Then I would step forward, throw open my greatcoat, and present myself as the skipper of a wind jammer suddenly metamorphosed into the commander of an auxiliary cruiser. I had carefully arranged all this because I knew full well that British naval men will put up a stiff fight even with all odds against them. Most naval men will. Of course, it would be easy to overpower a prize crew of only six or seven men, but I wanted to avoid spilling any blood. It is better sport to capture men than to take their lives. The Allies were calling us Huns, and I for one wanted to show the world how wrong they were. And now, by Joe, suppose a British cruiser seized us and then we seized the British prize crew. Then supposing another cruiser should pick us up! We might have to do a bit of fighting, maybe take to the boats with our prisoners, and then sink our own ship. So we prepared for this by placing bombs where they could be touched off at a moment's notice. We had no intention of letting our raider fall into enemy hands. I felt that it was so important to keep all of our plans secret that I even fooled the workmen who were altering the ship. Had they known what we were up to, the rumour might have gotten out. There were spies everywhere. You must admire the British. They had a great espionage system, and they paid their spies well. We Germans were stingy. Bah! That was one reason we bungled. So I told everyone, including the foremen, that the _Pass of Balmaha_ was being transformed into an up-to-date training ship, to be used in training mechanics' apprentices who later on were to run motors on submarines and zeppelins. That alibi was to explain our two motors. The war had shown that German cabin boys were deficient in knowledge of nautical rigging. So I also announced that one purpose of this sailing ship was to give them a chance to learn a little about handling sails. As to the accommodations in the hold for prisoners, and the bunks for our big crew, I explained that these were to be for apprentices and cabin boys. I even put up signs marking off one part of the ship "for 150 cabin boys," another "for 80 Apprentices," and so on. It would have looked suspicious for a naval officer to be directing work of this kind with such infinite pains, so at the ship yards I posed as Herr von Eckmann, Inspector for the Naval Ministry. An old retired captain of the Ship Inspection Service happened to be stopping in the same hotel. His love for his old profession caused him to take a most embarrassing interest in my work. One day, he met a bona-fide ship inspector and asked him whether he knew me. "Von Eckmann? Let's see, I know everybody in the service. There is no Von Eckmann on the roster." "Then," blurted out the old captain, "he must be a spy. I always said he had a typically English face. I'll watch him."