“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.