Everybody laughed. I went out and changed into my naval uniform as quickly as I could. When I returned, I asked one of the other officers to present me to the blonde young lady. I have never felt so bashful as when I made my bow before her. She was much amused at having taken me for a genuine Indian fakir, and talked merrily. Her laughter was very sweet. She told me her name was Irma. Her father owned great plantations on the island of Sumatra. She was with him at Fuerteventura on a sojourn for his health. The remainder of my stay on the island was perfect happiness. Irma's father entertained us officers at his bungalow. Irma and I were together all of the time. We took long walks among the white houses and through the green glades the sight of which had so gladdened poor Phelax long years before. When the _Panther_ steamed north again, I was happy with the assurance that Irma had given me that she and her father were sailing for home in a short time and that I would see her there. I did see her there, and we became engaged to be married. The _Panther_ was to sail for the Cameroons again on July 17th. We were ready to start when we received an unexpected telegram from the Admiralty--"Do not start." On August 1st, Germany declared war on Russia, and the world was ablaze. I told Irma that our marriage must be put off. It would be wrong to have her become the wife of a man who might so soon leave her a widow. She wanted an immediate marriage, but I was determined. XII FAKE NORWEGIANS FOR A PIRATE CRUISE It was in a gay café in Hamburg. In 1916, war times were growing hard in Germany, but still the cafés were astir with life and gaiety. A naval officer on shore leave could soon find surroundings that would enable him to forget the harsh life on dreadnaught and cruiser. My friend Dalstroem and I, over glasses of Swedish punch, chatted for an hour and then another hour. But our confab had nothing to do either with battle cruisers going down or with destroyers lifted out of the sea by exploding torpedoes, or the other sights I had beheld off Skagerrak. We talked of sailing ships, by Joe, and of the years I had served before the mast. An orderly wedged his way through the crowd and handed me a message. It was from the Admiralty, ordering me to report at Imperial headquarters on the morrow. Such a summons to a mere lieutenant commander was decidedly unusual, and of course I was itching with curiosity. I never was any good at waiting. The following morning found me in Berlin, entering the naval holy of holies, standing expectantly at attention before an old German sea lord with a face as stern as the cliffs at Heligoland. The orders I had come to hear were barked at me quick and short. "You are to take command of a vessel," said the admiral. "We want you to run the blockade and raid enemy commerce. Since we have no coaling stations, a sailing ship will be the best. Do you think you can do it?"