The resident began by saying to us that we would no doubt be delighted to meet a fellow countryman of ours. This "countryman" turned out to be a Norwegian carpenter. We surmised at once that he had been instructed by the resident to talk with us and see whether we were really Norwegians. My Norwegian was bad, but Kircheiss spoke the language like a native. I kept severely out of the way, and let Kircheiss have a long, friendly talk with the carpenter. Kircheiss convinced his man that he was as Norse as the Vikings. The carpenter was delighted to meet a fellow countryman so jovial and, as Kircheiss represented, so wealthy. He promptly reported to the resident that we were the truest Norsemen alive and could in no wise be Germans. --------------------------------------------------------------------- [Illustration: Alfred Kling, second officer of the _Seeadler_, was left in command at Mopelia. A passing French schooner, the _Lutece_, saw the wreck, came near to investigate, and was captured. Then Kling and his companions re-named the schooner the _Fortuna_ and set sail for Easter Island.] --------------------------------------------------------------------- --------------------------------------------------------------------- [Illustration: German prisoners in the internment camp on the little island in Hauraki Gulf. The New Zealand prison camp motor launch in which the Count made his getaway.] --------------------------------------------------------------------- The resident, with his inscrutable President Wilson face, invited me to his house for dinner. I accepted. A British merchant named Low invited my lieutenant to his house. We suspected it was a dodge to separate us. Seemingly, the Norwegian's assurance had not fully allayed the mistrust of these uneasy Britons. Kircheiss and I made every excuse we could to keep together, but the hospitality was so pressing that we could not refuse any longer without practically giving ourselves away. "Even if we are apart," I said to Kircheiss on the side, "we have our pistols and hand grenades, by Joe. We will keep our eyes open, and we can take care of ourselves single-handed. If anything looks wrong, we will fight our way to the boat." At the resident's house, a fine stone structure, I had a much-needed bath and shave. When I rejoined him, the resident studied my smooth jaws. "Why," he exclaimed, "you are shaved." "Yes, thanks to you, and I feel a hundred per cent. better." "But one doesn't shave on a sporting trip, does one?" He did not believe in anything, that Englishman. He was a true sceptic. We dined pleasantly enough. The resident talked a lot, although he did not seem to be naturally a talkative kind. He asked me many questions, which I answered cautiously. A native servant brought him a note, and he scribbled a note in return. After a few minutes, the servant brought him another message, and again he answered it. This happened several times.