"Yacht Diomeda," replied Hamerton promptly.
"You are foreigners?"
"Yes, British."
"Said I not so, Heinrich?" said the senior officer to his companion in a tone of triumph. "Ach! Why have you not your ensign hoisted on the mainmast-head? Why, indeed, are you flying no ensign at all? Do you know this is a forbidden anchorage?"
To reply to this battery of questions, rapped out with a harsh guttural voice, was a matter of difficulty to Hamerton, whose acquaintance with the German language was somewhat limited. Accordingly he solved the difficulty by answering the last.
"I did not know this is a forbidden anchorage, Herr Lieutenant. That being so, I will change into more suitable attire, and shift my berth as soon as possible."
"What does he want, Jack?" asked the American, who had just appeared from the cabin.
"We've got to clear out. By Jove, we've tumbled into the anchorage off Heligoland!"
For a glance towards the lofty red sandstone rock, fringed with a belt of dazzling white sand and capped by the brilliant hue of the grass, recalled to the Sub the old Frisian rhyme—
"Gron is dat Land,
Rohd de Kant,
End witt de Sand—
Dat is dat Wapen von Helgoland"
("Green is the land,
Red the cliff,
And white the sand—
These form the arms of Heligoland")