"We seem fated to fall in with our friends the Huns," remarked Denbigh. "Armstrong has scored a palpable hit; they are some of the Pelikan's crowd. I recognize that fellow with a bandaged head as Major von Eckenstein."
Most docilely the boat's crew came over the side. There were, in addition to the major, a junior lieutenant of the Pelikan and seven seamen; the rest, to the number of about a dozen, were reservists transhipped from the San Matias. The military section had discarded their uniform and wore a motley collection of civilian garb. They were unarmed, having thrown overboard their rifles and ammunition upon the shot being fired to compel them to abandon flight.
The unter-leutnant had previously rehearsed a most plausible story with which to gull the Englishmen, but a look of comical dismay overspread his features when he recognized the officers who a short while ago had been prisoners on board the raider.
At last he mustered up sufficient courage to demand, somewhat haughtily, that he and his men should be accorded honourable treatment as prisoners of war.
"Certainly," replied Stirling blandly. "I am sorry that you should imagine otherwise. But, of course, the fact that Major von Eckenstein and his men have adopted civilian attire tends to put them on a different footing."
Von Eckenstein's face, or as much of it as was visible between the swathed bandages, grew pale. He remembered the incident when he slashed O'Hara across the face. Visions of reprisals rendered him terror-stricken.
"Forgive me, Herr O'Hara!" he almost shouted.
The Irishman smiled affably.
"Forgive?" he echoed. "There is nothing to forgive. You gave O'Hara a cut across the face. It raised quite a small weal. Judging by the state of your figurehead, I'm afraid my treatment of you on the shore of the lagoon rather disturbed the balance of exchange."
"You did this?" asked the major, dumbfounded at the information. "Donnerwetter! I thought——"