"Ayesha"

I. Keeling Islands

"I respectfully report the landing force, consisting of 3 officers. 6 petty officers and 40 men, ready to leave the ship.”

It was at 6.30 a.m., on Nov. 9, 1914, that I made this report on the bridge to Commander von Mueller, commanding H. M. S. Emden. She lay at anchor sit Port Refuge, which is the harbor built among the reefs of Keeling. Before long the two cutters contained the officers and men of the landing force. The steam launch was ready to take them in tow. The instructions that I received from the captain were to destroy the radio and cable stations on Direction Island (the most northerly of the Keeling group), and, if possible, capture and bring aboard all signal books, secret codes and other similar books.

From Direction Island there extend three cables: one to Mauritius, one to Perth in Australia, and the third to Batavia. As this station was the last link in the only straightaway cable from the home country (England) to Australia—the other cables having been previously destroyed by the other cruisers—it was reasonably certain that some attack could be expected there. Therefore, all four machine guns of the Emden were taken along. Two were in (be steam launch, while each of the two cutters carried one. The men were armed with rides, side-arms and revolvers. The steamer took the cutters in low and we were off toward Direction Island.

Even small craft must navigate the inner atoll channels very cautiously in order to avoid the countless coral reefs that are promiscuously scattered about. The course that we laid off from the ship to the landing place was approximately 3000 meters long.

Direction Island is a flat plane with high palms. Among the tops of the palms could be seen the roofs of the European houses and the wireless masts. We set our course for these. Close in toward the landing lay a small white sailing ship at anchor.

“Shall we blow her up, too?” asked my lieutenant, nodding toward the sailer.

“Certainly,” said I. “She has made her last trip. Detail a man at once to get the bombs ready.”

With machine guns ready for action and small arms at hand, we landed, without resistance, at a small dock and immediately took up the march toward the radio masts.

The blowing up of the white ship was postponed, because I wished to see first what preparations had been made ashore.

Quickly we captured the telegraph station building and the radio station, preventing the further sending of signals. Then I ordered an Englishman, who was following us about, to call the director. He appeared shortly. He was a very easy going and prosperous looking gentleman.

“I have orders to destroy the cable and radio stations. I warn you therefore not to resist. Above all, it is to your interest to surrender the keys to the various buildings in order to relieve me of the necessity of breaking down the doors. Deliver all the weapons in your possession. Likewise have all Europeans gather in the open square in front of the telegraph building.”

The director seemed to take these orders quite peacefully. He had not thought of resisting, he said, and, reaching down in his pocket, drew forth the keys and pointed out the houses in which were kept the remaining apparatus and then left, saying. “I con­gratulate you.”

“Hm—what for? ” was my apparently eager question.

“The Iron Cross. The Reuter telegram has been sent.”

We then busied ourselves with bringing down the wireless mast. The torpedo-gunners brought their explosives and first the guys were parted, and finally the mast itself was brought to earth and chopped into short lengths.

Note.—This story of Ayesha is published by permission of Ritter & Co., Boston, who bold the American copyright and by whom Ayesha will shortly be published in book form.          J. W. G.

In the telegraph office, the Morse keys were still working. We could not read what they were sending as it was in secret code, but it amused us to see the astonished faces of the operators when they received no answers to their signals because from the operation of the signal apparatus we could see that the senders were urgently calling for confirmation and acknowledgment.

The next job was a joy to the men. Without delay a pair of heavy axes were produced and in the next instant a shower of Morse keys, ink-wells, table legs, severed cable ends and similar wreckage flew about the room. They certainly obeyed orders to do a most thorough job. High and low, search was made for reserve instruments and such, and everything which appeared to belong to the station was destroyed. Among other things, a seismograph that had been installed on the island was also wrecked. Our men thought that it was a part of the telegraphic apparatus.

The heaviest work was the hunting for and cutting of the sub­merged cables. A chart containing the position of the cables could not he found in the stations, but along the beach were several signs marked “Cables.” Here must be the land-end of the cables. With the steam launch we searched with a pair of drags or grap­nels that tire ordinarily used in fishing for cables. The work was not easy as we had nothing but man-power to use and that in very cramped quarters and the cables were exceedingly heavy. It was impossible to lift them to the surface of the water, so my men, after the bight of the cable had been raised a hit, had to dive and secure tackles to them so that we could proceed with the work. After much labor we were finally able to raise the cable strands up to the boats. I was unwilling to use explosive bombs with which to cut the cables as the Emden needed these to sink more merchant ships. We therefore had to cut the thick cables with crowbars, axes, chisels and other similar tools. After soul-wreck­ing efforts we succeeded in severing two cables and towing the dead ends to sea with the steamer. The third cable, in spite of an especially thorough search, was still undiscovered.

A small, corrugated-iron house containing a mass of reserve parts and all sorts of reserve apparatus was blown up by a bomb and burned down, while the newspapers, books, Morse messages and so forth, were taken along.

The landing party was getting ready to re-embark when the Emden signaled, “Expedite work.” Thereupon I gathered up my men, gave up the destruction of the schooner lying in the harbor and was about to shove off when it was reported to me, "Emden blew her siren.” According to orders this was to be the signal for returning aboard with the greatest despatch. As I got into the steamer I saw the Emden’s anchor flag at half-mast which meant that she was weighing anchor. The harbor was strange, but that made no difference to me. I was striving to return aboard as soon as possible. At full power I raced to the ship by the shortest route regardless of the reefs. The Emden in the meantime headed to sea at high speed. My first thoughts were that she was going out to intercept our tender Burcsk (that had been ordered there to coal the Emden) and pilot her in through the reefs, and for that reason I continued to follow the Emden out, but was most aston­ished to discover that she was going at 16 or 17 knots. The steamer, with two heavily laden cutters in tow, could not exceed 4 knots.

Shortly the Emden hoisted her battle-flags and the starboard broadside opened fire. Even then I did not guess what it meant and thought perhaps that the Emden was trying to capture a steamer which she had discovered in that vicinity.

Then a salvo of five heavy shells fell behind the Emden, and the five large splashes indicated the source of the firing. Now we knew that a real, earnest engagement was going on. The enemy we could not see. He was still hidden by the island and its palms. Emden had by now steamed several thousand meters away and was in­creasing the distance between us very rapidly so that T gave up all hopes of joining her. Therefore I came about.

II. “Ayesiia”

We returned to the same landing. I gathered the Englishmen together again, took away all their fire-arms, hoisted the German flag over the island, according to the rights of war, forbade any attempts at communication by signals with the other islands or with enemy ships, and gave orders to my officers to prepare the beach for defense, to mount the machine guns and to stand by to dig trenches. I reasoned that the engagement of the ships would be a short one and that I would certainly have to reckon with the enemy ship which would return to inspect the station. Neverthe­less I had no idea of surrendering the island, over which flew the German flag, without a struggle.

The Englishmen, slightly disturbed, came and asked permission to withdraw to another part of the island in case a fight became imminent. To which I agreed.

With two signal-boys, I withdrew to the roof of the largest house in order to observe the fight. The English were, all in all, not much concerned over the engagement of the cruisers several thousand meters from the island. They seemed to confine their interests to other things. One of them approached one of the officers who was at work on the beach and laughingly, in a friendly tone, asked "Do you play tennis?"

A question which, under prevailing conditions, seemed to us most inconceivable.

When I reached the roof, the fight between the Emden and the other cruiser was at its height. Both vessels were firing heavily with each broadside. I did not know the name of the enemy ship, except that due to her construction and the aforementioned salvos, I judged her to be one of the Australian cruisers Sydney or Melbourne. I thought that the enemy must be armed with 15-cm. guns because the splashes were higher and larger than those which the Emden's shells would make.

The Sydney, as I later discovered her to be, was much more heavily armed than the Emden. Our ship, of 3600 tons, could bring to bear five io.5-cm. guns to a broadside, and she had no side armor. On the other hand, the Sydney, of .3700 tons, could bring five 15.2-cm. guns to bear on the broadside, and she had side armor. As seen on a line, the Emden's salvos seemed to be landing safely on the enemy cruiser, who was evidently firing very poorly, his shells landing several hundred meters apart. When he, however, succeeded in landing a Salvo, the destruction on an unarmored ship was very severe.

At the very beginning of the tight the forward smokepipe of the Emden was brought down and lay across the ship. Another salvo, landing under the after cabin, started a fierce fire; gray clouds, caused by the lighter steam clouds mingling with the smoke, indicating that sonic steam-pipe must have been pierced.

Emden immediately turned short on the enemy and headed toward him at full speed, evidently with the intention of attacking him with torpedoes. While doing this her foremast went overboard. For an instant it seemed as if her adversary wished to break off the engagement as he steamed away at top speed, followed by Emden. Whether he had received any severe injuries, not apparent from outside the ship, I could not make out. Perhaps also he was endeavoring to increase the range so that his superior armament could be used to better advantage. 1 he fight drew toward the¹ northward away from the island until finally both vessels, still fighting, were lost below the horizon.

The question now arose as to what disposition I should make of the landing force. Our ship had already received such severe punishment by the more powerful ship that it was next to impossible for her to emerge victorious and return to the island. She would probably have to arrange to slip into some harbor in order to make repairs, bury the dead and transport the wounded ashore. I could, however, safely assume that in a short time some English warship would proceed to Keeling to see what was hap­pening to the radio and cable stations. The telegraphic communi­cations were broken between the Australian ports and also between Batavia and Mauretius.

We would, with our 4 machine guns and 29 rifles, repulse a landing force of Englishmen, but we were powerless against the gunfire which the English cruiser would pour on us. All in all, it seemed but a postponement of the inevitable surrender of a post whose loss was, without doubt, a foregone conclusion. Captivity in English hands was not to our taste.

There still lay in the harbor the small, white schooner, fortu­nately not as yet blown up. It could and would help us out. I decided to leave the island on it. The name was Ayesha and it had formerly made two or three trips each year to Batavia, carry­ing copra away and returning with provisions. Now, however, as steamships made regular calls here, the schooner lay in the harbor unrigged, out of service and rotting away.

I went to her alone in the steam launch in order to look her over and determine her seaworthiness. The captain and one seaman were aboard. At first, in an offhand way, I asked him if he had any munitions aboard, as I did not wish him to guess the reason for my coming aboard. He denied having any, and while showing me casually about the ship, I concluded that she apparently was still seaworthy. Therefore I sent my officers and men to the Ayesha to prepare her for sea. And there was a lot to be done. All sails and rigging had been removed and stored and these had to be found and brought aboard.

As the English discovered my intention of leaving the island in the schooner, they warned me most carefully. The Ayesha was old and rotten and could not keep the sea. Also, they advised me that the English man-of-war Minotaur and a Japanese cruiser were near the island and that they thought that capture by them was certain. Also, my predecessor on the Ayesha, as he left the ship, said goodbye with the following words: “I wish you a lucky cruise, but the vessel’s bottom is full of holes.”

Inasmuch as we continued to prepare the Ayesha for sea despite all their warnings, the English finally saw the sporting chance we were taking and then ran their legs off to assist us. J leave it to you to judge whether it was gratitude that drove them to be of assistance. Previously several of them had expressed their delight to me at the destruction of the cable service, as the many hours of extra work and the scarcity of reliefs were now at an end once and for all. They showed 11s where to find provisions and water, advising us to take provisions from this side only as they were new and fresh while those on the other side were old; they brought cooking utensils, water, casks of oil, old wearing apparel, bedclothes and similar most necessary stuff. Invitations to luncheon poured in from all sides. They gave pipes and tobacco to my men. In short, the English did everything they could to help us out. They did not deceive me in regard to courses and as I later discovered, till their information in regard to wind, weather, currents, etc., was substantially correct. As the last boat left the beach they gave three cheers, wished us a pleasant voyage and thanked us profusely for the “moderation” which we em­ployed in carrying out our task, in which till the people “gener­ously” joined. Then they swarmed about the ship for a time taking photographs of the Ayesha.

In the meantime, the lookout reported that the two engaged ships were again in sight. From the Ayes ha’s masthead I could see only the heavy, black smoke clouds of the Sydney, then the masts, smokepipes and superstructure gradually came in sight. On the Emden I could see only one smokepipe and one mast. The remain­der of the ship was still under the horizon. Both cruisers wen- steering easterly courses. The firing was still going on.

Finally the Sydney shot out at high speed toward the Emden. I had the feeling that the Emden had made her last stand and that the Sydney was approaching to administer the final death blow. Then there showed between the foremast and the forward smoke- pipe in the black smoke of the Englishman a high, white water­spout that could only have been caused by a heavy explosion. We assumed it to be a hit by one of the Emden’s torpedoes. The Sydney, still at least 20 sea-miles away, turned hard to starboard and, on the opposite course, steered slowly to the westward, the Emden continuing on her easterly course. Both vessels still con­tinued firing. The range became greater and greater until at last it exceeded the range of the guns. The engagement ceased, both ships disappearing beneath the horizon in the approaching dark­ness. That was the last I could observe. The tight started at about 8.30 a. m. and lasted until about 6 p. m. The story published in all the English newspapers that it was a “60-minute running tight” should be classed with the numerous other false English reports.

The coming of darkness then made it necessary for me to slip from the harbor. In the dark it is absolutely impossible to leave the harbor and navigate safely among the many coral reefs. We had in the meantime taken aboard enough water to last about four weeks and sufficient provisions for eight weeks. The sails were, of course, made ready for use. I gave the crew a short talk, and then to the accompaniment of three cheers to the bravest of the war’s heroes we hoisted the battle-flag and pennant on the latest acquisition to the navy, His Majesty’s Ship Ayesha. The steam launch slowly towed us ahead. I took station in the foretop because, as we had 110 reliable charts, from there the reefs and channels could best be seen. With my battery whistle I gave orders to the towing steamer, telling them to avoid the reefs by steering to port or to starboard. The two Emden cutters I took in tow.

The trip out was very slow indeed for us. The sun was al­ready setting and in the tropics there is no twilight. As soon as the sun disappears beneath the horizon, complete darkness reigns. We had not quite finished the dangerous passage among the reefs before it became too dark for me to make out the channel from my position on the foremast. Therefore I took station in the port chains close to the water’s edge and directed the operations from there.

Just as we were passing the last reef which could possibly be dangerous, we received a bad scare. In spite of the darkness I could clearly see each stone, each blade of grass on the bottom, a sign that we were in shallow water. Our stern, however, went over the shoals without grounding.

In the interim we set several sail in order to lighten the heavy tow work of the launch. Soon we were clear of the protecting islands and, on the bosom of the ocean, our craft received a new motion, the heavy, long swell of the sea.

When we had proceeded sufficiently well out to be free to cruise without danger of the breakers, I recalled the steamer alongside in order to muster the crew. The high swells made this maneuver not an easy one. The steamer was constantly surging against the guard-rail of the Ayesha, and although I now seemed indifferent to the fate of the steamer, I still had many scruples against this unintentional duel between my new and my old ship. I doubted if the Ayesha could stand these friendly attentions very long, so it finally became expedient to cast off the steamer and the last man opened the throttle to use up the remaining steam in the boiler before he jumped aboard. With a boat-hook, we, on the Ayesha, put her rudder to port. In an elegant curve she drew away and was lost in the darkness. Where she wound up, I know not. Probably she found her grave in the breakers, roaring a few hundred meters away. Perhaps, also, she is still cruising on the ocean, carrying on a war of privateering.

III. On Board

The next day we proceeded to inspect more minutely our new home. The Ayesha was a ship of 97 tons gross, as we discovered by reading a sign on one of the beams in the storeroom. She was about 30 meters long and approximately 7 to 8 meters beam. The ship was fitted with three masts, the two after ones, that is, main and mizzen, were schooner-rigged, while the fore carried two square sails. Evidently she had been manned by a crew of five sea­men and the captain, while we now had 50 aboard. The men were quartered in the crew’s space forward. But as the forecastle could not accommodate more than six men, the remainder slept in the storeroom.

When we took her she had no cargo aboard, but she did have some iron ballast. It was not a pleasant job to fit out the crew for sleeping, as it had only been possible to bring along from Keeling a very small quantity of bedclothes and mattresses, and the men bad to sleep on the spare canvas (sails) on top of the iron ballast. Step by step they gradually increased the comforts of their quarters. They speedily proceeded to make hammocks out of old ropes, binding twine, tattered scraps of sail and such material. These were then hung wherever there was room and thereby offered the possessors a refuge from the heavy rolling of the ship.

In the after storeroom were two small cabins under the deck which had been fitted out with sleeping accommodations, but were used by us as provision storerooms, as we could see that the innumerable cockroaches would make life unbearable. Way aft was still another small room which, from a sign over the door, we knew to be the navigation room. In this the petty officers quartered themselves.

On deck I found a small deck-house of two rooms, but only one bed. In one of these I lived; the other was shared by my two lieutenants. Finally, there was still another exceedingly small room that held a table and a couple of small benches. This we used as a messroom, as an office for the officer of the deck, as chart room, smoking room, lounging room, saloon, etc.

Several difficulties were found with the equipment on board. The canned provisions brought along from Keeling made very choice food, but the galley (that is, the ship's kitchen) was of course built to serve five men, and the dwarf stove therein was not of much use to us. Fresh water could not be used for cooking because it had to be conserved for drinking purposes only. We increased our capacity for cooking by tearing off promiscuously distributed pieces of sheet iron, laying them around the stove, and placing chunks of iron ballast, brought from the storeroom, on the sheet iron until we had a fire-proof foundation on which to start a fire. The men sat in circles holding their cooking utensils by the handles over the fire until the food was cooked. It was impossible to set a large pot over the fire because of the heavy rolling of the ship.

Cooking was done with salt water. The arrangements were placed entirely in the hands of the cook. The food aboard the Ayesha was not bad, consisting mainly of rice, fruit, ham, corned beef and such other provisions.

The question of drinking' water was more important. There were four small, iron, fresh-water tanks aboard, constructed for the supply of the aforementioned crew of live men. When prepar­ing the Ayesha for sea, we had no time to examine these carefully. We had to fill them as quickly as possible. Having used but from one tank, it was several days before we noticed that the other three tanks had become foul. The water was not drinkable. The assortment of Sellers water that was brought from Keeling was to be used only as a last resort, because I had to plan to abandon ship in the two Emden cutters which I still carried, in case of accident to the Ayesha, of whose seagoing qualities I had not as yet been thoroughly convinced. In such a case the only way to carry water would be in the Sellers bottles. We hoped at some future time to replenish our foul tanks with rain-water. And even this hope did not fail us. On the 13th of November, that is, four days out at sea, the first of the tropical rains came on. We had cleaned out our three bad tanks and rigged up an old sail as a rain sail. It was secured horizontally across the loading hatch. A hole was made in the middle of the sail and a man stood beneath the hole with a petroleum tin—that is, one of the con­tainers in which the Standard Oil Company ships its petroleum— and caught the water as it dripped down through the hole in the sail. The full tins were then passed down the line of men to the tanks. In addition the cabin roof was also rigged to catch the rain. On the sides were small rails and the water which gradually filled the roof ran down two small drainpipes into the petroleum tins that we had hung up beneath them. The rain-water was drinkable, especially when we added a little lime juice (lime juice is a sour-tasting essence). We found a few flasks of it (lime juice) among the provisions of the former captain.

As the tropical rains came almost regularly morning and even­ing from now on, we soon had our tanks full of water. Also all possible water-bearing receptacles and petroleum tins were filled with water. In other directions the rain also came in handy. As the sweet water had, of necessity, to be saved for drinking pur­poses, we were in a bad way about washing. Soap will not make a lather in salt water, nor does salt water alone make one clean. We used the showers, therefore, to give ourselves a good sousing and washing. They became regular shower baths. We closed up the scuppers with old rags and such to prevent the water from flowing overboard. The water accumulated on deck, and washing from side to side as the ship rolled, together with the constantly falling clean water from above, gave us the finest baths imaginable.

The Ayesha carried two small boats. One held barely two men while the other, a larger one, not more than three men. They swung in davits abreast the cabin. These boats were also used to gather water in that the hole in the bottom was carefully closed by the plug. Even though the water, caught by this method, was not drinkable as we had hoped, due to the strong salty taste, it was not too salty to be sued for washing purposes.

The crew was divided into two watches, the starboard and the port watch. Most of my men had naturally seen service on a sailing ship and were familiar with the duties and rigging, but the firemen had never been in a position to be detailed to duties aboard sail craft. I had, however, so many erstwhile fishermen and sailing ship seamen in my complement that I could handle the ship in safety. When it became necessary to use all hands on deck in order to carry out any evolution, there was much strength available.

The rigging gave us our next great care. A large part of the sails were old and weak, ripping constantly, so that we were for­ever busy with patching and mending. Often the shrouds themselves carried away. Therefore we had to watch the weather signs very carefully as we had no idea how much of a blow the masts would stand. Considered as a ship the Ayesha inspired little confidence. 'The captain’s words as he left the ship in Keeling, “The bottom is full of holes,” seemed to be correct. In the storerooms, as we scratched the planking with a knife, we dis­covered how decayed and rotten the wood was, so we quickly desisted front scratching for fear of sticking the tip of the blade into the Indian Ocean.

The first day we had a following sea and the Emden’s cutters towing at the end of a long line did some wild dancing; while doing this one of the cutters rammed the overhanging stern of the ship and carried away the so-called mirror. (Note: The mirror is that part of the stern where the name or coat-of-arms is attached.) One of these scuffles between the boat and the ship itself resulted to the disadvantage of the former. The bow of the boat struck the rotten wood of the mirror a powerful blow and broke a plank just above the water line. I was not, however, disposed to chance a repetition of such a catastrophe, so I cast the ill-behaved cutter adrift and kept but one, which deported itself in a more gentlemanly way. But this precaution was not effective very long. I do not know whether it was, or was not, due to the example set by his brother whom I cast adrift, but in one of the next few nights he also disappeared, taking with him a piece of my rail to which he had been secured. The place where the rail carried away (evidently pulled out a cleat) showed how decayed and rotten the wood was.

In the first days the Ayesha filled up with water. In a very short time we had so much in the ship that it covered the iron ballast on which the men were sleeping. While endeavoring to work the ship’s pump we discovered that it was broken. There was no piston packing. We took the pump apart, disconnected the pistons, and replaced the absent rubber packing with trouser rags soaked in fat, so that we could again start pumping out the ship. All in all the picture of the Ayesha classed as a seagoing ship was pretty sad. If we had had to receive a visitor at sea he would probably have been quite astounded at the paradise condition in which we were as regards clothing, for aside from the occasions on which the rainfall furnished us with baths, when we wore nothing at all, even at other times our clothing was quite scanty. Prior to landing at Keeling we dressed as lightly as possible, and I also directed that only the oldest clothes should be worn. Now, during the long continued sailing and due to the strenuous labor on hoard, the goods rapidly went to pieces. Means for bettering this condition were not at hand, as we had neither needles nor thread. True, we had brought along some old garments from the English at Keeling, but these served more ns amusements than as regular clothing. I had the impression that the average English­man was a tall and slender person. Whether that is true or not in Keeling I do not know, but these trousers came up to the calves of my men’s legs, while the blouses and jackets were sufficiently large for any two men,

IV. A Fine Day Abroad

About 6 a. m., at sunrise, the crew got up. Aboard men-of-war, reveille is usually sounded by seamen petty officers with pipes, so-called boatswain mates, who give three long, shrill whistles as a signal for all hands to turn out and lash hammocks. We tried the experiment of omitting this detail because we had but one boatswain’s mate aboard and we could not count on his being on watch daily at this time. The men slept close together packed like sardines; it therefore became necessary to awaken only one man in order to get them all up, as he disturbed his neighbor who in turn passed the disturbance on from man to man.

After rising, each man washed up, utilizing the rain-water in one of the small boats, left over from the previous night. When limes came when we could not wash we did not let that bother us; because our deportment otherwise harmonized with our condition, in that we of course had no tooth-brushes. Much attention was bestowed, however, on the hair which grew longer and longer. The single comb traveled from hand to hand, your neighbor acted as your mirror, and the water with which to wet your hair was very select salt water. For the “dandies we even had a shaving kit, the rusty razor carving up their faces in all sorts of ways.

Then we turned to on cleaning up the ship. With buckets we drew water from over the side and sprinkled the decks. One gang would turn to and pump out the water which had come in over­night. The old sailor men were examining the rigging to see what had again carried away, and then repaired it. The cook, with his chosen confidants, sat around the galley preparing break­fast. It usually consisted of rice with tea and coffee. Then there evidently seemed little more for the crew to do. Drills could not be held due to the lack of space. We sometimes passed the time away by instructing the staff-detailed men and the firemen in the secrets of steering, compasses, and the service, etc., of the rigging of a sailing ship. Frequently the men were shown the chart, the only one aboard, and the position of the ship explained to them. Plans were laid for the future.

Speaking of charts, we had, outside of the special chart of Batavia to which we would not go, one chart embracing half the world, made out on a ridiculously small scale. It reached from Hong Kong and Borneo in the East to Suez, Zanzibar and Mozambique in the West. The journey, some 700 sea-miles, to Padang where I wished to go, was, on this card, about as large as the breadth of your hand.

In the meantime it soon became noon and time for the noon meal. As we had not enough plates, forks, etc., to go around the crew had to eat by sections. The individual portions were dished out by the cook under the supervision of the petty officers. In addition to the food at noon, each man received a cup of coffee or tea. In order to break the monotony of a long after­noon, the meal was drawn out as long as possible and at its con­clusion we took a nap. The separation of officers and men as practiced on large ships was here naturally wholly out of the question. The deck space was merely sufficient to permit all hands to lie down comfortably on the main deck.

Soon they formed groups that favored certain places to loaf. There they sat or lay down, smoking or sleeping; or were consider­ing themselves fortunate to be in line waiting for their turn to use one of the few decks of cards that we succeeded in digging up in Keeling. Others turned to fishing. All along the rail hung fishing lines lying in wait for the fish. To the best of my knowledge we did not catch a single one. Should that be blamed on the fact that fish do not bite on rice, our only bait? Many times were the old reminiscences retold, while picture puzzles, number tricks and foolish questions made their regular rounds.

In the evenings after supper, when the sun had set, the men would gather up forward and sing. As we had some good singers, the chords of the quartets were right musical, and, as usual when the Germans are in a good mood, “Loreley” and such other tragic songs are the favorites. In passing, I will not say that “Puppchen” (Doll) and “Das Lied von der Reeperbahn” (The Song of the Ropewalk) were forgotten.

We did not set a definite time for turning in. Each turned in when he pleased and the men on watch, that is, the lookout for­ward and the helmsman aft, saw to it themselves that they were properly relieved on time, we carried no lights at night. We had very little petroleum aboard, and the two petroleum lamps ready at hand made more smoke than light.

V. A Restless Day

But not all days passed by as comfortably as the one previously described. Frequently we battled with storms and rain squalls particularly was this true each morning and evening. Although the bad weather was pleasant in that it provided us with water, it nevertheless worried us because of the danger to ship and rigging. Luckily the storms and squalls can be seen, in the tropics, a long distance off and their approach can he clearly gauged.

On the horizon could be seen irregular, individual black clouds, and the rain could be seen as long and wide dark stripes. As the clouds floated higher, the rain would draw distinctly' closer. When the storm approached within about a thousand meters, the sails were reefed as much as necessary and the storm ridden out. We lay this way close-reefed, only sufficient small sails set to keep her head into the wind, until the storm passed by, accompanied by such a heavy downpour that it was impossible to see anything but the closest objects.

One day we had a particularly heavy storm. The clouds flew so low that it almost seemed possible to reach up into them. The wind came up-as we supposed, and, as we set to work to shorten sail, the squall struck us. It took the mizzen topsail and whipped it madly through the air a few times.

The men on deck could not hold on; the sail flew over the miz­zen gaff, held fast there, and finally tore and remained hanging. Repairs were impossible, due to the heavy rolling of the ship. The whipping sail endangered the whole top, especially the top­mast, that is, the thin upper part of the mast, which is very poorly supported. It went through some hair-raising gyrations. It hap­pened in the heaviest part of the squall when everybody had his hands full tending the other sails. Finally we managed to get in all sail except a few small rags that had to be set to keep headway or steerageway on the ship.

The clouds were so thick that it grew dark as night. Ear­splitting, shrill lightning flashes and heavy thunder followed. They were so near and so bright that they blinded one, making it impossible to see for a few seconds.

The heavy wind finally left the storm center and it became per­fectly calm in the air. Hut the sea and swell kept running. When the masts lost the steady pressure of the wind she pitched about so wildly that we were afraid the masts would go by the board without our being able to do anything to prevent it. The air was charged with electricity, and St. Elmo’s fire burned a foot high at each mast head.

Gradually the storm passed by. After several short but strong puffs of another squall, quiet weather set in and only the distant visible signs reminded us of the several bad hours we had recently passed through. Quickly we set all sail and proceeded. Soon thereafter a steady wind set in again.

At those times when there was absolutely no wind, the heavy swell of the high seas caused extraordinarily heavy pitching and rolling. The sails by now had very little support left, and as the yards and booms swung across the ship from side to side the masts and the whole ship trembled. On those occasions we were there­fore forced to secure all sails and gear so as to prevent damage to the ship and its rigging.

Life on board was, therefore, because of the jerky motion, very uncomfortable and tiresome, for one had to stand holding on securely with both hands, or else wedge himself in some safe corner, in order to live. Also at these times we had to secure all sail.

One day while so disposed and while attempting to prevent our souls from jumping out of our bodies, a smoke cloud was reported on the port hand. As we were well off the beaten steamer tracks it could only mean that it was a ship likewise avoiding the regular steamer paths. Then we thought that it might be either the Exford or the Buresk, the colliers which the Emden had left at certain localities before the Keeling engage­ment, and that these colliers, not having heard further from the Emden, were also seeking to reach Padang and receive further information. Again, it might be some enemy cruiser which had been to Keeling, heard of our departure, and was now seeking us.

Now, when leaving Keeling, we had only three courses open to us: to Batavia, to Padang, or to Africa. The most evident (to the enemy) was either Batavia or Padang. For a fast cruiser it would be an easy matter to search both tracks because he could, while we were delayed by weather, have laid down on the chart our probable courses and guessed at where we would most prob­ably have arrived at a certain time.

All signs were investigated in endeavoring to determine the character of the ship. From the masthead we could see only the smoke. Any attempt to evade her with the Ayesha was impos­sible, as, without wind, we had no motive power, after several uncomfortable hours the smoke cloud disappeared.

Meantime the evening breezes came up, and with them the usual rain showers. To-day we received an unusual surprise. We found ourselves in the neighborhood where the southeast and northwest monsoons meet and fight for supremacy. Every instant the wind shifted. Soon a squall blew up from forward, and then came another from aft—a circumstance that called for the most delicate and special skill in the handling of the sails. We had practiced the shifting of sail several times before, but we were now given a job in which at first we had no idea what should be done. A heavy rain cloud from forward (to the northward) approached the ship simultaneously with one from aft (to the southward). Evi­dently we had to set the foresails for the storm from forward, and the sails aft in such a way as to ride out the storm approaching from the south. The two showers that accompanied the storms could not have been excelled by the shifting shower baths of the most modern sanatorium. The northern storm brought water that was so icy cold that the majority of us withdrew below deck: a moment later, the southern storm showered us with tepid, warm water.