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.