“In a German port! Germany at last!”

To Tom coming slowly back from the land of dreams, the words spoken in Dick’s voice sounded as if they came from a long, long distance. With an impatient little shake at being disturbed, he turned over, and was drifting away, when Bert’s joyous “Right-o, Dick, Germany at last!” brought him all the way back again.

Opening his eyes, he remembered with a thrill, that the Northland was to reach port, the great port of Hamburg, during the night just passed. Bert and Dick, fully dressed, were gazing excitedly from their cabin portholes. At a slight sound from Tom, they pounced on him, dragged him from his berth, and landed him before one of the portholes. “Look out there,” said Dick, “and then tell us what kind of a gink a fellow must be that can lie like a wooden man in his berth on such a glorious morning and with that to look at.”

It certainly was a glorious morning, and “that” Tom had to acknowledge, was well worth looking at. Just one glance he gave, and then dove for his clothes. He did not need Bert’s “Do hurry up, lazy, and let’s get on deck.” His clothes went on with not one bit more attention to details than was absolutely necessary.

“Good boy!” said Dick, as Tom gave the last impatient brush to an exasperating lock on the top of his head that persisted in standing upright. “We’ve just an hour before breakfast, and we must take fifteen minutes of that to get everything packed up, for you know we are to go ashore immediately after breakfast.”

“Hang the packing,” said impatient Tom, “who wants to stay in this stuffy cabin and pack?”

“Well,” Bert sensibly suggested, “let’s get at it now and get it off our hands.”

“Wisdom hath spoken,” laughed Dick, and for the next few minutes their cabins were filled with the sound of scurrying feet, articles slapped hastily into trunk and bag, and an impatient expression or two at a bag that would not shut, or a key that would not turn.

Bert and Tom were ready first, and “There,” said Dick, as he thrust his keys into his pocket. “O. K. fellows, come on,” and three eager sightseers flew from their cabin. They never forgot that next hour on deck.

Before them lay the wonderful river, its waters sparkling and gleaming in the morning sunlight. And the shipping! Steamships like their own, freight steamers, barges, tugs, craft of all sorts. The harbor, the largest on the continent, and ranking next to London, Liverpool and Glasgow in commercial importance, teemed with life. Up and down the river passed vessels of every description, some of them of a build entirely new to our three Americans. Anchor chains rattled as some steamer pushed into position. The hoarse cries of the sailors or the musical “Yo, heave ho,” or its German equivalent, rang out as they ran up and down ladders at the ship’s side, or bent to the task of hoisting some heavy piece of freight from steamer deck to barge. Quick commands and the ready response, “Ay, ay, sir,” sounded on every side.

At their docks, freight steamers were being unloaded, or were discharging their cargoes into transportation barges fastened alongside. Busy, noisy, important little tugs blew their shrill whistles as they steamed along with some steamer or heavily laden barge in tow. Little any one in Hamburg Harbor that calm, bright, beautiful morning, dreamed that when the sun was but a little higher in the heavens, one of these same little tugs, under the command of her brave captain, would perform a deed of heroic daring.

For many minutes, not a word was spoken by the three friends, so completely were they absorbed in the wonderful scene. Then, as he drew a long breath, “Isn’t it great?” said Tom, and the spell was broken. “Makes you realize there is great work going on in the world,” thoughtfully observed Dick. “It’s all wonderfully interesting,” agreed Bert, “but what really interests me most is not what is going on on water, but what will be going on on land within a few days.”

At his words they wheeled with one accord and fixed their eyes on the land. Careless now of all the harbor sights and sounds, they gave scant heed to the great commercial city with its miles of river harbor. The one great thought that dominated every other was that very soon now their feet would be set on German soil, and then away to Berlin to match American speed and skill against the athletes of the world. For this they had traveled thousands of miles across the sea, and what would be the outcome? victory or defeat? When, the trial ended, they should stand on the deck of this steamer, homeward bound, would it be with hearts swelling with proud triumph, or sinking at the prospect of going home beaten? “Wouldn’t you like to know now fellows,” breathed Tom, “what’s to be the answer?”

“Why,” said Bert quietly, “don’t you know? It’s going to be victory, of course. Anything else is not to be considered for one moment.”

“Right-o,” said Dick, brightening, “and here and now we cross out the word defeat from our vocabulary and pledge ourselves to win.”

With a hand clasp all around to seal the pledge, they took the cabin stairs with one bound as the breakfast gong sounded.

“Well,” said Dick, as he seated himself at the table, “our last meal on board. Let’s make the most of it.”

“Yes,” Tom assented with comic seriousness, his face drawn into doleful lines, “for we don’t know where we will get the next meal.”

“What do you care where we get it, as long as we get it?” summed up Dick, as the laugh subsided.

Breakfast over, they stood with the others on deck, waiting only for the checking of the baggage to go ashore. As they waited, the busy harbor again claimed their attention. Six or seven hundred feet away, a large freight steamer was rapidly unloading into a barge that waited at her side. “What do you suppose her freight is?” Bert asked of a gentleman beside him who had been especially chummy with the young Americans. “Oh, it may be anything,” laughed his friend. “From silk and linen to dynamite.”

“Wow,” said Tom, with a comic shiver, “if it’s dynamite, I’m glad we are no nearer to her.”

The gentleman smiled, but replied gravely, “It’s a very good thing to keep as much distance between you and any form of dynamite as possible.”

“Indeed, you are right,” said another passenger, a jolly fellow, who had kept them very merry during the voyage with his witty sayings, and his exhaustless fund of funny stories. “Everyone might not be willing to take the chance that Casey did for the sake of getting even. His friend O’Brien had a way of giving him a very vigorous slap on the chest by way of greeting. The blow always came over the breast pocket where Casey carried his cigars, and a number of them had been broken. Casey did not fancy this at all, and a scheme came into his head to get even with O’Brien. He procured a small stick of dynamite and placed it in the pocket with his cigars. Filled with satisfaction, he was walking down the street, chuckling to himself, when he met his friend Dennis. ‘Phat’s the joke?’ asked Dennis. ‘Sure,’ said Casey, shaking with laughter, and showing Dennis the stick of dynamite in his pocket, ‘Oi’m thinkin’ of the surprise of O’Brien phwen he hits me.’”

A hearty laugh greeted this story, and it had scarcely subsided when Bert, whose trained sight very little escaped, drew attention to a vast volume of smoke that was pouring from the stern of the Falcon, the steamer that carried the load of dynamite. At the same instant a great confusion broke out on board of her. Sailors came running to the deck, and rushed affrightedly to the rail. The excitement spread to other vessels near at hand.

A tug, one of the largest, ran alongside the Falcon, whose crew, pursued by fear, began jumping or tumbling over her side on to the tug’s deck. Whistles sounded, and vessels near at hand began drawing away from her with all possible speed.

“She must be on fire,” someone said.

“She is,” answered Captain Everett, coming up, his face very pale, “and part of her freight, I’m told, is several hundred cases of dynamite. Nothing can save her now. It is only a matter of minutes, or maybe seconds.”

At the startling news every face blanched, and every eye was fixed on the fated steamer. It was a scene to stamp itself on the memory of all. The sailors, tumbling pell-mell upon the tug, the crews of the different vessels hurriedly executing sharply uttered commands, the boats scurrying away like a flock of frightened birds.

Sure now that all had been taken from the fated ship, the rescuing tug was steaming rapidly away, when two men suddenly appeared on the Falcon, and, running to the rail, waved their hands in frantic appeal for rescue.

For a moment or two the tug did not notice the men, but soon the puffing of exhaust pipes grew less noisy and she slowed down. She had seen the two poor unfortunates, and now the same question was in the mind of all. What would the captain of the tug do? What ought he to do? There was no time to land those on board and return. Every second lost meant a lessened chance of going back and making a final safe getaway. If he left the two men to their fate it would look like deliberate cruelty; but, on the other hand, if he went back, he must carry every soul on board into imminent danger of a terrible death. Dared he do it?

A moment she hung undecided, her screw scarcely turning the water at her stern, while all waited with beating hearts. Then she wheeled, and with all steam on hurried back. She moved with great speed, but to the onlookers it seemed as if she crept through the water. Seconds seemed like long minutes, until at last the sailors were safe on deck. Her bow once more pointed to open water, she steamed away toward safety. Not yet did they who had followed her every movement dare to cheer her captain’s brave action. She was not yet safe.

One hundred, two, three, four, five, six hundred feet of water at last stretched between her and the great danger that she had so narrowly escaped.

Now a cheer arose, but scarcely was it heard before it was drowned in a tremendous roar as the Falcon sprang bodily from the water. Then a great column of fire a hundred feet high leapt up from the doomed ship. Over this hung a cloud of black smoke which completely hid the vessel from view, while the sea rocked as if with a submarine earthquake. The air was filled with steam and smoke, charred wood, fragments of steel and iron, and flying cases of dynamite. When the smoke cleared, which was not for many minutes, there was not a vestige of the ill-fated Falcon, nor of the barge at her side.

Many of the cases of dynamite exploded in the air, seeming to echo the first great, deafening explosion. A number of them narrowly escaped falling on the deck of the gallant little tug that twice had braved destruction. One of them did indeed graze her stern, ripping up some of the planks from her deck, carrying away part of her rail, and throwing down and stunning many of those who crowded her forward deck. It was a narrow escape. Had the explosion occurred a very few minutes sooner many of the cases of dynamite would have fallen on the tug’s deck in the midst of her crew and those who had fled to her for safety. No one dared think of the fearful scene of carnage that would have followed.

Many other ships in the harbor barely escaped destruction. A collier was struck by the flying pieces of steel and iron, some of them weighing fifty pounds or more, and her steel plates, nearly an inch in thickness, were pierced and torn in many places. By the very force of the concussion her great smokestacks were crushed flat.

Nor did those on board the Northland entirely escape the terrific force of the explosion. Their ship seemed to lift under them, and many were thrown to the deck, but none received any serious hurt.

It is needless to say that thought of their own affairs had been banished from the minds of all on board during this scene of awful confusion and mortal peril; but it had passed.

As once more the great river settled into calm, the work of debarkation went on. A little while and our young travelers, still thrilling with the excitement of the scene through which they had just passed, found themselves at last on German soil.

The afternoon was very delightfully spent in “doing” Hamburg town, and the next morning, after a quiet night at the hotel, the train bore them onward toward Berlin, and the fulfillment, as they believed, of all their hopes.

Knowing that the morning papers would have a full story of the harbor disaster, everyone straightway possessed himself of a copy, and settled himself eagerly to read the account. In consequence, it was a very quiet carful of people as they scanned the columns with their glaring headlines. Our three college boys, like all the others, had a fair knowledge of the German language, but it was not so easily nor so quickly read as English, and so eager were they to learn the full extent of the disaster that they were very glad to accept the offer of one of their party, who was a native German, to translate for them.

Soon startled exclamations broke forth, as they learned that for a distance of twelve miles windows were broken and chimneys demolished, tall steel-framed office buildings shaken to their foundations, and thousands of people had been in panic from fear of earthquake. In amazement they heard that great pieces of steel weighing fifty pounds had been found three or four miles from the harbor, and that the shock was felt a hundred miles away.

“Well,” said Drake, as he folded up his paper at last, “the wonder is that there was a single ship left in the harbor, and that we did not all go to the bottom of the river. I don’t see what saved us, anyway.”

It was not to be wondered at that they could talk of nothing else during the greater part of the journey, but as the train neared their goal, the much-talked-and-thought-of city of Berlin, there was a sudden reaction from seriousness to gaiety. It is not in boy nature to look long on the dark side of things, and it was a hilarious party of young Americans that descended from the train, and wended their way along the streets of the German city, that till now had only existed for them between the covers of a geography.

German talk, German faces, German costumes were all about them, and ears and eyes were kept very busy with the new sights and sounds.

“Now, Tom,” chaffed Bert, as at the hotel they prepared for dinner, “trot out your German.”

“Ach ja,” responded Tom, obligingly. “Was wilst du? Du bist ferricht, mein kind? Ich habe kein geld? Oder wilst du die Lorelei haben? Ach, wohl, hier es ist,

At this point in the quaint German legend Tom’s breath left him as he felt himself lifted bodily from his feet and laid upon the bed, with his mouth bound about with a towel snatched from the washstand. Not until he had, by repeated inclinations of his bandaged head, promised “to make no attempt to finish the Lorelei,” and to give them his so-called German in “as small doses and at as large intervals as possible,” was he released.

“Ah, well,” said he, when he was free, “such is the gratitude and appreciation of so-called friends.”

Peace restored, the three friends went down to dinner, softly humming, each in a different key,