On a pitch-dark November night, the Seeadler, with a small emergency crew, raises anchor and sails out of the mouth of the Weser into the North Sea. There, some distance offshore, we drop anchor.
At a remote place along the docks at Wilhelmshaven, men appear one by one. By the light of a dimly burning lantern I gather my crew. None of them has any inkling of what is afoot. I hear them ask:
"Where are we off to? What is it?"
We piled them into a little steamer, and off. Soon they saw an imposing ship riding through the night.
"Hello, what sort of craft is this, a sailship?"
Aboard everything is ready, and everything is Norwegian. Their bunks are all prepared. Photographs are on the walls. Norwegian landscapes, photographs of Norwegian girls, Norwegian flags hang draped. A fully equipped Norwegian ship awaiting the arrival of its crew.
"Do you speak Norwegian, Karl?"
"Yes. Do you?"
"Yes."
"Strange business this!"