“You, Belding, have made an excellent mark for yourself on joining the _Colodia_. We already knew what sort of metal Morgan was built of. Thank you, my lads! If the surgeon gives you a true bill, you may turn to with your watches.” The boys saluted and departed for their stations. The destroyer was making for port and the headlands were visible. But the storm had not blown over and the ship was rolling forty-five to fifty degrees. If an ordinary merchant ship rolls forty degrees her crew think that the end has come and they will be wrecked; forty degrees is ordinary for a destroyer to roll in the sea. Often moving about the _Colodia_ was almost like climbing a sheer wall. The two boys who had done so brave an act the day before were commended on all sides; but their mates’ approbation took the form of good natured joking, for which both Morgan and Belding were thankful. They heard much comment regarding the German captives from the other members of the crew. Especially did they learn certain things about the youth with the broken arm whom they had first sent off to the destroyer from the wreck of the Zeppelin. He was named Franz Eberhardt, and he was in the sick bay instead of being confined with the other prisoners. Hear Hans Hertig rail about him: “That feller is a schmardie--one o’ them German schmardies what you hear about. I would like to have him workin’ on this _Colodia_. We would work some of the schmardness out of him yet.” “What’s the matter with him, Boatswain?” demanded Al Torrance. “Huh! He tells me the Germans ain’t begun to fight yet! Sure! They will lick all the world--let him tell it. He iss one Prussian.” Phil Morgan got a chance to go down to the sick bay and interview the young prisoner. The latter knew that Morgan was one of those who had rescued him and his mates; but there was a certain arrogance about his manner and speech that was not likely to make him friends among his captors. “Aren’t you worried about your position at all?” asked Whistler, when they had talked for some time. “Me?” repeated the German in very good English. “Why should I fear? I am an Eberhardt. My uncle lived long in England and has friends there. I shall make friends. The English do not dare treat us Germans badly, for they know that in the end they will be beaten and we will punish them severely if they treat prisoners unkindly. Oh, yes!” “Say!” drawled Whistler, “where do you get that stuff? You must have caught it from that von Hausen. He wanted to push you out of the way and take your place in the life buoy.” “Yes,” admitted the German youth simply. “He is _Hauptman_. Why not?” “Good-_night_!” growled Whistler. “Our officers don’t do that. They would consider it beneath them to be saved before their crew.” Eberhardt, who was sitting up, shrugged his shoulders. “Yes?” he repeated. “But of course, they are not _gnädige Herren_.”