On January 8th, when the two ships stopped, the Captain went on to the Wolf and brought back with him charts of the North Atlantic and North Sea.  We wondered if this would be his farewell visit to and our farewell acquaintance with the Wolf, but we remained in company of the Wolf for the next few days, and at 7 p.m. on the 10th she again came alongside in the open sea and coaled from us till 4 p.m. on the next day.  Conditions were slightly better than on the previous occasion, and the Commander of the Wolf was evidently of opinion that they would never again be more favourable, but they were still quite sufficiently unpleasant.  More fenders were lost and the Wolf was further damaged, and this time our ship also sustained some damage.  Some of her plates had been badly dented and she was leaking about a ton and a half an hour.  The great uproar caused by the winches going all night, the periodic emptying of ashes dragged in iron buckets over the iron decks, the shifting of coal from the bunkers immediately underneath our cabins, and the constant bumping of the ships made sleep quite out of the question once more, and we were very glad indeed when the Wolf sheered off.  On this occasion the way in which she came alongside and sheered off was a beautiful piece of seamanship.  Not many landsmen, I imagine, have seen this done in absolutely mid-ocean, and not many have been on a ship so lashed alongside another.  It was a wonderful experience—­would that some friendly hydroplane had seen us from aloft!  The two ships lashed together would certainly have presented a strange scene, and could have meant only one thing—­a raider and her prize.

On the 11th we again saw and spoke to our Hitachi friends on the Wolf—­the last opportunity we had of speaking to them.  They all looked well, but thin.  They told us they had been informed that we were going to Spain, and that the Wolf with them on board was not going to Germany.  Some of them believed this, and were comparatively joyful in consequence.  But it was only another case of German lies.  On the next day we crossed the Equator, and then for some days we saw the Wolf no more.

About this time I experienced a little trouble with one of the German sailors.  Most of them were courteous and kindly disposed, but one, a boorish, loutish bully, who served us with drinks at table, was a painful exception to this.  His name was Fuchs:  we sometimes called him Luchs, by mistake, of course!  But Fuchs did not think so—­he strongly objected to the other name!  He had only one eye, and a black shade where the other one should have been.  To train his moustache to resemble that of the All-Highest, he wore some apparatus plastered over it, reaching nearly to his eyes and secured behind his ears, so that his appearance was the reverse of prepossessing!  I complained to him once about not serving me properly.  He waited outside the