CANNIBAL SAILORS

New Zealand Times, Volume LIV, Issue 9881, 12 April 1893, Page 4

CANNIBAL SAILORS

A DREADFUL STORY OF TUB SEA. (pnOM OUR. LONDON CORRESPONDENT) London, February 24. The borrow of Mr Clark Russell's most sensational sea stories are dwarfed by realities infinitely more ghastly and revolting. At the present moment there aro in prison at Ttjlzebuttel in Germany, three sailors, who after drifting about on the wreck of the ship ' Thekla ’ for 13 days in a starving condition, killed and partially ate a ''Dutchman, their companion. All three are quite young and tell an apparently atra ! ghtforward tale. So far as ravenous and starving could act fairly they did so. Lots for life nr death were drawn and the fate fell on the Dutchman. A correspondent, who interviewed the cannibals, gives an account from which I abbreviate the following:—

‘ The first to step in’o the small court isOlnf Andersen. Ho is of middling height,and of broad build, stoops slightly, and lias long swinging arms. His head, covered with fair curly hair, is a massive one, the forehead high, and his face, which is not without some intelligence, is beardless, bloated, and colourless, and his fleshy undorlip hangs down. His steel grey eyes, with the tired ami tad look, only raise themselves now and then, and very unwillingly, from the ground. The impression that Olaf Andersen makes is not an unfavourable one. One might imagine him to be an uncouth follow, but by no means a wicked one. •Olaf Anderson, sit down and tell me your story.’ • You mean about the Dutchman, sir ?' < Yes, about the Dutchman.’ Olaf Andersen looks down and begins to speak. His voice sounds hoarse, hut ho speaks without hesitating, as if he knew that there was only one thing now and for over that ho could relate, and that was about the Dutchman. Olaf Audcrsen commenced :

‘We left Philadelphia on the Ist of December. Up to the 20th wo had a good voyage. Then in the North Sea the bad weather began. Great seas broke over the vessel, and the ship was lost. She began to break up. Two masts had gone by the board, but that did no good. We were to take to the boats, but whilst they were being lowered, they capsized, all but one. Those who could manage it jumped in, the captains some others—altogether eight. Those who remained behind climbed into the rigging. We did not see much of each other, and at first did not oven know who had stopped on the wreck. For what with the continual rolling of the vessel, and the billows dashing over her we had as much as we could do to prevent ourselves beiig washed away. When wo were able to look about a bit we saw that there wore four of us, Jacobsen, Johannsen.lho Dutchman, and I. This was on the 22nd of December. We all four had nothing to eat; not even a tobacco leaf ; net a slice of bread. It all happened so suddenly. Besides being hungry we could uot sleep, for we sat in the scuttle, and it was very small. When sleep got the better of one a wave came and struck one on the head and face which caused great pain, so sleep was not to be thought of. This made us feel very bad. We suffered greatly. Ships passed us, but did not see us, for we had a deal of foggy weather, or it was night. We certainly saw them, these strangeships, even in the darkest night, for our sufferings made our eyes sharp, but the others bod not such eyes, so they passed on and saw us not.’ Olaf Andersen of course related all this in broken sentences, The questions had to be put to him singly, whereupon he answered without hesitation. In bis statements he made the impression of a man who, although not quite sure how to express himself, was yet quite sura about what he wanted to say. He continued :

‘ On the thirteenth day—it was a Friday—the sea had calmed down the weather was clear. had fallen in the morning, and we licked it off the topmasts and the manilla ropes as far as we could reach. This gave some of us courage, But not all. The Dutchman, for instance, was quite desperate. ’ ‘ Could you make yourselves understood with the Dutchman 1 Did you speak his language, or he yours?’ ■ There was not much talking going on. Nobody cared to talk, and had scarcely the strength to do so. In order to prevent ourselves being frozen to death, wo climbed from the 'scuttle to tho forecastle, which at this time stood above the water, and from the forecastle back again to the scuttle. Whilst standing there somebody spoke the first time of it. Who it was I don’t know. It is sufficient to know that it was spoken. One of us was to die so that the others could live. The Dutchman said he did not care anything about bis life, He would die. But we others said that if it had to be, it must be done fairly, as is the custom in such oases.’

‘Custom! Why, have you ever heard of such a frightful custom ?’ * Yes; and we decided to do it that way. First, we waited from morning till noon. Perhaps after all a ship would come. But none came. Then the Dutchman began again. He said that we were to make an end of the matter, one way or the other ; he could not bear it any longer. So we descended again to the forecastle, one after the other. When there, one of us tore off a piece of linen and divided it into four parts, one of which yvns shorter, than the others. This short one meant death. The man who drew that was to die, and the Dutchman drew it.’

Olaf Andersen passed the back of his hand over his brow. This was the only sign of excitement shown by him. He still spoke'in the same hollow tone as in tho beginning. He continued :

‘The Dutchman became very still, and we remained so too. All at once he turned his face to the sea and his back to us, and that was the sign. None of us liked to look at his face. I from behind passed my arms round his chest, Jacobsen did the same with his legs, and Johannsen stabbed at him ■with his knife.’

‘ And you really ate?’ ‘Yes, we ate of it on that day and on the others till the Danes arrived and took us off ’

‘ And you did not think of anything whilst doing so—not of God, not of your parents ; not that you were depriving yourselves of the right to live amongst men, aye, even of calling yourselves human beings ?' ‘No, sir. We thought of nothing.’ ‘ And not even before this V * Thirst, hunger, and sleeplessness—these wore all wo could think oh’

He pressed bo!h hands to his head, ns if ho would like to banish the demons which were called up by the memory of those awful days. Christian Iljalmar Jacobsen, the second sailor who partook of that dreadful meal, is somewhat smaller, but thick-set, and much more versatile than his companion. He is also broad, and has a heavy g»it, sways his body and swings his arms. Uis ha : r, coarse and dark, is combed over his low forehead, his eyes are black and piercing and very restless. His face, beardlesss, like Olaf Andersen’s, is bloated and somewhat swollen round the chin. His manner is more determined than his comrades, and his statements are also more decided. He accompanies his words with lively gesticulations, but bis hearers do not

oain the impression that the remembrance of his crime makes him suffer, aa was noticed now and then in his companion Olaf. The general impression that this fellow makes is much more unfavourable, especially when, whilst speaking, hia thick bps part and show hia powerful set of teeth. But the third man is the most uncanny looking, namely, the Swede, Alexander Johansson. Ho is thickset, with a figure resembling somewhat that of Jacobsen, but much more agile. The bristling reddish light hair surrounds a square forehead. His face, covered with spots, is set in a thin board of a light red colour; his eyes, overshadowed by short yellow bristling eyelashes, aro washed out and colourless, reminding one of a common jelly fish. His eyes flicker like a light blown by the wind. This wicked eye seems with one look to try to learn the intentions of those present. Alexander Johannson had on landing been sent to the Seaman’s Hospital on account of his frostbitlen feet, and Las only just returned to his companions. Christian Jacobsen and Alexander Johannson are both convinced that what they did is natural and excusable under the circumstances. One of them was obliged to die, if the others wore to live.

‘At such a price! Are your lives more valuable than that of the murdered man ? And what can your lives in the future be, when you think of what has happened ? Even if the remembrance makes no impression upon you, do you think that you will ever find work again in your calling, or new comrades who will work side by side with you ?’ They seemed surprised for a moment. They had up to now not considered their position in this light. But they soon answered in that same dull, imperturbable manner, 1 O, yes, sir ; we shall find work again, and comrades too ; for, you see, the great hunger and thirst and want of sleep vsero the reason of it. If the Danks had only come three days sooner we should have liked it better; but she did not.’