He was tied, with his hands behind him.
The captain paced up and down beside him.
Then Franz (as I afterward learned his name) boldly began chaffing the "old man" ... first in English.
"I don't understand," replied Schantze; he was playful now, as a cat is with a mouse ... or rather, like a big boy with a smaller boy whom he can bully.
After all, Schantze was only a big, good-natured "kid" of thirty.
Then Franz ran through one language after another ... Spanish, Italian, French....
The captain noticed me out of the tail of his eye. His big, broad face kindled into a grin.
"What are you doing here on deck, you rascal!" He gave me an affectionate, rough pull of the ear.
"Polishing the brass, sir!"
"And taking everything in at the same time, eh? so you can write a poem about it?"