As I explained, my plan was to slip through the British blockade as a neutral and if possible disguised as some other ship that actually existed. There happened to be a Norwegian vessel that was almost a dead ringer for the _Pass of Balmaha_. She was scheduled to sail from Copenhagen. I decided that we would take her name, and sail the day before she sailed, so that if the British caught us and wirelessed to Copenhagen to confirm our story they would receive word that such a craft had left port at the time we claimed. This other ship was named the _Maleta_. For some time she had been discharging grain from the Argentine. From Denmark she was to proceed to Christiania and there pick up a cargo. Why not a cargo of lumber for Melbourne? I went to Copenhagen, donned old clothes, and got a job as a dock walloper on the pier where the real _Maleta_ was moored. That enabled me to study her. There was one thing that promised to be difficult to counterfeit. That was the log book. This precious volume contained the life history of the _Maleta_, when she left the Argentine, what kind of cargo she carried, what course she steered, the wind, the weather, observations of sun and stars, etc., etc. That log book must be in the captain's cabin and I must have it. But a watchman was stationed aft, so how could it be done? I discovered that the captain and both mates were still in Norway with their families. So it would be some days before the loss of the book would be noticed--if I got it. So one night, in the uniform of a customs inspector, I stole aboard the _Maleta_. The watchman, as usual, was sitting near the captain's cabin. The ship was moored to the pier with ropes fore and aft. Stealthily I tiptoed to the bow and cut the ropes, not quite through but almost. A stiff wind was blowing. The ropes cracked and broke. The ship swung around. The watchman ran forward shouting, and at the same moment I ran aft. Fumbling around the captain's cabin I at first failed to locate the log. Finally, I discovered it under the skipper's mattress. Shoving it beneath my belt, I slipped out. On board now, and also on the pier, half a dozen men were shouting and throwing ropes to haul her back so she wouldn't side-swipe a near-by ship. I joined in the shouting, pretended to help them for a minute, then clambered on to the dock and hurried off in the dark.