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Updated: June 23, 2025
However, he was painstaking and careful in all things and never ran any unnecessary risks; consequently, just to be on the safe side, he had instructed the first assistant to plug the speaking-tube leading to the skipper's room. And in order to discourage the captain from, seeking an interview with the chief, von Staden had told the former that the chief was a prisoner. Mr.
Henckel tells me I was out for ten minutes from that solar-plexus blow you landed," Mr. von Staden replied in tones of mingled admiration and friendliness. "And of course you cannot see how sore my ribs feel. I take it rather ill of you to have kicked me." "Kicked you! I wish I'd killed you! And, speaking of kicks, somebody certainly kicked me. Who was it?"
"How about a British cruiser picking her up before we make connections with your fleet?" Herr von Staden shrugged. "That," he replied, "would be the fortune of war." "It would look like the picture of misfortune to me. And how about the freight on this cargo you've stolen? Don't my owners get something out of this deal to help pay expenses?
He began to study medicine, all by himself. He took up the various remedies of our remote ancestors. He read the works of Paracelsus, and declared that all those who had written on medicine since Paracelsus were quacks and poison-mixers. His ideas with regard to music became also more and more strange and bizarre. He had discovered an old Nuremberg composer by the name of Staden.
Murphy showed him to his quarters, which the steward, under the first mate's supervision, was already setting in order; and, having decided to set up the wireless in the sleeping-room, von Staden accompanied the skipper round to superintend the taking on board of the wireless plant from the gasoline launch bobbing alongside.
Von Staden was taking a message as they entered; at sound of their footsteps he turned carelessly and found himself looking down the muzzle of the captain's automatic. "Will ye take it peaceably, ye gossoon, or must I brain ye wit' this monkey wrench?" Mr. Reardon queried fiercely. "And take your hand off that key, you blackguard. No S O S," Murphy ordered.
He opened the bag, counted out five one-thousand-dollar gold certificates of the United States of America and handed them to the captain. "The grand old rag," Michael J. murmured. "How many rascals fight under the flag of old King Spondulics!" "I believe you have an Irish chief engineer," von Staden continued.
Von Staden had read fairy tales as a boy, but never had he met a man who could tell them like Terence Reardon. A hard-headed, highly intelligent chief engineer of a big tramp steamer telling tales of the fairies! Von Staden couldn't understand it. It was so childish and yet there was nothing childish about Terence Reardon.
On the eighteenth, Guynemer poured a broadside, at close quarters, into a two-seated machine above Staden; and on the twentieth, flying this time on his old Vieux-Charles, he destroyed a D.F.W. in a quick fight above Poperinghe.
But no shrill whistle signalled his desire in the engine room, and though Michael blew until he was red in the face and his lips hurt him cruelly, reluctantly he came to the conclusion that Herr August Carl von Staden had the situation very well in hand and Terence Reardon in the latter's state-room under lock and key.
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