In the early morning of April 17 I was suddenly awakened by a "bang."

It seemed as though a huge wave slapped the ship and dashed over the deck.

What could it be? I could not look out as the glass in the porthole of our cabin had been painted. The sea seemed to be calm. No, it could not be a wave.

With such thoughts flashing through my mind, I arose.

"Wham---Bang!"

Overhead and toward the front of the ship I heard things crashing and falling. Now it dawned on me what all the confusion was about. Our ship was being shelled.

One of my two cabin mates had arisen very early that morning. He came rushing in, and we asked him what was happening.

His answer was, "A raider!"

A moment later we heard another "Wham---Bang."

Now the light in our cabin became quite dim, and for a few moments it seemed as though we were doomed to go down in darkness. There was no time to lose.

The other cabin mate and I dressed hurriedly. As we stepped out of the cabin we saw two of our neighbors lying helpless at the foot of the near-by stairway. We paused to see if we could help and found that the two wounded men were being cared for by their companions. The long, narrow corridor was full of frightened passengers trying to get out, but there was no panic. As we were slowly working our way out of the place, we were relieved to observe that the shelling had ceased.

When we finally reached the open space on our deck, near the rear hatch, we could distinguish the dark form of a ship in the distance. Signal lights were flashing from it.

Our lifeboat station was on the deck above, so we had to climb a narrow and steep outside stairway. Many were trying to get up this stairway, so we made very slow progress, but at last we reached the upper deck. As we approached our station we saw the Egyptians lowering the boat from the boatdeck above. When it reached the level of our deck the women and children were helped into it, among them Mrs. Danielson and her children. Two of the boats on our side of the ship had been destroyed by the shelling, so there was considerable crowding at our station. When the boat had been filled to its capacity the sailors shouted, "No more, no more!" And we were lowered to the water.

As soon as the ropes that held our boat were unloosed we noticed that it was taking water. The seamen were asked to refasten the ropes, but they insisted that we would be able to bail out the water.

The oars were worked and we moved toward the stern of the sinking Zamzam.

In a few minutes we were up to our knees in water, and it was evident that our boat had been very badly damaged. It was impossible to bail out the water fast enough. In the excitement there was some shifting of positions in the boat, and suddenly it turned over! How thankful we were to the Ruler of wind and wave that the sea was calm!

As the boat turned over some of its occupants were thrown some distance. As I was one of the last to enter the boat I was near the rudder and so just slipped into the water. At no time did I go under.

I do not swim, and so I was very grateful for the support of my life preserver and an oar which floated within my reach. I soon managed to get near enough to the overturned boat to grasp one of the rope loops on its side.

As soon as I felt myself anchored in this way to the boat I thought of Mrs. Danielson and her children. What a relief it was to see them near by, all still afloat! But how long could they stay above water?

As I saw that brave mother with her youngest gripped in the crook of her left arm, my soul cried out to Almighty God for help. And I also pleaded with the Egyptian seamen, who had managed to crawl up on the overturned boat, and now sat there with uplifted arms calling on Allah, to lower their hands and try to reach the children and draw them out of the water. They did succeed in reaching some of the children, thank God!

"What next?" was the question in our minds, as we managed to close in around our overturned lifeboat. How long could we hold out, floating about in the ocean?

As we looked in the direction of the raider, we observed that it was slowly moving toward us. It also seemed as though we were drifting toward the approaching warship. After a while we found ourselves right at its side, and were in danger of being caught in its propellers.

Thank God, the German sailors were trying to reach us with ropes. After several efforts we managed to hold fast to their ropes and as soon as the raider's lifeboats could be lowered they came to our rescue. How wonderful it seemed to feel strong arms draw us out of the water!

Thank God, our feet had found a footing again!

The small children were lifted up to the ship's deck in a rope basket. The older children and the grownups climbed up on a rope ladder. The occupants of our boat were the first to reach the raider's deck.

As we stood there watching our fellow passengers and the crew members one after the other arriving on the deck, our hearts sang praises to God for His deliverance. Surely, He had been very near, "a very present help," as we passed through the waters that morning. Had He not intervened in our behalf? The very hands that but a little while ago were wielding those terrible instruments of destruction were now efficiently ministering to our needs.

"With courage, strength and hope renewed" we beheld His glorious sun rising in the direction of the great Dark Continent. In the western sky we beheld a glorious bow, arching the sky.

You have heard of the sad fate of the Zamzam, the holy ship, "the ship that could never sink," but I will tell you my own story of the disaster.

It was just at dawn on the morning of April 17 that we were shocked from our sleep by a violent blow that struck broadside on the Zamzam. It fell like a bolt from a giant hand. The boat shook from one end to the other. I knew at once what it meant. The enemy had attacked! The end had come! We sprang from our beds and began to work as if our actions had been preplanned. The shells pounded at short, irregular intervals. No one spoke. We prayed silently.

It is at times like this that one learns what is really important. Now I knew it was not necessary to try to save anything. Now only the riches one had in heaven made any difference. It was not necessary to try to dress. Now only the Lord's robe of righteousness was really important.

We just stepped into the shoes beside the bed, slipped on warm coats and tied on our lifebelts as we hurried from the cabin. Another shell! We started for the lifeboats, not that we expected to be saved, but only that we might be obedient and faithful to the end. People in various stages of dress rushed through the corridor. All were mute and silent. Another blow! Esther fell! She was white, but not hurt! We helped her up and rushed to the corridor leading to the lifeboat. It was filled with people, tense and still.

Someone at the door took command shouting, "Do not leave the corridor until the shelling stops! Get down on the floor and fortify yourselves for the next blow!" We did. It came soon. It was hard to tell which was the harder to bear, the tense minutes between the blows or the falling of the shells themselves.

There was no hysteria. A churchly hush filled the room. We were waiting for death. People prayed softly. We searched our hearts for unconfessed sin and gave thanks for the blood of Jesus that can cleanse from all unrighteousness, for we most truly believed we were soon to close our eyes upon this world and to open them in His eternal kingdom.

At last, there came a long silence. We waited. Could it be that after all the effort they had made to sink our boat and take our lives, that now they had ceased to fire and there was yet a chance for our safety. It seemed impossible! The silence continued. Now the same voice commanded again, "Everyone to your lifeboats!" We moved quickly to our places.

Now came hysteria. The entire crew of the Zamzam were Egyptians. Mohammedans they were. They, too, believed that death was real, and death was near, and they did not have that hope which is "built on nothing less than Jesus' blood and righteousness." And what a difference that makes! They worked excitedly with the ropes, shouting wildly as they worked, and somehow it seemed the ropes would not do what they had planned. And well they might be excited, for one lifeboat was entirely destroyed and two others were filled with holes. At last the boat was down, and we began to fill it. When only half the passengers had taken their places, the excited crew cut loose and began to row away from the badly crippled boat. No sooner had we started than a distressed father and mother began to plead with the crew to return for their child who had been left on the slowly sinking boat, but in vain. The Egyptians could not understand the pleading, and were too excited to return if they had. I shall never forget the look of anguish on the faces of the father and mother as they prayed, commending their little one to God's care and keeping, as we rowed farther and farther away from the boat.

Just then I looked behind to see one of the lifeboats pour its human cargo out into the shark-infested sea. The sight of those heads bobbing up and down in the water so sickened me that I could not look again. I turned my back upon the scene and looked out upon a beautiful morning. The sea was calm and smooth and beautiful and blue. The sun was just beginning to rise and the heavens overhead were spanned by a beautiful rainbow. Truly the Man of Galilee was present there that day, proving Himself according to His promise, "A refuge and a strength and a very present help in time of trouble."

I looked up now and for the first time I could see our enemy, a German surface raider, a sinister gray monster. The decks were lined with sailors. The Nazi flag fluttered defiantly in the breeze. As I watched them moving swiftly down upon us, I wondered, "Have they come nearer that they may complete their destruction, or will they rescue us?"

We soon found out, for a man with a megaphone stepped to the rail and called, "Draw alongside and come on board."

We had heard what was the fate of those who fell into enemy hands, but there was no alternative. We must go on board! We soon found ourselves climbing up the side of the vessel that only a few short minutes before had been pouring death and destruction upon us. What would our fate be once we had reached the top?

I had just awakened, and lay in bed musing: "This is the seventeenth of April, only four more days to Capetown, and letters from our daddy!"

Oh, what a crash! Was it thunder, or what?

I rushed to the open door of the deck, and looked out to see if a storm were approaching, and surely enough the very stormclouds of Hitler loomed ominously near only a few miles distant in the form of a raider. Another terrific bang! I saw the fire spurt, and felt the reverberations above us.

My little ones, sleeping in the next cabin, came running in with: "Mommy, what is it? What shall we do?"

I answered, "An enemy boat is firing at us. You little children try to be brave in Jesus. Help get your lifebelts on tight. Hurry!"

Survivor-ladened lifeboat pulls away from the doomed ship. Photo by Life magazine.	Boatload of survivors pulls out to sea. Photo by Life magazine.

There were more terrific explosions, above us, below us, to the sides of us, the whole ship shuddered from the onslaught. Another bang right above our room. Clatter! Clatter! Water pitchers, tumblers, mirrors above the lavatories cracked and fell to the floor. The lights waned, the blackouts were still on, the ship listed, the bullets whizzed. We heard moaning of wounded passengers in the distance. It was gruesome, the terrific noise from without, the frightened smallest trio crying within, objecting strenuously to those bumpy life jackets tied around their chests.

If I ever wished our daddy were there to help during our trip it was this morn, but he was thousands of miles away. Our heavenly Father was present though in a very real way, and when I almost despaired: "It's no use! We're lost!" God just steeled me anew, turned my face up into His, gave me the needed strength and led us each step of the way.

Just then the assistant purser came running into our room, blood on his cheek near his eye.

"Can you get out of here?" he asked.

"Yes. We're almost ready, but I've heard no signal. We'll manage all right."

Then commending ourselves to God, and praying an immeasurable faith for our daddy whatever happened to us that morning, we hurried to our lifeboat station.

Reaching our lifeboat I remembered the necessary sunhelmets and my purse with the passport, and I darted back to get them, but I had only gone a few yards when six frantic little voices pleaded: "Mommy, don't go back! You'll be left! Come!"

That was too much, and I rejoined them. Maybe we would need no passport except to the heavenly shore and Jesus had already granted it. We crawled over the railing into the lifeboat, and slowly it was lowered by unwinding a pole. When almost down to the water, the rope slipped and hit me on the head. How our Father protected me that I was not stunned and rendered helpless for the next half-hour's adventure, even if two bumps soon raised on my head! A couple of belated passengers came down the rope ladder, and we pushed out from the Zamzam. But, oh! our lifeboat had no doubt been hit by shrapnel. It was like a sieve. We tried to attract the attention of folks still on the Zamzam, but they were rushing to the lifeboat stations on the opposite side. No one saw our plight.

We drifted just past the stern of the boat a short distance when one man called out, "We're sunk, that's all."

With one more look full into the face of Jesus, with a "Thy will be done," I clasped Lois Christine, our baby, more firmly in my left arm, grabbed Wilfred's hand with my right, called to Laurence to try to watch Luella, and then with "Keep praying in your hearts, my little ones, Jesus loves you all. We're safe in Him whatever happens," we all went into the deep as the boat just went out from under us since it had filled completely. What a feeling! To go down into the shadow of the valley of death with these six treasures! But Jesus went with us all the way! In our spirits we were able to sing:

"In the tempests of life, on its wide, heaving sea,
Thou blest Rock of Ages, I'm hiding in Thee."

Believers and unbelievers, and "from the cradle to the grave" passengers floated along together. Even the lifeboat now bobbed up, bottom side up, and before long Luella and Wilfred were hoisted on top of it, guarded by Ali, an Egyptian. Everyone in our group of some thirty-five stayed in a nucleus by the lifeboat. Some held on to its edges, and bobbed up and down with it in the billows. Fellow passengers were kind to me. One man pushed an oar under my arm for me to rest upon occasionally as my love burden grew heavier.

The men motioned the raider for help, but one of our group said: "They won't help a feller after all this."

To my surprise I saw the raider make toward us, and a motor launch was lowered over its side. But alas! They made for the other capsized lifeboat.

"What! no help for us yet? How much longer can we hold out?"

Now a second motor launch was lowered over the side of the raider and came in our direction. Soon it arrived. The little children were put in first, then women and men clambered into the launch. Chug, chug! We were on our way to the raider. We stopped just below the big rope ladder dangling over the side of the Tamesis.

Guards came down to help the children and women up. Once on the top deck, a German officer took off our soaked life belts, and turning to me said: "Follow me into a warm room."

I replied: "I can't until all my children are safe."

He looked at the four children near by who called me Mother and asked: "Mein Gott! One, two, three, four. Are there more?" It seemed his voice had a sense of guilt and sympathy for having helped to plunge us into this fate.

Now some familiar voices from below in the launch called out: "They're coming up, Mrs. Danielson," and just then a straw basket bag was hoisted over the railing and placed at my feet. I peeped inside and there with outstretched arms and "Mommy" on her lips, those big brown eyes of Lois Christine pleaded I take her.

Another basket came over the edge and in it sat Wilfred, drenched like a kitten, shivering and blue, but a big smile stole across his face as he saw that he was up high and safe, out of the big "pond." When my big son had come up, a young German marine, just twenty, had said: "We didn't want to do it, my boy, but it was orders." Already Sonny felt a touch of humanity in the youth, forced to serve against the dictates of his heart.

We were led to a warm cabin. The children's wet clothing was removed, and they huddled three or four into a bed under warm blankets, munching some chocolates and cookies the guards had given them. Having seen them safely to bed, my strength was spent. I just dropped on my knees there beside their bed, and thanked God for saving us, for truly without Him that morning we would have perished. A German guard soon gently touched me on the shoulder as I knelt there sobbing in prayer, and showed me a chair. He did not understand that I had now found real rest for my soul after that awful experience, the glorious experience of proving Jesus true to the end. I looked at my six priceless jewels and how rich I felt! The earthly values I had left on the Zamzam were nothing compared to the riches God saved for Daddy and myself in our little ones.

God drew us all nearer Himself that early April dawn, and the covenant of His love, a most gorgeous rainbow, stretched across the sky just beyond the Tamesis. How we thank and praise the Holy Triune for that "Rainbow Dawn." May it truly be said of us:

"Saved to serve."

Small children were hoisted aboard the German raider by means of baskets at the end of long ropes. Older children and adults had to climb aboard up rope ladders. A few women as well as most of the wounded persons had to be helped aboard, some of the latter in tight-laced stretchers.

The women and children were taken aboard first and with the exception of a few of the older children were sent below deck at once. The men were permitted to walk about in a small restricted portion of the ship, where we were soon called upon to line up to register our names and citizenship and the name of our nearest kin not on the ship, and to surrender our passports, money, flashlights, large knives, cameras, field glasses, compasses, matches, and revealing papers, if we had any.

About midafternoon the women and children began to appear on the deck and the men were ordered below for breakfast and lunch combined in one meal of a thick stew of rice and vegetables, tea without sugar or milk, and buttered coarse dark brown bread. The women and children had already partaken of a somewhat similar repast, except that they received white bread.

After finishing this meal we were all allowed up on deck again, where those who had been in the water had an opportunity to dry their wet clothes, mostly without removing them from their bodies. Meanwhile launches from the German ship continued to make trip after trip to the Zamzam, first bringing loose clothing, afterward suitcases, trunks, typewriters, and other baggage which the sailors found in the staterooms and cabins of the passengers and officers. They brought aboard also a large amount of the ship's supplies, such as food, cigarettes, soap, and other goods. As we saw some of our belongings brought aboard we felt greatly cheered by the prospect of receiving them back again.

I offered my services to the German officers to go aboard the Zamzam to help fetch my own and others' belongings, but my offer was politely rejected with the statement that the German sailors would make a thorough search of every cabin, and bring aboard the Tamesis all that they found. Whether they actually did this we do not know, but many of the passengers received only a small portion of their belongings back again when later on the contents of the various cabins were ostensibly restored to their rightful owners. Some received nothing. When we inquired about personal effects that we had actually seen brought aboard the raider, we were told that the matter would be investigated. Possibly it was, but we never received our belongings notwithstanding. Apparently nothing was removed from the holds of the Zamzam.

About 2:30 P.M. we were informed that the transfer had been completed and that the Zamzam was about to be sunk. Mr. David E. Scherman, staff photographer of Life magazine, and I applied for and received permission from the captain to have our cameras again and photograph the obsequies. I took movies and between us we took many still snaps of the ship as it went down. Later the Germans confiscated these as well as many other photographs which we took.

A single launch containing several German sailors was seen to pull away from the doomed ship and retire to a safe distance.

A few minutes later a deep, heavy boom from within the Zamzam announced that the first time bomb had exploded. Every survivor's heart was tense with emotion as we stood at the rail of the Tamesis and watched the tragedy.

In a few moments a second explosion, much louder than the first, sent a large column of water into the air from the forward hatch, and the bow of the ship began to settle.

A third blast about three minutes later caused a smaller column of water to rise out of the rear hatch and made the ship list so sharply to port that we expected it to roll over. The bow started to disappear first.

A dull explosion amidship, possibly from the boilers which by this time were almost cooled off, hastened the sinking. The funnel broke off as it began to submerge.

Probably about ten minutes after the first internal explosion the Zamzam disappeared from view, churning the surface of the sea that claimed it, and leaving only scattered wreckage and debris to mark the spot where it had been a few minutes before.

Apart from the personal losses of the passengers and crew, the ship and its cargo were worth about $3,000,000.

The personal losses of the passengers varied greatly. Four had new motorcars as well as much costly household equipment. One had a stamp collection valued at $2,500 in one of his trunks which went down. One of the officers of the Tamesis, interested in philately, actually shed tears when he heard this later. The equipment of The British-American Ambulance Corps included twenty ambulances and four other cars besides much other goods totaling in value over $75,000. The holds also contained thousands of dollars worth of equipment belonging to the various mission societies represented among the passengers. Though we could not but deeply regret these great losses, we were thankful beyond words that the sea would never be required to give up its dead on the Zamzam. Even "Willie," a dachshund belonging to one of the passengers, and the chief engineer's cat had been saved. So far as is known, two of the ship's cats and three parrots belonging to the crew accounted for the only loss of life. Yet it was a funeral that will always remain one of our most vivid memories.

Shortly after the sinking of the Zamzam we were all ordered below deck again, two floors down, where we were served our second meal of the day similar to the first and were assigned bunks for the night, women and children on one side and men on the other side of a large room which evidently served as quarters for additional crew members when necessary. Each bunk was furnished with an excelsior-filled mattress and pillow. Since the weather was warm, we felt no discomfort because we had no blankets or sheets. In fact, the temperature was too hot for us to desire either.

About midnight we were awakened by the sounding of the ship's siren, and many of the Zamzam passengers, particularly the mothers and children, became anxious lest they should have to go through another experience of being shot at and having to take to lifeboats. All exits from our quarters were securely locked. Through a small peep hole in an iron door we could see German sailors rushing up the stairway, carrying their lifebelts and gasmasks. But inquiries addressed to them brought no satisfaction. A German officer soon opened the door, however, and assured us that there was no cause for alarm. A ship had been sighted which they thought was one of their own to which we were to be transferred, and the warning had been sounded only as a matter of precaution. In case of real emergency we would not be left to perish like rats in a cage. Gradually the excitement died down, and everybody went to sleep again.

The next morning, after finishing our ablutions with salt water without benefit of soap or towel, in a crowded toilet room, and eating a breakfast of gruel, buttered bread, and tea without milk or sugar, we were again allowed up on deck and discovered at once that the German officer's explanation of the previous night's alarm was correct. Another ship about equal in size to the Tamesis was made fast to its stern by a heavy rope from the other ship's prow. Already launches were busy transporting baggage and supplies from the Tamesis to the new ship. This work continued until late afternoon. For lunch we were given a thin soup of rice, vegetables, and bits of corned beef, and the usual bread and tea. At the request of the captain of the Tamesis, whom we had not seen as yet, five persons were appointed to represent the main groups from the Zamzam, i.e., (1) one hundred and eight missionaries and members of their families; (2) seventeen Roman Catholic missionaries; (3) twenty-four members of The British-American Ambulance Corps; (4) the fifty-five remaining passengers; (5) the officers and crew of the Zamzam. This committee was duly invited into the office of the captain, who proved to be a large athletic man of about forty-five years and of very pleasant personality. Though at the time he carefully refrained from divulging his name, we later learned it to be Rogge. He was said to be a Lutheran. Speaking through an interpreter, he welcomed us most courteously and put us at our ease at once. He apologized for having shelled the Zamzam, and putting the passengers and crew into so much danger and discomfort. He justified his action, however, by the fact that the Zamzam was traveling completely blacked out, not even showing navigation lights, and by the fact that its outlines were identical with those of certain troop transports used by the British. We ourselves had already learned that the Zamzam had originally been H.M.S. Leistershire, built in 1910, and had served as a troop transport during the last World War. Therefore Captain Rogge had concluded that the Zamzam was a troop transport, possibly heavily armed. But when he had observed the signal transmitted in Morse code by Captain Wm. G. Smith by means of a flashlight from the bridge of the Zamzam, he had ordered his men to cease firing at once. He expressed deep personal regret over the entire tragedy. Personally I believe that he spoke sincerely. Nor could I deny the validity of much that he said in justification of his actions in attacking the Zamzam. I believe that the initial and a large share of the blame for the entire tragedy rests on the officers of the Zamzam and on the British Admirality under whose orders the ship was sailing.

Captain Rogge stated that he considered us his "guests" and not as prisoners of war, and that as far as circumstances would allow he would do his best to see to it that we were provided with all necessary comforts. We were about to be transferred to an unarmed German ship which would either transfer us to a ship of some neutral country or put us ashore in some neutral port as soon as possible. At the same time we were asked to remember that Germany was at war, and therefore the passengers would have to be governed by measures which were designed to insure the safety of the ship. Captain Rogge dismissed us with cordial handshaking and expressed the wish that he might some day have the pleasure of meeting us under more agreeable circumstances. The extent to which his promises were fulfilled will be seen in the continuation of our story.

A short time later we were introduced to the captain of the ship to which we were to be transferred, a man about the same age as Captain Rogge, but shorter and of a brusque, hard-boiled demeanor, who triumphantly greeted Captain Smith of the Zamzam, speaking in fairly good English:

"Vell, Captain, I'm de captain of dis odder ship," jerking his thumb toward the new ship. "If you fellows do as you're told, den everyting vill be all right. And if you don't, ve'll take care of dat, too." And with these words he stamped off.

In midafternoon all persons taken from the Zamzam, with the exception of the three men wounded most seriously, i.e., Mr. Frances Vicovari, Dr. Robt. Starling, and Mr. Ned Laughinghouse, whose condition was too serious for them to be moved, were transferred in launches to the new ship, whose name we then discovered to be the Dresden.

St. Helena, the enforced home of Napoleon Bonaparte during the last years of his life, lies 1,200 miles west of the African coast. At a point about 750 miles south and a little west of that island the good ship Zamzam was sent to the bottom of the sea. From the deck of the man-of-war that had battered it so badly, we saw it sink into its watery grave in the early afternoon of April 17. We were stunned by the sad spectacle. Could it be true? Yes, it must be so. We saw the men, who had given the old ship the coup de grace, return, and then we were carried away from the place. We were carried into captivity. Whither, we knew not.

About twenty-four hours after the sinking of the Zamzam we were transferred to another vessel. It bore the name Dresden, but to us, who thus became its enforced passengers, it has become known as "the prison ship." We have been informed that in peaceful times it plied between Europe and South America. It seems quite probable that the outbreak of the present war found it in some South American port. In the hope of eventually reaching its home port it had again put to sea and was at present serving as supply ship to the raider Tamesis. It was a freighter type vessel, but had accommodations for about thirty-five passengers. One could not but sympathize with the captain of the Dresden when in the afternoon of April 18 about ten times that number were placed aboard his ship. Of those, eighty-seven were women and children. There we were, in the South Atlantic, about midway between South America and Africa. In whatever direction we might go we would be in danger of capture, or even destruction, by enemies of the Nazi and Fascist regime. Captain Jaeger had to cope with some very vital problems, but he and his officers did their part well.

As we came up the gangway of the Dresden the women and children were sent to the upper deck amidships, and the men were ordered below the hatches in the fore part of the ship. As ninety-one male passengers and nineteen officers of the Zamzam slowly descended the newly constructed stairway, leading from hatch No. 2 into the hold below, they were a bewildered and forlorn lot. There they found themselves in a bare room, 54x54 feet. The steel floor was covered with loose planks. The wall toward the bow of the ship was of steel plate and the wall toward the stern of thick boards. The heavy steel plate of the main deck served as the ceiling of the room. There were no portholes or other openings, no ventilation for fresh air, and light could enter only through the hatchway, which was kept covered except for the width of one plank along each side and a somewhat larger opening in the corner, where the head of the stairway was located. When it rained, as it frequently did in the tropics, even these openings had to be closed.

In passing across the deck from the gangway to the hatchway we had heard the guards refer to us as "the prisoners." The captain of the raider had said that we were his "guests." As we stood there in the hold of the Dresden, we began to realize that we were now to experience something of what it means to be "under hatches." Some of us recalled having read accounts of the miserable existence under hatches of the Africans, who were brought to America as slaves a century and more ago.

In our first survey of the room that was to be our dormitory for the next thirty-two nights, we had failed to observe that against one of the walls there was piled several bales of cotton. In another corner there was also a pile of mattresses, which we recognized as having come from the Zamzam. As we became accustomed to the semi-darkness of the room we discovered that there was not a stick of furniture, not even a bench.

In taking an inventory of the stack of mattresses we found that there were not half enough for our number. The mattresses were appropriated by those who were nearest to them. Those of us who were not fortunate enough to have secured one nor to have selected a location for themselves began to cast longing eyes on the bales of cotton, as the plank floor did look so hard and rough.

"All things come to him who waits," even in a situation like this. How grateful we were when we saw someone come down the stairway with an armful of narrow bags made of unbleached muslin. These were distributed to us and we set about to fill them with cotton. This was found to be a rather long and tedious process, as the pressed cotton had to be carefully fluffed. One had to keep adding to the contents of the bag from day to day until it attained a sufficient thickness. The planks on which our improvised mattresses were placed did not quite take the place of the comfortable bedsprings to which most Americans are accustomed. Another difficulty which some of us experienced was that they were of a uniform length, and not quite sufficient for six-footers. One way of solving that problem was to use the life preserver as an extension. Such an arrangement, in fact, proved to be most useful, as it gave us a sense of security to know that our head rest and pillow was near at hand, if in the darkness of the night we should find it necessary to make a hurried exit from the ship.

At 4:30 that first afternoon, while we were still busily engaged in our mattress making, some of the Egyptian stewards came down into the hold with dishpans of soup. Each one of us was provided with an enamel bowl, an aluminum cup and a soup spoon. With the soup we received a couple of pieces of brown bread and a cup of tea. That was our first meal on the Dresden. After the meal each one went to the deck above to wash his bowl, cup, and spoon at a hydrant drawing ocean water. It seemed so good to get away from our stuffy room in the hold for a while, so we lingered.

Fifteen minutes after sunset the guards ordered us down the hatch. It was quite dark down there, but one or two bright lights had been strung up, so we could find our way to our locations. These lights were very soon turned off, however, so we had barely enough time to get to our mattresses. We were relieved when later two rather dim lights were placed in the two far corners of the room. It was a rather interesting spectacle. There we were, strung out in rows, elbow to elbow, and covering most of the floor space. The lanes between the rows of locations were very narrow, indeed. If one ventured to travel from one location to another he had to be very careful not to be tripped by the feet of those who were of more than standard stature.

After an hour or so of chatting, and the singing of one or two songs, all became quiet. It had been another day of stress and strain, a day during which we had made our first adjustments to the unusual life we were to lead for the next few weeks. Some of us were unable to relax at once. How much we would have appreciated to be able to press the button of a bed lamp and reach for the Bible! But we remembered that both Bible and Testament had been lost in the waters of the Atlantic. Now, as many times before, we had occasion to thank God for our Christian heritage, for the family altar in our childhood home, for Sunday school and confirmation instruction, and for the liturgical worship of the church. It was so helpful to recall some of the precious words from the Book of Books that through the years had been stored away in our hearts. How reassuring it was to hear again the voice of the Master saying, "It is I. Be not afraid. Lo, I am with you always."

During the last days on the Zamzam some of us missionaries had been reading a recent book entitled "Out of the Night," a book painting a very lurid picture of present world conditions. We thanked God that in the present world darkness, the furious raging of the waves of class and national hatreds and suspicions, we still could hear the words of the Prince of Peace as he was walking the waters: "Be not afraid . . . . It is I. . . . I am with you." Indeed, had He not been with us on the yesterday as we passed through the waters, "a very present help in trouble"? Was He not even now making "a way in the sea, and a path in the mighty waters"? If He be with us, who could be against us? Even though we had been hindered on our way to the work to which we had been called, had He not given the assurance that the very gates of hell shall not prevail against the work of His church? Why should we doubt that He would somehow make these present adversities work together for the extension of His kingdom and for our good? With such thoughts we fell asleep.

At fifteen minutes before sunrise the guard called, "All out!" Wearied with twelve hours in the stuffy hold, we did not need to be called twice. We were eager and ready to come up into the fresh morning air at the earliest opportunity.

German raider Tamesis which shelled and sunk the Zamzam. Photo by Life magazine.	Family visiting hour on the Dresden. Photo by V. Eugene Johnson.

With our exit from the hold began the routine of the day. First there was the wash-up in a bucket containing a pint and a half of fresh water, the amount allotted to each man for the day. After the cleansing of the outer man as best we could with that precious bit of water the immediate needs of the inner man were to "break our fast" by eating a bowl of slightly sweetened, starchy gruel and a couple of slices of brown bread with a cup of tea. The meal was eaten picnic style on the deck or hatch.

That forenoon the captain paid us a visit. We were pleased to learn that he spoke English, so that he could address us directly. Though he spoke to us courteously, he did not seek to evade the fact that we were prisoners. He assured us that he knew what that meant, as he had himself been a prisoner for four years during the World War. He explained that as the captain of this ship he had a double responsibility. On the one hand he was under orders to make every effort to bring us safely to some neutral port, and on the other hand he must try to bring his ship safely to a home port. He assured us that, if we cooperated with him, he would do everything in his power and with the limited supplies and resources at his disposal, to make us as comfortable as possible. We were also given to understand that we might feel free to approach him at any reasonable time and occasion about any needs or problems that might arise. He stated that he did not know how long we would have to remain on his ship, but in rationing available supplies he would have to count on a month or more. It is needless to say that we appreciated this frankness on the part of him into whose hands our very lives had been laid. We were grateful to find the ship's officers, guards, and seamen considerate, and even courteous, at all times. We realized that, as prisoners of war, we might have fallen into the hands of a very different type of men.

At 12:30 noon the midday meal was served. It consisted of a bowl of thick soup with bits of meat cooked with evaporated vegetables and rice. With this we were also given the usual two slices of dark bread and a cup of tea. The captain assured us that he would see to it that space in lifeboats or on rafts would be provided for every man, woman, and child aboard his ship. The boats that had been salvaged from the Zamzam were being thoroughly inspected and overhauled. Preparations were also being made for the construction of a number of rafts. All life preservers were carefully inspected and numbered. All this was reassuring, because we realized that we were at all times in grave danger and might find it necessary at any hour of the day or night to leave the ship.

Again at 4:30 in the afternoon we saw the Egyptian stewards come out of the galley with dishpans of food. The menu for the evening meal was the same as on the day before. The ship's ping-pong table was now put to use as a serving table. Six of the ambulance men served the food as we passed the table in two lines. Again there was the usual chore of washing and drying the dishes and of putting them away for the next meal. Some of us, who enjoy walking, spent the next hour or more pacing to and fro on the open space of the port side of the deck between the upper deck and the forecastle. Others stood about on the deck, quietly enjoying the sunset hour. All seemed bent on making the most of every minute, as they thought of soon being ordered down the hatch for the night.

Such was the life into which we entered when placed on the prison ship, a life of routine and yet not altogether uninteresting. No two days were quite the same in spite of the fact that out there in mid-ocean there is very little change of scenery. With more than two hundred men in the fore part of the ship, including the Egyptians and Sudanese, occupying the space of the hold under hatch No. 3 and the starboard side of the main deck, there was a most interesting variety of personalities. Within our own group of over one hundred, coming from many places and various walks of life in Europe, America, and even Africa, but now occupying one room, literally rubbing elbows during the hours of the day and sleeping elbow to elbow during the night, there was an unusually fine opportunity for close range study of human nature. It was very interesting to note, for instance, the various kinds of activity which were found or made. In spite of the fact that there were so few books available, as most of our books had gone down with the ship, it was surprising to find so many reading. One book would be passed between several persons in the course of one day. This was particularly true of books of devotion and theology. Among the missionaries quite a number had saved their Bibles or Testaments. Among the most treasured memories the writer has of those days are those of seeing individuals on the deck and in the hold pouring over the open Bible, or of groups, seated on a hatch, listening to one of their number as he read from the Book. Not much writing was done for the simple reason that it seemed quite probable that records and writings of any kind would be subject to censorship and confiscation. It was surprising to see what could be done with only an ordinary pocketknife and a board, a block, or even a stick. If all the things thus made during these weeks could be assembled, it would be a most interesting exhibit, revealing the resourcefulness of the human hand and mind. With nothing but a few boards, some pieces of burlap, and a few tools a shower bath and booth was built on the deck. The daily use of this shower and occasional use of the ship's tiled swimming pool on the officers' deck, were a real boon to us.

On the fourth day after being placed on the prison ship we were gladdened by the news that the room on the port side of the forecastle had been cleared and might be used as a place for our daily devotional meetings. At other hours of the day it might be used as a social room. With that room are associated some very helpful memories. These devotional meetings were informal. It was to be expected that they would be attended mainly by the missionaries, but there were others who came in occasionally. Though the missionaries of the group had been commissioned by about twenty boards, representing various shades of religious faith and varying missionary practices, these "assemblings together" seemed to mean much to all who took part in them. These daily meetings "beside the still waters" and in "the green pastures" of God's Word helped us to a clearer recognition of what are the fundamentals of the Christian faith, what all true followers of the Christ have in common. One of the favorite hymn verses sung at these gatherings was:

"Blest be the tie that binds
Our hearts in Christian love:
The fellowship of kindred minds
Is like to that above."

After the wounded had been transferred from the Tamesis to the prison ship, the women and children were the next to go. Ready to direct us as we came up on the deck of the Dresden was Captain Jaeger himself. He had a list of the names of the Zamzam women and children in his hands.

"Mrs. Norberg, this is your cabin. You will have to have someone else in with you. Do you have a preference as to whom you would have?"

It was a lovely cabin for two. There were two good spring beds. But when all the women and children were at last housed, we found that we were nine in our two-bed cabin! There was no fresh running water coming through the taps. Instead we were issued one liter of water per person morning and evening. Our clothes we washed in salt water.

The chief steward showed us where we would have our meals. Temporary tables, made of long planks, had been placed in the space cleared by the removal of the permanent tables.

Uppermost in our minds was the query, what has become of the men? Were they to remain on the Tamesis, or had they, too, been transferred to this ship? A group of our young boys soon gave us the answer. Each one as he saw his father would exclaim, "I saw my Daddy come up the gangplank." The men were all sent forward into hatch No. 2. Again we wondered what kind of accommodations they could have under hatch No. 2. Were they all on board this ship or had some of them been detained on the Tamesis? The whole atmosphere on this ship emphasized our status as prisoners.

Five o'clock in the afternoon, and we had already had the evening meal of soup, sour bread, and practically tealess tea! We went out on deck. A young missionary wife was leaning on the ship's rail, looking out over the vast sea. She chanced to look toward the front of the ship. She gave a shout of joy. There she spied the heads of several of our men as they, too, were looking out over the watery world about us. Each one of the ladies took her turn to stand in the most advantageous place to wave to the men on the foredeck. The men co-operated nobly by calling the husband to the railing to acknowledge his wife's greeting. One of the German guards smiled at us. I ventured to ask if he or one of the other guards would please take a few notes over to our husbands. We wanted to relieve them of any undue anxiety over our welfare. This guard, a friendly fellow, said he would gladly do that. I asked him, "When?" "Jetz," was his answer. And he did.

For these notes of courage and comfort we used any odd bits of paper we had in our possession. We had not talked to our husbands for two days; therefore these notes meant much to us. But alert Captain Jaeger soon noticed the elation among the men and women as they stood in small groups reading the love messages.

"What kind of foolishness is this?" was his question. "This must be stopped!"

And stop it did. His heart, however, softened, and he gave the men having families on board the privilege of spending the two hours from ten to twelve each forenoon with their wives and children. The unattached men were later given the same privilege. But due to the limited space allowed on the deck for these visits only six of them were permitted on the women's side each day.

These visiting hours were spent on the very narrow promenade decks. The doors leading to all corridors were locked and an armed guard stood watch. Here the small family groups would sit on the floor, through the heat of the equator climate, as well as in rains and the cold winds of the North Atlantic. There was very little privacy possible, but we did have our daily family devotions together. We could speak words of comfort and cheer to each other. How thankful we felt each time we could sit as a family, five in a row!

It was hard to hear the guard announce, "Visiting time is up." Each day as I saw my husband walk down the steps and turn the corner leading forward I would think, "Will I see him again?" This was particularly true the week we ran the British blockade.

These hours were always the brightest and most eagerly looked forward to of each day.

The first nine days on the Dresden we marked time. We would sail at full speed a few hours and then circle right back. At times we were simply idling away time on the rolling sea. Captain Jaeger was to receive final orders from the commander of the Tamesis. We were waiting for that ship to make its appearance again. At last the Tamesis did come into view.

Three of the most seriously wounded had been left on board this ship. The wife of one of them, as well as representatives from the tobacco buyers and from the ambulance corps, were allowed to go over to visit the three men. They brought back reports that two were recovering nicely, but the third was not so well.

We saw the sailors putting crate after crate of Brazilian eggs on our boat. At least we would have eggs to vary our steady diet of soup, soup, noon and night.

Officials assured us we would not run the British blockade. Captain Jaeger was to get back into the regular trade lane. There he would try to get us transferred to a neutral ship. If that failed he would bring us into a neutral South American port.

Days passed by. The officers on the bridge may have known about ships in our vicinity, but we did not see any sign of a neutral ship the first two or three weeks. We had already gone too far north to believe we would ever be taken to a South American port. Word came out we were to go to Tenerife in the Canary Island group.

Some doubted the validity of this report. They felt certain that we would now be brought into occupied France. We made plans as to what we would do just in case the Tenerife report should prove true. One missionary had a copy of the East African Handbook. We figured out overland routes to take to our desired destination from the valuable information found in this book. We, the Augustana folks, would have to go by Portuguese ship down to Lobito Bay on the West Coast of Africa. From there we would begin the long trip across Africa. It would be a trying trip, as we would have to start without equipment, but we would be on our way back to Africa.

These hopes grew fainter as our course took us farther into the North Atlantic. Now it became more and more certain that that which we had dreaded most was to happen. We were to run the British blockade.

Our first day on board the Dresden Captain Jaeger told me, "You'll not be on this ship over forty days." He mentioned something about weighing the children once a week.

Forty days! I had hoped it would be but three or four days or a week at the very most. It seemed best to settle down to a routine life. This we ourselves would have to make as pleasant and profitable as we could.

As soon as we were allowed to get at the odd pieces of baggage which the German sailors had rescued from our Zamzam cabins, we tried to see that everyone had clothes enough to be properly dressed. There were women who had gone barefoot for three days. Some were still wearing night apparel or housecoats. Many of the children were meagerly dressed. Most of those who had some clothing to spare were quite willing to share with the less fortunate, and before many days had passed we were all properly clothed, though not in the latest fashion.

Captain Jaeger gave us a large bolt of very coarse unbleached muslin. We were to sew anything we needed. The privilege to use the ship's sewing machine was well appreciated. We started by sewing extensions to the men's mattresses. Cases for cotton pillows were made. The women made bags of every size and description. We were not to be caught unprepared a second time. Our most precious belongings, salvaged from the lot brought off the Zamzam, were placed in the bags which could be carried from the shoulders by straps. Swimming trunks for the men were fabricated. The swimming pool was cleansed and filled to be used during the hottest days while we were in the neighborhood of the equator. Married men, single men, women and children each had their specified time for the cooling off.

Every inch of wool yarn or crochet thread found in any suitcase was worked up. We had to keep busy.

There were thirty-six children on board. Sixteen of them were of school age. Almost every day the children received a small cookie or two, or a small square of German chocolate after the noon and evening meals. A committee of women supervised the distribution of these titbits. These were handed to the children after they had eaten their bowl of soup, not before.

We tried having the children do some school work. This was not so easy. Their minds were not at ease and their surroundings far from inducive to studying. But our faithful teachers gathered this little missionary band each morning for prayer and singing. Often we heard them singing, "My cup is full and running over."

The children found ways of passing the time. Hide-and-seek was even there the stand-by. Checkerboards were made out of cardboard they got from the chief steward or a guard. Mothers' button boxes were all gone, so they had to make cardboard checkers. The wind had a way of carrying these off to sea. The daddies up on the foredeck made Chinese-checker boards. Wooden pegs were used instead of marbles. The older boys took to wood carving. The girls begged Mother for knitting needles. Most of the time the children kept in good spirit.

Several children celebrated their birthdays on the Dresden. An English mother had a couple packages of American jello in her bag. When her little daughter's birthday came around, it took the place of both cake and dessert. For other birthday parties the children would save their cookies, received after the noon meal, to be eaten at the afternoon party.

Mothers, too, have birthdays. We, the five Augustana women on board the Dresden, will long remember the day we celebrated Mrs. Danielson's birthday. We had no cookies to carry with us to the party, even though we had eaten our bowl of soup nicely. Our teachers came to our rescue. They had a very small tube of powdered coffee. It was enough for one good cup of coffee. It had to be thinned out to make five cups for this occasion, It had at least one resemblance to coffee---it was hot. It was served in our tin cups. The birthday cake was pieces of the sour, dark bread gleaned from our noon meal. We tried to celebrate the birthday of our dear friend in good spirits at least.

Our Dresden days gave us hours of deep anxiety and worry. But there were hours of joy as well. "We are pressed on every side, yet not straitened; perplexed, yet not unto despair." Cor. 4. 8. Many were the times we sang "Safe am I, safe am I in the hollow of thy hand," and "God will take care of you." Precious to us all were the hours of Christian fellowship and prayer. In our own strength we were helpless, but we knew upon whom to call. Our Father never turns a deaf ear to them that call upon Him in sincerity. Nine-fifteen each morning found us gathered up on deck for morning prayers. We shared with each other the many promises of comfort and cheer found in God's Word. "Who delivered us out of so great a death, and will deliver: on whom we have set our hope that he will also still deliver us," Cor. 1. 10, is a promise one of our African Inland Mission ladies called to our attention. She is today in a German concentration camp. May she and others of our Zamzam friends with her, daily claim this promise.

In the evenings we met in smaller groups in the cabins, the doors to the deck having been locked fifteen minutes after sunset. It was so sweet to place ourselves in His tender care and keeping for the hours of another night at sea.

Then we had the sweetness of the children's evening prayers. Besides our three were two little Jewish children in the cabin. During the shelling of the Zamzam their mother had had both feet seriously cut by shrapnel. Miss Olson and Miss Kinnan had taken complete charge of these little ones. Peter was eight and Wendy three years of age.

Peter loved to hear the stories about Jesus. These were true and beautiful stories! His place was always next to the person reading. And little Wendy, she could sing "Jesus loves me, Jesus loves me." Today little Peter and Wendy together with their mother are in a German concentration camp. May they there remember that Jesus loves them.

The Rainbow Dawn, continued
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