oot in their cabins, nor
took charge of them. The officers often acted on their own initiative
and signaled to us the nature of their cargo; then the Commandant
decided as to whether to sink the ship or take it with us. Of the cargo,
we always took everything we could use, particularly provisions. Many of
the English officers and sailors made good use of the hours of transfer
to drink up the supply of whisky instead of sacrificing it to the waves.
I heard that one Captain was lying in tears at the enforced separation
from his beloved ship, but on investigation found that he was merely
dead drunk. But much worse was the open betrayal which many practiced
toward their brother Captains, whom they probably regarded as rivals.
'Haven't you met the _Kilo_ yet? If you keep on your course two hours
longer, you must overhaul her,' one Captain said to me of his own
accord. To other tips from other Captains we owed many of our prizes. I
am prepared to give their names," Captain Muecke added.

"The Captain of one ship once called out cheerily: 'Thank God I've been
captured!' He had received expense money for the trip to Australia, and
was now saved half the journey!

[Sidenote: The process of sinking.]

"We had mostly quiet weather, so that communication with captured ships
was easy. They were mostly dynamited, or else shot close to the water
line. The sinking process took longer or shorter, according to where
they were struck and the nature of the cargo. Mostly the ships keeled
over on their sides till the water flowed down the smokestacks, a last
puff of smoke came out, and then they were gone. Many, however, went
down sharply bow first, the stern rising high in the air.

[Sidenote: The _Kabinga_.]

"On the _Kabinga_ the Captain had his wife and youngster with him. He
was inclined at first to be disagreeable. 'What are you going to do
with us? Shall we be set out in boats and left to our fate?' he asked.
Afterward he grew confidential, like all the Captains, called us 'Old
Chap,' gave the Lieutenant a nice new oilskin, and as we finally let the
_Kabinga_ go wrote us a letter of thanks, and his wife asked for an
Emden armband and a button. They all gave us three cheers as they
steamed away. 'Come to Calcutta some time!' was the last thing the
Captain said, 'and catch the pilots so that those [unprintable seaman's
epithet] fellows will feel something of the war, too.'

"A few days later, by Calcutta, we made one of our riches