THROUGH A SEA OF FLOATING BRIMSTONE TO FIJI At Rarotonga, another island of the Cook group, we had a fright. By Joe, we were scared. It was night. We suddenly saw, right before us, in the shadow of the shore, a big steamer. She had no lights. She must be an auxiliary cruiser. Hard on the helm and every stitch of canvas up. We turned and sailed the other way as fast as the wind would carry us. We expected every moment to be spotted by their lookout and then see the ghostlike searchlight beam fingering toward us through the dark. "Our luck is with us," I said to Leudemann, when finally we were far enough out at sea to consider ourselves past danger. Months later, while discussing our adventures with a group of ship's officers, I was told by one of them that the supposed auxiliary cruiser that had frightened us at Rarotonga was really nothing more than a wreck. Several months before our approach to the island, a steamer had gone aground on a reef just offshore, and had been abandoned. The position of the wreck was such that at night it might readily be taken for a ship lying at anchor. But we had decided when we got well away from Rarotonga that the Cook group of islands was no place for us. At Atiu we had found no ship to capture. At Aitutaki no ship either, only a lot of trouble, including the misfortune of being recognized as Germans. And now at Rarotonga we had nearly sailed into what we supposed to be an auxiliary cruiser in the dark. "By Joe," I said to the boys, "we'd better clear out of here and try our luck in other waters." "Aye, but where? The Fijis?" "The Fijis," I responded. "We'll find plenty of ships there."