The Fatter ship was making for the island. After her went the grey vessel, and it was a nose-to-nose race who should first reach the harbour. The Fatter ship won. The grey vessel fired a gun. The gig was lowered and the Captain, looking very grim and determined, put off in her.... Arabella dropped a pin and it was heard all over the vessel. It was a relief to all on board when the Bishop knelt and offered up a prayer for the Captain’s safety. The Amen that came at the end of it brought the tears to George’s eyes, and his blood ran cold when it swelled into a cheer as the Captain’s gig broke loose from the Fatter ship and came tearing over the smooth waters. The Captain’s face was very white as he stepped on deck and called Mr. Bich and the other officers to his state-room, and whiter still were the faces of Mr. Bich and the officers when they left it. The vessel shook with the vibration of the engines: there was a strange and stormy muttering among the men: the vessel headed for the open sea. George was taken to his cabin and locked in. He lay down on the floor and tried to go to sleep. A roaring and a rumbling and a banging and a thudding made that impossible. The shaking made him feel so sick that he wished to die. Near by he could hear Arabella weeping, and that was more than he could bear. He thrust and bumped against his door and worked himself into a sweat over it, but it seemed that it would not give. As he reached the very pit of despair, the door gave, the floor gave, the walls heaved in upon him; in one roaring convulsion he was flung up and up and up, and presently came down and down and down into the sea. It tasted salt and was cool to his sweating body and he was glad of it. VII: SIEBENHAAR He was not glad of it for long, because he soon became very cold and was nipped to numbness. He assumed that it was the end, and felt a remote regret for Arabella. Other thought he had none. When he came to himself he was, or seemed to be, once more in the room from which he had been so violently propelled, but there were two men standing near him and talking in a strange tongue. Presently there came a third man who spoke to him in Fattish. “Hullo! Thought you were done in,” said the man. George stared. “Done in. Dead.” “Yes, I was.” The man laughed. “Funny fellow you are. Eyes just like a baby.” “Where is Arabella?” asked George. “Where am I?” “Give you three guesses,” said the man. “On a ship?” “Right.” “The Emperor-King’s ship?” “No. The King-Emperor’s. You have the honour to be the first prisoner in the great Fattero-Fattish war.” “War? What is that?” “War? You don’t know what war is? Have you never read a newspaper?” “I have only read _Tittiker_. It tells about a War Office, but I never knew what it was for.” “My name’s Siebenhaar, engineer and philosophical student, and I fancy you are the man I have been looking for all my life. You should be capable of a pure idea....” “What,” asked George, “is an idea?”