enemy's raider were an every-day occurrence. For myself, I knew that this day marked a crisis in the lives of any of us that were American or British born, and as for my wife and child—God, the thought was like a stab in the heart and seemed to leave me numb and cold. In a moment there flashed through my mind all the accounts I had read in the papers of the German atrocities towards women and children in Belgium and barbarisms practised along the Russian front, and the thought of my wife and child being at the mercy of these people nearly drove me crazy.
On walking aft I saw my wife leaning up against the wheelhouse, her face absolutely bloodless and a look of horror in her eyes that fairly chilled my blood. God! For months after I could see this expression in her eyes every time I closed my eyes. Even now, when I think of it, it makes me feel cold all over. When she saw me she came over and took my hand in hers, looking all the time into my eyes and not saying a word. We stood there for what seemed a century. Presently I called Juanita to us and the three of us went down below to the cabin. We sat on the settee, never saying a word, and poor little Nita started to sob, feeling something sinister in the air, which she did not understand. In a minute the mate came to the cabin skylight and sang out that the launch would be alongside in a minute. I answered "All right." My wife got up and walked over to the bed and took one of my revolvers (I had two) from under the mattress and handed it to me.
Suddenly she threw both her arms around my neck and drew my head into such a position that she could look into my eyes, and said, "Stanley, I want you to promise me that they will never get Juanita." I threw both my arms round her, hugging her tight to myself, and said, "Mamie, I promise; but you must leave it to me." And with a sob I left her and started on deck. When passing through the wheelhouse, I stopped for a moment to pull myself together. On going on deck I saw a small motor launch just arriving alongside, crowded with German bluejackets, armed to the teeth. A moment more, and a young lieutenant sprang onto the deck and came aft to the quarterdeck where I was standing. Coming to a stand in front of me he saluted and asked in excellent English, with an American accent, "Are you the captain of this vessel?" I answered, "Yes." "Where are you from?" was his next question. I told him San Francisco to Sydney, Australia, fifty-two days out. "Captain," he said, "I take charge of your vessel in the name of the German Imperial Navy." He gave an order in German and two German sailors sprang to the flag halyards and hauled down the Stars and Stripes and ran up the German Ensign. They carefully saved the American flag and the Company's burgee and took them aboard the Wolf afterwards as trophies. Our crew meantime had been lined up and searched for weapons. Among the things the boarding crew brought on board was a black case containing twenty pairs of handcuffs and three large bombs to blow the vessel to pieces with. They didn't need the handcuffs, however.
After the lieutenant had gone through the ship's papers and found out all particulars regarding the Beluga's cargo, he had his signal men wigwag the information to the Commander of the Wolf, which was standing by. The Commander, on finding out that I had a cargo of benzine, decided not to sink the vessel immediately, but to take on board some three hundred cases for use in their hydroplane, as their supply was getting low.